The Orchard of Veles

Quintis slowly dragged the wrapped body behind him, he felt the cool snow crunch under his bare feet as he went. This calmed him, even under the hidden and ever-watchful eyes of his saviour,

“...or captor?.” he thought to himself, as the aches in his old muscles flared up under the weight of the sacrifice.

“I’ve been in this grove so long...” Quintis talked to himself a lot, and the pear trees as well.

“How long have I been here, old one? How long have you been here? Have you run from your homeland as I did? The days of Caesars and Prophets of Gods have long since passed me by... Yet I am still here.

I’ve toiled untold years in this grove of horrible, sweet fruit. Everliving, immortal, as you must be. 400? 500 years have passed since you saved me from my Father’s Pretorians.

600 years since you took advantage of a scared child, fleeing for his life. How long would I have ruled that vast empire? Does it even exist anymore? Do I exist anymore?”

Quintis finally arrived at the old, rotting, cross that stood in the middle of the ocean of white-barked pear trees. The answers to his questions came in the form of a quiet breeze that rustled through the crisp, shivering, leaves.

The old man laid the body in the snow and lifted the heavy wooden structure from its podium, laying it on the ground next to the dead flesh.

Quintis quietly worked, lashing the sacrifice to the ancient and petrified wooden beams, thinking back to his young adult years in a time long before. Back to the time when he ran from that great battle between the Germanic Barbarians and his Father’s Crimson Legions.

He scoffed at his weakness, at the fear he held of Pluto’s hounds dragging him into darkness.

Now, he made it a point to set a place at his table for Death. The guest that Quintis was sure would never come for him. That game of chess was long over, Veles had won it for him ages ago.

The old man stood, wiping the sweat from his brow and placing a gnarled hand on his aching back. He walked to the rear of the giant cross and pushed the macabre scarecrow into position, fitting it into the bracket that was anchored into the ground below.

Quintis looked up at the gory spectacle, hanging limp and swaying in the breeze.

“Another year has gone by, the sacrifice has been given.” Quintis turned to look back through the trees, taking the breeze in and thankful he wouldn’t have to do this again for another 12 cycles.

“I wonder what happened to that Carpenter in Nazareth. What was his name again?” Quintis thought to himself, but he couldn’t remember.

He walked for a few hours in silence, coming to his prison's edge. The Veil, Veles called it; to look out upon the world before turning in for the long night.

Quintis grabbed up a pear from the fresh white powder, looking at it in disgust. He took a bite, and juice mixed with sweet exploded into his mouth making him sick.

He placed a hand on the shimmering wall of energy. It shuttered under his touch.

Today, a group of men seemed to slink by as they carefully made their way through the dense copse of trees.

“Strange...” Quintis mumbled through mouthfuls of succulent, revolting, hell fruit.

They weren’t dressed in steel plates. Nor did they carry swords, shields, or bows. They moved like soldiers but didn’t look the part.

These soldiers wore long brown and black coats, some with steel caps that encompassed the head, others not.

Quintis untied the galea he kept attached to his belt, running his hand through what was left of his red plume, looking at it. It seemed to hold more protection than the caps these soldiers had. They didn’t even have faceguards.

Quintis pulled the helmet over his head as he watched the oh-so-rare scene unfold in front of him.

“It’s always nice to have something else to look at other than these damned trees.” Quintis thought as he took another bite of the fruit, before tossing it at the veil.

Strangely, it passed right through. Landing at the boot heel of one of the soldiers. Unfortunately, he was too scared to notice.

“...damn it,” Quintis said to himself, hoping someone would come to investigate.

He coveted interaction with another, it had been so long since he had spoken with human beings.

“Would I even be able to communicate with them if they did notice?” he thought to himself, watching the silent play unfold in front of him.

Men had begun to fall in heaps. Death was a universal language, they were being killed by something unseen. This confused Quintis.

“Now what would be invisible to the eye and have the ability to put a man into an eternal sleep?”

His thoughts jumped back to the need for interaction.

“I’m sure Latin must be widely spoken across the lands still. I would be able to communicate with someone, I know it.”

He straightened his helmet, it didn’t fit him as well as it used to.

Not being able to communicate with someone who wandered through the veil was one of Quintis’ fears.

“Of course, I would be able to communicate...Curious.” he wondered what type of weapons the soldiers were using.

