The blizzard that had nearly killed Narses and Romanos blew eastward across Romanía’s northern coast, approaching the walled city called Trebizond. Surrounded by the Pontic Mountains, the city could only be reached on land by the Satala Road to the south. On this narrow road a youth named Alexios Leandros, Kentarch of the Workers’ Army’s First Century, was riding a horse. On patrol, he had just passed the last watchtower in Trapezuntine territory and entered the no-man’s-land that led into Tourkía. The watchtower always made him think of Anna, a woman several years his senior who had been his friend and student. She had perished in the Siege of Trebizond only months ago. In that last watchtower they had once met while she was studying a literacy primer. What did she write in the dirt with that clumsy stick? Our father, who art in heaven…
He had congratulated her, and her eyes had flashed like gems, and then she had hugged and kissed him. Within hours of that moment, the Romans had attacked the city, and she had died with a sword in her back, her life force drained into the endless pit of General Narses, his eyes glowing with her energy, flashing the way her own eyes had.
Her entire life had led to that point. From the moment of her conception, she was meant to end as bloodmeal for the vampire Narses, the emperor’s right-hand man, a great Roman, a model citizen, a Hero of the Empire, a winner of Hippodrome triumphs, one who had enslaved thousands and slaughtered many times more, whom people called Town Destroyer. What honors and titles had Narses failed to receive?
She deserved better.
Just before the battle began, Anna had asked Alexios to care for her two young children, Basil and Kassia. Both were now in Trebizond, safe behind its walls, watched over by workers. Lately Alexios regretted that he had been too busy training soldiers to pay enough attention to the children. He had never planned to have kids—he was so young he was almost a kid himself—and he hoped that someone else would step up to care for them, though at the same time he wanted them to have good lives, and he meant to honor his pledge to Anna.
Still, Alexios’s relationship with Basil and Kassia was distant. How could it be otherwise? They had barely introduced themselves when their mother had died. Did they even think of him now? It was dangerous outside Trebizond, and once you went past the watchtower and into the wild that stretched for weeks through abandoned mountains and valleys to the nearest towns and cities, who knew what you would find? Two of Alexios’s friends—Gontran Koraki the Latin merchant and Kambine Diaresso the exile from Tomboutou—had run into a giant monster they called a “death worm” in an endless marsh about a day’s journey south from here. That was the halfway point of his patrol. Alexios would turn back the way he had come once he reached that place.
His eyes kept straying to the watchtower, and he kept dwelling on Anna.
Always have to wonder what might have been if she’d lived, he thought.
Lost in memory, his horse Rakhsh trotting beneath him, it was evening when Alexios spotted two men mounted on horses at the end of the dense pine forests that lined either side of the Roman road. Before Alexios could even wave to the men, they turned their horses around and galloped south. They actually had three horses—two for riding, one for baggage.
Alexios urged Rakhsh after them. Were they Sarakenou, or Roman? It was too far to see if they wore white turbans beneath their helmets. From a distance that was sometimes the only way to tell Christian from Sarakenou. Romans favored chainmail hoods under their helmets which wrapped tightly around their necks to protect from sword blows, while Sarakenoi wore white turbans between the helmets and mail. The lighter Sarakenou cavalry only wore sheepskin rags, and rode ponies into battle, which were swifter than the big war horses the Romans preferred.
A snowflake fell past Alexios. He ignored it. Before arriving in Romanía—when he had dwelled in the old world he now barely remembered—snow had often come heavy and thick, blanketing trees and roads, burying buildings so that people needed to shovel tunnels through. And so as more white snowflakes spun around, he thought little of them. It was just an early winter storm. Nothing too concerning. The icy crystals even looked pretty as they whirled past the huge dark pine trees.
Rakhsh snorted. The beast was from Persia. Large, powerful, fast, and unusually intelligent, his hide was colored like saffron mixed with autumn maple leaves. He had joined the uprising of his own volition, riding across the Armenian highlands until he reached Trebizond.
The clouds thickened and darkened, and soon snow was falling like nothing Alexios had encountered in his old life. Winter was late to Trebizond this year, but now it struck with a vengeance.
A little snow is harmless, he thought. A lot is deadly. Quantity changes quality.
The snowfall was so thick that the world was lost in it. Sky and mountains joined together, melded by snow, then disappeared behind a white curtain that enclosed Alexios on all sides, drawing closer so that even the ground vanished.
