The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age) (11 page)

How does this have anything to do with me,
Javor wondered, more than once.
And How does he keep talking?

“
Photius,” he interrupted one day. “Why did you come up here? Why did you come looking for my great-grandfather’s amulet?”

Photius laughed. “Oh, I wasn’t looking for
that
—or, rather, I was, but I didn’t know it at the time. No, Javor, I was sent by my order to find some answers. We had heard of the ravages of Ghastog in Dacia and the regions north, and it appeared he was looking for something. So the order sent five of us to find out why. We spread through the area these past three years. Only now have I caught up with the beast.”

“
There were five of you? Where are the others?”

Photius picked up his staff and strode ahead. “They’re all dead.” And for the first time that Javor could remember, Photius was silent.

On their seventh day out, close to noon, they found the first village they had seen since leaving Nastaciu. It was built within its
holody
, a stockade of thin logs. As they got closer, Javor and Photius could see thin, black smoke trailing skyward. There were no people in the fields around, which struck Javor as strange for a hot summer’s day.

A large brown dog ran toward them, barking furiously. More dogs joined it in a barking phalanx, blocking their way to the village.

They stood, not knowing what to do—run from the dogs? “They’ll chase us down,” Javor realized. But they couldn’t go forward. And they needed to talk to
somebody
: their food was getting low, and they wanted to find out where they were in relation to the borders of the Empire.

The dogs didn’t come closer but did not draw back, either. The gate of the stockade opened just enough for a man to squeeze through. One by one, seven men came out, all carrying a spear, tool, or anything that could be a weapon—one had an old, rusty sword. “What do you want?” demanded the foremost, a short, stocky man with a blunt face. He had a fresh scar across one cheek.

Between the gates, Javor and Photius could see smoking, blackened huts, the carcass of a pig and women kneeling, weeping in the dirt.

Photius held his empty hands out toward the villagers, palms up. “Oh, we are merely travellers, seeking shelter for the night ...”

“
Seek elsewhere!” spat the scarred man. “We have no need of any more travellers here!”

“
Bandits, more like,” said a gaunt man holding a heavy stick. He glowered at the interlopers.

Photius asked “Dear people, what happened here? Why do you fear us so? We are only two poor men ...”

“
Mind your own business!” said the scarred man. But another one said, almost at the same time, “Raiders. On horses. Dozens of them.”

Photius looked at Javor, then back at the villagers. “I am sorry. We did not know. These are evil times. We have had experience with armed, evil men—”

“
In Nastasciu, my village,” Javor interrupted. “They killed several of my people, and as if that weren’t enough ...”

“
Perhaps we can help,” Photius interrupted. “I am skilled in the arts of healing.” He took a step closer, but the villagers lifted their weapons nervously.

“
Can you bring men back from the dead?” the leader growled. “Can you give a woman back her leg, or an eye? No, old man. Leave us alone! We don’t want any more strangers!” He stepped forward, threatening with his shovel. Behind them, Javor and Photius could hear the village dogs growling again.

Photius bowed politely. “Very well, good people. May the gods protect you from further calamity. Come, Javor. We will respect these people’s wishes in their time of sorrow.” Slowly, the two backed away from the villagers until they felt safe enough to turn their backs on the group. “Let’s not alarm them by running,” Photius said. “They’ll think we are up to something.”

Javor risked a glance backwards, to see the seven men still guarding their gate. “Photius, they can’t have been attacked by the same raiders that we were—Ghastog ripped them apart the next day. That was more than ten days ago!”

Photius nodded. “There are many evil men about, Javor. The Avars are trying to establish their domination in this area. But even among themselves, there are rival factions.”

“
Do you think it was raiders who did that, or another monster like Ghastog? Or maybe a dragon—maybe the dragon that attacked us also burned the village?”

“
Perhaps, Javor. But I don’t know. I couldn’t take a closer look.”

Javor thought again of something that he realized should have occurred to him long ago. Now he thought it curious that Photius hadn’t mentioned it. “That dragon that attacked me on the mountain and then in the village. Does it have a name?”

“
All these fiends have names. But I don’t know this one’s, not yet.”

They slept that night out in the country again. They were careful that at least one of them was awake at all times. In the morning, they hid their weapons under their cloaks or disguised them in their packs. By late afternoon, they reached the bottom of a hill, which was broken off by a sharp cliff on one side. Javor thought it looked like half a loaf of bread, sliced at one end. A stream leaped off the cliff, then broke into a miniature rapids before disappearing back into the forest. The top of the hill had been cleared of trees, and they could see the wooden palisade of another
holody
.

Photius and Javor hid their largest weapons under rocks by the swift-flowing stream before approaching the village. This time, the villagers were returning from their fields, driving their few animals back inside the protection of the stockade. But they still drew together warily when they saw the strangers approaching.

“
Good evening, gentle people,” said Photius as they drew closer. “May the blessings of the gods be upon you.” The villagers said nothing, but just stared at them. “Might I enquire as to the name of your village?”

“
Bilavod,” said one of the villagers, a short man with thick dark eyebrows.

