4th Vigil, 12th Hour

“Get ‘way!” Askles’ shout drowned before it went four paces; the sand and sky seemed to suck the sound right out of him.

The vultures ignored his cries, circling closer and closer under the hot midday sun.

Askles tried to flee, but he couldn’t: he’d been buried up to the neck.

He strained mightily. He flexed his shoulders, his legs; he bent his back against the hard ground which was oddly soft but unyielding.

“Fuck off! I ain’t dead! Shoo! Shoo!” He couldn’t get enough breath in his lungs.

Nope. They were descending now, and Askles could see their ugly bald heads as they flew closer, the stench of rotting meat wafting with every wing-beat.

“Fuck off! I said fuck off!” The ground squeezed, so hot and tight that he’d gone dizzy.

This was a dream. Askles very clearly remembered going to bed as usual, wide awake ‘til nearly second watch ‘cause Pitie snored like a wild hog in heat. A wild hog in heat that was drowning. Nothing shut him up, not even a wadded-up cloak in his mouth, the loud fucker.

But he could smell them. They reeked, they just fucking reeked, like a dog that’d rolled in day-old vomit then come panting back into the house.

“Argh! Arrrghh!” He strained again, trying to get away from the stench, but he was stuck, the heat of the sunbaked sand rolling over him in waves. His eyes watered; it was so fucking hot, and it stunk.

One of them landed three steps away, beady black eyes glinting as it cocked its head to look at him. Askles yelled, or tried to yell, as loudly as it could; the damn thing just kept staring at him.

“No! Go eat a rottin’ sand-rat! I’m not food!”

The vulture stepped closer, head bobbing.

“No!”

Another step.

Askles thrashed desperately, but he only managed to pull a muscle.

And another.

Askles stared into the thing’s soulless black eyes, stared into his own horrified reflection as the bird peered back; it came closer and closer, head bobbing, and ‘Kles knew, he just knew the fuckin’ thing was gonna take his other eye—

Askles panicked.

He bit it. In the neck.

“FUCKIN’ COCKSUCKER!”

Askles snapped awake as Epitus flailed on top of him, screaming and swearing like he'd been bitten by a dog.

Askles grimaced, tasting blood in his mouth; he spat, and there it was: a chunk of Pitie, bloody and fresh.

It wasn’t a big chunk.

Really.

Pitie jerked away, hand clamped on his shoulder. “You sick fuck! Th’ fuck in th’ fuck! You bit me! You bit me!”

“You’re th’ fuckin’ cocksucker,” snapped Askles, grimacing. “Were you tryin’ t’ kill me in my sleep?”

“Th’ fuck ya goin’ on about? You tried t’ kill me!”

Askles jerked forward, but jagged to a stop. He’d gotten hopelessly tangled in his sleeping roll.

“Did not. You tried t’ suffocate me. Thought I’d die.”

“I was not! I was sleepin’! And ya didn’t have ta bite me, you crazy fuck!”

“I wasn’t tryin’! Thought ya were a fuckin’ bird.”

Pitie’s face screwed up into a look of half-confusion, half-disgust. “The fuck ya goin’ on ‘bout now?”

“Had a dream. Thought you were a bird comin’ to peck my eyes out.” Askles rolled his tongue over his teeth and made a noise of revulsion before spitting again. “Fuck. Why d’ya always roll on top o’ me? We ain’t ten, Pitie. Stick to your side.”

Pitie glared. “I wasn’t tryin’. I was sleepin’. Coulda jus’ woken me like a man wit’ sense.” He winced, lifting his hand from his shoulder. There was some blood, but it wasn’t too bad. Askles had only gotten him a little.

“Don’t be a pussy,” he muttered, easing himself from the clinging bedroll. He took his wadded-up tunic and tossed it to his childhood friend. “Use that.”

Pitie rolled his eyes and tossed it back. “It ain’t bleedin’ no more. Fuck you.” He glanced at his bloody hand and reached over, wiping it with more force than necessary on Askles’ bedroll.

“The lil’ bitch who’s scared o’ birds don’t get to call me pussy.”

Askles didn’t bother responding. They’d go all morning. “Let’s get some water an’ wash that off.”

Pitie shrugged. “It’s a teeny bite, ‘Kles. Forget it.” Then he glared again. “But if ya do it again, I’ll punch yer teeth in.”

“Well, don’t go rollin’ on me then!”

“Then jus’ wake me like a normal fucker nex’ time!”

Askles sighed. “Fine, fine. No bitin’.”

Epitus looked satisfied enough, though he still gave ‘Kles dirty looks as they dressed.

