Chapter 4

The Cave

The cave is dark. Cold. Everything is either grey or a strange shade of fluorescent green. Glowing mushrooms jut out from the rocks here and there, giving off the faintest light. I hold Twil's knife spear out in front of me like an advancing hoplite, ready to impale any creature that charges me on its jagged tip.

The spear will do almost nothing against a yao guai. I know this, but act as if I don't. False confidence will get me farther than resignation to doom. A drop of cold water drips onto my forehead. I cringe at the impact and wipe my brow.

Although the legion trained me to be a warrior, I don't particularly like fighting. I'd rather read a book than wield a sword. Books were my only friend as a boy. Well. . .them and my mother, Ionia. At sunset, when the other boys went to bed, I'd read Ovid by candlelight. New literature wasn't permitted in legion camps, but Caesar allowed a select few of us to read the classics, and I was always the first to volunteer.

This cave reminds me of a section of The Republic. Socrates and his theory of Forms. To Socrates, as related via Plato, the world around us is shadows on a cave wall. We, and all we see, are mere reflections of true things. Forms. These truths, or Forms, that cast our world of shadows cannot be seen by mortals like us. They exist somewhere beyond our perception. Somewhere outside of the tangible, physical world.

They are truth. They are perfection. You can only catch brief glimpses of them through the most rigorous logical deductions and debate.

Something about Socrates' quest to prove the existence of Forms always struck me as naive. It's the same as searching the Earth for tangible evidence of God. Looking for something that by its very definition - true perfection - cannot exist in an imperfect world.

These idle, philosophical musings quickly leave me, once I see something take shape, just around a bend in the cave.

My throat constricts. Stomach tightens. The spear shakes wildly in my unsteady hands as I continue my approach.

A giant yao guai lies a few dozen feet in front of me. I can sense it; smell its pungent saliva and damp, musky fur. The beast is massive. It must weigh over a ton. Every fiber of my being wants to flee the cave, but instead, I creep closer towards the beast.

The yao gaui is panting. Long, labored breaths with a slight gurgle. I come closer and the beast lazily turns its head. It looks at me but doesn't otherwise move.

I stare closely at this mountain of fur, slowly closing to within a few feet of it. It barely reacts, whimpering softly, and then resting its head on a giant paw.

The yao guai has been badly injured. Its back leg mangled from a bear trap. Large strips of festering skin dangle over an open wound. An infection must have already spread throughout its body, as its eyes look very weary. The beast seems to be begging me to put it down.

I'm floored by this. Completely shocked. My nemesis has already been mortally wounded. All that needs be done now is a single spear thrust.

The yao gaui stares at me with pitiful eyes as I walk up to it and lower my weapon for the coup de grâce.

I'm not well practiced with a spear. I prefer a short sword; a gladius. I anchor the rear end of the spear on my shoulder, lunge forward, and jam the point into the yao guai's blubbery neck.

The beast jerks to its feet with an angry growl. My spear breaks just below the blade, as I knew it would. It doesn't matter though, as the yao guai is done for. It wheezes for a moment, balls up on the cave floor, and quickly bleeds out.

I almost laugh at this, momentarily giddy. I've never considered myself particularly lucky - after all - two days ago I was crucified. But this - this seems like more than good luck.

If there is indeed a God, then this must be His doing. No man can survive on luck alone.

Let alone twice.

Once in a cave. Once on a cross. . . .

I wonder if Twil knew that the yao guai was already injured. Perhaps she saw it limp into the cave and merely wanted to test my mettle. Perhaps she knew that I wasn't in any real danger.

Perhaps. . .but most likely not.

With the biggest grin I've ever worn, I work to retrieve the knife blade from inside of the beast's neck. Its innards are greasy from fat and slick with hot blood. My hands slip as I blindly fumble for the blade. I find it, but quickly realize that such a tiny knife isn't up to the task of decapitating so large a creature. The blade can barely saw through muscle, let alone bone.

I use the knife to remove the skin and fat around the creature's throat and then smash its vertebra with a jagged stone. It takes me nearly half an hour to separate the head from the body, and once I do, I'm covered in blood, cave grit, and spatters of gore.

After decapitating the yao guai, I use the knife to cut off a few chunks of meat, enough for a hearty meal. Then, weary and filthy, I retrace my steps, shambling back to the cave mouth.

Twil is there to greet me, huddled over a small camp fire. When she sees me emerge, she stands up and draws the pistol from her robe.

I hold up the yao guai's severed head by its ears. Blood dribbles down.

"You - you slew the beast?" Twil stammers. Her eyes tremble. She looks more than surprised. She smiles and then wills it back into a frown. "Impressive. You've done well, legionnaire."

"It put up quite a fight. Nearly killed me." I toss the bear's head at Twil's feet and then point the bloody knife at her. "Don't try to tie me up again. I've proved myself to you, and I won't be your slave any longer. If I choose to follow you, it'll be as a free man, of my own free will."

Twil stares blankly at my knife. "I won't tie you up, but you can't leave. I still need a champion. You'll stay with me and camp here for the night."

I glare at Twil. She stares back at me with something approaching a pout. At first, this enrages me, but then I find it somewhat amusing.

Now that my hands are free, and I can walk again, I'm certain I'll be able to escape from Twil. All I need to do is wait for the right opportunity. Most likely when she's asleep. That, or simply when her back is turned, and I'm a bit too far away. Just need a couple hundred yards of distance from her and I'll be out of range of pistol shot.

Twil takes the yao gaui meat from me and skewers it on some twigs, cooking it over the campfire while I rest.

I watch her with fascination, but my eyelids grow heavy. The smell of roasting yao guai makes me salivate. I decide to delay my escape until after I've eaten my fill.

