CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (68 page)

“He’s lucky the gods count him a friend,” Ardelphian observed as he looked at the wound. The surgeon watched his men treat D’Molay. He did not like what he saw.

The older priest was about to ask if the man would live when Ardelphian suddenly turned on his heel and sped away, crossing the hospital to a locked cupboard. The other healers continued to work frantically, but the patient was turning an alarming shade of blue-gray. Voices fought for dominance as they debated what steps to take next, even as their hands remained busy staunching the flow of blood and stitching torn flesh back together.

“We’d better pray,” the young priest said. Nodding, a bit annoyed that he hadn’t thought of that himself, the older priest began to speak a benediction over the Freeman. The young one added his voice to the chant as Ardelphian came back to the pallet, carrying a piece of cloth.

“Stand aside,” Ardelphian directed. “He’s too far gone for our techniques, but since he came by the gods I am allowed to use other measures.”

Everyone backed away as Ardelphian hurried to lay a square piece of golden wool over D’Molay’s wound. “The fleece,” one of his healers said softly. “I’ve never seen it used.”

“And you’re not seeing it now,” Ardelphian corrected. “This is merely a sacred cloth made from hair that fell from the fleece. It’s just a pale cast off of the real thing that could never heal a god or demigod. But its power should suffice for a man.”

Everyone watched with anticipation, expecting the cloth to show some sign of its power. But it lay inertly upon D’Molay like a dinner napkin. “Is it working?” the young priest asked, interrupting the prayer. His comrade cuffed him on the ear.

“Of course it’s working. It’s a sacred artifact. Mind your faith!”

“He’s breathing easier,” said the healer hovering near D’Molay’s head. Another felt the pulse grow stronger at his wrist.

“A steady beat. The bleeding must have stopped.” Eyes turned gratefully toward the piece of golden cloth. Ardelphian carefully lifted it away and re-examined the wound. It looked pink and tender, but was no longer a raw gash. He knew the artifact had also healed whatever had been torn deep inside the man.

“All he needs now is rest,” Ardelphian said. “You priests take him to that pallet in the corner and watch over him. When he’s up and about, move him to the guest quarters. We’ll need his bed for wounded men.” Ardelphian carefully folded the golden cloth and went to lock it away.

As they again carried D’Molay, the young priest marveled at what they had seen. “That was amazing. The cloth healed him!”

“I prefer to credit our prayers,” said the other.

*
       
*
       
*

Aavi sat nervously on the bed after Eros left, worried about D’Molay despite the assurances that he was receiving the best care available. She was terribly tempted to leave the room and look for the hospital. She knew that she would feel better if she could just sit with him. The time dragged on. Aavi wondered if everyone had forgotten she was there.

A knock on the door made her jump. She let out a little gasp, ran to the door, and flung it open, hoping to find D’Molay standing there. Instead, an old woman with a basket under one arm and a clean white gown in the other greeted her.

“Oh, they weren’t exaggerating!” she said, making sympathetic clucking noises as she came into the room and placed the gown on the bed. “Your clothes are absolutely filthy! Time to strip. Put everything in this basket and I’ll get you some wash water.”

“But -”

The woman ignored Aavi’s protest, grabbing a pitcher from the table and disappearing into the hallway. Aavi didn’t feel dirty, but as she looked down at her blood-stained clothes she understood what the woman was talking about. There was mud splattered all over her clothing. Splotches of fruit juice, road dust and stray hairs from the animals she had ridden further decorated her old clothes. Aavi’s eyes shifted to the beautiful dress that the woman had offered her. She decided to wear it, although she couldn’t help but wonder how long this one was going to last.

Aavi was half undressed when the servant returned. Setting down the pitcher, the woman clapped her hands. “Let’s go, my dear. I want every little thing in this basket. I know just what to do with it.” The old woman sounded so confident that Aavi felt comfortable doing exactly as she was told. She removed everything from her body and gathered it into a clump. The servant picked up the basket and held it at arm’s length as Aavi filled it with her clothing. “There. Now wash yourself and -” She hesitated, squinting at Aavi’s body. The woman leaned in close, inhaling. Aavi giggled as her old nose wrinkled up comically from the effort. “Great Ares, you’re clean as a whistle. Well, maybe you’ll need that water later. Get dressed now. You don’t want to distract the priests and soldiers.”

The servant left Aavi struggling into the dress as she marched the basket directly to the ragman. She couldn’t imagine he’d find anything to salvage, but that was his job and he was a master at it. Everyone who worked at the fortress was the best at what they did. Survival depended upon it.

*
       
*
       
*

Before he had even opened his eyes, D’Molay knew he was in a healing ward just from the smell of fresh bandages and medicines that hung in the air. It reminded him of Kafele, the man he’d once counted as a friend. The image of Kafele as a broken statue lying on the floor of Set’s prison was still fresh in his mind’s eye.
 
Friend or foe, Kafele was dead now, a victim of his own devotion to an evil god. D’Molay felt a mixture of regret and resentment, but almost immediately exchanged those feelings for concern about Aavi. While they had made it to the shelter of the fortress, a compound full of soldiers was no place for a girl on her own, especially one like Aavi. D’Molay had to find her, make sure she was safe. He awkwardly sat up in the bed.