Askles decided this was not a good time to mention that Pitie still stunk. How did he always manage to smell so damn bad? Was he rolling in something whenever Askles wasn’t looking?

Askles was trying very hard not to breathe in too deeply. Fuck, he smacked of puke. Day-old puke. What—?

His tunic.

The grimace was reflexive. Askles could see the stain from the dinner as Epitus dressed.

Pitie had rinsed it off in a fountain, but he’d done a shit job at washing. Now it looked like a vomit-ridden shirt that had been randomly wetted then crammed into a bag while damp.

It smelled like it too.

“’ere.” Askles mourned his good tunic, but the sacrifice was worth it. He tossed his only dyed linen tunic to his absolutely stinking childhood friend.

“Wha?”

“You stink. Wear that ‘un. And fuck, take tha’ to the laundry!”

For a moment, Askles thought Pitie would argue, just to rub it in. But he didn’t like the stink either, ‘cause he took the tunic without fuss and wore it.

Once they were both fit for public, Epitus sniffed the air. “Tha’s breakfast.”

It likely was. The caravan park had a public oven and fire pit, and their neighbours—a Yartan trader to the left, and a Birdutan to the right—seemed to be having some sort of competition over who could use the oven first, which meant that every morning, they woke to the smell of bread and meat. Happily, both parties were eager to share their provisions in exchange for coin.

Askles touched his belt pouch and shook it.

No jingle. The only sound was that of two or three copper coins rolling around in an empty leather sack.

Their purses got lighter everyday, which meant that they probably had to find some work soon, or they’d have to go scavenging.

Askles would scavenge if he had to.

But he’d swear Pitie to silence. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone…knowing.

Pitie, on the other hand, had an instinct. He always managed to spot the shiny in the rubbish heaps littering the streets. Askles didn’t judge him for it; Pitie had grown up that way, and ‘sides—it was useful, anyhow.

Askles popped his head out from the tent. They’d decided to save money by sleeping outside the walls at the caravan park, but he had to admit it was more than a little embarrassing. They were sleeping on the ground like fucking vagrants, which was not at all what Askles had been planning to do when he’d come to Kyros. He’d meant to look respectable—for a week, at least.

It couldn’t be helped, though.

Askles’ jaw clenched with remembered rage.

Fucking thieves. They’d taken nearly everything, everything; Pitie had lost Tilè, his ma’s mule, along with nearly everything he’d brought, and Askles had no marriage gifts.

Who in fucking Hades showed up to ask for a woman’s hand without gifts?

It was just so gods-damned embarrassing, not to mention enraging. It wasn’t odd to join up with other travellers, but these ones had been thieves. The fuckers had taken the mule and saddlebags, and whatever else they could, in the middle of the night; Askles and Pitie had searched ‘til their bellies had threatened to eat them. They’d been forced to give up and go to Kyros on foot.

Infuriating. Just infuriating…and humiliating. It had been so humiliating that Pitie and Askles hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone, though Askles was sure, absolutely sure, that sir Nikias had figured it out already.

Strategos too, probably. There was no fooling either of them, but they were both too mannerly to say a thing.

Askles pushed the hair out of his face with a sigh.

Shit. They didn’t even have the coin to buy Lukios a drink, and the man had come back from the gods-damned dead.

It was just so pathetic.

His belly growled.

Yeah, breakfast first.

“’Pose we should ask Strategos to ‘ire us?” Pitie squinted down the road. The stones were weathered, and they’d heard that greenhorns were busy repairing all the cracks and laying new ones down into the desert.

Askles shuffled his feet. That was practical, but it felt like begging. Oh please sir! You know us. Have some pity and hire us, we lost all our shit when we slept through a robbery.

Ah, Hermes’ balls. No. It was too humiliating. No.

“Maybe,” he muttered. “But we oughta try some o’ the farms first. That’s clean, honest work.” And not so pathetic as begging to lay down road.

‘Kles hated laying down road.

Pitie rolled his eyes. “’Kles. I’m tellin’ you. No one’s hirin’ out there. Bandits took all their shit, too.”

“Well, maybe the bars need som’ bruisers. Or…”

In the absolute worst case scenario, they could do some fighting at a pit.

Askles grimaced, his scars throbbing at the thought.

Ah, crows take it. He’d get his ass kicked. He had a blind spot a milion-wide now.

“Asklaaaas! Eeepeetus!” Today it was the Yartan trader, Sangani, who had made it to the oven first. He was a cheerful man with a big belly, big shoulders, and a big smile. He had big hands too, and loved having a big coin pouch, the slick fuck.

“Hey, Sangani!” Askles waved, trying not to look too pitiful. Did they have coin to buy breakfast? Or should they just drink some water instead?

