Blood Eagle

For the Sake of Another

His various concerns kept Arn from sleep for a while, and when he woke again, daylight brought little relief. He thrust his worries about Magnus and obtaining the final rune token aside for now. Domitian was dying. The fever had him in its grip; infection was spreading through his body, a spectre that could slay the strongest of men. The ministrations of the medicus amounted to naught; nor did the elixirs of apothecaries and charlatan alchemists help. One solution dangled itself right in front of Arn, the most obvious one; the same that had saved him.

In the morning, Mahan announced who would fight at tomorrow's games, meaning today was Manday. It seemed a sign from the gods; tonight, Helena would make her recurring appearance. All Arn had to do was convince her to use the powers she hated, when she had barely forgiven him for forcing her to do so the last time, on behalf of a man she barely knew. He exhaled deeply and dug into his breakfast meal.

*

She performed the ritual as always in the training yard, and he watched from the shadows meanwhile. Once done, and the gladiators got up and left, Arn waited until the sister noticed him.

'Hullo,' she signed. 'Come to talk?'

'I have.' He approached, and they went to sit on the bench. Figuring that a less direct approach would be best, Arn gestured, 'I'm curious. Why do you do this work? A ludus is an unusual place. The opposite of the convent where you live.'

He saw the folds of her veil move, disturbed by her mouth curling into a smile. 'It's not all I do. Pelday, I help give food to the needy. Malday, I work in the infirmary down the street. And the rest of the time, I work in the convent.'

'Of course. I didn't think you were idle the rest of the fiveday.'

She laughed a little. 'Just making a jest. You're right, of course. It is at the request of Lord Flavus, the patron of our convent. He also oversees the games.'

Arn remembered the man; the patrician who had hosted the brawl in his garden where he had the displeasure of encountering Salvius again. Unconscious of his own action, Arn touched his chin.

'Some of my sisters attend the other ludi. I was asked to attend this one.'

'Our luck.' He sensed that she smiled again. 'How long have you come here?'

'Must be three or four years.'

Time to approach the actual subject. 'You must have seen Domitian many times, then.'

'I have.' She lowered her face a little, staring at the empty space between them rather than his hands. 'I am sorry to hear of his condition. I will pray for him.'

Arn wanted to shout that she could do so much more, but physical limitations meant he did not have to worry about restraining himself in that regard. Instead, he considered how to best ask the question he knew would infuriate her. 'He is dying. Medicine and a physician's care cannot save him. I don't think prayers will either.'

'We can always hope for a miracle.'

No further delaying. 'A miracle could be made certain. By the right person. Right hands.' He raised his eyes to look directly into her face, hidden by the black fabric. He saw it move as she exhaled.

"You can't be serious. Not again."

'Not for me. For him.'

"Or what?" She switched back to signs. 'You'll expose my secret?'

'No threats. Just a plea.' Arn did not have to draw on his experience as a performer to convey the heavy concern that lay on him; it came by itself, written on his expression. 'He'll die. Only you can save him.'

'You don't know what you ask!' The swift movement of her hands told him of the furore that he could not read on her face. 'I've never felt worse in my life than when I helped you. The gods cursed me with this gift, and they punished me for using it. It couldn't be clearer.'

Arn clenched his hands, suppressing the urge to tell her that she had simply suffered magical exhaustion, which happened to any novice going far beyond their skills. 'He'll die,' he repeated. 'You have the power to save a man's life.'

He sensed her staring at him. 'What has this power done for you? Destroyed your life and made you a slave.'

'A tool is not good or evil. The same blade that kills the defenceless might be used in other hands to defend the weak.'

She shook her head. "No," she spoke. "Even the Archeans agree some kinds of magic are wrong. They just don't understand it's every kind."

'You pray for these men every time they go to fight. Why can't you help them now when it would really matter?'

She stiffened her shoulders. 'Prayer is righteous. We leave it in the hands of the gods.'

'But yours already have the power to decide.' Unable to hold back, he reached out and grabbed her hands, squeezing them.

"You're not supposed to touch a Maiden of the Moon," she mumbled, pulling her hands back.

"Sister Helena! Northman!" From across the yard, Mahan's voice reached them. He stood in the doorway. "It is late."

Arn got up and signed to him, 'Can we visit Domitian? I've asked the sister to bless him.'

The weapons master hesitated. "Alright. Sure. Just don't take long."

Helena stood up as well, and he imagined an angry look sent his way, though the veil made it hard to tell. He glanced back at her. 'Come on.'

In the workshop of the medicus, Domitian lay, moving closer to death with each passing moment. The physician had already gone to sleep in the adjoining room.

Mindful that time was sparse, yet afraid to push Helena, Arn kept quiet and let her see with her own eyes what was at stake, who she condemned unless she acted.

At length, she looked up at him. 'Why do you care? What difference does it make if he lives or dies?'

'He is my only friend.'

