The year is 44 B.C and Cystennin is on a mission direct from The Throne of Grace. With Julius Caesar dead and the Senate in strife, Rome's destiny falls to one man - Gaius Octavius. Cystennin's mission is all but simple. He must oversee the founding and creation of one of the world's greatest empires. Rome.
Join Cystennin as he recounts his fights in one of Octavius's legions in the scorching deserts of Egypt and struggles with the spiritual consequences of his actions.
Issues: Ongoing
Author: Aron Preece
Click the 'Read' button in order to display the chapters.
"My name is Cystennin. At the time of writing, I am 953 years of age. I am Ceidwaid - a group of immortals dedicated to keeping the balance of both good and evil and I have a gift. The power of using and controlling fire. I have been given but one task, to supervise the founding and rise of one of the world's greatest empires: Rome."
A man cloaked by the shade provided by the spiralling towers of Rome looks forward as a large procession marches past. Roman legionaries, dressed in polished silver armour with glistening red features. In the middle of this cohort, being carried by the strongest of the soldiers, was a wooden bier, carrying a body draped in purple. The man lowers his hood and turns his head, continuing to watch the soldiers march past in rhythm. He brushes his hand through his blonde hair and proceeds to stalk the cohort through the side passageways. Slowly squeezing his way past the mourning mob, he reaches the front and fits himself in a gap next to a few onlookers. "Made it then, Lucius?" Cystennin says, his eyes still focused on the cohort. "Of course, Constantine. You know me as punctual when it comes to time." The two lean into the stone fence and look up towards an altar. The cohort just finished placing the bier down onto it.
A man, dressed in elegant toga and golden armour steps up to the bier and gives a mighty tug to the rough, off-white Egyptian cotton that covered the body. "So it really is him." Cystennin followed with, after a sharp gasp. He hadn't believed the rumours, that mighty, undefeatable Dictator of Rome had truly died. "Caesar..." Lucius says, his skin pricked with goosebumps of fright. The elegant man turned to the crowd and bellowed "Friends! Romans! Countrymen! Lend me your ears!" as the man rallies the crowd even more so, Cystennin leans in closer to the side of Lucius and whispers inquisitively "What happens now?" Lucius perches an eyebrow high and ponders, staring off for before replying in a hushed voice. "I assume Antony here will finish his eulogy and enter the political race to become the consul or dictator. Whatever word the Senate wishes to use this time."
As the speech progressed, the crowd was becoming more agitated. Anger was cast upon their face and their knuckles became white from a tight grip. The situation worsened when Antony placed his hands firmly on the purple toga that covered Caesar's lifeless corpse and tore it off, revealing twenty three precise stabs to the torso, the blood had dried and crusted around the punctures, drawing in all sorts of parasitic incests to pick at the scab. The crowd gasped and drowned in a wave of disgust. Two-thirds of the Roman populace saw Caesar as their champion and that a group of aristocrats deemed him a tyrant was borderline social blasphemy. Antony knew how much Caesar was revered and used this to his advantage. Representatives from nearly every tribune and assembly watched and shared the anger of the citizens. Cystennin tilts towards Lucius once more and asks one simple question. "And what of Octavius?"
Lucius became increasingly hesitant and distant with each question. The man he knew as Constantine was a stranger, from the island of Britannia. Formerly a slave too. They share a house and business in the outer urban rings of Rome but not once has Constantine displayed interest in politics or Caesar. "I assume he'll work with Marc Antony here." he replies back, with a small, brief gesture towards the speaker. "Very well." Cystennin replies with, looking down at his feet, pulling out a beige piece of paper with strange symbols burnt into it. The crowd was almost at bursting point. Accusations began to be shouted that it was the senators who are the tyrants. Antony took this and refined it. Before long, the crowd demanded their heads - to which Antony promised.
"The men who have done Rome this wrong shall be put to justice!" he cried out, a few men in the back look to one another nervously. "You will hear that Caesar wanted to be king, yet I offered a crown worthy of a king thrice, and thrice he dismissed it from my hands." Antony continues. "What's more is the contents of his will!" the crowd jumped at the bit. "Read the will!" they cried and Antony was exceptionally happy to read it out. "To my adopted son; Octavius, I leave my coffers and the glory of being my heir. To my friend; Marc Antony, I bestow you the honour and command of my legions. To my people; sons and daughters of Rome, I promise you land and a gift of one hundred Aureus!" the crowd was now up in arms, urging each other to find the assassins and to kill them. A few manipulations of some words quickly made Caesar an even more venerated leader. "Here is Caesar, when shall another worthy of his name come?" Antony says, with a flourish worthy of the theatre. Cystennin walked off down a cobbled, dry and dusty street to the echoing shouts of "Hail Caesar!"
Cystennin thought deeply on his journey, he knew that Antony had lied and manipulated the real will, but this was good. In fact, this was excellent. His feet brushed continually against the pebbles of the roads and his arms drooped from the strong, Mediterranean sun. Ahead stood an impressive house, with it's own gardens and outer walls. It was the former, urban home of Caesar, now occupied by a grieving family. Cystennin looked upon from the safety of the road, getting close would result in an undignified scramble with the guards. However, this was an old building. It had many flaws. Several bricks were loose and the plaster was weak. Susceptible to fire too. Cystennin snuck to the side, a small, grass covered path led to the back of the villa. "Perfect." he said to himself, gazing upon the cracked, vine infested wall. He placed his hands in the crack of the wall and closed his eyes.
The plaster melted and the bricks fell away. Cystennin quickly shook his flaming hands off. He sucked his stomach in and squeezed through the gap, wiggling around like a worm in the dirt. Eventually he plopped out in a hallway, quickly spinning his head to check if there was no one around. He clambered out of the dusty crevice and walked through the hall. Cystennin was no stranger to breaking in houses and knew the layout of even the most grandest villas by hand. He got further down the hall when he spotted two magnificent oak doors. No time to knock, he had to get in. He swings the door open with a violent force and stood on ceremony, waiting for the guards. Two steel tipped spears cross his chest and a Gladius to his neck. "Who are you and what on Neptune's trident do you want?" a young voice spoke from across the room. The young boy, a mere late teenager spun around on his heels, wiping a single tear away. Cystennin spoke gently, raising his arms to show he did not pose a threat.
"It's not what I want, it's what you want." he said, cryptically. This peaked his interest. He slowly steps towards Cystennin, who was still dressed in his cloak. Hesitantly, he stood by the captain of the guard and peered under the hood. The guards remained hostile, but Cystennin had enough. A bright red light shone from his face, temporarily blinding the captain and melting the steel in a few seconds. His hands now glowing bright red, he snatched the sword off the captain and broke it, showing no pain despite his hands being on fire. A quick shake and they were extinguished. "What are you?!" the man asked, trembling with fear as he quickly made his retreat to the far end of the room. "I am..." Cystennin said, lowering his hood. "Cystennin." he finished with. "And what are you? Gaul? Greek? Illyrian?" the young man asked. "Briton." Cystennin quickly replied with, helping up the captain, still dazed from the events.
"And how can you do that?" the young man asked, pointing at Cystennin's hands. "I can't tell you." Cystennin says, with a smirk. "What I can tell you is, I'm here to help you. To avenge Caesar and to fulfil your destiny, Octavius." he continues. "How do you know my name?" Octavius asks. "What if I told you I can forge a sword that will ensure eventual victory?" he says, ignoring Octavius's enquiry. "I'd tell you you're either crazy or a damn good blacksmith." he states, sitting down at a table, no longer feeling threatened. Cystennin also sits in front of him. "I'll help you avenge Caesar, I'll help you expand the Republic. But I need one thing." Cystennin said eagerly. "And that is?" Octavius asked, pouring himself some wine. "Your potential." Cystennin answered slowly, confusing the young Octavius. "I don't understand." Octavius said, looking at Cystennin in confusion. "Let's just say, these next twenty years are going to be interesting."