“Your friend is here to visit!” There was a pause, then he added, “The handsome one!”

“Aw, thanks man! You’re not bad yourself!” The tall, hooded figure standing by the fire clapped the Yartan trader on the shoulder and laughed.

There was no mistaking that laugh.

Sangani laughed too, sounding at least a little bit bashful, and Askles just barely kept from groaning.

…Yup, that was Lukios. The lucky whoreson had a smile to charm fish into nets and women into beds.

Or barns.

Or alleys.

Or sand holes, apparently.

The gods just loved him.

“Lukios? The fuck you doin’ here?” Pitie sounded excited.

So was Askles, in all honesty. Lukios was filthy rich. Surely he’d feed them?

Lukios waved at them with frenetic energy, then bounced toward them like a happy puppy. It was so cheerful it was sickening; it was far too early in the day. “’Kles! Pitie!” called Lukios, “Great mornin’, huh? Man, what’re you all camping out here for? Kyros not good enough for you?” He laughed the winsome way he always did. It was somewhat surreal.

Even two days ago, he’d been dead, along with the Rekos of House Helios and their entourage. There had been mourning and sacrifices and everything, and he’d heard that House Helios had raised so many black flags that people from the outlying farms had thought the city had fallen to plague or something.

Epitus’ stomach growled, and Askles’ answered. Lukios only laughed harder. “Damn, guess you haven’t had breakfast yet?” Lukios snapped his fingers decisively. “I know a place!” He beamed at them, more puppy than lion. “You like Eirian?”

‘Kles and Pitie glanced at each other then shrugged.

Well why in Hades not?

“The fuck’d you do t’ your hair?” Epitus did not mince words, and Askles just barely defeated his urge to sigh.

Lukios had taken down his hood, and even in the wan, pre-dawn light, it was obvious he’d gone and dyed it.

This was not a question that needed asking. Pitie was picking a fight, because a hungry Pitie was a cranky Pitie.

On cue, the man’s belly growled again.

Lukios continued smiling the way he always did. Insulting him only made him manically cheerful, right up until he wasn’t; that temper could be vile. But until the inevitable explosion, he carried on with a smile, a perfectly happy idiot.

But Askles wasn’t fooled. That mind was always going, going, going, to the point that Askles wondered how the man wasn’t half-dead from exhaustion.

“Funny you should ask,” said Lukios. He leaned over, expression perfectly serious. “I was followed by a shadow all the way to the gate. When I turned to confront it, it was gone, but so was all my colour.”

Pitie frowned. “That ain’t funny. Don’t joke none.”

Lukios' eyes went wide, all innocence. Askles rolled his eyes and concentrated on the streets, especially the wild little boys running through the dark alleys. They had quick fingers and a light touch, though even if they succeeded, well—the joke’d be on them. Askles had nearly nothing in his belt pouch.

“Who says I’m funning? I got followed all the way here. In fact, you never know—”

“Oh fuck off!”

Aaaand, there he went.

Askles had known Pitie his whole life. The copper-haired boy’s family had lived in the little lean-to shack on Da’s patch of land, and they’d worked in exchange for lodging. Once the twins had come along, Pitie had moved into the barn, which was exactly where Askles had always gone to hide from his chores.

Askles knew perfectly well Lukios was riling Pitie. Pitie was superstitious as fuck. He never skipped libations or sacrifices. He always spat against the evil eye. He never let a cat cross his shadow, or let it lie over the foundations of a building in construction.

Yeah, Pitie was real superstitious. He used to scrape coins and buy charms from the local priest, hanging them up all over the barn, but especially over his favorite horse. It had driven Askles nuts, running face-first into those stupid things unless he remembered to duck, but Pitie nearly always meant well. He’d given one of those to Askles when they’d enlisted too, and as far as ‘Kles knew, it was working. They’d both survived, hadn’t they?

Lukios only grinned at Epitus, clearly gleeful at the way the younger man was eyeing the pockets of shadow around them.

Askles didn’t sigh, but he wrinkled his nose. “It stinks. Didja have to use…whatever you used?”

“Uh…” Lukios’ gleeful grin became sheepish. “Didn’t have anything else.” He shrugged. “Sorry, ‘Kles, but you’ll have to live with it. I mean, I know I am!”

“I knew it!” Epitus looked pissed. “I knew it! I’m tellin’ you, Lucky, you shouldn’t say shit about—”

“Oh, get off it, ‘Pitie. It’s fine. That stuff’s not true. Just stories.”