Once the meat chars, Twil gathers it up and hands me a skewer.

"You made the kill." She clears a spot for her to sit down and passes me the water gourd. "So you eat first."

I nod and take a large bite. The yao guai is tough, but pleasantly sweet. Gamier than brahmin but far superior to mole rat. I savor my morsel. The fresh meat, the crackling fire, and the gourd of cool water all lighten my mood.

For a moment, Twil's transgressions are forgotten.

Twil eats when I finish, nibbling on her skewer like a squirrel. She hides her face from me as she does this. I don't know why, but she seems to loathe being watched while she's eating.

"You were lying about killing other men like me, weren't you?"

This is a guess, but I believe its correct. I say it with false confidence. If Twil had sent anyone else into that cave I should have seen at least a trace of their remains. Her killer instinct is still in doubt.

"Yes." Twil answers softly. "You. . .you're my first. The first man I-"

"The first man you kidnapped?" I interrupt.

"Yes." Twil sniffs backs mucous. My body bristles in revulsion at the sound. "Very few outsiders come here. I can't kidnap any of the natives or their tribe would come looking for them. And if I tried to use them as my champion, Jethro would free them, and hang me."

"So then what happens if you take me to Jethro and I refuse to fight?"

"He might let you go free, but he'd probably hang you for being legion. The Mormons hate the legion. They say the legion ordered the White Legs to wipe out their village at New Canaan."

"Who?"

Twil reaches over and takes a sip from the gourd.

"The White Legs are a tribe that raid north of here. The local tribes are the Yampa, the Creek-Kow, the Dead Horses, the White Legs, and the Sorrows. New Canaan is no more, but it was the main village of the Mormons. After the White Legs destroyed New Canaan, the survivors left to join the other tribes."

"So Jethro's a refugee from New Canaan?"

"A warrior from New Canaan." Twil nods. "He and six others came to my father's camp, claiming to come in peace, to teach us 'The Good Word.' They showed my people Old World magic and told them to abandon our gods. When my father and mother refused, he condemned them to die. When I refused, he defiled me, and banished me from the tribe."

"What about the rest of your tribe?"

"They are still in awe of Jethro's magic. They are not like me. Most don't speak the Old World tongue. Jethro is a murderer and a liar, but they don't know better. Too ignorant. Innocent. They think he's a god."

"A god, eh?" I take another yao guai skewer. My stomach rumbles. I assume it's because I'm eating too fast. "Caesar claims to be a god too. The son of Mars."

"Does the legion believe that?"

"Most do." I shrug. "Like you, I'm different from most of my people. Mainly because of my mother. I told you that she was a Follower of the Apocalypse. Caesar was too. Most children born to slaves are raised by Caesar's priestesses. They don't know their real parents and are only taught lies about the past. But Caesar let my mother keep me. I guess he respected her. Maybe he'd met her before he became Caesar. Since I was one of the only recruits who was literate, he let me read his books. Caesar teaches that all of the legion's tactics and rituals are his own ideas. That Mars - god of war - came to him in a dream and told him how to forge our empire. That's a lie. He's really just copying a Pre-PreWar empire. Rome. The idea of the legion isn't his own."

"What was your mother's name?" Twil glances up at me while untangling a few strands of her scraggly hair. "You talk about her often."

"I guess I do. Her name was Ionia."

"You're named after her?"

"Since she got to keep me, she got to name me. Her name wasn't originally Ionia, it was something PreWar. She took the name Ionia after she was enslaved."

"Why?"

"Io was the name of a nymph who Jupiter lusted after. Jupiter raped Io, but was caught in the act by his wife. To save face, he changed Io into a cow so his wife wouldn't know he'd cheated on her, but, his wife was too clever. She demanded Jupiter give her the cow as a present and then she tortured the cow for the rest of its life."

Twil fidgets in her seat. "That's a sad story. Your god - Jupiter - doesn't behave like a god. He sounds more like a monster."

I yawn, suddenly sleepy, with a touch of vertigo.

"I think the story was supposed to be a metaphor for my mother's life. A cow is a lot like a slave. They're both property. My father was a violent, vengeful man who had already taken many wives before he impregnated my mother. Sounds a lot like Jupiter. . ."

"So Io is really a girl's name?" Twil grins.

"Uh. . .yeah. I guess so."

My dizziness is worse now. I lie down in the dirt by the cave mouth. A cold sweat beads up on my forehead. It feels like I'm going to throw up.

"Twil. . .there - there's something wrong with that meat." I dry heave. "I - I think it made me sick. I feel dizzy. Dizzy and hot."

Twil stands up. She walks over to me and squats.

The sky is spinning now. The first stars are visible and they look like white streaks. I stare up at Twil and wonder why she isn't sick as well.

"I'm sorry." Twil mumbles. "I poisoned your meat. Dark Datura. It will wear off by morning. The dose I gave you will put you to sleep."

"Why? What!"

I reach up to grab Twil but am too unbalanced. I collapse back into the dirt, but continue to flail around, trying to reach her so I can rip out her throat.

"I'm sorry, Io. . . .I'm sorry, but I need a champion. I need you to be my champion - you - slayer of the great yao gaui. I don't trust you not to run away, and you wouldn't let me tie you up, so this - this was the only way."

I want to curse Twil. Throw every insult I've ever heard at her. I have never hated anyone so much in my life.

As the poison soaks in, and my dizziness intensifies, I feel Twil grab my hands and wrap something around my wrists.

I promise myself that I will strangle Twil when the datura wears off. Slit her throat with my knife. Bash her skull in with a rock. I smile as I picture these gruesome deaths and then, slowly, everything goes dark.

Its just wishful thinking. I'm sure that when I awake, I'll be helpless once again.

Drugged or tied up.