"So what do I need to do for this legacy?" Octavius said, leaning in and brushing the bottle of wine to his side. "Take power in the Senate. Form an alliance with Antony and Lepidus. Wield my sword in each battle you bestow your grace upon." Cystennin's eyes glowed yellow. "How fast can you make this sword?" Octavius said, his voice slurred. "It's in my backpack now." Cystennin said, unbuckling the bag and sliding it across. "With it, your body will be impervious, your word undeniable." Octavius picked up the hilt of the sword and admired it. It was finished with gold and ruby stones in a circle, roughly 3 centimetres apart. "Deal." Octavius said, attaching the sword to his belt and rising from his seat. "I'll speak with Antony tonight." he continues, facing the wall. "Could you see yourself out? I have a lot to think abou-" abruptly stopping his conversation as he turns around, Cystennin was gone.
Cystennin arrived at his dwelling, a small shack at the back of a blacksmiths. "So the Briton returns." Lucius says, stepping out of the shack, holding a clay bowl full of a grime coloured liquid. Lucius was an odd man, his hair was short and dusty brown and stood 6 foot and highly eccentric, his eyes were devoid of any colour, pure white. "I had to meet someone." Cystennin said, as he sat on a stump of a log facing a small fire. "Oh?" Lucius asked, his voice strained with anxiousness. "Found a buyer for that 'magic sword' that was in the basement." Cystennin said, lying through his teeth. "Oh good. Finally have some more room down there." Lucius laughed, his tone eased. "How'd the ceremony go?" Cystennin asked, picking a bowl up and a rough, jaggedy spoon. The grime coloured liquid, upon closer inspection, was actually some sort of broth. "It turned sour not long after you left. Octavius turned up and started... what's the term? Playing up?" Lucius said, stiring his broth around.
"How so?" Cystennin asked intrigued. "Starting shouting at the Senators that they were involved in the assassination and that Antony failed to protect Caesar. There's talks that Brutus and Cassius have fled Roma to go East." Lucius said, his eyes lift up from the fire. "That seems very guilty." jested Cystennin, who's remark was met with a sharp, cold snappy reply. "Do you dare insinuate that they killed Caesar?" Lucius barked. Cystennin's face froze in suspension, his arms lowered. "I'm just fooling around. I'm not implying anything." Cystennin said, recovering from his social faux pas. This rabid defense of the Senators sparked thoughts in Cystennin's mind; although Lucius was of Roman origin, he wasn't part of the patrician class. Therefore no reason to defend them. He had not shown any love nor interest to them either. Lucius's temper calmed eventually.
"I... apologise for my actions. It's just one ought not insult the upper classes of Rome, the Amphitheatre awaits those who do. You'd do well to remember that." Lucius said, adjusting his workman's tunic while standing. "I thank you for the advice." Cystennin said, his hands wrapped around the bright, scorching red flame of the small, circular log fire. The flames lick at his fingers, yet he does not flinch or whimper. They simply seem to absorb into his fingers, Lucius observes and spoke. "You have a gift with fire, don't you? I'm envious, I run this forge yet I do not have a fire." Cystennin smirks and lifts his head. "Fire flares through every fibre of every living being. Whether as passion or sinful lust, we each have a fire. You'd do well to remember that!" he spoke, raising his hand away from the fire, not even a soot stain. "Yes, I bet." Lucius said with a laugh before getting up and walking into the shack.
"Everything okay?" Cystennin asked, listening to the rustling and crashing from the insides. It was night time, Lucius could barely see and had the grace of an elephant. "Never better!" bellowed Lucius, eventually surfacing from the small shack, holding two satchels and a rucksack. "Going places?" he asked, with an eyebrow perched. "I'm going to visit my sister, in Graecia, I'm going to meet her at Athens." Lucius said, adjusting his straps. "Graecia? I hear it's quite nice this time of year. I'm the envious one now!" Cystennin said, finishing his broth, his face quickly turned sour. Lucius was many things; a good cook, he was not. "So, I'm quite intrigued, who was this person you sold that sword too?" Lucius asked, leaning against the near by tree. "You'll never believe me Lucius." Cystennin said, hesitantly. Judging by Lucius's demeanour, he had deceptive intentions.
"Oh go on, do tell." Lucius said softly. Although his eyes were pure white, Cystennin could still see the suspicion. Not wanting to lie again, he sighs to himself and said affirmatively. "It was Octavius." Cystennin's face was blank, emotionless. He felt as if he had betrayed Octavius's trust when suddenly, a storm of laughter crashed down. Lucius was almost rolling on the floor, struck with hysterics. "Like a freedman like you could ever get near to that side of town." Cystennin's face blushes. He was struck with embarrassment. He wasn't used to being treated with disrespect like this. "Yeah, fooled you good, d-didn't I." he said with a slight stammer. "I best be off." Lucius said, tapping Cystennin on the shoulder. "Aelius will be round in the morning to take over the day-to-day operations." Lucius said, waving behind his back. "So long and safe travels." Cystennin says, walking into the shack and slumping down in the cheaply made hammock. His eyes shut slowly, like the setting sun.
By the next morning, Lucius was gone. For a week he travelled by land and by sea to reach Athens. But when he arrived, there was no catching up to do and there was no relatives to meet. It had all been a ruse. He shuffled through the sideways of this great, Greek city and arrived at a small building. There was nothing special about this building from the exterior, made from plaster and stone, like many others in Athens. But it really isn't what's on the outside that matters, but the inside. Lucius straddles up to the door and knocks in a peculiar system. A two-four-two percussion knock, before the semi-eroded door is pealed back, faint candle light is visible as a hooked nose wraps itself around the corner. "Yes?" an old voice asks, resisting the urge to reveal himself. His voice rattled with nervousness, something was wrong. "It's I, Lucius. Merchant of Roma."
The door swung open viciously. "I thought I told you never come here!" the old man shouts. His face now, unfortunately visible. His neck had become a nest of wrinkles and raised veins and his eye sockets receded and his prominent nose, in all of its ghastly details was that worthy of a Turkey. Lucius planted his foot in the doorway, preventing closure. "There's been devolpment. You need to hear this." he said, sternly. He had a long journey, almost without break. The thought of being blocked by this old malignant fool was unthinkable. "Let the boy come in, Marcus - or should that be Quintus now?" a distant voice said, followed by a dry laugh. The old man reluctantly opened the door. Not giving Lucius enough time, he drags him in with a heavy tug to the shoulder and slams the door shut. "Well, nice to see you too, Brutus." spoke Lucius, voice wrought with sarcasm.
"And what about me, or am I unmissable?" a laughing voice says from a distant room. Lucius walked in with stride and turned to his immediate right and spoke "It would be hard for one to miss you, Cassius." Cassius laughed heartily. "Was that referring to my stature a man or as a friend?" he asked with a smile. "Both! You need to lay off the Senatorial diet." Lucius says, dragging a chair back and sitting at the side of the table. Amongst him were toga wearing scholarly, middle aged men and a few plain clothes guards. "What's the deal with them?" Lucius asked, jutting his head towards one of the guards. "Oh they're street urchins we pay handsomely to keep the riff-raff away. They don't speak a word of Latin, have to use that vulgar language Greek around them." Cassius said, expressing his heavy dislike of Greek.
