The Lost Book of Chaos: How to Divide the World (The Secret Wars of Angels 1) (9 page)

“They went in that direction,” the ragged old man said, pointing with his pouted mouth.

At that, the footsteps of the local guards faded in the distance.

“Come, come,” the old man whispered. “They're gone, but hurry.”

The two hastily stood up and followed the old man into an inner alley. “I hope you don't mind our humble accommodation,” the old man said, “which you will see later.” In this part of the city—Judas realized it was a city and not a town—the buildings grew larger, and the population grew denser. Had it not been so, it would have been difficult to lose their pursuers.

“We don't own any land here,” the old man explained as they walked, “but since no one wants the land we stay in, we can use it as our place. For so long as the ones in power don't decide to force us out.”

The old man walked in front of them, leading the way into the complex system of small alleyways that ran deeper into the city.

Judas and the witch woman followed quietly. He looked at her, and she in turn eyed him from the corner of her eyes.

“I've been around here for two years now,” the old man rattled on. The old man's clothes were blackened in several areas from the dirt of the streets. His hair was white, unkempt, and grew in tangles. But the old man's strides were sure. “And I've seen all sorts of folks who got in trouble with them Roman Guards. Why, even the Local Guards side with the Romans, quite ironic don't you think?”

Judas nodded for the old man to continue.

“Considering,” the old man said, stroking his grey beard. “its the Romans who conquered our land. And today, the youths serve the Roman Military, oppressing the poor with their taxes.”

As they went deeper, the streets lined with more and more of the homeless. Their dirty faces looked up as the three passed.

“Ho there, Vashni,” the old man called as he passed them by. “Ho there, Yahsar! Ho there, Shiras!” The homeless tipped their hats or nodded their heads to the old man.

The old man stopped in front of a man who had several crates beside him.

“What's up old man Busho?” the crate-man called.

“Mahdim,” the old man said, “we need two beggars clothes that'll fit for them.” At this, the crate-man wasted no time and took out several ragged clothes, handing them to Judas and the witch woman.

The two understood and donned the ragged clothes. This would help for them to blend in, in case their pursuers came back.

“That's better,” the old man Busho smiled a gap toothed grin.

With their disguise, the two followed Busho as he headed deeper into the den of the rejects of society, until they reached what appeared to be the hub.

“I told you not to expect much didn't I?” Busho turned to them.

Here, the homeless lined every corner, some huddled about, talking, Some lay down on the streets. Some kept warm by the fire. The smell of sweat, dirt, and earth was thick in the air, a rancid sweetness.

“But you two can stay here,” old man Busho said, “wait things out until it's safe. You are always welcome here, and feel free to always come back if you need somewhere to stay in the future.”

“Thank you,” Judas said.

Judas thought about Arcana and Varak, but he couldn't do anything about that now while the guards were looking for him.

“Why help us?” Judas said.

“The enemy of the Roman Empire are our friends,” the old man said as he stretched his back, his bones cracking as he did. “Oh, oh,” the old man grunted.

Another set of footsteps came from behind, this time it was the sound of metal greaves on the cobbled stone road and the clinking of chain mail. These were not the same as the local guards, they were better equipped Roman Guards. While the local guards were militia, civilians equipped with weapons and leather armor and drafted from the local populace, the Roman Guards were fully armed, and most of them were veterans, tried and tested in battle.

Judas and the witch woman moved toward a corner, careful not to draw attention. They sat and huddled with the others. The old man grumbled and headed off to meet the guards.

The Roman Guard who apparently was the Captain, described to the old man the two that they were looking for. Judas counted about about a dozen of the Roman Guards. In contrast, there were hundreds of homeless people here. But while there were many times that number of homeless people, the homeless people could do little against them should the Roman Guards decide to rely on violence.

“As you can see,” the old man said, waving his hand to the others who were huddled around, “it is only poor beggars here. We are living in peace, in a small plot of land owned by no man. We don't break any laws. We don't cause trouble for no one. We are thankful always for your work in keeping the peace, Captain.”

The only reason that no one wanted this small piece of land was because it was close to the landfill, the garbage dump of the city.

"Maybe we should force it out of him," one of the guards sneered.

Judas tensed. If the old man got into trouble because of them, Judas wouldn't be able to bear it. The Roman Guard Captain scanned the area. For a moment, the Captain's eyes fell on Judas.

But the Captain's eyes moved on.

Judas tried to calm down and not show anything that might give him away. And after what seemed like forever, the Captain signalled his men to head off.

Judas breathed a sigh of relief.

They were safe, for now.

Judas turned to the witch woman.

The witch woman was silent all throughout, but she finally spoke. “We should spend the night here,” she suggested. “Tomorrow you will rescue your friends.”

Now that they were out of danger, Judas took in the woman in front of him. She had dark brown skin, with light gray hair, but not from old age. It just seemed to be the color of her hair.

“I think,” Judas said, “that’s a good idea. I could definitely use your help.”

“I didn’t say I would be there with you,” the witch woman said.

Judas recalled what she said,
Tomorrow you will rescue your friends.
So it would be just him after all.

“But you’re the reason they got caught in the first place,” Judas said. “You should at least do something to help.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you either,” the witch woman said.

Judas scratched his head. Which was it?

“Consider it my benevolence,” she continued, “because their help was unnecessary. Mere fire will not burn me.”

Great, here's another strange woman who believed she had strange powers.

“I won’t be there to help you,” she said, “but I
will
give you the help you need.”