By now it was growing difficult to see the horse between his legs. Alexios dismounted and led Rakhsh forward, so blinded by the snow that he needed to feel ahead in the frigid wind with his spare hand in case they ran into a tree or a boulder. The blizzard absorbed all sound, muffling the stomping of his boots in the snow, and seeming even to drain the thoughts from his mind. Then the snow rose past his ankles to his knees, his thighs, and his waist, so that he wrestled with it to help Rakhsh through.
Soon they were exhausted and freezing. The youth looked back at the poor beast, and saw himself reflected as a poor beast in the poor beast’s eyes. Both understood one another.
We’re in trouble.
Giving up on chasing those riders, whoever they’d been, Alexios withdrew a cloak from a saddlebag and coaxed Rakhsh to sit. Then he covered the horse with that cloak as well as the one on his own back, pushing the snow away from the ground to keep as dry as possible.
“Sorry for dragging you out here,” Alexios said to Rakhsh. “It wasn’t the best idea.”
Rakhsh merely looked at him in response.
By the time Alexios had finished clearing away the snow down to the gravel and grass underfoot—the ancient road—his hands were numb. He huddled close to Rakhsh and did his best to pull the cloaks about them so that no skin was exposed. Rakhsh seemed nervous and uncomfortable.
That makes two of us, Alexios thought. I just have to wonder what we’re supposed to do if we get completely buried. Someone back in Trebizond is bound to notice we’re missing…a few hours from now…
He had spent plenty of time around horses since arriving in Romanía, building up so much XP that he leveled up his riding skills to Intermediate (5/10). This enabled him to keep Rakhsh from panicking, even as the snow fell thicker on the cloaks draped over them. Their little manmade cave warmed up thanks to their body heat, especially as the snow weighing on the cloaks grew heavier, though some of it melted so that streams ran around the cloth. The air inside was heavy and reeked of horse. Alexios imagined that, from Rakhsh’s perspective, it must have reeked of man. He rubbed the beast’s muzzle and even managed to find a bag of oats for him to eat.
The horse munched his oats. Alexios had grabbed him from the disagreeable stableboy Leon, and thought that—like many other patrols—nothing would come of this one. After all, armies rarely fought in winter, especially Roman ones. Centuries ago, Emperor Mauríkios, in the middle of a war against the avaricious Avars, had camped his army on the wrong side of the river Istros when the first snows had come. His frustrated men responded by raising an officer on their shields, a man named Phokas. This Phokas had captured Maurikíos and murdered all six of his sons right in front of him before killing the emperor himself.
Since then, emperors warred during summer.
It was also nearly unbearable to ride in these temperatures. Yet patrols needed to be undertaken. A new ambitious Roman leader might have been maniacal enough to lead an army through the Pontic Mountains to surprise Trebizond from the landward side, but it was unlikely. Still, Alexios also enjoyed being kentarch and had no desire to be voted out by the workers, so he often volunteered for boring patrols like this to win their favor.
Something bumped his left side. Alexios told himself that it was Rakhsh, though the horse was to his right. Rakhsh had also stopped munching his oats, and was holding still and listening.
It must be the snow crumbling on top of me or—
Something bumped him again. Before Alexios could react, the howling wind coalesced into a voice speaking his name.
“Alexios.”
It’s just in my head, he thought.
Rakhsh whinnied.
Then the cloak was seized and ripped away, exposing Alexios and Rakhsh to the raging blizzard. The poor beast screamed and bolted into the snow, dragging both cloaks after him. Alexios was left alone with a woman shawled in white. Snow stuck to her icy blue translucent flesh, but did not melt. She stood two paces away, staring at him with glowing red eyes.
Alexios was almost too stunned to speak, but he managed to say: “Anna?”
She reached out her arm, and he was so frightened that he ducked, expecting her to strike him. But no attack came. Alexios opened his eyes. Anna—or whoever this creature was—had not moved. He reached out his own hand and took hers. It was like grasping an icicle. Yet he kept himself from pulling back.
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“Anna,” he said again. “Is it really you?”
With her free hand she turned and pointed into the distance, then looked back at him.
“Can you speak?” he said. “I have no idea what—”
She gripped his hand and pulled him away from his camp. But after just a few steps she was forced to drag him, since the snow was so deep that he sank in past his waist. Anna, however, walked on the snow’s surface like she was almost weightless. She left only faint footprints which the wind soon erased.
“Wait!” Alexios shouted. “Rakhsh will die if we leave him out here!”
But it turned out that Anna was leading him to the horse, who had stopped running and was now huddled in the snow. Anna released Alexios, and he took Rakhsh’s reins and found the two cloaks. Then Anna, with her bare hands, tore through the snow ahead of them, carving a path they could walk through. Alexios draped one cloak over Rakhsh and the other over himself, then—glancing back at the horse for a moment—followed Anna.