"You never did like Greek, did you brother?" Lucius asked, twiddling his thumbs waiting for Brutus to gather everyone to the table. "Never," Cassius said passionately. "Their alphabet is too hard to look at." he finished with as Brutus slithers in to sit. "So what have you brought with you to tell us?" Brutus asked, his voice was reminiscent of hundred hornets slamming against glass. "You remember that Briton I told you about, Constantine?" Lucius asked, looking around at the table. "Aye." the conspirators said. "You finally got that slughead to join?!" Brutus asked bitterly. He did wished only for Romans to join in as part of the Liberators. "No no, I fear he might've gone against us." Lucius said solemnly. Although his sorrow wasn't the fact he had to betray his friend, but the fact he must endure another lecture from the posionous tongue of Brutus. "I told you! I told you!" Brutus cried, like a priest upon the apocalypse.
"Sit down you raving old coot!" Lucius shouts, the conversation stops abruptly. "I apologise, but you continually test my patience, Brutus. I joined your little assassination for one reason, not to march to Athens everytime my lodger does something suspicious." Lucius continued. "You all remember the sword of Jupiter, yes?" he asked the group, Cassius speaks up, to confirm his thoughts. "You mean that sword? The one that your Briton 'friend' forged for Caesar?" Lucius nodded. "Yes. Although I personally don't believe it has any relation to Jupiter, there is something... powerful about it. And he told me he sold it." Lucius continues, sipping some wine. "To who?!" Cassius shouts. Brutus face pales like a Germania winter. This was bad news. Terrible even, and it was only going to get worse from here. "... Octavius." the Liberators were shocked. "Then you must get it back. Kill the Briton. If he has forged it, the power of the sword ends with him!"
"My name is Cystennin. At the time of writing, I am 953 years of age. I am Ceidwaid - a group of immortals dedicated to keeping the balance of both good and evil and I have a gift. The power of using and controlling fire. I have been given but one task, to supervise the founding and rise of one of the world's greatest empires: Rome."
The blazing hot sun gazed down on the fortress of Pelusium. The streets were empty, stalls deserted and decimated. Pelusium was taken quickly, no blood spilt on the sand at all, yet there was fear striking the air. Octavius's troops frequently marched through the fortress town, striking people down to their feet, this was occupation. Pelusium stood on the border of Egypt, Antony's final haven. For 2 years, Antony was branded as a traitor in the Republic for his defection to the Egyptian Queen, Cleopatra. Hostility in the town was rife, with everyone accusing everyone else of being a traitor. Traitors to Antony, traitors to Octavius. Yet it had all dispersed once Octavius had arrived. His voice carried reason and gentleness, which swayed even the most fierced critic against Roman occupation. Outside the town, to the west, stood several camps and Roman forts. Each housing a legion which swore to Octavius and to Rome.
Cystennin sat upon a dusty, cracked roof of a house. He opened his tan, leather rucksack and buried his hand deep in it, searching for something. At last he pulled out a bundle of torn, scraggy parchment and pulled out a quil, pre-inked and ready. He flips through the notes of his diary and begins to write. "It's been some fourteen years since I met Octavius. Not ong after the disappearance of my old friend, Lucius, I was conscripted into the Legion. I did not object, as I needed to keep an eye on Octavius and ensure the end goal is met. He remembered my face and assigned me to his own cohort. A true honour to serve under an Emperor to be. Tomorrow we march to Alexandria but I fear the sword's power is too much for him. The Romans strangely call my masterpiece the sword of Jupiter. The power that radiates from it is starting to effect Octavius and his thoughts. I have no doubt he is defiling an Egyptian maiden right now!"
Cystennin lowers his quil and sighs before speaking to himself in a desperate tone. "Why, oh why, couldn't Bedwyr have taken this assignment. I would've happily have gone to M-" his rant is cut off as a patrol of Roman soldiers march under him. "Briton!" one cried up. "Octavius wishes to see you." he continued. His voice pounded heavily on Cystennin's ears and was thick with disrespect. "Thank you for informing me." Cystennin replied back down, straining with holding his temper back. Even in Chadeirlan, the lowliest servant was treated with the respect of a king. Cystennin tucked his quil and book back into his rucksack and clambers down the crumbly facade of the dirty house. His sandals press into the piles of sand that dot the cracked road. The long march to the gate seemed endless for the soldiers behind him and in front. Their foreheads dripped with sweat like the most fierce April shower.
"Briton, how do you not suffer?" one of the exhausted soldiers asked, his voice hoarse. Cystennin smirked as he looked at his skin, a small aura was glowing around him. "I'm quick to adapt." he said, scooting past. Cystennin's powers allowed him to simply absorb heat and flames. Cystennin pushed through the debilitated legionaries and ducked through the malformed, wooden gate. He stood tall, overlooking the Roman camp from the hill he mounted. It was a fairly standard Roman camp, large spikes crafted from tree trunk, leather tents and officer dwellings. In the centre, there was no assembly ground, but a very large building. Too grand for a tent, almost a portable villa. For this was the temporary residence of Octavius. As he made his way down the sandy, unstable hill, the gates swung open and a wall of Roman cavalry was standing on guard to the path to Octavius's command centre.
Four muscled, scarred, tall Centurions stood by the entrance of the tent. Octavius's personal bodyguard. However, instead of standing proud and wearing a chiselled face, they were different. Their heads were held down, redfaced and uneased. Cystennin walked up close to them and asked, his voice pipped with concern. "Is everything okay?" one bodyguard looked up. "They claim you are a wise man. If you are truly a wise man, you should wait another ten minutes." he said, his voice leaked with disgust. "And why's that?" Cystennin replied with, assuming it was an attack against his status. "Consul Octavius is... entertaining the locals." a third bodyguard spoke. Cystennin sighed and firmly placed his palm upon his forehead. "Please may I enter?" the bodyguards held up the curtain for Cystennin to walk in. "Oh dear..." he muttered to himself.
Lying down in a slightly stained silk bedsheet was Octavius and a local Egyptian woman. Cystennin's suspicions were right. "OH!" Octavius shouted at the top of his voice, scrambling to pull up the bedsheet over him and his companion. "C-cystennin. I uhm." he continued, clearing his throat. "Didn't see you there. I'm glad you're here. This is uh.. uh..." he finished with, stumbling while trying to recall his bed friend's name. "Ai." the woman said. "Charmed to meet you." Cystennin said, averting his eyes. A pious man should never find time to oggle. "I'll be over here." he continued, shuffling out of the main chamber into a side room, with three chairs and a table. The room was dusty. The walls were a dull sandstone and the candles had been blown out by the strong winds.
Octavius sauntered in, adjusting his robe. "I am so sorry you had to witness that, my friend." he said, sitting on one of the chairs, his face was a complex combination of smug and guilty. "Now, Consul. You summoned me and I do believe it wasn't to say hello to Ai." Cystennin said, his index fingers placed across his lips. An embarrassed chuckle slips out of Octavius before he readjusts himself. "Tomorrow is the day we strike, Cystennin. I must ask you for something." His voice was strained and heavy. "I know that you have gifts that no one in the world has seen. And because of that, I must ask you turn them to war." he continued. "Just outside Alexandria, there is a small settlement. Antony is there. Along with someone else you know. Antony... Can't leave alive." Octavius finished with, slumping in his chair. His finger on his eyelashes, catching a sole tear.
"You're asking me to kill Antony?!" Cystennin asked in shock. "Yes..." Octavius replied solemnly. Cystennin's pupils became wide. His heart rate elevated faster than a leaping toad. It was a long time since he struck another human down. "So be it." he said, snapping out of his distant gaze. "Good luck on your siege tomorrow." Cystennin said, grabbing an axe he spotted at the side of the wall. "Do you have any use for this?" he said, admiring the craftsmanship. "No, none at all. Why?" Octavius asked, his eyebrow perched. His blood pressure raises. "What in Jupiter is he thinking of doing?!" he thought to himself, his hearing muffled and vision blurred. His face twitched repeatedly and he bent his elbow under the table and reached for an emergency dagger. "Hm? Oh I need something to... do the deed." Cystennin said, walking out the door. "Take care." he said, but there was no response.
