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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Centurion - 16. Chapter 16

Chapter Three:

The First Lesson

Jason awoke alone to the smell of porridge and sausage cooking just outside the carriage. As soon as he pulled the sheets away he noticed he was naked but saw a loincloth hanging on the edge of the carriage window strung though a gold ring with a blue sapphire. It was the ring Philip promised him and it fit perfectly on his right hand. The loincloth was a little large for him however, but forming a knot at one end solved that problem. He then climbed out of the carriage, a little unsure that his legs were really healed, but after taking three steps without falling he relaxed and walked with more confidence toward the campfire, where Jonathan was stirring the pot.

“You hungry, master?” Jonathan asked as he ladled some of the porridge into the bowl.

“Yes... thank you,” Jason said eagerly as he took the warm bowl from Jonathan’s hands.

After Jason had eaten his bowl clean from a growth-spurt­triggered hunger, the Famulus took three small sausages off the fire and added them to the bowl. Jason thanked Jonathan again but then left to go looking for Philip. He found him a little way off, a dark black shadow against the rising sun. Jason watched with fascination as Philip practiced with his double-bladed sword, fighting as if he were against a slew of imaginary opponents. It was like a cross between dance and combat, and Jason had never seen anything like it before. He watched as Philip stretched and moved his massive body across the empty spaces. He was mesmerized by each swing, stab, and strike Philip made and how each move sent his muscles rippling.

When finished, Philip turned around and noticed he had an audience. “Jason, you’re awake and walking I see!”

“Yes... what were you doing?” Jason asked, curious.

“Practicing...”

“But what is that thing?” Jason asked, pointing at the double sword.

Philip walked closer to Jason, balancing the weapon with both hands. “This is called a double-bladed sword... one of the Centurion’s traditional weapons.”

Eager to hold it in his own hands, Jason reached out to it. “Can I touch it?”

“Can you touch it?” Philip chuckled nervously. The weapon was not just heavy but very sharp. It could give Jason a fatal cut if he could not handle it properly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can wield it... yet.”

“Alright...” Jason said, clearly disappointed.

“I have an idea...” Philip said, coming up with an alternative. “Follow me.”

Philip led Jason to where he had left Horn’s spear the night

before. “Jonathan, hold the tip of the spear while you, Jason, you hold

the shaft.” When both were in place Philip “circumcised” the spear, making a clean cut below the metal tip. It was not a perfect quarterstaff,

but Philip was not planning to make Jason into a “master”.

After examining his handy work Philip threw the weapon over

to Jason, only to be surprised when Jason made a perfect catch right

on the middle of the staff. “Why, you just might be a natural!” Philip

laughed. “Is it too heavy for you?” “No... it’s alright.” Jason smiled as he ran his hands down the

smooth wooden shaft.

“Good, now let me show you a simple exercise you can do to practice,” Philip said, beginning Jason’s first lesson.

After half an hour Philip taught Jason the start position, three blocking maneuvers, and four attacks. He was astonished at how fast Jason learned and mastered each technique. When they finally stopped for the morning, Jason could perform the first twenty-step exercise of the one hundred exercises it takes to master the quarterstaff.

“Philip... will I get a tattoo if I master the staff?” Jason questioned while Jonathan tried fitting him for new clothes once again.

“Hahahahahaha... only Centurions get tattoos, Jason.” Philip laughed.

Not understanding, Jason pressed further. “Why?”

“Well, only Centurions are warriors,” Philip said, thinking that would explain everything.

Jason though, on having found his first role model, did not understand why he couldn’t follow in Philip’s footsteps and surprised himself in saying... “But I want to be like you. Why can’t I be a warrior?”

Philip, on hearing this, went to the carriage window and took Jason’s hand in his. Jason you are a Legatio... Legatio can’t be warriors. Do you know why?”

“Because if we bleed, we die?” Jason said bitterly, clearly feeling

cheated. Seeing that Jason at least understood that reality, Philip explained

further. “That is right. I can train you with the quarterstaff though.”

“But I want to learn how to use your sword,” Jason pouted.

“Maybe one day I’ll let you use it... after you have mastered the quarterstaff.”

“How long will that take?” “It took me three years to master all one hundred of the exercises

of the quarterstaff and another three years for my sword.

“Six years!” Jason said in disbelief as Philip continued to hold his hand.

Philip smiled, finding Jason’s frustrations amusing... so untypical of a Legatio. With their long life spans, one thing most Legatio were was patient. “Yes... six years, almost one sixth of my life spent on mastering two weapons. But don’t worry you will have plenty of time to learn how to use the quarterstaff.”

“Will you keep on teaching me?” Jason said hopefully as he rested his head on Philip’s arm.

“You better believe I will,” Philip said as he gave Jason a quick

peck on the top of his head.

