Sleeping in the forest was not enjoyable, especially with rocks permanently pressing against her neck. When Alana finally managed to sink into a deep slumber the second night after their escape, she dreamed her father had been taken captive. Waking up suddenly, she felt worse, and the pain in her neck and back pulsated through her, making her clench her teeth.

She crouched and wept in silence, holding her coat tightly. Kassius snored next to her, his mouth open and saliva dripping. She grimaced. Good thing he was not her real husband.

She took a deep breath. Her stomach roared, but nothing hurt as much as her soul.

She shut her eyes and wiped her tears. A light pierced through the trees above her.

Like a joke. What did the gods want? The gods must be crazy, she thought.

Kassius snored loudly, and s he staggered to her feet, restless. Suddenly, she heard a murmur between the bushes. She fidgeted with the hilt of the knife under her belt and swallowed.

She stood still, knife in hand, as Kassius moved next to her, giving a long sigh and opening his eyes. He looked around, confused.

"Good morning, Ala.” He turned, supported his weight on one arm, and smiled.

"Shh...” She gave him a freezing glance. Kassius seemed to understand immediately as he scrambled to his feet and stood behind her, as if needing her protection.

Alana breathed slowly, trying hard to discern the sound that came from the trees.

Somebody was breathing heavily.

She held the knife forward and advanced stealthily in reverse, pressing with the edge of her heels and moving slowly.

They'd better run.

"Let's run,” she said, turning around quickly.

She heard a scream from behind. She swallowed and turned her head slowly. A small body was looking at her, eyes wide open, face dusty, and bruises on his cheeks and forehead.

"Tor...” She stared at him with eyes wide-open, as the boy ran toward her and wrapped her in his arms. She returned the gesture. "My gods... What happened to you?”

Alana looked into his blue eyes, and he gesticulated how he had been beaten, but not killed, and had run away.

“Gods... I don't know what we should do. What do you think, Kassius?”

“I don’t believe you're safer with us around. We're going to do some really dangerous stuff. I say you go back,” he said to the boy.

The boy shook his head, determined.

“You’re not going back there?” she interpreted.

“I’m telling you, kid,” Kassius said, crossing his arms.

“He says he’d rather be dead than go back,” Alana said.

“Alright,” Kassius said. “But you’ve got to be careful around us.”

“Are you going to help us? I’d say you just remain in the back,” Alana said. “Fine. You want to help? You may.”

“Alana,” Kassius said sternly.

“He wants to help, he will,” Alana winked at Kassius.

“It’s dangerous for him.”

“And dangerous for us,” Alana said with her hands on her waist.

Kassius shook his head.

“What are you talking about? He’s a nine-year-old!”

“Eleven!” Alana corrected him, tilting her head. “And we’re fifteen and sixteen. I’m not talking about telling him to stab people in their sleep but, you know. He can help.”

Kassius raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we’ll see.”

Alana and Kassius paid attention to Tor’s lips. He wanted to tell them something.

“Father? Your father?” she asked.

“He says they killed him,” Kassius completed the thought.

“I understand him, Kassius. So… You want to do what to them?” Alana was surprised at the furious desire for vengeance. “Well, now. Let’s just get some food! I’m starving. You’re also hungry, aren’t you?”

“I’ll get something to eat,” Kassius said, unfolding his bow and proceeding it to string it.

***

There was nothing to hunt in that part of the forest, and if there was it hid well. Their hunger increased every hour, and no fruit nor mushrooms were found in those hours.

“I’m sorry,” Alana said, sitting next to the cold creek with her arm around Tor’s shoulders. She sighed. “What do you suggest, Kassius? Should we wait for night rats to come out?”

Kassius sighed and shook his head. Alana knew Kassius well; he did not want to talk. He sat under a birch and took out a small scroll from his bag. Alana refrained from asking but stared at Kassius in silence.

Suddenly, she realized Tor was not with her anymore. She jumped to her feet and looked around.

“Tor?” she said. She noticed bubbles in the creek below and the sudden splashing of water. “Kasha! I think Tor fell into the water!”

Kassius got up and dropped the scroll. He ran to the creek.

“Tor! Please respond! Kassius, rescue him!” Alana said.

“I don’t know how to swim!” he said, his skin going pale.