Cystennin sighed deeply. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He slung the axe over his back and floated like dust in the desert to the makeshift stables. In the corner of the shoddy shack, stood a rotten pole. Fixed with a dirty beige cord, stood a Donkey. "Stable master?" Cystennin asked curiously, clearing his throat beforehand. "Hm?" a quick grunt was heard. The clumsy, bulky stable master shook and shuddered out of the stables, smashing over pots. "Can I help?" he asked, taking the straw out of his short, black hair. "May I borrow the Donkey?" Cystennin said, pointing towards the old animal. "You want that? Be my guest." The Stable master said, "It's not like you can have any other animal, freeman." He followed with, arrogantly. Cystennin took the Donkey and rode off into the sweltering sun towards the city of Tanta.
The red ichor dripped from the dirty, stained fingers of a man, hunched over the pale corpse of a Roman footsoldier. "You did what needed to be done, Lucius." a voice said, reassuringly sinister. "These scouts got too close to our operations. No one can blame you for defending our interests." the voice continued, stressing the joint involvement of both him and Lucius. "And what is our operation, Antony? Hm?" Lucius snapped back, bitterly. "All you do is mention how important it is to stop Octavius. But never why!" A figure in a black and red robe stepped closer to Lucius, dropping his hood. He towered over Lucius and had his teeth bared. "You want to know why it's so important? Look to yourself, to your family - or rather, your dead." Lucius shrinked back into his shoulders. "Octavius is so focused on avenging Caesar, he'll kill the entire Senate should they attempt to stop him. He caused the deaths of Brutus and Cassius. Open your damn eyes!"
"He didn't cause the deaths. He ordered it. I was there, that Briton did the deed!" Lucius protested. "Then prove your loyalty to me and to the true Rome, you brat. The Briton comes forth, seeking to kill us. But you'll go to the dunes and stop him." Antony said, his sweat drips onto the floor, sizzling with aggression. He rotated his head and looked towards a crumbling plaza. "Have you ever seen a row of Egyptian archers, Lucius? They can hit anything anywhere. Take them, finish him. Without Octavius's lap dog, his assault on Alexandria will falter, his swords will break and his chariots shattered." Lucius got off the floor and dried his hands. "So be it. And never again shall you even consider my loyalty to be weak." Lucius stormed away and grabbed his helmet to address the archer cohort, bestowed to him by Antony.
"Win or die, Lucius. Win or die." Antony said to himself, his brow furrowed south and his eyebrows bent. Lucius paced back and forth, his sword dragging against the plaza. "I've been told that you are the best archers in the World, well I've got a job for you to do well and fast. We march East to confront a single man, possibly the most powerful to soil the sands beneath our feet. Make no mistake, his powers are sickly, his steel damning. You will shoot every arrow in your quiver into his chest. Now march!" The neatly organised column of archers start moving like the current in the Nile. Unlike regular soldiers, however, their armour was tanned and yellow. They blended into the desert as if they were grains of dust. Nor were there any banners or vexilla.
As he rode across the dunes of the Egypt, Cystennin turned to the skies. The clouds formed over the Sun and caused a darkness to swoop the land, only his path was illuminated. He had a moment to think to himself, to ponder his life and to reflect on what he had done for the greater good. He opened up his satchel bag and started flicking through the now dirty leather pages of his journal and started to read a passage from some years back, in the autumn of 42 B.C. The death of Cassius, Lucius's relative. His fingers trembled with guilt as his eyes sped through the words, all blurring into each other. He tilted his head upwards once more and howled a cry, before talking to himself. "Why must I fight? To spill the blood of those who have done wrong? I wish to restore balance, not to dig graves of wrong-doers!" Cystennin said with a weep when the clouds above parted like a stage curtain.
The light became focused, as if there was nothing else to absorb the merciless light around him. While he expected a moment of spiritual clarity or a booming voice of reassurance, he noticed that the light hadn't been attracted to him, rather to the dunes above. The light split into smaller beams, eighty in number. But the beam continued to split and reduce in size, numerous beams now littered the horizon and filled Cystennin's heart with a dreadful fear. He was riding to the culmination of his duty, and of his life. He dismounted his Donkey and looked to his rear, towards the left was an oasis, with slight shade and grass. "Go and be free. Follow me no more." Cystennin said patting the ears of the Donkey as he rode away. Cystennin unsheathed his axe and adopted a crouching stance, shuffling up the dunes of sand, with lumps falling away beneath his heavy stomps.
At the top of the dune, Cystennin precariously gazed over and under. Against the backdrop of weathered sandstone walls and mounds of sand, marched a column of men. Armed with daggers and studded shields. On their flags waving high in the sky was the insignia of Marc Antony. For the first time in his life, sweat formed on the tensed brow of Cystennin, dripping onto the sand which hadn't seen rain nor any liquid in millennia. Cystennin tightened his grip on his axe and unravelled the leather straps which held it in place. He had now realised the very importance of the Sunlight. It wasn't guiding him, but showing up. His eyes became narrow with concentration as he squinted through the wind, his eyes burnt with each fleck of sand that slapped his pupils like a barbarian. He decided to shimmy across the dune and roll down a more stable looking section, out of side from the marching column.
As Cystennin tumbled down the sand, his back bounced off a large rock and sent him spinning off course. His bones cracked with stomach retching sounds as he hit more stones and pebbles before gliding down behind a wall that once supported a long forgotten house. "Uhhhh." Cystennin groaned with pain, he turned his head slowly, listening to it snap back into place and his eyes caught his axe. The axe was old and blunt at best, but it was made out of solid metal, until now. Crumpled up against the wall, as if it were thrown from Greece, the metal had split into fragments, reflecting the retreating light off its surface. "Well isn't that fantastic(!)" Cystennin muttered, bitterly with a strong exhale of breath before slowly rising to his feet. He looked around his surroundings and thought to himself ways to escape, a way of surviving this encounter, but everything he thought of would never work.
"So it's a crucible then." Cystennin said to himself, crawling to the wall. Under the shade of the wall, he curled himself up against it and picked up the metal fragments. The wood was rotten and discoloured, no point in using that. He looked at the shards and laid them out in a crude style, resembling that of a prehistoric flint axe. He rubbed his hands with intense vigour, his wounded muscles cried from stress as his hands burst into flames. "Please work... Please work." Cystennin said, his voice strained with desperation. His fingers glided over the gaps of the fragments, to which his fiery hands melted the metal into a scorching liquid, it met in the middle and soldered it all together. Cystennin flicked his wrists, extinguishing the flames before looking at the wall, passing the time as his metal lump cooled and solidified. The wall was old and encarved with an inscription, the hieroglyphs were chiselled out, but one sentence remained. "He who rises up."
The metal had cooled down, he clutched the lump and slowly rose to his feet. Inspired and motivated by what he had read, Cystennin got up and walked. The pillar of soldiers had long left, but the beam of lights had not. Something was still wrong. As he trampled over the small piles of sand, he noticed something spectacular ahead of him. A small pyramid, surrounded by twelve pillars. Each coloured with something different, and even though the sand had chipped away at many relics, this one remained vibrant and pure. The pillars weren't impressive in size however, some eleven cubits tall. The pyramid itself was two toned, the bottom half was blacker than the night sky, yet the top half was an immaculate calming white. He took some time to admire the odd scale of the pyramid, around 25 cubits, it was oddly small. But then he realised what it was, the clashing black and white, the vibrant colours that dotted the pillar. It was a temple.