She wouldn’t be there, but she would help him. How could that be? Unless she was really...

Judas had a strange sensation in his stomach.

“Are you, by chance, a real witch?” Judas said.

The woman laughed.

“No, no, I am much more than that,” she smiled mysteriously.

Judas felt a chill in his bones. The very air around her seemed to darken.

For a moment, Judas compared his mental picture of Arcana against the woman. While Arcana had something mysterious about her, Arcana had compassionate eyes. Eyes full of hope. Arcana was more like a good witch, though she denied she was a witch at all.

On the other hand, the woman in front of him was the exact opposite. From her clothes, to her face, to the way she moved, to her eyes that seemed to look into his soul.

The woman appeared young, in her late twenties, but now that Judas looked closer, there was a sense of agelessness about her. But it was not youth, it was more like something...

Primeval.

Ancient, even.

That was the word that came to his mind. He wasn't quite sure why.

“Who are you?” Judas said, pushing away the feeling that he was somehow an insignificant life form compared to her.

“It’s impolite to ask a woman,” she answered, “without introducing yourself first.”

“I'm Judas,” he said.

“I am...” the woman began.

But out of nowhere, a name came to Judas. A name, whispered in his ears.

Shemyaza.

Was it the same voice that was talking to him before? Yes, it was that inhuman voice.

“Shemyaza?” Judas echoed the voice in his head.

The woman, for the first time, wore a surprised look.

“Hmmm?” she said. “You seem to have heard of me?”

Judas shrugged. “I don't know,” Judas said, “it just came to mind.”

The woman appeared thoughtful.

“I found it strange since earlier,” Shemyaza said, “but you and your friends are not ordinary people either. Your companion, the woman, she possesses Hidden Knowledge. Not that such child’s play interests me.”

Child’s play? If she saw Arcana as a mere child, then maybe his thoughts about her were right. She was no ordinary woman.

“And you...” Shemyaza said.

“There appears to be a spirit surrounding you,” Shemyaza drew her dark eyes in slits, concentrating. “But it's not here, it's very far away. Too weak a connection to tell more about its nature.”

Spirit?

What was she talking about?

Could it be the inhuman voice talking in his mind?

Shemyaza nodded to herself. “The link is very weak,” Shemyaza said, “but it is there, and it links to...”

Shemyaza circled him, her two hands weaving patterns around him, as if pulling on invisible threads. “Hmmm, hard to fathom with such a weak power, disappearing, appearing, strengthening, weakening. Interesting.”

Judas felt his blood turn cold. Maybe he wasn’t going crazy after all.

But enough, if this went on...

“So,” Judas said, trying to divert the topic, “if you will not be there to help me, how do you suggest that I save my friends?”

But before Shemyaza could answer, there was a grunt from behind them. The old man who had helped them had returned. Had the old man heard of Judas and Shemyaza's discussion?

Shemyaza didn't seem to be worried. She had an air of confidence about her, as if nothing could touch her. Well, she had the same air of confidence about getting burned alive, so why not?

“There you are,” the old man Busho said, smiling a gap toothed grin. “You should be safe now, but stay here for the night just to be certain.”

Judas looked to Shemyaza, but she didn’t say anything, nor did she look interested.

“Those Roman Guards,” the old man said, “always bringing trouble to us poor folks, as if their heavy taxes weren't enough. Can you imagine taxing even the poor?”

The other poor beggars grunted in agreement.

“They wave their banners of freedom,” another one among the beggars said, “but they impose heavy taxes on us ordinary folks. I lost my house, I lost everything. They claim to free us from slavery, only to enslave us in debt.”

“Freedom for them and not for us,” another added in. “They impose laws that protect them, but oppress us.”

“But oh how rude of me,” the old man said, “I haven't even introduced myself.” The old man hadn't, however, Judas had heard his name already several times, but Judas kept silent since he was an old man.

“The name's Busho,” the old man said as he extended a hand. Judas took it. Shemyaza didn't seem interested in interacting with mere mortals.

“Judas,” Judas said, and since Shemyaza didn't offer, he continued, “and this one is Shemyaza.”

“What a peculiar name,” Busho said. “Shemyaza reminds me of... But never mind, it couldn't be, that was a long time ago and you wouldn't be the same a—but I digress.”

Old man Busho gestured for them to move closer.

“Why are the Roman Guards after you?” Busho whispered, though his whisper was loud so that everyone could hear.

“We were caught in some trouble from earlier,” Judas explained, “they were going to burn a witch, though they had no solid proof. And so my friends meddled and, now I'm caught up in it too.”

“I see,” Busho said, “well, you are always welcome here in our humble place. A sanctuary where our roof are the stars and the trees. A place where the people wear clothes that are torn and tattered, but are kept warm in the spirit of compassion for one another.”

Judas couldn't help but like the old man. Though this was far from a sanctuary, he did feel very welcome here.

That night, they joined the homeless people as they huddled around a big fire. From the dancing firelight, Judas could see a mix of people from all over the land. Many looked like foreigners. Few things were similar among them, aside from being poor.

Food was passed from one to the other. There wasn't much, and whatever little there was, it looked to be of close-to-stale bread. The people didn't seem to mind.

“There are people who help us with simple blessings such as these,” old man Busho explained, pointing to the meager food they had. “Not all Romans are evil see? It's not the Romans we don't like, it's only those at the top mostly, they are the ones who put so much pressure on us poor. Because, they can't understand what it's like to be poor. To work hard. To struggle. To be hungry. You understand?”