Like Fire Through Bone (20 page)

He made his way to the door, still moving slowly and with a heavy limp, and let himself out into the hall. The stairs were harder, but he took the steps one at a time and got down them.

“Vasilios.”

He had been almost all the way to the door that led out into the front courtyard when he heard Eudoxia call his name. He’d been hoping to avoid this meeting, but he turned anyway.

“My lady.” Vasilios wanted to go down on his knees before her, but he didn’t. He forced himself to remain standing. If he was going to defy her, he wouldn’t do it on his knees. It was for the best anyway, he thought. He didn’t think he would be able to stand back up if he’d knelt now. “Thank you for your protection.” He did bow, though, the action sending a twinge of pain up his side.

“You do not have permission to leave,” she said, eyeing him up and down.

“I know.” He straightened back up. “But I am going to anyway.”

She stood and looked at him for a moment. “All right, then,” she said finally, as he blinked at her in surprise. “I will do my best to keep my sons from knowing you have gone.”

“But…,” Vasilios started. He really hadn’t thought it would be that easy, and she waved her hand at him.

“You and General Markos are plotting something, and I do not need to know what it is or why it is you the General requires, but I remember General Markos from when I was at court before I was married, and I trust him. Whatever he needs you for, I will support. Besides….” She shook her head. “You should not have gone to Anthimos to begin with. We will see what we can do about that in the future. But for now, go.”

She turned to go back down the hall, and Vasilios hesitated but then took a step toward her. “Wait, Lady Eudoxia, please.” She turned to look at him, and Vasilios swallowed. “I am in no position to ask anything of you, or to speak against this family that I have served for so many years,” he said. “But please look after Nereida. I do not want to see her come to harm, not now, not ever.”

Eudoxia’s expression softened, but then she shook her head again. “There is only so much I can do,” she told him. “Damianos is the head of this family now, but I will see if I cannot think of something.”

“Thank you.” Vasilios bowed once more and then turned back toward the door. He opened it and slipped out into the courtyard.

A
T
LEAST
the guards at the gate did not try to stop him as he made his way out onto the streets. It was late afternoon and Vasilios kept a lookout for anyone who might recognize him from Anthimos’s household. He made his way slowly up the hill toward Markos’s house.

He did not relax or let down his guard until the soldier at Markos’s gate had let him into the courtyard.

“Vasilios.”

He looked up at the sound of his name for the second time in less than a quarter to see Patros in uniform, coming toward him across the tiled courtyard.

“I did not think you were well enough to be up and moving.” Patros stopped to clasp Vasilios’s right hand with his own and Vasilios’s left shoulder with his other hand in the traditional greeting between soldiers-in-arms. “I am glad to see you are well, although not as glad as the General will be.”

Vasilios thought about the dream he’d had of Malachi in the desert. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, come in.” Patros led the way to the front door and pushed it open. “Ilkay and Theofilos are here, trying to figure out where this mysterious monastery of yours might be.”

He pushed open the door to Markos’s receiving room, and Vasilios stepped inside. Ilkay and Theofilos were sitting together on the couch with Aritê sitting across from them, and Markos at his writing desk. All of them turned to look at Vasilios.

“You are late.” Aritê informed him first. Markos stood and crossed the room toward him.

“Are you all right?” Ilkay also stood. “Markos said you were injured.”

“I’m all right,” Vasilios said, and Aritê smiled as Markos reached him and put his hands on Vasilios’s shoulders, his grip light as if he was afraid of hurting Vasilios more.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Markos studied him carefully, and Vasilios forced himself to keep his gaze steady and fixed on Markos’s eyes. “I want to believe that if you say you are, then you are, but I only saw you a few hours ago last, and you were in a lot of pain then.”

“I am all right, really.” Vasilios reached out and clasped Markos’s shoulder, and Markos nodded slowly and took a step back.