Cystennin snapped out of his admiring and shook his head, he was feeling dizzy and sick in the scorching sun. But then he noticed the rays of light were getting brighter and thicker. His skin became pricked with goosebumps and his chest tightened. The rhythmical pounding of his heart was deafened out by something louder, the drums of war. He rushed to the cover of the nearby sand bank but it was too late. The screams of arrows being unfastened struck the skyline, as it it were hail being casted down, the ground around Cystennin was dotted by arrows. "Uhn..." He groaned. His arms became weak, he fell to his knees. He looked down and his chest had been pierced. His chest became that of a valley and the blood was the water. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he dipped his fingers in his own life force and started writing mysterious symbols on the sand. "Forgive me, for I have failed." Cystennin said, with a gasp. As his eyes fell shut, the sky darked. The clouds span in a flurry of angry as the sky above Cystennin separated.
The archers had fear arc throughout their bodies, as if it were lightning. In a panic, they started to scream, shout and drop their weapons and quivers. They fled backwards, tripping over eachother. Lucius's horse bolted away. "Get back here you jackal fearing bow slingers." He demanded, stomping a foot into the ground in frustration, but quickly felt a wind lashing his back. He turned around to see what appeared to be a tornado around the body of Cystennin. Lucius screamed and ran. "WAIT UP!" he pleaded with his men. The sun beam now focused itself upon the corpse of Cystennin. He lied on the ground, his blood drying. All he could think of was his failures in life, but not his successes. A few minutes pass and he noticed that nothing was happening, his body still limp when suddenly, a horrific screech echoed throughout the world. Two figures marched through the cone of wind, with four feathers attached to their head and one with skin of azure. But the feature Cystennin focused on was a glowing symbol of a tornado on the cheek of these men. "He who rises." Cystennin said, blacking out as his body was picked up...
"My name is Cystennin. At the time of writing, I am 953 years of age. I am Ceidwaid - a group of immortals dedicated to keeping the balance of both good and evil and I have a gift. The power of using and controlling fire. I have been given but one task, to supervise the founding and rise of one of the world's greatest empires: Rome."
Cystennin's body hung pathetically in the sandstone tomb, his brifen dull and untouched. The drab, orange candle light was all that illuminated the room. The joints of the walls had been cut hastily and lacked any form of bonding agent. The tiles that made up the floor was cracked badly, with large gaps and slits dotted around the room, as big as an entire leg in places. Against the back wall stood a proud statue of Anubis, delicately constructed from black granite with silver eyes and obsidian pupils. Propped against the feet was a sunken bed, carrying the body of Cystennin. Upon his chest, Cystennin wore his wounds. An intricate field of cotton had covered them, holding the blood in. The silk cloth that drapped over the entrance was pulled back with strong vigour. Shuffling feet slide across the cracked floor as men in golden trimmed, black velvet robes position themselves around the bed.
The robes are dropped in synchronisation, they glide down through the cracks into the reservoir below. The six figures pull out golden staves and tap them twice, the staves used are quite peculiar, smelted from nothing but pure gold and dressed with lapis finishings. Stretching almost 4 cubits high, the top of them remains flat and boasts a unique crystal. The colours flare from person to person, blues, reds, greens and yellows are all present. A seventh member strides in, taking centre position in the split arch of mysterious figures and lowers only her hood. Her face is that of tanned caramel, with dark eye shadow pressed around her eyes, she raises her hands above her head and opens her mouth slowly, exhaling passionately. "Are we ready to begin the ceremony?" She asks, her voice sharp as a Scorpion's tail.
The rest of the figures began to hold their staves up, the lights that radiated from the crystals now focus into a beam that penetrates the eyes of Anubis. Lighting the room up in a strong, snow white flare. They kneel onto the floor and clasp their hands together, the staves stand by their own accord. "O, glorious father. We kneel before you to beg for our forgiveness but also to guide our fellow warrior's soul back to us so he may serve once more." They chant in rehearsed union. A strong wind blew into the chamber, followed by the lights extinguished as if they are nothing but ants beneath a foot of a giant. The eyes of Anubis flare in a bright glow of red, before a swirl of cloudy vapour is funneled down into the body of Cystennin. The sudden storm comes to an immediate stop. Within seconds, the haggered corpse of Cystennin rises strongly from the bed and he gazes at the people before him.
Cystennin quickly dropped to his knees as he bellows out a harrowing wail. His skin explodes into flames, as all the candles near by catch on fire, the wax quickly melts down to the wicker core. Rings of flames pound around Cystennin as his Brifen begins to light up once more. The flames split and twist around the strange people as if they are nothing more than a trickle of water against a mighty wall of rock. Cystennin's yowls stop as he raises his head, his hair slightly crisp from the fire. The woman steps forward, taking her cloak off. She was an icon of perfection, with bluish black hair, pupils as alluring and deep as the Mediterranean. Her dress was simple, a mere burnt orange tunic and elaborate Scorpion bracelets attached to her wrists. Her posture swayed with each step she took, as if she was bashed by the overwhelming waves of energy. "Who are you, young one?" she asks carefully.
"I am Cystennin. Ceidwaid of Cambria. And who might you be?" he says, in equal apprehension while wearing a fake smile. "I am Selket. Ceidwaid of Kemet. Welcome to our palace." She responds, adjusting her hair to reveal the brifen of a Scorpion and a vivid backdrop of emerald green. Cystennin refocused his eyes and looked at the others in the room with him. Two of which step forward to greet him, both with four grand feathers attached to their heads. "Greetings, Cystennin. I am Shu, this is Amun." he says, extending his arm across to a towering blue skinned man who nods towards him, trying to smile but can't. Cystennin rubbed his eyes and looked carefully. "Where is his mouth?" he asks, brashly and without thought. "It's a long story, one perhaps more suited to discussion else where. Please, follow me to your quarters." Shu says, helping Cystennin walk out of the hall.
The long halls were coated with granuals of sand. Every step taken echoed out against the hieroglyphic wall. Grand statues of humanoids stood proud, each one sunken into a recess and carved out of the darkest granite avaliable. But there was a grand curiosity associated with nearly every statue - almost all were decapitated. Cystennin turned to his escort, Shu and spoke "Why the lack of heads?" he asked, his voice coarse. Shu stopped and turned to him, leaning against one of the sandstone walls and sighed. "Are you familiar with the damnation of Ramesses?" Shu asked. "In which these lands were cursed with ten plagues?" he added, looking at Cystennin. "Of course." he said, his voice starting to clear up. "And you know why the plagues happened too, I assume?" Shu asked again, looking unnerved. Cystennin's skin began to pale. "Yes. And I also know about the judgement of the Egyptian G-" Cystennin froze mid sentence.
"We rebelled. We damned ourselves. The statues you see around you? Ra. Isis. Osiris. Nu. Geb. Heqt. They're all here. All of them. He judged us as we had failed to judge ourselves." Shu said, his lips stretched and eyebrows taut. "But how did you escape? And why is Amun a mute?" Cystennin asked with great concern. "I had no involvement with the other's and their rebellion. They sold their souls for praise and power. That is not what we desire. As for Amun, he took the burden of Khnum's punishment." Shu recounted. Amun merely nodded. "He seems quite happy." Cystennin commented, admiring Amun's demeanour. Shu cracked a smile off his slated face and spoke "Yes. Amun saw the punishment as a glorious thing. A closed mouth is worth ten opened ears he always said." His eyes shot open, his eyelids slammed up. "But all this doesn't tell you why the decapitation. They stored their powers and prayers in their statues. We smashed them open to prevent this happening again." Shu replied with, adjusting himself.
The trio continued to walk through the hall until they reached a junction. In front of them stood a bright, marble door. With columns attached to the side to support the massive weight of what hung above. For above the door, there was the carved head of an Ibis. With azure eyes and emerald highlights, the size of the beak alone was a spectacular 18 cubits and several cubits wide. It cast its own shadow down upon the Ceidwaid. "He waits for you." Shu said, guiding the winds to open the door for Cystennin, who promptly limped in. The path ran into a bridge, connected to a small, circular man-made island, carved from sandstone. Around it, danced a lake so pure, that no one could see past it's reflective shine. As Cystennin rose his head from looking down at the water, he noticed steps on the island, fixed beneath a wooden throne.