“
Whitewater,” said Javor, in Greek, in a low voice.

“
Ah. And how fares the village of Bilavod this fine summer’s eve?”

“
What do you want?” asked the man with the eyebrows.

“
Oh, very little for ourselves,” Photius answered. “Perhaps a place to spend the night, and if you have any to spare, a little food to eat. In return, my friend here can sing a song or two.” Javor turned, shocked, at Photius’ claim.
I can’t sing!
“I can also tell you some news of the Empire and offer you some of my skills as a healer.” At that, one young woman looked, wide-eyed at another and whispered something.

“
We don’t have any extra food,” said the man with the eyebrows, but at the urging of the others, they let the two travellers into the stockade, where they found the villagers gathered around a fire burning in the centre of the
holody
. There was a strange silence, a lack of activity about the place. Immediately, they were confronted by the village elders.

“
Who are these two?” demanded the obvious chief of the village, a grizzled man with a thick beard and blazing dark eyes.

“
My name is Photius, and this is my companion, Javor. We are travelling from the north to the borders of the Empire, and seek only a night’s sustenance.”

The chief scowled and Javor knew he as about to throw them out, when one of the young woman who had come in from the fields said quickly “He said he’s a healer, Papa! A
healer
.” The chief still looked doubtful, but the young woman ran across the
holody
to a small hut. She gestured to Photius, then disappeared inside.

Photius and Javor followed her, Javor with an eye on the glowering village chief. Inside the gloomy hut, a man and a woman lay on straw beds. A bloody cloth was wound around the man’s chest, and the woman was curled into a foetal position, weeping quietly; her clothes were blood-stained as well.

“
Raiders,” said the woman who had led them in. “They killed six of our people three days ago. They hit Bereh, here, with an axe and raped Alia, four of them, one after the other. She’s hardly moved since, and Bereh hasn’t woken, either.” Javor noticed that the chief had followed them in.

Photius knelt between the two straw beds. He gently cut the bandage off Bereh to reveal a huge, ugly gash across the man’s chest. Photius touched the wound very lightly with his fingertips. “Boil some water and put some clean rags into it. Then bring me some garlic cloves and as many small bowls and cups as you can—clean mind you!” The woman disappeared and the chief bent closer to see what Photius was doing.

Photius arranged some pouches from his pack around himself. “Where are those bowls?” he demanded, glaring at the chief, who opened and closed his mouth, grunted and left the hut.

“
What are you doing?” Javor asked.

“
I can help relieve some of their suffering,” Photius answered. The young woman reappeared, carrying a stack of rough wooden bowls that she deposited beside Photius. “Where is the water?” he asked, and she disappeared again. Photius carefully poured a little from three pouches into three bowls: a powder in one, what looked to Javor like dried leaves in another, and twigs in the third. They gave off strange, complex odours: like mint, wine, spice and honey all at once.

Soon the young woman came in again, carefully carrying an earthenware pot of hot water. Javor for the first time looked at her: she wasn’t as pretty as Elli, but she was equally hungry-looking, thin and drawn. Straight, dark hair hung down past her thin shoulders. She had a long, thin nose and wide, thin lips. Dark semicircles hung under both eyes.

Photius poured a little water into each of the bowls. He gingerly removed a rag from the pot, waved it a little to cool, then gently swabbed the man’s wound, clearing off layers of blood and dirt. When he dipped the cloth back into a bowl, the water turned red.

Using water from each of the bowls in turn, Photius carefully cleaned the man’s wound. Then he poured the remainder of the last bowl’s contents over the wound and pressed a cloth over it. Javor had never seen anything like this before. The chief came in, stared at what Photius was doing, but said nothing.

Photius then turned to the woman on the bed. Into another bowl he sprinkled a powder from his pack and diluted it with warm water. “Help her to sit up,” he told Javor, and then held the bowl to her lips. She drank without opening her eyes.

He took two more wet cloths and gave one each to Javor and to the dark-haired young woman. Then he gently removed the injured woman’s tunic; she co-operated, but seemed barely aware.

“
Help me wash her,” he said quietly. Together, the three of them swabbed her down. Javor hesitated when he got to her chest, but when he saw the young woman efficiently wiping her arms, he went ahead. They turned her over to wash her back, then over again. Photius took a fresh rag to wash between the woman’s legs, being especially gentle but thorough. With the last of the bowls and the last clean water, Photius made a thick paste, which he applied to her thighs and vulva. Then he washed and wiped his hands. “Let them rest, now. They should be more comfortable. When the man wakes, give his this to drink,” he indicated the bowl that the woman had sipped from. “Just one or two sips, no more. If there is any left, give some to the woman at this time tomorrow. Tell me, have you no one in your village skilled in healing? No wise woman who knows the use of herbs and magic?”

The chief shook his head, staring at the ground. “Alas, she was one of the first killed by the raiders, she and a younger woman who helped her. That’s one reason why this attack has been so hard on us, and why my daughter was so anxious to bring you in.”

“
I see,” said Photius. “Are there any others hurt?”