“Here.” Theofilos stood from the couch and sat in the chair next to it. “Sit on the couch. I’ll sit here.”

“There is really no need,” Vasilios told him, but Ilkay had already seized his hands and was leading him over to the couch.

“I was telling Markos,” Theofilos said when they were all settled again, “that there are any number of monasteries or convents the one you described could be. There is a whole branch of the church, in fact, that favors secluded and hard-to-reach sites for their communities. The ones I have heard of would be the convent of St. Firmina, the monasteries of St. Aba of Kashkar, and St. Haralampos, the monastery of the Holy Hand, and the convent of the Sacred Flame. Then there is the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos and the convent of the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary. All of these are remote communities centering in or around the Eastern desert region of the Empire. But there are probably lots of smaller communities I don’t know of.”

Vasilios frowned. “The voice in my dreams kept calling the demon the ‘enemy of Mikalos,’ so perhaps the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos is what we are looking for.”

Aritê was also nodding. “Yes,” she said. “The demon Gyllou is indeed the enemy of the angel Mikalos. It would make sense for the one we seek to be in the place of worship dedicated to his name.”

Markos looked back at Theofilos. “Do you know where the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos is?”

Theofilos shook his head, frowning. “I don’t, having never been there. I’ve only heard of it. If I were you I’d send word to the Bishop.”

Markos nodded and stood. “I am going to speak with the Bishop. Patros will prepare for the journey. Amma Aritê”—he turned to her—“you must accompany us there. I think you will be the best at explaining the situation.”

“I want to come as well,” Theofilos said. “If for no other reason than I’ve never visited the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos but would very much like to.”

“I would like to come as well,” Vasilios said, and everyone turned to look at him.

“I don’t know—” Markos started, and Vasilios took a breath.

“I had a dream,” he said. “Before I awoke and came here, I met someone in my dream who called himself Malachi and….” He took a long breath, mostly because he wasn’t sure
he
believed the next part. “He touched my back and healed it. He seemed to think this was something I needed to do, not simply tell you about so you could do it.”

“Well, then,” Theofilos said.

Vasilios kept his gaze fixed on Markos, who was watching him with a slightly concerned look on his face. Finally, though, Markos nodded.

“I don’t like the idea of you going on this journey,” he said. “Not after you have been so recently harmed, but your
seeings
have not been wrong so far, and I will trust you and them in this.”

“I’ll stay here,” Ilkay said after another long moment. “Make sure the Bishop, bless his Holy name, doesn’t do anything stupid while you are gone.”

“Speaking of the Bishop.” Markos stood. “I must go speak with him. The rest of you are of course welcome to anything in my house you might desire.” He moved across the room toward the door and paused beside Vasilios to rest his hand on Vasilios’s shoulder again. “Rest,” Markos said, looking down at him. “I do not know how long this journey will be, and we will need to move quickly.”

Vasilios nodded, and Markos smiled at him before continuing to the door and out into the hall.

Theofilos stood. “I’m going to need to go back to the house and pack, then,” he said, nodding to Vasilios and Aritê.

“I should go with you.” Ilkay also rose, pulling his scarf up from around his shoulders. “Be well, Vasilios, Amma Aritê, and I hope to see you both again soon.”

Aritê also rose and followed them out. Vasilios didn’t really know what to do. It seemed strange to wander about Markos’s house, but he had nothing to pack. Finally he stood and made his way out of the receiving room and down the hall.

He had meant to find Phyllis and ask if there was anything he could do to make himself useful. Instead, he ended up in the garden. The table and chairs were no longer on the stone patio, but there was a wooden bench with cushions on it. Vasilios sat on the bench and stared off across the garden. He didn’t like how tired he was, considering he had not long ago awoken. The sun was warm, the bench was comfortable, the cushions soft, and Vasilios let his mind drift.

H
E
MUST
have dozed off, because he woke with someone’s hand stroking across his head. He was lying on the bench now among the cushions, and he blinked, looking up at Markos who was smiling down at him.