Wherever they were going, it was hard to believe it could be worse than here. Soon they had left the road and were passing pine trees weighed down with thick blankets of snow. Then they were climbing a rockslide, and before long they had entered a cave. Inside they found a hearth near a pile of wood and a bale of hay. There were also cooking implements, musical instruments, as well as a small stone idol of a winged man standing on a lion.
“Gontran and Diaresso told me about this place,” he said. “It’s the Haldi Cave. It belongs to the Haldi people, who lived here before even the Laz. Diaresso and Gontran stopped here on their way south when they were leaving the city. That was just before the siege.”
Anna pointed to the hearth. Alexios, taking the hint, placed wood and hay there, then withdrew his flint and steel, dried them as best he could, and bashed them together. Sparks shot into the hearth and blackened the fuel. Orange embers burned through the hay, changing it to smoke. With his fire-starting skills (which had improved since he had first come to Romanía) Alexios huddled over the glowing light and blew on it. Flames leaped up, and he added more wood and hay. Soon the snow and slush that coated both horse and rider transformed into steam, as black smoke rose past the cave’s stalactites and flowed along the ceiling.
Anna, however, kept away from the flames, remaining in the shadows.
As Alexios warmed up, he spoke with her again. “Are you Anna’s spirit? Or something?”
No answer.
“Honestly it hurts to see you,” he said. “I kept trying to forget you. We buried you with all kinds of honors, but your soul, your life force, whatever you want to call it, I saw what happened to it.”
She stared at him.
“‘God doesn’t speak directly, but He makes a sign.’” Alexios chuckled. “‘The unconscious is structured like a language.’ But that would make more sense, wouldn’t it? Maybe that’s what you are. You’re part of Anna’s psyche. Her ka or her ba or whatever it is. You have no idea where or when you are. Maybe you don’t even know that you’re dead. But somehow you knew enough to find me and bring me here. The unconscious…what does it want except pleasure, life, and death, all bound together in a Borromean knot? What better way to get those things than to hang out with your old boyfriend in a cave?”
Silence from Anna.
Alexios shrugged, withdrew the bread, cheese, and pork he had brought for dinner, and—using the heavy iron skillet he found—warmed it over the fire. Once it was ready, he offered her some, but she ignored him. Rakhsh, meanwhile, was working on another bag of oats.
“The dead keep haunting us if we don’t bury them properly,” Alexios said to Anna. “Can’t remember where I read that.”
No reaction came from Anna.
“But like I said, we buried you. You’re a hero to Trebizond. One day we’ll build a statue dedicated to you. Your children are still with me. I mean, they aren’t here, obviously, but they’re back in the city. They’re doing well. As well as they could be, anyway, considering what happened to you.”
She watched him.
“I wish you could tell me what you want,” he said. “But it’s not always that simple, is it?”
Alexios gave up on eating. He had little appetite while she stared at him. Finally he stood and approached her. Tears had come to his eyes.
“I wasn’t there to help you,” he said. “When you died, I mean. I didn’t even understand what was happening. I was so caught up trying to destroy that cannon that Narses was able to kill you. I let him kill you. That’s how it works in chess. You can’t win without sacrificing at least a few pawns. And isn’t that what all of us are? Like when you find the dry husks that used to be moths caught in cobwebs. That’s us. That’s what happens to us. I would have done the same for myself as what happened to you. I would have given my life to the uprising.”
Nothing.
“But maybe if I’d fought harder,” Alexios said, “you’d still be here. Kassia and Basil would still have their mother. And I…maybe we’d be together. I’m sorry, Anna. I’m sorry I let you die. How much of your future did you lose because of me?”
She continued staring. He saw his reflection in her icy skin.
“But you can’t talk,” Alexios said. “Or you won’t talk. You just brought me here to this cave. You might have saved my life from that storm. I just wonder what happened to the family that lives here. Gontran and Diaresso told me about them. I hope they’re alright…”
He turned to the side, unsure of what else to say. Then he looked back at her.
“Can I hug you?” he said. “I miss you.”
No response.
Alexios reached forward, giving her plenty of time to reject him. But she remained still as he hugged her and patted her back. She was so cold, and yet her body felt the same; she was the same Anna, shorter than him and with narrower shoulders.
Tears burned his eyes again and he wiped them away. Then he stepped back.
Smiling with bleary eyes, he said: “That’s all I can deal with for now.”
