Aranus remained still, his curved back pained from sitting on the hard wooden stool. Three armoured men sat around him, a pale lantern shone above their heads, unveiling their faces with fire light. The centurion faced him, his scarred brow in a perpetual frown and his dark head free from the elaborate helmet he carried the rest of the day. The other two were younger. One slender and pale. The other one smelled of wine and had a large forehead and early white hair. The dark curved walls of his own home remained still in the night, and he held in his tremors.

He sighed, remaining still in his mind, in his dreams. He had gone through many battles in his youth, he had blessed thousands of swords to defend his people, and even shot arrows at beasts and enemies when necessary. And once again, he did not know whether he would come out alive. Pain pulsated in his back where his flesh was open and humid from that morning’s flogging.

“I just need time to consult the spirits,” he said.

“Do not be so foolish,” the centurion snapped at him. “You deserve to be dismembered just like all the others. Moreover, you are the true head of the serpent.” He looked at the slim soldier, then slapped Aranus across the face.

The Elder tightened his teeth and turned his head back. The pain vibrated in his face like a throbbing burn. He took another deep breath and obliged his mind to focus on his breathing and not the pain. The slim soldier tensed his teeth and shut his eyes for an instant, as if distressed by the scene.

The centurion stood up.

“Do you want to die?” he screamed in Aranus’ face, spit splashing over him.

“Death does not scare me,” Aranus muttered.

“Then, as you wish,” the centurion looked at him sternly. “We will whip you a hundred times and remove your teeth one by one. Is that what you want, old man? Tell us the truth!”

“Pain is pain. I cannot tell you anything but the truth, but what you are looking for in my words, that I do not know.”

“You are asking for the whipping again, old man. This time, it will be worse.”

No question remained in his mind. They wanted to seal fear in him. Had they succeeded? It was of no use, he thought, he felt like water in a vessel about to break. Even if the vessel broke, the water would maybe scatter, but remain, ready to take any other shape.

What was pain, anyway, but an illusion?

“Now, old man. Speak,” the centurion grabbed him by the hemp tunic. What is the meaning of the Red Sun?” He asked, his dark eyes fixed on his.

Aranus breathed deeply.

“The red sun is the Red Star. The one you call after the god Mars, the sun that shone many aeons ago. The third sun, in the age of the giants, the ones you call Titans.”

“Quit the idiocy and tell us what it means. Was it a cue to cultists? A secret message?”

Aranus looked up at the centurion, and he spoke calmly:

“Yes. Why not? It is a cue to those who believe.”

“What does it mean? What is the meaning of this sign in the sky? Is it calling for a rebellion? Is a rebellion going to be the response?”

“No rebellion whatsoever, sire. I have told you. Only hope in the prophecies.”

“Centurion Julius,” the slender soldier interrupted his superior. “I think he's telling the truth.”

“No he is not,” Julius stood up, almost tumbling the table on the side. “He’s hiding something about the Mysteries.”

“I am saying what I know,” Aranus said, lowering his head. “What do you want me to say? I have told you over and over again. The Sword of Ares was given by the God to fight the giants. What it means for the future, I do not know. I have only vague figures in my mind.”

“Centurion, the man is telling the truth,” the young soldier said. “He meant it as a cue, but of nothing real and tangible, but of the dreams he has.”

“Do you think you know anything about how this works? First of all, do not talk to your superior like that, or the gods will choose you for decimation.”

“I am just saying,” the rebellious soldier said, eyes down, shaking his head. “There is nothing more we can get. There is no conspiracy.”

“You don't understand, do you?” The centurion grew anxious. “Now, get on with the program, or you will be the one hung for asking so many questions.”

The soldier did not answer.

“I… I understand. Yes, sir.”

“Now, as for you.” The centurion looked back at Aranus. “You quit playing around and get on with the program. Now I will give you a chance. Tomorrow you will address the women. Tell them to comply if they don't want the guts of their toddlers to be spilled, and then their own. Tell them nicely, so they understand.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Aranus tensed his teeth. Should he resist and die? Or...

A thought crossed his mind. He could feel power vibrating through his soul. The gods still needed him.

“I will always speak the truth. If this is needed to protect them, I will.”

The centurion unsheathed his short sword, riveted. He swung it upward and Aranus heard a bang. The centurion had driven it through the armrest. Aranus feared having lost his fingers, but it was not the case.

“And tell me something about the Red Sun, something that satisfies me, or else you’ll lose a hand. At least.”