“I’m glad you decided to rest.”

Vasilios sat up and smoothed one hand across his hair and down his rumpled tunic. Markos sat next to him.

“Did you speak with the Bishop?”

“I did,” Markos said. “His secretary confirmed that the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos is indeed on a cliff top, and he gave me a map and detailed instructions for how to get there. I did not actually speak with the Bishop himself, since he is at court at the moment.”

“And we will be leaving soon?” Vasilios asked, and Markos nodded.

“Yes, soon.”

“Then I should get up.” Vasilios made to stand, but Markos tugged him back down by the hand.

“In a minute. I was enjoying sitting here with you.”

“Later,” Vasilios tried to make his voice stern but failed. “Once this is over.”

“Promise me,” Markos said, and Vasilios stared at him before nodding.

“I promise you that once we have exorcised this demon, we will sit together in your garden again.”

“All right.” Markos smiled and reached forward to lightly brush the side of Vasilios’s face before standing. “We should see if Patros and the others are ready to leave yet.”

Vasilios nodded, stood, and followed him.

T
HEY
headed out toward the desert a short time later. Besides Patros, there were two other soldiers whom Patros introduced as Lucius and Arsaces. Both were built like massive walls of muscle. Lucius’s dark hair was streaked with gray and Arsaces wore a close-cropped beard along the line of his jaw in the manner of the Northern Islands, although his skin was not as unusually pale as Eòran’s or Bröndulfr’s.

“Do you want your own horse?” Patros had asked him, and Vasilios hesitated but then shook his head.

“I don’t think I could keep up on my own horse.”

“Two to a horse will mean we travel more slowly,” Patros pointed out. “Can you ride at all?”

“I can,” Vasilios said, “just not well.”

“All right. I’m going to put you on your own horse. I have a sweet-natured one that will suit you well, I think, and I’ll tell both Lucius and Arsaces, not to mention the General, to keep an eye on you and lend aid if it looks like you are not coping as well as you might.”

Vasilios wasn’t at all sure about the plan, but he nodded anyway.

Now on the road heading toward the foothills once more, Lucius rode in back of the group, and Arsaces led. Vasilios tightened his grip on the reins and tried to get back into the rhythm of moving with the horse’s stride, instead of letting it jerk him.

Markos drew his own horse alongside him. “Are you doing all right?” he asked, and Vasilios fought down irritation and reminded himself that Markos was being kind.

“I’m fine,” he said. “As long as I can keep from falling off, I should be fine.”

“Good.” Markos made a clicking noise with his tongue to egg his horse forward to ride slightly in front of Vasilios again. Vasilios kept his eyes on the road ahead of his horse, in case he had to guide it around something, which he feared he would not be able to do. Their little group was not going fast, and the horse Patros had given him was indeed mild tempered, so he’d managed to maintain a good pace with the others thus far.

Even though Vasilios couldn’t see them, he knew Theofilos was behind him on a small gelding from his own stables. Patros and Aritê rode behind him, or at least they had last time Vasilios checked. Aritê could not ride at all and thus shared a horse with Patros.

Vasilios’s horse tossed her head, causing his attention to return to the horse under him and the road right in front of them.

“We’re going to circle around the edge of the foothills and then cut through them tomorrow,” Markos told him when he next drew his horse alongside Vasilios. “It’s getting dark, so we’ll probably stop for a few hours and then start again.”

Vasilios nodded and kept his eyes on the road.

When the light faded slightly from the sky, they stopped by a narrow stream and let the horses water as they passed around food rations. Although some of their company took turns sleeping, Vasilios did not sleep at all. Even with Malachi’s healing, his back was a mess of aching bruises. His legs and arms were sore after a short time on horseback, and he didn’t much care for the idea of trying to lie on the hard ground. He sat instead and watched the stars appear in the sky and charted their paths while people and horses moved and grew quiet around him.