“Then! Oh my gods! Poor boy. Life was not fair to him. What should we do?” She looked from side to side. She had an idea. She ran to the shore and looked between the bushes. Should she jump into the water? The current was strong. She had already been there, and she almost died. She swallowed. She found water itself frightening.

She found a solution, and she tore a tree branch and moved to the edge. Tor was moving in a straight line in the water but on his back. Then, he immediately turned, like a tadpole, and he rose up taking a deep breath.

Tor looked at her and smiled, his head rising and water dripping down from his hair. He paddled with his legs toward the bank. He did not need to be saved after all.

“Tor! What were you doing down there!” Alana said, panting.

Tor lifted his arms. He held a fish as big as a kitten, it twisted and turned in agony. He calmly swam back to the shore and threw it over the brown grass, then climbed up onto the banks and shook his head like a puppy.

“Dry yourself off!” Kassius handed him his coat, and Tor wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Amazing!” Alana reached for the struggling fish and hastened to grab it in her arms. “Kassius. See? I told you he would be useful. And Kasha, please tell me you brought some spices with you.”

“I’m not a cook.”

“Salt?” she asked.

“Nay. Do I look like a cook, Alana?”

“You Itruschians don’t know anything about food,” she teased him. “Well, I’m gonna make something nice out of this bad boy.”

“You better,” Kassius jumped to his feet. “I’ll light up the fire again for you.”

Alana found a few herbs that had not dried off completely and crushed them in rocks to make seasoning. She prepared the fish and grilled it on the fire. Soon, they devoured it hungrily. And yet, it was not enough to satisfy them, so Tor volunteered to fish some more, and he caught three more fishes that received the same treatment.

“I feel guilty for eating all the fish so quickly,” Kassius muttered with his mouth full.

“What do you mean?” Alana asked, licking her fingers of the savoury oils.

“I mean, we should save some for later.”

“If we had salt,” Alana said.

“Should we go steal some salt?” Kassius wondered, scratching his growing beard.

“How?” she asked him.

“I don’t know.”

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“First, we should resolve about the sacred texts. And what about what Aranus said about the menhirs? I’ve never seen a menhir in the forest, ever.”

“Yes, that,” Kassius grabbed the fish’s spine with both hands and scraped it for the last crumbs of meat and swallowed it. He lay down on his back against a tree and yawned. “I think we should go at night.”

A clap rang through their ears. Tor was calling for their attention.

“What is it, Tor?” Alana asked.

Tor pointed at himself.

“You want?”

Tor gesticulated; he pointed at himself, then he stretched out his hand and using his fingers, imitated a person walking and retrieving something.

“No way, boy. We can't let you do it.”

Tor pointed at him, clenched both fists, put them together, and pulled his right arm back slowly.

“I think he means you should go with your bow,” Alana interpreted.

“Follow you with my bow and wait for you outside, is that what you mean?” Kassius asked.

Tor nodded.

“I think it’s better if we go at night, Alana and me. I don’t want you to get hurt any more than you are now. You know how cruel they are.”

Tor pressed his hands together, as if in prayer.

That boy was very persistent. Alana had thought she was reckless, but she could not compare with that boy. He wanted to do everything. Maybe Kassius was right, he was so rash he could get in trouble quite easily. She sighed. But at the same time, Kassius and her were fugitives. They had killed soldiers. Tor could still pass by as a normal boy.

“Kassius. I say we let him go,” Alana said. “Anyway, he's not going into a bandit's cave or anything. He just wants to sneak into a sanctuary and get some pieces of hemp paper. It's the easiest thing in the world.”

“Still, it's not safe,” Kassius said.

“What if we ask the gods? You know? Like when we used to go to war, and the Oracle had to tell us first?” Alana suggested, wiping her hand of the fish fat with a fallen leave.

Kassius sighed.

“That’s a good idea,” Kassius said. He stood up and decided for the most ancient and proven method. He grabbed three sticks, marked one with red ink and put them together in his hand, mixing them and hiding the red side.

“Goddess of fate, please indicate the right one to go.” He held them upright. Alana was the first to draw. It was a normal stick, she sighed in relief.

The next one to draw was Tor, he lifted it with his skinny but calloused fingers, and Kassius squeezed his lips when he saw the fresh red ink on the tip of the stick.

But the boy smiled as if he had earned a toy sword.

If Tor was going to be the one, they had to carry out the operation in open daylight. They walked from their camp toward the hill. From there, they could already see the village and smoking furnaces and chimneys. As they kept moving forward Alana noticed a piece of paper nailed to a tree. She raised an eyebrow.