She exhaled, causing her veil to flutter again. 'I won't do it for your sake. But I will for his.'

Relieved, Arn pulled away the blanket to reveal bloody bandages covering the wounds on his stomach. Hesitant, the sister placed her hands above the rags, turned rusty in colour. A burst of power left her, and immediately, Domitian shook and trembled. Arn grabbed his shoulders, holding him down, and a moment later, he became calm.

Helena, meanwhile, ripped the veil from her face and stumbled over to purge herself in a bowl of water, and he quickly looked away. "I don't know why I let you do this to me," she muttered, wiping her mouth before she placed the fabric back in place.

'Thank you,' he signed, but he was not sure she noticed; she left without further words or even a look in his direction. On the slab, Domitian slept peacefully.

*

News of Domitian's recovery spread through the ludus during breakfast, and it was taken as a good omen for the day's upcoming fights. Arn ate his meal in silence, never tempted to participate in the discussions that filled the common room; it would be too cumbersome even if he cared enough to make his opinion known.

The good mood was compounded by it being Solday with Mahan absent, allowing for relaxed sparring. The gladiators laughed and enjoyed the day, Arn included; at times, half a smile even found its way to his face. He visited Domitian, quickly on the mend, though still resting. With the medicus and other well-wishers coming in and out of the workshop, Arn figured it was best to avoid any discussion about Domitian’s private affairs; he simply gave a nod in response to the unspoken question on his friend’s face.

The omen held true as their fighters returned from the arena, all with victories. A few jars of wine were opened and shared after training, and all seemed well in the House of Ignius.

*

Retired to his cell after dark, Arn heard a knock. Opening, he saw Mahan outside. “I should like to talk.”

Having no reason nor really the option to refuse the weapons master, Arn pulled back and let him enter. ‘Yes?’ he signed, remembering that he could use this with Mahan.

“Something strange has happened in this house, and I think you’re aware of it.”

Arn bristled at the accusation, primarily because it was true; at the same time, Mahan could refer to several things, and in any case, he had no reason to confirm any suspicions.

“Yesterday, Domitian was dying. I’ve seen enough injuries to know this. The medicus believed this as well.”

Arn kept his hands quiet, not wishing to encourage this line of thinking.

“Today, no sign of fever or weakness. That shouldn’t be possible.” Mahan stared at him, and the accusation lay unspoken between them.

Feeling compelled to give some kind of answer, Arn finally replied, ‘We all prayed for a miracle.’

“I’ve never seen a miracle, but I’ve witnessed magic. That’s the only thing I know of that might bring a man back, hale and hearty, from death’s door.”

Arn did his best to laugh, letting that serve as his response.

“You brought the sister in here last night.” Mahan’s gaze pierced the Tyrian. “What did she do?”

‘She prayed. I guess her goddess listened.’

The weapons master shook his head. “I think she did more. Just like when you were badly injured, and she came to visit you. Soon after, you were well again.”

‘What does it matter, magic or miracle? Domitian is well.’

“She is not sanctioned to work with magic,” Mahan hissed. “She could well be considered a maleficar, a practitioner of the evil arts. If it becomes known we have consorted with a rogue mage, this entire house could be tainted by association!”

‘Surely not!’

“The only safe thing is to report her ourselves,” the weapons master muttered.

Arn swallowed. He realised that both honour and reason demanded the same course of action of him. He had to protect Helena, who had only done this because he asked her to, and he needed to give Mahan incentive to keep quiet, lest an official investigation into Helena and the ludus also revealed him to the authorities. ‘She doesn’t have magic.’ He hesitated, feeling the other man’s agitated state, knowing this would only make it worse. ‘I do.’

Mahan looked at him without comprehension. “What do you mean? I think you used the wrong signs.”

‘No. I am what you call a mage.’

The weapons master barked a laugh that turned into a sneer. “You were examined when you first came here. Don’t ever say that again, not even in jest.”

Sighing, Arn reached out. Using his rune of force, he grabbed Mahan by the collar with one hand and raised the big man into the air with ease until his head touched the ceiling.

“What – put me down!”

Slowly, controlled, Arn lowered Mahan down onto the ground. He released him and carefully signed, ‘I have magic.’

A string of words followed in a language unknown to Arn, but he could guess the meaning. “You have magic,” Mahan hissed through his teeth. “Do you know what that means?”

Arn figured he did not actually want an answer and gave none.

“We are all guilty of blasphemy, violating the sacred laws of the arena! They’ll throw us to the lions, this entire ludus!”

Arn saw the opportunity to be glib, but he remained silent.

“Does the dominus know?” Mahan ceased his furious ravings to stare directly at Arn again. “Of course he does. That’s why he lets you do what you want. Eternal Flame, the pair of you have doomed us!” He marched out, slamming the door behind him.

Arn let out a sigh and lay down on his cot. More and more people knew his secret; time was running out.