For the next three weeks the army slowly made its way through Qul Tos, until reaching The Gate, a fortress carved out of the mountainside that protected the only road to the Domus Empire. On either side of The Gate were the mountains that did not end till they reached the sea. At the entrance to the Gate was a solid sixty-foot wall guarded by multiple watch towers and a wide trench. The only way to the gate was across a twenty-foot wide fifty-foot long wooden ramp held up by thick iron chains that led thirty feet up the mountain wall to a large gap blocked by a door made out of solid granite and guarded by two giant black stone gargoyles, their mouths wide open, their fangs bared.

At the bottom of the ramp, Jason could not see how the door would open, but then, out of the gargoyles’ mouths blasted water, feeding the large ditches below that led into small ponds. As more and more water poured forth, the granite door slowly began to sink down into the floor below, revealing the passage into the mountains. Once the water stopped and the door disappeared underground, the army started to march inside.

As soon as the carriage passed the Gate Jason saw how the gate worked. High up in the mountains were two giant iron vats both tipped over to feed two giant stone troughs that Jason was sure led to the mouths of the gargoyles. Once the army had passed The Gate, the vats were moved toward two giant pipes, which soon began flooding the vats with water. As the vats began to fill, the weight of the water began lowering the iron containers, pulling on the chains to which they were connected. Through the movement of the chains, the stone door rose back up from the floor, blocking the passage again.

The road down the mountain pass, known as The Road of the Dead, was well paved with cobblestones made of the same black granite as The Gate. Jason, gazing up, could see rows of watchtowers all flying the white field with gold sun banner of the Empire. Every five miles there was another fortress blocking the path but with conventional gates of wood and iron. Each time Jason’s carriage would have to stop and wait till the gates could be opened before the army could continue marching. At this slow rate the legions came to a final halt at the third

fortress they had reached that day. “Impressed?” Philip asked as he climbed into Jason’s carriage for the night.

“Why did you build such defenses? What do the Centurions have to be afraid of?” Jason asked.

“We were not always a strong nation. Long ago we were a hunted people and it was only behind these mountains that we found safety. Still, those hunting us tried to reach us here and continue the bloodshed. It was in these very mountains we made our stand and forced the enemy back, allowing for a long period of peace. That was how the empire was founded—with the first thing built being these

barriers against future invasion. “How much longer before we are out of the pass?” Jason asked.

He had found the dark fortresses to be a little frightening, as if hundreds

of eyes were on him that he could not see.

“There are only two more gates after this before we reach the final and grandest of the fortresses.”

“Greater than the Labyrinth Tower?”

“Where the tower achieved its greatness through deception and cunning, the Gate works by its shear size.”

“What does it look like?” Jason asked, curious.

“Look up.” Philip grinned pointing beyond the walls of the third fortress.

Jason looked past the walls at the growing twilight and the solitary mountainous pillar in the distance. Then just as the mountain disappeared in darkness, small fires began to appear like fiery dragons circling in the night sky. In less then an hour the entire stone pillar was alight with spirals of flames.

“Is that? ” Jason asked, his mouth wide open.

“That is the final gate, The Tor, the flames that guide us

home.” “How does it work?” Jason asked.

“We pay the desert nomads to fill the giant vats at the base of

the mountain with the oil found in the Desert of Flames. The oil is then

taken up to the top, where it is fed into a series of gutters, which spiral

down the mountain, lighting it up. As we make our way closer to the

final gate you will start to smell the oil and smoke.

“But why? Why do such a thing?”

“Because it was at the Tor that the last battle was fought against the people hunting us. Lighting up the mountain reminds our people of the souls of those that died... rising into heaven. That is why the mountain is lit each time a Centurion army returns home, for only then can the souls of the Centurions we lost outside Domus reach peace.

“Is all the Empire like this, filled with symbols?” Jason asked.

“Domus is our home so over time we have built it to reflect our past.” The next morning Jason awoke to the smell of smoke, the carriage now closer to the Tor, still aflame. On either side were three series of walls, each one progressively higher than the other. Passage was only possible by way of guarded ramps and bridges, but once through the black granite that had marked the Road of the Dead, there was a green valley.

Looking at the expansive fields filled with life, Jason saw that the valley was divided by giant stone aqueducts feeding the rich farmlands with water from the Jasper Mountains behind him. As they continued to travel, Jason watched hundreds of men and women, dressed in Famulus black robes, working the fields and repairing the roads. Men dressed in white and gold armor patrolling the area, both on foot and on horseback. Philip told him that those men were the Home Guard, protectors of Domus and its surrounding lands. Rarely, Jason would catch the eye of a man dressed in red clothing. That, Philip explained, was one of Jason’s fellow Legatio, supervising the work of the Famulus.

"So those are my people."

This work is the original creation of the writer who holds all rights to it. 2011 All rights reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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