“Is not. You saw it too. That shit’s real. Real.” Epitus shook his head hard. “Don’t go flappin’ your lips ‘bout it. I’m not funnin’. You think I’m real dumb now, but you’ll thank me later.”

Lukios only snorted. “Sander magic’s not really the same thing, Pitie. And we’re at peace now.”

Oh shi—

“Fuck that,” snapped Epitus. “Is jus’ a lull. That’s all. They’ll have what’s comin’. Soon.”

The happy expression dropped from Lukios’ face like it’d never been.

Askles cleared his throat. “Hey! ‘Ow—how far is this place?”

Lukios didn’t even look at him, raising his hand to stop whatever other distraction Askles could come up with. “’Pitie. That’s enough.” His voice had gone flat and low. “I’d rather not fight with you today, but don’t forget Ba’an’s Sander.”

Oh no. He’d brought up his lady friend. This was—

“A Sander witch,” Epitus snapped, predictably. “She’s witched ya. You should let us—”

“No. She’s not a witch. She hasn’t done anything ‘cept stitch me back together. Don’t you dare.”

Epitus stuck his chin out, stubborn ‘til the end. “Dare what? You’re witched, ya just don’ know it ‘cause that’s how witchin’ works. Lucky—”

“Epitus!” The word cracked against the buildings and snapped down the street. Askles saw a man nearly twenty paces ahead swivel his head to stare. Another stare burned into Askles’ back and he felt his hackles rising.

Fuck.

Lukios’ voice was a low, furious hiss. “You don’t know shit. You don’t know shit about me, or Ba’an, or anything else, so shut your hole, ‘cause if you don’t, I swear by Hermes, I’ll—”

“See? She ‘itched you! You sound like some—”

“Will ya both jus’ stop? People are starin’ like, ya dumb fucks!” He hadn’t meant to speak like that, but it just happened; it was harder to speak like a proper city man when he was pissed. This was just awkward, though—

Pitie was right. Maybe not about the witching, but…he wasn’t wrong about the other stuff.

Things would get messy again, and sooner rather than later, though he wasn’t dumb enough to say so to Lukios. Not now. Not when he was crazy for some skinny Sander woman.

She wasn’t the worst Sander he’d met, that was true, too. She’d saved Lukios, which was more than most folk would’ve done, and Askles didn’t even mind the eating—she was so skinny, and Sanders were poor. No shit she’d gone stuffing her face. She probably hadn’t ever seen so much food her entire life.

But fuck.

That attitude. That smug, Sander attitude.

What was it with Sanders? They were all so fucking insufferable, like a fat, rich merchant or a kid from a founding house, but without the money or clout. They were just…smug. Haughty, all high and mighty like they were anything more than sandy goat-fuckers eating lizard and killing babies.

They should’ve been grateful, grateful to the empire and the emperor for lifting them out of their shitty, backward little sand traps, but no—they always whined about everything. Every little thing, like teaching them about money and trade was a bad thing. They didn’t have proper bathhouses or libraries or market squares. They still lived in caves. Caves!

The only useful thing they had was magic. And that they hoarded, the same way stone-suckers did grain.

So really: Ba’an wasn’t the worst Sander he’d met.

But fuck, was she ever Sander.

…And she probably was a witch.

“We can get going if Epitus shuts his pie hole.” Lukios’ glare was furious. “Don’t you dare go around babbling about her being a witch. Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you know what’d happen?”

“I don’t!” Epitus shot Lukios a look. “Who’d I tell? I’m jus’ sayin’, you need to—”

“I don’t need to do anything. You need to shut your mouth—”

“Will you two stop already? People are starin’ and—” Askles felt his own temper flare. This was stupid. They were standing in the middle of the street, by Zeus—and Lukios was just—

He was over-reacting, ‘cause of course he would. And Pitie was like a damn dog with a bone—

“Lucky, you ain’t seein’ it real clear now, but you gotta listen!” Epitus lunged forward without warning and grabbed Lukios’s face with both hands, palms flat against the taller man’s cheeks. Lukios’ expression momentarily slackened in shock, and Askles lunged to tear them apart before someone actually lost some teeth.

Epitus shook him off. Askles got an elbow to his nose for this troubles, and he jumped back with a curse.

“Pitie!”

“Shuush! I’m talkin’ to Lucky.” Epitus stared up at Lukios the way he had when he’d had to tell ‘Kles his favorite horse had broken its leg. “Lukios! I’m your friend. We’re your brothers. You gotta listen, ‘kay, an’ listen real good. You don’ act the same. You’re actin’ weird. Like uh…like a lap dog. She’s got you, Lucky. She’s gotcha good.”