“This wasn't here when we came.” Alana narrowed her eyes. “Look. This drawing looks like someone I know. What does it say?”

“Let me see,” Kassius approached and examined the sign. He opened his eye wide, as if in shock. “By Saturn's beard. That's me?”

“What?” Alana shook her head.

“Wanted for treason. Kassius Filus Marius Filusdyapitar. My gods. For a reward of fifty bronze coins.”

“No way,” Alana said, horrified.

“Well,” Kassius cleared his throat, then looked back at Alana. “It also accuses you of dishonouring the nation.”

“I don't care, but... Blast. This is not good.”

Tor stared at them with his hands on his hips.

“For sure. Now, if my dad finds out, he's going to kill me with his own hands.” Kassius blinked. Alana noticed tears gathering in his eyes.

Tor cleared his throat. Kassius looked at him and sighed.

“Well. Better be very careful,” he said. “And you'll let me write magical staves on your chest. You'll need their protection.”

“Kassius, we talked about that,” Alana said with a frown.

“So what? It worked for me when I went to see Grandfather. Boy, trust me on this one, sigils work.”

***

Tor had just been through the worst day of his life. His mother was still in hell, in other words, at the occupied village mill, the place he once called home. Father had died, and Tor could not get himself to see the body. He had not been able to cry but stared at the wooden walls for hours. Three old soldiers had been assigned to take care of the house. They did not know anything about how mills worked, and they broke two of the levers. They did not know how to repair them, either; but the worst part of it was seeing how his mother had been degraded into a slave. She was too old to be of any interest to the soldiers, and him; her miracle child, had been forced to wash the latrine.

When he sneaked out, a disgruntled soldier caught him and beat him with the broomstick. His bruises still hurt, and it would take days to heal.

There was nothing he wished more than to stab an Itruschian soldier in the eye and see him twist and turn in pain. He had loved to hear about how Alana killed that soldier. She had saved him. She was incredible. He had always admired her from afar. Her eyes so big and sweet, her hair like rays of sunlight. Her skin like marble. She was perfect, and after hearing about her bravery, he was completely enthralled.

Tor sighed. He wanted victory. Now, he had a wish. Father had always told him to never yield, that their people were born to be free; that their calling was to help others, like Alana had.

And Tor swore in his heart that he would do anything to honor his father’s words.

Kassius and Alana prayed for him, and Kassius drew a bizarre constellation on his chest.

“You are ready, boy. Take care,” Kassius said, he was as tall as a tower. Tor nodded in agreement.

Tor walked down through the woods to the lowest point of the village where the sanctuary stood, with pillars guarding the wooden walls built in Itruschian style. A soldier patrolled outside, leaning against a pillar, with an iron spear in hand. He seemed distracted, and the gates were wide open.

He noticed the guard’s eyes drifting toward him. Tor pretended to ignore him and started walking up the stone stairs. As he was about to enter, the guard called him.

“Hey, you!”

Tor turned. His heart started pounding.

“Registration,” the guard said.

Tor nodded, putting his hands up. The guard approached swiftly and registered him, then he signalled him to go inside. Tor bowed his head and entered. He sighed in relief as he solemnly passed through the threshold.

The atmosphere inside was unique, as sacred fires burned in altars of stone, and incense sticks distilled their sacred essence. Aranus stood above the atrium, preceded by stairs and two small pillars, as a procession of women waited for their turn to offer sacrifices and receive blessings. But with all that they had lost in those few days, there was nothing to sacrifice.

The boy followed the line of devotees, which in turn received a blessing and a word of fortune. When his time came, Tor bowed down at the foot of the staircase, extending his palm, revealing the sign that Kassius had drawn earlier in the day.

Elder Aranus towered over him from above. He stretched his hand and invited him to walk up. As he did, Aranus drew closer and whispered in his ear:

“The sacred texts are behind the altar. A secret entrance in the floor.”

Tor nodded graciously and walked down the place. He hid behind a pillar, and then rushed behind the curtain. He found a red carpet with a patterned design; underneath, he found a round entrance made of stone. He could not lift it with the strength of his arms, so he grabbed a spatula from the incense burner and used it as a shovel. It opened, revealing a dark hollow space and a ladder of iron bars stuck to the tunnel.