Alexios returned to the fire, added more wood, and lay down on the furs on the floor. Rakhsh was already asleep. Anna remained standing in the flickering darkness, her red eyes staring at Alexios. At first he found this strange, but soon fatigue overtook him, as did the coziness of the fire, and the storm raging beyond the distant cave mouth. Eventually he lost consciousness.
Alexios dreamed of his old teacher Dionysios—another victim of General Narses—telling him to go to some place called Harran. It was far to the south, Dionysios said, in the deserts of Arabia.
Alexios asked why he needed to go there.
My teacher’s there, Dionysios said. Hermes Trismegistos. You’ve gotta learn from him if you ever wanna get the hell out of this game.
Game, what game? Alexios thought.
You’re inside a game, remember? Dionysios said. Look. This is your real home. This is where you’re from.
How to describe what Alexios saw? It was a dusty tiled room full of smooth tables, polished steel chairs—who heard of such a thing?—and other strange materials and objects. A tapestry of unknown weave hung from the wall depicting a geometric image Alexios had difficulty comprehending—a sort of blue oval, bound by a curving grid of lines, covered with green blotches.
What in Christ’s name…?
One wall of this room was made of vast windows, the glass thinner and clearer than any he had seen in his life. The ground outside was covered with autumn leaves. Atop a distant metal pole, a heraldic flag of some sort waved in the wind. He didn’t recognize the design, which consisted of red and white lines and white stars on a blue square. Latins generally preferred flags over Romaníans, and they tended to place physical objects like horses or helmets on their flags rather than mere geometry.
Wherever this was, it was an oddly geometric place, one which made the hackles rise on the back of his neck. Geometers were obsessed with sorcery.
That’s the old world, Dionysios said. The world of the year 2022.
2022, Alexios thought. But that’s in the past. It’s the year 6589…
They use a different calendar in the old world, Dionysios said.
I’m confused.
Forget about the calendar. It’s about a thousand years in the future. You and your friends don’t even know what to call it since you’ve gotten so wrapped up in Byzantium—in Romanía, where you are right now. You’ve got to bring the knowledge you’ve learned here back to your real home.
How do I do that?
Beat the emperor, remember?
We already defeated him.
You won a battle, yeah. But he’s still out there. And you’ve been getting too comfy here in Trebizond. It’s time to be a little more proactive. That’s why this ice demon’s here in the first place. That’s why I’m here, too. My teacher helped her out, made a deal with her, and resurrected her so she could remind you about what the hell you’re doing out here. The workers in Trebizond can handle themselves. But the workers in your real home need your help.
You might not know this, Dionysios, but I’m taking care of her kids now. She asked me to just before she died. I can’t just bring them to Harran. I don’t even know where that is. Did you say it was in Arabia…?
It’s not an easy choice, Dionysios said. Your family or your duty. But there’s a lot of other families out there who need your help. You need to get to Harran. It’s easy to find. Just travel south on the Satala Road. Follow it to Melitené. Afterward comes Samosata, then Harran. There you can find Thrice-Great Hermes—and the Sabians who worship him.
Damnit, Dionysios…
New quest begins, the game voice said. The Journey to Harran.
When Alexios woke the next morning, barely remembering his dreams, the fire had died, but snowy white light was shining from the cave mouth. The storm had passed, and Anna was still standing in the same place. He felt happy to see her.
“Had a pleasant evening?” he asked as he got the fire going.
No answer.
“Whatever it is that you want, I guess you haven’t gotten it,” Alexios said. “Do you want me to find your body? Do you need to join up with it or something? Or do you need a priest to release you from the Earth? What is it?”
Nothing.
Alexios got up and checked her, fearing that she had frozen to death, even if she was technically already dead. Her red eyes followed him as he approached, but no breath passed through her nostrils. Her lips were closed, and—after asking her permission—he searched for her pulse, in vain as it turned out. Yet she was more than just spirit, and he doubted that she was a hallucination, since she had terrified Rakhsh.
“Maybe I’m the one who died in the storm,” he said. “I just don’t know it. My entire life is taking years to flash through my eyes, from my perspective, even though in objective reality I’m actually seconds from dying.”
No answer.
Alexios sighed. “No offense, but you used to be a little more fun to talk with. I have to go back to Trebizond. They’ll be worried about me. You can come if you want, although it would be nice if you could say something to your kids. They’ll be pretty upset if you just stare at them like this.”
No reaction.
Alexios gathered their things, cleaned up the mess they had made, and led Rakhsh out of the cave. Anna followed. The blizzard had erased their tracks, and the world outside was covered in snow, the mountains reduced to white mounds. Alexios, Anna, and Rakhsh descended from the cave, Alexios wondering all the while what would happen when they returned to Trebizond.