Pitie glanced at Askles, then yanked him so they were standing side-by-side. Askles gave him a side-glare, hand clamped over his nose. Was it bleeding? That little fucker.

“We always got your back. And you gotta trust us. Not some…she’s a witch, Lucky. She is. She’s tricked you. She’s lyin’. Whatever sweet thing she’s sayin’, she’s lyin’, get it?”

The expressions that passed over Lukios’ face were remarkably varied. First his mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. Then his brows went down and he shut his mouth. Then he opened his mouth again, then shut it. Then he screwed up his face like Pitie had just told him the sky wasn’t really blue.

“No, I don’t get it. She’s not—Pitie. It’s not like that. At all. Ba’an wouldn’t be caught dead seducing a filthy outland—”

“See! That! That! She thinks she’s better ‘an you! And you’re talkin’ like her too!”

Lukios started to laugh. He put his hands on Pitie’s shoulder and pulled him into a hug. “Fuck, Pitie. You—you’re really something.”

Pitie returned the hug, so now they were embracing in the middle of the street, in full view of everyone.

Askles snapped at a nosy passersby. “Keep walkin’!”

“Yeah, an’ I’m tellin’ ya—”

Lukios laughed brightly, and kissed Pitie’s cheeks. The man went red—flustered, ‘Kles thought, by the sudden show of affection—and sputtered to a stop.

“Pitie. ‘Kles. You two trust me?”

Pitie’s response was prompt. “We trust you, but not…witches. An’ she’s a witch. She lied if she said she weren’t.”

Askles sighed, and un-pinched his nose. It was not bleeding, though it was sore. “Pitie’s jus’…we’re worried, is all. You gotta admit it’s real…well. It’s somethin’. And she’s…she’s a bit…” He trailed off with a little cough, looking away.

Maybe Ba’an was a witch. Maybe she wasn’t. But…fuck. Pitie wasn’t wrong. Askles had felt embarrassed for Lucky all evening with the way the he had doted and fawned. ‘Kles considered it a small miracle that Lukios hadn’t flopped onto his back with his tongue lolling out, begging to be petted.

“Pitie,” said Lukios, “’Kles. Ba’an didn’t do anything ‘cept stitch me up. She wanted me gone quick, but I charmed her into changing her mind. See? She didn’t witch me. I charmed her. So stop.” He paused, then added, “You really think I’d carry on with a witch?”

Askles glanced at Pitie. Pitie glanced back. Askles made a little cutting gesture with his hand.

There was no reason to pick a fight with Lukios in the middle of the street. Ba’an was strange and very Sander, true, but Lukios had all his bits and…well.

Maybe he was just in love or something.

Askles had seen the same look on his own face in the mirror plenty. It happened whenever he thought of Chloe. Sweet, gentle Chloe, with her big brown eyes and pink, plump lips. And that smile! That laugh! The way she tilted her head and…

He sighed. Deeply, and with longing.

Epitus made a disgusted face. “Not again.”

“He been doing that a lot?”

“Fuck. All the time. Drivin’ me nuts.”

“Have not!” Askles straightened and rearranged his expression, scowling. “He’s exaggeratin’ ‘cause he’s jealous.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are—”

“Hey, smell that?” Lukios’ voice was cheerful again as he pointed down the street, slinging an arm around Askles’ shoulders and casually pulling him away from Pitie.

Askles rolled his eyes.

“Smells like kaleh pacheh! Ohh, and a’chai!” Lukios slung his other arm around Pitie, and began dragging them both along with enthusiasm.

Askles tilted his head back to look at Pitie, who only shrugged.

Just typical Lukios things, really.

“Tha’s breakfast, right?” Pitie’s belly rumbled. Loudly.

Lukios only laughed. “Yup! You’ll like it, you’ll like it! Once you go Eirian, you don’t go back!”

Askles cleared his throat. “Sure we will. But Lucky, you really come down to visit? Or…did you need help? Is sir Nikias…giving you trouble?” Askles was nearly sure Strategos didn’t care what Lukios got up to, but sir Nikias was…

He was strange. Just strange. Sometimes he gave ‘Kles the small-shakes, the way thousand-leg bugs had done when he’d been a boy.

“Awww, ‘Kles. I knew you loved me.” Grinning, Lukios hauled the smaller man closer and kissed his cheek too. ‘Kles rolled his eyes then obligingly kissed him back.

“You’re right, though. I did want to have a little chat with you two.”

“Yeah? What about?” Pitie looked curious now, outburst clearly forgotten.

“Well…” Lukios smiled so sweetly that Askles drew back with a noise of suspicion.

The man was up to something.

Lukios only smiled harder as he winked at Askles. “How do you two feel about killing some bandits?”