Crouched on this wooden throne, with his back greeting Cystennin was an Ibis. "Uh, hello?" Cystennin said carefully, scared even. The Ibis lept up from the throne and to Cystennin's surprise, was fixed to the body of a man. "Tell me, Cystennin. Do you know who I am?" the Ibis asked, its voice as deep as the Nile and drier than the Upper Kingdom. "Uhhh..." Cystennin hesitated for a moment, before the Ibis snapped back. "If you do not know, do not dither. Take a seat." The mysterious man said, gesturing his hand to the side of the island. However, the was nothing to be seen, but before he had time to even state the obvious, a chair began to materialise from nothing. Without further ado, he promptly shuffled over and sat on the chair. The man turned around to face Cystennin, and began to change.
With an almighty roar, his head changed completely from the ibis to a human head. "I am Thoth. And you are my patient. Reveal your wounds to me, quickly." He demanded, pointing at the red soaked cloth around the torso of Cystennin, who unwrapped the mess. Thoth knelt to his torso and began to gaze at the wounds, his eyes darted like mosquitoes in the summer skies. "What are you doing?" Cystennin asked, nervously as the long, gaze of Thoth turned upwards "You've not heard of the art of Darllwyf - wound reading?" Thoth asked, writing a note. "Can't say I have." Cystennin said with curiosity, trying to peak at the note. A foolish error as Thoth quickly pulled the note back towards his own chest. "No peaking. Anyways. Darllwyf is the art of reading wounds to see a message to it. Often answers to our prays are stored inside them." Thoth said, sealing the note and giving it to Cystennin.
"Well what does it say?!" Cystennin asked eagerly, before feeling a quick stabbing sensation in his stomach, before Thoth has chance to reply, Cystennin yowls in pain and flails around in the chair, casting himself into the waters. His torso begins to stitch itself back together, the wounds start to erase themselves. However, no matter how hard he tried, Cystennin could not resurface, he had become encased in a solid, jelly like substance. Cystennin quickly thought to himself "This must be a test of some sort... I must think what to do!" However, he was embroilled in a panic, for fear of drowning and forgot his greatest strength - his patience. Cystennin came to his senses and realised that there was no point to this and stopped moving. As Cystennin let himself sank, he began to black out. All he could hear on his descent down was the banging of Thoth, trying to break through the now solid jelly.
Cystennin landed on a moss covered stone in a pitch black expanse, with no light around. He tried to talk, but there was no answer, nor words. He began to touch his torso, moving his hands up and down slowly, he felt no holes or cuts. He was completely healed, but his mouth was sewn shut. "Well this is an unfortunate turn of events." Cystennin thought to himself sarcastically, before a orange light burnt towards him. Cystennin went to call upon his powers to block the flaming object, now hurtling at hundreds of miles per hour, he quickly fell to the ground to avoid anymore injuries. The wind around him span violently before the light turned to white. "Open your eyes." a flutter of voices spoke out, as if they were surrounding Cystennin on all sides. Nervously, he peaked and saw an orb of white light, with a tremendous set of wings, unfurled like a set of flags.
"Y-yes?" he spoke with a stutter, unaware that his lips were unsealed. "You must listen carefully." the voices spoke out once more, louder. "In 26 generations, the world will be embroiled in the words from the tongue of a devilish fabricator. Inside the temple you roam, there is a stone, inside that are carvings. The stone cannot touch the hands of the ones who follow the warmonger. Evacuate the stone." the light said. "But how will I take it? If it as important as you state it is." The voice began to speak again, in a singular dominant voice. "You shall bring forth a message that states 'It is what He wishes for, and it is what we shall bring to Him' - this will subdue their instinct. Go forth and do your duty." the voice finished with. The light grew intensive before basking Cystennin in a strong pull, forcing him back into the temple.
Cystennin was spat up from the moat, dry as a bone and caught in a wind pull of Amun and Shu. "You dropped this." Shu said to Cystennin, handing him an envelope. "What happened down there?!" Selket asked, surrounded by the rest of the Kemetic Ceidwaid. "I.. I wish I knew. I was dragged into an abyss and was circled by a light, brighter than anything I've ever seen, it told me to take a stone from your temple, and should you rebel against such an action, I was told to say to you 'It is what He wishes for, and it is what we shall bring to Him' I have no idea what he meant by this but, it seems important." Thoth stepped forward and stared him in the eyes. "Selket. Take the stone, follow Cystennin. Cystennin, you cannot let Selket nor the stone go missing. Do you understand?" he said, his voice softening. "I do." Cystennin replied, looking at Selket.
Selket ran off to acquire the stone and pack her things. "While I must leave, I do feel bad that I've not even introduced myself to you all, nor do I know your names." Cystennin said. Shu spoke up. "Well, you've met me, Amun, Thoth. Selket too. This is Nephthys - our healer. To her right, is Khnum - our blacksmith. Behind him, Heka. Our guide. And by the door is-" Shu is cut off as the boisterous, jackel headed manby the door walks closer to Cystennin. "Save your tours, Shu. It's politer this way." He said with a smile, before turning back to Cystennin. "Let me guess, Anubis?" The man nodded. "At your service, and should you fall in combat again, I shall grant you a burial fit for a king." he said, with vigourous enthusiasm.
Selket walked back into the room, holding a worn, leather box with golden trimmings. "Ready, Cystennin?" she asked, her voice no longer possessing the energetic and happy tones. "I am indeed." he replied, buttoning up his tunic and adjusting the strap for his axe. "Well, it was grand to meet you. I cannot thank you guys enough for saving my corpse and restoring me to life." Cystennin said, while looking at the group before him. He had a quick moment to decide, should he tell them about the danger that was coming. This was clearly the moral thing to do, but his mouth failed him once more. He couldn't talk, words were not processed. "Why does this keep happening?" Cystennin thought to himself, before being nudged by Selket. "Are you waiting for someone to carry to or something? Because I'm not that strong." His lips unfurled and he spoke once more "Patience is key. Let's go."
The duo walk through the hallways and up into a small, cramped stair well and proceed to the surface. "So why are you here, in Egypt?" Selket asked curiously. She really had no idea who Cystennin was, except a brother-in-arms. "I am here to oversee the founding of an empire." he said, keeping his face straight and almost crawling up the narrow, circular stairs. "There are plenty of empires to be founded around this part of the Earth. Which?" Selket asks again, refusing to relent. "Rome." Cystennin replied, fiddling with the hatch that kept them divided from the surface. "Why Rome?" Selket asked, as Cystennin opened the dusty hatch. With it, a mountain of sand came crashing down on him. He sighed deeply. This was not his day. "I cannot say. I'd be violating my directive." he said, in a voice of pure, rehearsal. "Fair enough. How long will it take you?" Selket asked, being helped out of the pit by Cystennin.
"I must remain here for another 28 years." He said, walking out onto the desert, realising he had set his mule go. "... and it might just take me that long to walk to Tanta." he said, looking around to find some viable source of transport. "Not to worry, Cys. I've got a plan." Selket said stretching her arms out towards a near by sand dune. "Already got a pet name for me? That was fast." He said, watching her. Her eyes glowed a powerful Emerald Green as the sand began to shift. Out came a Scorpion, no bigger than 20 cubits and as tall as half of that. "Good grief." Cystennin muttered, looking at the cumbersome size of the Scorpion. "Hop on. It won't bite." Selket said, patting the side of the Scorpion. Cystennin clambered on, clinging to the side before shifting himself up. "Are you sure?" he asked, looking a bit nervous. "Positive. I'm the only one who bites here." Selket said with a giggle, flicking acid off her fingers into the sand.