A priest who stood watching him leaned over. “Hold on there, take it slow. You might rip open your wounds. Even magic healing takes some time. Lie back down,” the man admonished him.

“Aavi?
 
Where’s the girl who came with me?”
 
D’Molay queried as the other man gently pushed him back on the bed.

“You’ll have to ask Eros. He brought you to us. Just rest there for a while longer. Then you can go look for her. The battle hasn’t started yet so you haven’t missed any glory.”
 

D’Molay lay back and stared at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts. He remembered being carried in the sky. He recalled Eros, Zephyrus, and the fleeting image of Aavi’s hair blowing wildly in the wind, but it was all hazy. He couldn’t be sure whether these sights were memories or dreams. Then he smiled. Now he knew how Aavi felt.

After several boring hours an impatient D’Molay was declared fit to leave the healing ward. The priest escorted him out and he found himself standing in the midday sun on the second story of a large open courtyard in the center of the fortress. Beyond the ramparts, he could see tall cypress trees and the rolling green hills of the Olympian Realm. Far off to the east, he spotted dark clouds like those concealing the Mayan invasion force. He looked over the railing down to the courtyard below where numerous soldiers were milling about. D’Molay could feel the tension in the air. In his many years of leading troops, D’Molay was familiar with the habits of men on edge before a battle. Though they seemed at ease and engaged in idle chatter or gambling, he noted how they kept their hands close to their weapons. They were restless, and exhibited intensity in their gaze that revealed their focus on the upcoming fight.

As the priest led him down a staircase, a familiar voice called up to him. “D’Molay!” He saw a soldier approaching the bottom of the staircase.

“Kastor! Good to see you again,” he said with a grin as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I heard you were back. Is it true that Eros brought you and some golden-haired nymph here?”
 
Kastor firmly gripped D’Molay’s upper forearm in greeting.

D’Molay returned the gesture. “Word travels fast. I suppose that’s what happened, though I scarcely remember it. I was near death at the time.”
 
D’Molay felt his heart surge at the mention of a ‘golden-haired nymph.’
 
It was no dream. Aavi was here too.

“The gods truly smile upon you my friend, even if you look like a beaten beggar.”

D’Molay took a look at himself and had to agree. His blood-stained shirt was in tatters, his breeches were ripped in many places, and a week’s worth of road dirt had accumulated all over him.
 

“I must look pretty bad.”
   

“We can’t have one favored by the gods walking around like that!
 
I’ll take you to the quartermasters and get you outfitted properly.
 
Come on.”

D’Molay just wanted to go find Aavi, but he knew that Kastor would be insulted if he didn’t go with him. It was worth the time. If he was going to convince the troop commanders that the Mayans were coming, they were far more likely to take the word of a fellow warrior than a ragged traveler. “I’ll come. Just let me ask about my companion first.”

After inquiring of a few troops, D’Molay learned that Eros had taken Aavi to room number twenty three upstairs. Trusting that she would be safe up there for the time being, he followed Kastor into one of the main buildings of the fort.
 
They passed groups of soldiers practicing swordsmanship and polishing weapons and armor. As they descended into the more protected areas of the fort, D’Molay told Kastor some of his and Aavi’s adventures over the last week.
 
He left out anything about Aavi’s lack of memory and his killing of the Mayan at the boathouse.

“Riding an elephant, living underground with hamadryads and fighting Mayans? No wonder you’re such a mess. I’ll give you this - you’ve kept very busy since we last met,” Kastor said, obviously impressed by what he’d heard. His voice rose in volume and pitch as a question crossed his lips. “But who is this girl Aavi?
 
Why bring her here?”

“Aavi may be able to tell us more about that beast we caught. I think she might have come across this creature before. I’m hoping she’ll be able to tell us something about it that will help us.”
 
D’Molay took care to sound more certain than he really was. In truth, he wasn’t sure Aavi had any connection to the beast at all, but it was the only clue he had to work with. They had both seemingly fallen out of the sky on the same day.
 

“Where did you find her?”
 

“You’d never believe me if I told you, Kastor. Besides, there’s something even more important we need to talk about.
 
What do you know about Mayans?”

“Mayans?
 
I’ve never even given them a second thought.”
 

“Well you’d better start.
 
An army of them are headed this way. I tried to warn Zephyrus, but I’m not sure if I was able to,” D’Molay said with deadly earnestness.

“Damn the Fates!
 
How many are we talking about?”

“I saw nearly a hundred of them, but that was just on one air raft. There’s no telling how many are hiding in those grey clouds to the east. There might be hundreds of rafts, or just a few.
 
I need to meet with your commanders and tell them what I’ve seen.
 
Can you arrange that, Kastor?”

“Air rafts?
 
Clouds?
 
No wonder no one has spotted them. Let’s get you some gear and I’ll present you to the commanders.
 
When will these Mayans be here?”

“Hard to say. A day, maybe two.”

Kastor fell silent as they walked along a dimly lit corridor. It led into a large room with numerous racks, shelves and stacked wooden crates. Piles of armor, weapons, food and other supplies to keep the fort running were stored here. The smell of new leather, wood and oil hung in the air. Several men in simple tunics were unpacking and putting items up on the shelves.
 
Another man with a ruddy complexion and sparse hair on the top of his round head was supervising the others. He wore a toga and referred to a scroll parchment as he directed the work.