Aranus kept breathing deep. “He fought the giants and imprisoned them.”

“Are we the giants?” the centurion yelled impatiently, waving his sword around. “What the hell does that mean? I am losing patience with you. We have tried to be soft with you old man, but you will drive me out of my usual.”

“That things will be as they once were.”

“Once again. Are we the giants?”

Aranus hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Enough. If you mention the damn legend once again to those wanton whores, I’ll cut off all of your fingers. Understood?”

“Understood.”

But Aranus would say what his soul would tell him.

But what about that sword?

The centurion grabbed a rope from overhead, used to herd cattle, and tied it around Aranus’ body. He felt the tension tear through his fragile skin but closed his eyes.

“Now this will teach you. If we find you soiled yourself in the night it’s your responsibility, old man.”

The soldiers stood up. The centurion blew out the candle and the room went completely dark.

“Good night.”

Aranus thought of death. There was a calmness surrounding that concept. He felt he had to take care of the welfare of his people; but on a personal level, the only person he had left to care about was his grandson. The death of many caused him pain, but if he died, his whole existence on the earth felt like a joke, a legacy lost, to disappear into dust. His daughter had married an enemy before the war, and yet, out of that unlikely union, a child had been born, the unmistakable seed of their spiritual lineage. Aranus missed him, after all those days. The boy had grown into a wise young man, with a will to learn and spiritual sensibility.

Aranus was proud of his grandson Kassius.

***

“Centurion Julius, with all due respect, I’m telling you, I know these priestly types. He won’t say anything because there’s nothing that makes sense in his head,” said the young soldier.

“What is that supposed to mean, soldier Felix?” The centurion took a sip of wine. “By Saturn’s beard, what are we doing here outside? It’s getting freezing cold.”

The soldier with the wide forehead seemed mesmerized by the moon above, oblivious to their conversation.

“Centurion, please,” Julius continued.

“Enough with your pestering!” the Centurion answered. Spit flew toward Felix’s face. He wiped it promptly. Felix felt inclined to talk more, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. And although he looked volatile and tough on the outside, and was surely capable of brutality, but he was more talk than action when it came to the men under his command.

Felix nodded quietly and looked away.

Julius took another sip and stared at the forest with an expression like a dog bred for pit fighting.

“What are you looking at, Aezius?” the centurion asked the mesmerized soldier.

“You know,” the soldier responded, his voice deep, his eyes still fixed above. “The stars are scary, you know, this trite, the gods, the planets, the stars. Spooky stuff. Centurion, pass me the wine, please.”

The centurion passed the wine skin and Aezius seemed to get overexcited and took three big sips.

“Calm down, don’t finish it.”

Aezius’ face was pale, and his eyes were sunken. He shook his head.

“I say we kill the old man. He’s bad luck, I think.”

“No!” Felix snapped. “Let’s follow the program. We already killed too many.”

Suddenly, the two other soldiers burst out laughing.

“No man is innocent,” Aezius said, and he spat on the floor. “Eh… Let’s get inside, this cold is horrible.”

“Felix, you stay on guard. We’ll be in the atrium, then we’ll switch positions,” the centurion said.

“What? I mean… Yes, sir.”

Aezius stood up, grabbing his helmet from the rocky stairs. The centurion did the same thing. Both walked toward the door and Felix remained attentive to what they said.

“Centurion, I am serious. This man may mean trouble. I say we finish him off tonight, or else tomorrow he may. Did you hear him, he is not afraid of death or pain. And I know when they are not.” The two men entered the room and the door shut behind their backs.

“Do it before a rebellion starts,” Aezius continued. “Women want food. That’s all they want. To feed their stinking cubs, that’s all. You feed them they’re happy, but if someone tells them they’re special or their seed is apart, they will stab us in the back when we’re not looking.”

From that moment onward, Felix did not hear any more. He sighed, grabbed his bronze helmet, and threw it at the wall. It clanked and stray cats jumped out of the ceiling in sight. He crossed his arms. He hated that place. That was the worst mission he had been sent on. He had not been assigned a wife and did not want one. He only thought of Domitia, his sweetheart back in Veniz, and he shuddered at the thought of not seeing her again.

What he had seen that day was wrong, and after talking to the old man, it was even worse. That did not make any sense with the tale about the conspiracy and the Mysteries of Ares. It seemed like an unprovoked attack against people who had not done anything but live in peace. The people of Adachia were not even the same Gadalians who had invaded Itruschia fifteen years before.

If it were up to him, he would change things. But how could he?

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