In the distance stood three men, bearing the embroided logo of the Roman Republic. The phrase SPQR stood out most of all. "Tiberius. Take a message to Octavius. Tell him he was right. The Briton is with a local on a... No, that can't be.." the Roman scout squints even more, trying to overcome his disbelief of seeing a giant Scorpion thunder through the desert. "He'll never belief 'giant scorpion', sir. Just say it's a horse." His companion stated, with a voice of clarity. "What's the word from his main camp anyways?" The forementioned companion said to the messenger, frantically scribbling in Latin on his letter. "A column of soliders from Tanta marched to meet the our forces at Alexandria. It was a slaughter." He said, continuing to write. "Anything else, sir?" the messenger asked, raising his head above the stack of parchment? "No. Now ride, quickly. You'll have to beat the Briton there."
Octavius looked over the battlefield outside the city of Alexandria. Smoke stacks billowed into the atmosphere and bodies formed their own mounds and cairns across the dune. "Damn Britons!" he shouted, the carion birds flew off from the corpses of the Romans and Egyptians. He saunters back in and kicks over his table in a flurry of rage and anger. His eyes turned to red. More vivid than that of the planet of Mars. His anger turned into a blinding hate as he unsheathed his sword, gifted to him by Cystennin. He smashed up the bottles of wine when a messenger runs in. "Sir!" he shouts, causing Octavius to hold his rage. "What?!" he barks, snatching the letter out of the hands of the messenger and reads it. His eyes burn on the sentence detailing Cystennin and Selket. "Bring them to me tomorrow. I'll deal with them myself at the next strike." Octavius said, his anger disappating, and sword glowing.
My name is Cystennin. At the time of writing, I am 953 years of age. I am Ceidwaid - a group of immortals dedicated to keeping the balance of both good and evil and I have a gift. The power of using and controlling fire. I have been given but one task, to supervise the founding and rise of one of the world's greatest empires: Rome.
His eyes had exploded into a red mist, his very muscles began to tighten and compress against his boney frame. Air couldn't travel to his lungs quick enough to sustain him and his mouth dried faster than the desert outside his tent door. Octavius let out a gurgling sigh of disgust as he placed his shaking hands on the table and put it upright again. He slumped in front of it and closed his eyes. "What have I done." he thought to himself, as he peered through his hands looking at the mess he had caused in his outburst. The linen tent was stained with red wine and the floor was decorated with a mozaic of glass shards from bottles. He picked up the letter and read it again, Cystennin was one of the few people Octavius considered a friend, he couldn't understand anything.
His hand met with his forehead as he slumped down on the floor, brushing the glass away with his tossing and turning. He felt a scorching heat flow over him, more so than what is normally felt in the Egyptian dunes. Sweat began to bead on his arms, legs and lips. He got up from his mess and looked around the room, a hum began to drone into his head. As he searched around his room, he couldn't find the source of this sound, but it was getting louder and louder. Finally, tucked away in the corner of the room he saw his sword. The Sword of Jupiter. He walked towards it, staggering from the pain that originated from the buzz and grasped the hilt of the sword, unsheathing it. There, he noticed the most peculiar glow around the sword. It was bathed in reds, oranges and ambers. They waved around the blade like solar storms on the Sun itself.
"What are you?" he said outloud, to the empty room.
He had used the sword for fourteen years, but never took the time to admire it, not observe it. Why would he? It's just a bit of metal. His eyes swept up and down the blade, he noticed curious little scribbles, seared into the metallic spine. The closer he looked, the more he began to realise what they were, dates. Dates of his uncontrollable anger. Confused, he merely sheathed the sword but on his way out of the tent, he became conflicted. His mind became a minefield of thoughts that tore into one another. He felt as if he was being drained, his anger escaped him like a cloud in a net. His eyes glanced down at his sword and he pulled it out once more. To his surprise, yet another date was added on the increasingly large, yet limited list. As he reached serenity once more, he saw a bandaged Cystennin limp towards the camp, alongside Selket.
"Ah Cystennin!" Octavius bellowed across the camp, his voice dry.
"Octavius," replied Cystennin, catching his breath. "I am sorry."
"What for?" Octavius asked, trying his best to act sincere, he already knew everything, or so he thought.
"I was ambushed and mortally wounded, this young Girl nursed me back. Forgive me, for I couldn't get to Antony in time."
Octavius glanced at the young, Egyptian girl standing besides Cystennin. He knew Cystennin had to be punished for his mistakes, one way or another. Because of his 'incompetence' half of the forces he had brought to siege Alexandria had been lost. Beneath the smile Octavius wore like a mask, he had the perfect punishment in mind.
With a moment of brief hesitation, Octavius removed the sleeve of a scroll and handed it over to Cystennin.
"What's this?" Cystennin asked, retrieving the bright, clean scroll from Octavius
"These," Octavius said, turning his back to Cystennin " are your new orders."
The scroll was light and short, Cystennin was quick to open it. He knew he had failed his previous objective and the weight of this failure was shackled to him. It held him to the ground beneath his feet and its chains slithered around his neck. With each failure he makes, the further his goal becomes. Cystennin held the parchment to the lamp that swung from the ceiling. The rays of light penetrated the paper, illuminating it so that it may be read.
Lucius stood at the watchtowers of Alexandria and watched as Antony's legions assembled under the skies of Egypt. He walked into the tent of Antony and sat down on a dusty chair and rubbed his brow.
"Why do I do what I do?" He asked Antony, the rhythmic pounding of footsteps surround the tent much like Octavius's forces surrounded them.
"More doubts, Lucius?" Antony said, lowering the chalice from his mouth. "You were very convinced all those years ago when you helped place the knife into Caesar. What changed? A few legions and you begin to distort in the winds of conflict? I had expected and hoped for more." He followed with, getting out of his seat to peel back the curtain. "Look around you Lucius. It doesn't matter if we die here today, our destiny has been set. I realise that now."
Lucius's face curdled with scepticism. "Antony, friend. Have you fallen off the cart and tumbled down the Alps? Of course it matters if we are to die here today! We've spent the past fourteen years fighting, sweating and bleeding to ensure the stability of the Republic. You seek to slip into the night silently?" Lucius bellowed, before being disturbed.
"My, my boys. You should have a little more respect for those who try to sleep." A voice said, her tones seductive and her presence felt.
Lucius and Antony span round on their heels to bask in the radiant beauty of their guest. The woman, dressed in golden silk walked closer to the table and embraced Antony. Her hair stretched high, absorbing all light in its black, chaotic state. "You shouldn't fight today, Antony is right, our future is made - but we can undo Octavius's."
"Easier said that done." Lucius scoffed. "The man is relentless and his companion; deadly, agile and determined."
Cleopatra looked at the disturbed face of Lucius and stroked her back hand down his face. "You are quick to comment on him, but not yourself. Tell me, Lucius. Why do you fight? To avenge your uncle, or to save Roman democracy?"
"For my Uncle." Lucius said, removing Cleopatra's hand from his face. "Yourself?"
Cleopatra recoiled. To turn her hand away was to turn the finest ambrosia away. She composed herself and lowered her arms. "When you are in my predicament, this isn't a fight for ideologies or systems of governance. But for preservation. For survival."
Lucius walked away from the lovers. "Your words carry weight, woman. Let us hope they do not collapse."
Lucius picked up his helmet and left the tower. Camped outside the city walls were masses of wooden camps and seas of red, Roman legions. Surrounded and cut off, Lucius exhaled. He focused his eyes and counted the camps.
"Five legions." He said to himself, his voice shaking.
