Aurora Wolf

Old Friend

by John Arthur Miller

 The full moon reflects from puddles in the middle of the arena.  Stale blood congeals and coagulates in those dark surfaces from earlier battles.  The reflected silver orb, suspended within the life-liquid, catches Joshua’s attention, as he hangs from the highest point of the arena.  Rows of cement seats ripple up and out from the arena’s center, where gladiators fight to the death during daylight hours.  Directly beneath Joshua, the cushioned seats for royalty remain empty, until tomorrow’s festivities, when the gates open to let in the frenzied crowd.  Now it is dark, and a cool breeze pushes a dark strand of hair across Joshua’s brow.  The midnight sun shines high above, high noon to Joshua and his kind.  He’d fought in this arena fifty years before, a human lifetime ago, but no trace of humanity remained upon his white features other than bloody tears.

“Here I am, old friend.”  The wind increases to a gale, carries his whispered words away like his former life.  “As I promised.”

The encroaching storm is miles away, but the wind increases to strong gusts.  Joshua drops from the precipice.  Instead of falling strait down, he moves with the wind like a feather, until with a twist of his mind his body redirects, and he lights in the center of the arena.  The moon shines above and beneath.

He steps through the puddle.  The second moon splashes away on his boots as he moves to the cells underground, where the enslaved gladiators wait for the coming day’s battles.  His body mists at the gridlocked iron gates on the opposite side.  Dark condensation collects on the iron then flows into his body which solidifies on the other side.  Shadows collect about his body like fluff, and he moves down the corridor.  The last time he had walked this corridor he’d been alive.  His white parlor cannot be seen; he moves hidden, without noise, silent as a shadow.

He’s come home.

###

Fifty years ago, on the last day of his life, he stood in the corridor leading to the arena.  Next to him stood Janus, whom the Arena had nicknamed Dungeon Master.  Twenty years before, Janus had walked this same corridor and won his freedom.  Now he stood next to Joshua as they waited for the final battle.

“You can be like me,” he told Joshua.  “You can be a freeman.”

“But never a Citizen of Rome, eh?”

Janus spat and said, “Tell me what you wouldn’t give to be free of these walls?”

“You had that freedom, Janus.  You fought your way to freedom and could have left.  Why did you stay?”

Janus became silent for a moment.  His eyes misted but he blamed it on the dust with a gesture.  After he cleared his throat he began to speak:

“Because of warriors like you, Joshua, I can tell a Legionnaire.  I saw you among the chained slaves of the caravan, human trophies.  You were shanghaied and enslaved by a corrupt merchantman eager for a profit. I knew your story before you arrived. It is the same for many of the men here.

“Did they free you?  Do the magistrates liberate those who have been illegally enslaved?  Nay, they simply shipped you back to Rome.  The heartiest were sent here, and it is my job—as a freeman—to train people just like you into something more than warriors.”  His eyes softened to match his heart.  “It is my job to take ordinary men and transform them into fighting machines… into gladiators.”

“And you have done well.  I thank you.”

Joshua’s words were simple, but filled with such emotion that Janus gasped and took a step back.  “It was nothing… it was—”

“I owe you my life.  You didn’t have to try so hard.” 

Joshua looked through the gridlock-iron gate; saw the trained centurion in the arena, waiting for him.  He gave a practice swing with his gladius, the short swords used by all gladiators.  He white-knuckled the leather strap of the Roman shield bearing the crescent of Zeus and twelve virgins.

“Someone taught me same as I’ve taught you,” Janus said.  “I work to help slaves become freemen.  Like you.  But you’re not free yet.”

Both men looked through the gates.  Janus sighed and his face crinkled with concern.

“Don’t worry, my friend.  I’ll be a freeman in less than an hour.”

Janus and Joshua grabbed each other’s forearms.

“I know you will,” Janus said.  “I believe in you.”

“I’ll come back for you.”  Joshua beamed.  “Just a little more blood, then I’ll be free.  Not quite a Roman Citizen, but enough… just enough.”

“Come back for me?  By the gods!  Whatever for?”

“You’re tired of all this, aren’t you?”

Janus grinned and let out another sigh.

“If you come back for me, I’ll go with you.  If you don’t return, this is where I plan to die, tired though I may be.”

“Trust me: I’ll come back for you, Janus.  You’ve been a mentor and friend to me.  A father.  It’s the least I can do.”

They called for Joshua.  Janus smacked Joshua in the head before he could raise the shield.  The iron gate rose.

“You’ll have to be faster than that to survive today.  Imagine, an old man like me smacking your head.”

Joshua hadn’t expected the blow from his instructor and friend.  Still, he grinned.

“Mark my words, I’ll be back.”

###

He mists through the bars of a locked door’s window.  Moves down stairs in mist form, his ethereal form hangs along the ceiling with the haze of torches along the walls.  At the bottom of the stairs looms a dark corridor.  To the left cells for gladiators wait.  He floats right toward rooms for guards and trainers.  Outside a familiar one room he pauses, sinks beneath the door and seeps inside.