Tor did not like the dark. It reminded him of rats and cockroaches. He took a deep breath and stared into the dark abyss. He saw nothing.

He grasped the iron bars and started to descend. He should have brought a lantern, he thought. The process of going down seemed to take forever, and darkness enveloped him. He scanned the air, looking for sounds that should worry him, like squeaky rats or nasty critters, poisonous centipedes crawling about, or worse; snakes.

He kept going down. Anyway, he could easily get back. Just ten yards up, and he would be back in the temple.

He finally reached the bottom and dropped to the floor. The exit above him seemed like another abyss, like a moon made of red tiles.

He blinked and looked around. Nothing to be seen. He put his hands in the floor. There was only dust, no bugs. As his eyes adapted to the dark, he noticed a small tunnel. Even he had to kneel and crawl until the end. There, he felt the fragile sheets of a bound book with a leather cover. He extracted it quietly. That was it? Not hard a test at all. He put it under his shoulder and climbed up into the temple where the curtain still shielded him against the entrance and the guards. He quickly covered the entrance and took a step outside the curtain, back to where Aranus was standing.

He climbed down the stairs, the book bulging from inside the cloak.

Suddenly, his eyes met with those of the guard who was standing next to the door. The guard immediately lunged forward.

“Hey, kid, stop!” the guard yelled.

Tor panicked and started running the opposite way, as the attendees stopped their solemn march through the atrium to look around. Some of them fell to the ground, covering their heads, fearing another reprisal and massacre.

Tor rushed to the opposite side, pushing through the distressed old ladies. The soldier made a shortcut by running through the sacred stones, through the circular atrium. Tor ran with all his might, but the soldier caught him and grabbed him by the arm. The book dropped on the floor beneath, and Tor looked up into the soldier’s eyes in terror.

“You skunk! Do you know what the punishment for stealing is?” the soldier said, splattering spit over Tor’s face. “You’re gonna get your hand cut off, that’s what’s gonna happen.”

“What is this!” Aranus walked down the stairs, grasping the iron handrail. The guard pulled Tor to his feet.

“Leave the boy alone,” Aranus said. “He is no thief.”

The guard lifted the holy book in his right hand. He stared at its cover. “And what is this?”

“Leave him!” Aranus said. “He was not stealing. He is mute but is studying how to read and write. I let him come every week and dust off the library.”

The guard let go and stared down at the boy.

“You put this back,” he screamed at Tor. “If I see you again on my guard, I’m going to have you whipped. Understand?”

Tor nodded, unable to hide his trembling legs.

Tor walked toward the curtain, pretended to put it back, but instead, put the book under his toga, holding it beneath his lace belt, and then he walked down and headed toward the exit.

He walked swiftly, turning his back to the side. The attendants to the shrine remained quiet. The soldier walked outside, his armour clanking as he passed, and his eyes fixed on him.

Tor sighed. He had the book with him. It was time to go back.

As he was walking through the door. He heard the soldier’s voice again.

“You bloody skunk!”

Tor’s heartbeat jumped up and he started to run out like a madman. The soldier chased after him. People around him stared in shock as he rushed through the multitude.

“Thief!” the soldier shrieked behind him, but the disheveled women with bruised faces in the street had other things to worry about. Tor quickly turned his head and saw the soldier pushing through them.

Suddenly, he felt the book’s weight being released from him. He had dropped it. He turned quickly and reached for the floor to grab it, but now the multitude passed by over it, blocking his steps. He looked from side to side and threw himself to the floor. He grabbed it quickly, but the soldier was already a few yards away.

He started to run again, now through the straw huts. He saw two soldiers sitting on the steps of the late chieftain’s home, drinking from a clay vase, and beyond, the forest of high leafless trees and evergreens. He could not stop.

He rushed through the last few houses and felt a slight relief as he dashed into the woods, but his persecutor had only gained an advantage. Tor turned around swiftly, the soldier was running incessantly. Suddenly, Tor tripped over a root and crashed down. He turned in terror and had not managed to get up when the soldier was already on top of him, and his calloused hands started pressing against his neck.

“You thought I was stupid, didn’t you, skunk?” The soldier stared at him with evil and hate in his reddened blue eyes.

He pressed harder, and Tor waved his feet furiously. Tor grasped the soldier’s leather wristbands, trying in vain to take him off. The pain was unbearable, and he desperately gasped for air. Then, he felt strangely relaxed, as his consciousness faded to black.