He had no time to say his prays or to sharpen his sword. Cumbersome aries had begun creeping out of the camps. The squeaking of the wooden wheels echoed throughout the desert dunes.
"TO THE GATES!" Lucius shouted, clambering down the stairs. His sword waggling around, scratching his thigh. The winds of favour blew hard against Antony, his forces only amounted to two legions. The sand and dust shook off the crude, wooden, rotten door of Alexandria.
The warhorns of Rome sounded off. Centurions paraded in front of their cohorts giving instructions, the sound of the war horses braying and steel clashing as rows of soldiers marched forward. The gates were almost down. Cystennin drew his sword and he stood next behind the siege engine.
"HOLD!" Bellowed a Centurion. "LOAD THE ONAGERS!"
Huge machines wheeled in. Four wheels and a frame of oak with a central arm to hold the basket with. Roman soldiers quickly loaded them with barrels of oil and other flammables. The winching sound of the twine rubbing against the oak caused Cystennin to wince.
"Now remember men. The Briton and the local go in first." Said the Centurion, unsheathing his gladius.
"Nervous?" Cystennin asked Selket as he handed her a sword.
"Very." Selket said, spinning her sword to get a feel of the weight.
"FIRE!" the Centurion shouted over them.
The onagers unleashed their payload, whizzing over the skies like drunken ibises. Barrels of oil spun over the walls and crashed into houses, stalls and - more importantly - soldiers. The words that were written on Cystennin's instructions were burnt into his mind. "No mercy."
"TAKE THAT DOOR DOWN!" the Centurion shouted for the last time.
With one final crank, the mighty siege engine lined up with the middle of the gates. As the log fell down, it crashed right into the doors, knocking them over. The soldiers pulled the machine away, the wall of Antony's troops rose to deflect any projectiles - but it wouldn't protect them for long.
"Forgive me." Cystennin uttered, slowly walking forward into the swarm of troops.
His golden blonde hair lit up like the morning sun as Cystennin's hands became crimson orbs of fire. He shoved his arms forward and let loose a mighty bellow as beams of fire extruded from his limbs. Within seconds, the fire had contacted the oil and rippled through the city, from the stalls to the houses, everything was burning in syncrony.
The screams of the soldiers erupted skyward like a volcano. However, in the corner of this carnage, Cystennin saw a familiar face dart off.
"Selket!" Cystennin said, turning on his heels. "This way! Come on!"
He beckoned with his hand before pursuing the face he had known so well for so long, rushing inbetween streets and paths before finally catching up with him."Well then, Constantine or whatever your real damn name is." Lucius said, turning around with his sword brandished. "I've been waiting for this."
Patience. Patience would be the key to disarming this situation. Cystennin knew this also and began to circle Lucius.
"Your mind is heavy, speak or you may not get the chance too again." Cystennin said, maintaining eye contact.
"I saw you at Philippi. When the last member of my family died to your sword in cold blood! I don't give a damn about who controls Rome, I don't care if we're empire or republic. The only thing I care about is honouring his memory." Lucius said, staring down Cystennin whilst spinning his sword.
Cystennin sighed. "What happened at Philippi was a tragedy. But do not blame me for matters you do not understand. I was there to force him into a surrender, not a suicide."
"Why should I take your word, Briton?" Lucius asked.
"Why shouldn't you. You fight for a cause you don't understand, you allow those above you to pull your strings and dance for amusement. You're a pawn in a greater, but already decided game, Lucius. You cannot avenge Cassius, if no one has killed him." Cystennin spoke.
Lucius had succumbed to the taunts. His nostrils gushed out steam. His cheeks had a carmine aura.
"I will not be talked to like that by some slave." Lucius said, walking closer to Cystennin.
"If you wish to see a slave, look to yourself." Cystennin retorted.
Lucius had enough. He ran towards Cystennin with his sword held high and swung it down. Effortlessly, Cystennin dodged it and continued to move around as if he were a leaf in the wind. Lucius failed to hit him, swing after swing. In a fit of anger, Lucius swung his sword into the kneecap of Cystennin.
"It will take more than steel to hurt me." Cystennin said, dropping his own sword to grab the blade that was wedged in his kneecap and reduces it to burning, liquid slime.
In quick succession, Cystennin grabbed the arm of Lucius and pulled him to the ground, his knees met with the molten steel below. Cystennin readied his sword and plunged it into the stomach of Lucius before lifting himself off the ground.
"I am so sorry." Cystennin said, his face turned blank.
Octavius and his legions had won. Mark Antony committed suicide and the remaining legions had surrendered. The pillars of smoke held the sky up. The air was thick with the scent of burnt rubble. Octavius summoned two centurions to him, as he stood at the entrance of the royal palace.
"You called for us?" they said, quickly bowing to Octavius.
"Yes." he replied, his voice as distant as Rome. His eyes lost all natural colour and sparkled Roman red. "Bring to me the Briton and his," he held his tongue to review his thoughts 'accomplice' at once."
Minutes passed before Selket was brought before Octavius in chains, Cystennin quickly followed, however his wrists lacked chains.
"Octavius! What is the meaning of thi-" Cystennin demands, prior to being cut off."
"Silence." Octavius replied. Turning around to face Cystennin, his hands splayed either side, resembling as if he was holding something. "I am Augustus. Imperator of Rome."
"I have seen your deception, Briton. I know of what your sword does. You have forced me into a difficult path. While I cannot lie, without your magic - Rome would've died today. However, the fact you failed to inform me that it's cursed and feeds on me leads me to the conclusion that you have tried to kill me."
Cystennin was shocked by this. But deep inside, he couldn't decide if he was shocked at Augustus finding out, or that he believed he meant to kill him.
Augustus spoke once more. "You may take your friend here, but you must leave Roman lands at once. Since I have seen you as a friend, I will permit you to stay in state of Judea."
A smile formed on the stained face of Cystennin. "Judea's more than fine for me. Thank you, Augustus."
The chains on Selket were taken off. She saw Cystennin already down the stairs and walking to the gates. Remembering her promise to her sect, she ran off after him.
"Leaving without me?" Selket joked.
"No, I just.. I don't know." Cystennin sighed. Lowering his head.
"Well, whatever it is you don't know, I can help you with it. But we should get moving before Augustus sends a legion after us." Selket replies, patting Cystennin on the shoulder.
"You know anywhere to stay?" Cystennin asked, walking to the gates as soldiers moved out of the way, staring him down.
"There's a villa that a friend of mine owns, just outside of a town they call Bethlehem." Selket answers, rubbing her wrists.
Cystennin leans back in an oak chair while fiddling in a muddy coloured leather bag.
"What are you trying to find?" Selket asked. "Don't tell me you misplaced your ring again. On our anniversary too!" she said with a serious laugh.
"Not after last time." Cystennin replied with before pulling out an object. "The Starstone, it's beeping." He said, placing it on the table.
The starstone projected a holographic message in hieroglyphs. Despite his Egyptian wife, Cystennin would have better luck on reading tea leaves than hieroglyphs.
"Uh, what does that say?" He asks, sheepishly.
Selket's eyes widen, her hair stands on end and her breath is robbed. "You need to go. Now." She demanded.
"Where?" Cystennin asked, grabbing his bag.
"To the town of Bethlehem. You'll see it. And don't wake up nen on your way out." Selket said, opening the door for him.
Cystennin ran outside in a frenzy, quickly hopping onto a Donkey. He stared into the night sky, and taking centre stage was a bright, blue star. With seven points and a long cone forming a spotlight, Cystennin dashed off. Over the dunes, sand piles and rocks until he arrived. He looked up at the sky once more and saw the star's warming embrace glide down onto a small stable building.
"Hallelujah" Cystennin said, realising his mission was over.
Thus ends this chapter of the Ceidwaid.