Joshua rises before Janus’ cot.  Moonlight spills through a high window.  His shadow falls over the old man’s face.  Janus sits up and points a gladius at Joshua’s throat.

“I’m old but not that old, fool,” Janus says.  “Blind in one eye and weak in the other though I may be, I’m still more than a match for you.  So leave while you still can.”

“Janus, put your gladius down.”

The ancient man’s eyes squint and he says, “Joshua?”

Joshua gives him a tight-lipped smile.

“I can hardly see you… but I know your voice.  How can this be?”

“It doesn’t matter, old friend.”  Joshua pushes the gladius down and Janus lets it drop.  “I said I would return.”

“But you died.”  Janus backs on his cot, knees high, back against the dirt wall.  “I saw your dead body.”

“I’m still dead, Janus.  But I also said I’d be back.”

“Back for what?”  Janus’ eyes grow wide and his arms tremble about his knees.  “I know not what you are, but I’ll be damned in Hades before I follow a dead man.”

“You’re going to follow me soon enough as it is, old friend.”

Janus’ face pales.

“You’re old, Janus.  So unbelievably old.  I can hear your feeble heart within your chest, smell your thinning blood—you won’t be here much longer… unless you want to.”

“Want to?”

Joshua takes a step closer, his boot steps upon the fallen gladius.

“I can still take you with me, my friend.  To a place where death does not go.”

“And what place is this?”

“Come and see.”

Joshua holds his hand out.  Janus leaves the cot and stands a ways off, uncertain.  The roar of his fear-induced blood, the pulse in his throat—the sound is blood-tide loud, like ocean surf in Joshua’s ears.

“Will you come with me?”

Janus opens his mouth to speak, but instead a hacking cough consumes him.  Joshua helps him to his cot where he can recover, wondering what Janus’ response will be.

###

His opponent fell almost immediately, his blood slicked Joshua’s gladius when he raised it to Emperor Tiberius.  The frenzied crowd cheered his new title: Freeman, freeman, freeman!  Emperor Tiberius nodded and a new gate opened leading out of the arena.  Two scarred centurions entered.  They saluted Joshua with their swords.

“You are free to go,” they told him in unison.  “Freeman!”

Joshua exited the arena.  He intended to enter through the front gates, plead his way inside, so he could find Janus, but Tiberius demanded his presence.  Joshua looked at the servant whom had told him the news, saw the look of fear in the slave’s face, and he couldn’t send him back to the emperor with news of refusal.  Besides, if Tiberius became angered, one word could send Joshua back into the arena.

He followed the slave to the front entrance, up the multiple stairs, to the royal seats.  The slave directed Joshua to sit beside the emperor.

“You stink,” the emperor said.

“Forgive me, your Excellency, but I just left the arena and—”

“I know that,” he snapped.  “I’m not talking about your sweat; I’m referring to your blood.”

“But I’m not bleeding.”

“I know.”  Emperor Tiberius inhaled through his nose as if he enjoyed a nice meal.  “But I can smell you.  You see, I have… another I answer to.”

“You speak of the Senate, no doubt?”

“Nay, one individual whom has promised me great power.”  Tiberius smiled, and Joshua saw brilliant, even teeth.  “He has promised me… long life.  If I oblige him certain things.”

“What does he want?”

“You.”

###

“I can’t go with you, Joshua.”

Janus paces the room.  He shakes his head.

“Right after you won your freedom, I heard from the centurions you’d gone off with the emperor.  That night your body was sent back to the arena to be buried.”  He pauses and glances at Joshua who won’t meet his gaze.  “I helped bury you, son.  Now look at you!  You haven’t aged.”

He touches Joshua’s cheek and adds, “But your face is so white.”

“There is a price to pay, my friend.”

“The new slaves whisper rumors in their cells,” Janus says.  “Ekimu.”

“Yes: the walking dead.”

“And Emperor Tiberius?”

“His death was staged.  He had enough blood from the Master to sustain him after the attack.  He moves about freely at night now, having given much for the Master.”

“And what did you give, Joshua, for this eternal life?”

Joshua turns away and says, “You do not want to know.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Yes.  But I’ll never die, and you don’t have to, either.”

Janus coughs and it turns into a wheeze.

“You won’t be here much longer, old friend.”  Joshua smiles and twin incisors protrude over his lower lip.  “Unless you wish to be.”

Janus reaches for Joshua and says, “Help me up.”

Both face each other.  Janus nods.  Thunder shakes the heavens, the earth.  Dust sifts from the ceiling.  Joshua touches his mouth to the old man’s wrinkled skin and waits.  Janus does not object.  Joshua bites.  Fangs slide deep.  Blood flows.  Janus’ eyes grow wide.

“Old friend,” Joshua’s thoughts slide into the old man’s mind. 

“Thank you,” Janus whispers as his heart begins to slow.  “I was afraid to die.”

Outside the underground complex, the storm unleashes her fury.