They raised lengths of wood and steel that had been attached to one another. They seemed to aim them, much like the Pilums or bows he trained with in his youth. Once they marked a target, the contraption seemed to emit a cloud of smoke and kick into their shoulders.

“What does this tool for war do, Old Veles? Have I been stuck in this grove for so long? Has the world changed that much?”

Quintis sat against a tree trunk, apparently, this particular fight was going to take a while. There were a lot of them.

He raised one knee and placed his hand on it, using his other to pull out his rusting Gladius and plunge it into the soft earth beside him.

Soldiers stumbled, and some fell. Others screamed silently at each other. Bigger weapons of war began to move up, heavy-looking things with great brass belts that fed into one side and spewed mangled remains out the other.

The long, slender, cylinders that made up the ends of these machines burned bright white with heat against the darkness. As if something was passing through them at Mercurial speeds.

Quintis found it interesting that there weren’t any horses rushing the lines of whatever unseen enemy these young men were in a struggle for life and death with.

War had changed, but not so much that he didn’t recognize it.

No, there were no horses here supporting lines of swordsman, only great metal behemoths that crushed flesh, bone, rock, and wood under great belted metal wheels.

Massive bursts of light and smoke emitted from the end of their lengthened noses. These monstrosities seemed thick-skinned and heavy, with a crew of sorts within their belly. It glided easily across the terrain, like a ship for the land.

When the front line seemed to stall, other fighters moved up with massive metal barrels strapped to their backs. These barrels were attached to an extremity that burned like a candle.

To Quintis’ surprise, huge swathes of fire spewed from the ends. Like dragon fire, they swept across the tree’s setting them alight. Quintis' blue eyes grew wide in horror, watching the terrible scene unfold.

He spoke out loud,

“You know if the Legion had these fire spitters your Slavs would have bowed before us in worship, Veles. Maybe then I would be your captor, hmm? I mean look at those metal beasts, those fire spitters set them alight like they were nothing. Lines of men, gone in a blink of the eye.”

“Oh, Quintis... my ever faithful and sarcastic friend. How have you been?” a man’s ethereal voice sang upon the wind as he stepped out of the silvery moonlight that shone brightly over Quintis’ shoulder.

He looked just about as old as Quintis was, with a long white beard and hair to match.

Tonight, Veles wore a long and flowing robe made of moonlight, embroidered in red string. Around his waist, he wrapped a belt of vines, sandals on his feet, and two antlers protruding from his head. Veles took a seat next to Quintis.

“Look at them Quintis, always fighting over land that can never belong to them. They step up every couple hundred years to kill each other with deadlier and stronger weapons, and for what?”

Quintis looked over at his old friend with a smile,

“Nice to see you Veles,” he said, leaning back into the wooden trunk.

“Greetings Quintis, I am sorry it took me so long. I don’t like to leave you here by yourself.” the Old Deity responded

Quintis nodded,

“What do you think of this, Veles?”

The old Praetorian pointed at the battle raging before them, Veles shook his head a bit,

“Look at these soldiers that stand here and die in front of us, they are soaking this land in the blood of their people when they should be cherishing life and living in harmony with nature.”

Veles pointed his long-nailed finger as he spoke. A great force began to throw up mounds of dirt and splinter trees over and over again, silently shaking the earth and pear trees in the grove.

It continued to pound away, again and again. Tearing through metal and flesh. Quintis looked away as men and beasts simply ceased to be. Crimson and iron rain began to fall all around what was left of the forest.

Quintis’ demeanour changed as the forest floor shook relentlessly.

“Gods… What is this?” He said under his breath, wanting the shaking and rumbling to stop.

The pieces of people were beginning to be too much for even him, a member of the Roman Legion and a veteran of many fights.

Veles placed a hand on Quintis’ shoulder and continued, his voice soothed Quintis’ addled mind.

“Instead, they tear everything up with fighting. Look at the holes, all those massacred trees, and the poor animals. Wanton destruction of this place, for nothing, Quintis.”

Veles watched the gory spectacle a moment, melancholy on his face, Quintis had opted to look at the many twinkling lights that dotted the blue-black sky.

“They cut down more and more of my trees every cycle, and I struggle to keep up with the regrowth and replenishment for their children. I don’t even know if they know that they need my trees to live.”

Veles turned his head to look at Quintis with his kind-hearted, but weary eyes. Quintis looked to the ground, not able to meet them.

“Quintis, the only thing that is stopping the total destruction of me and this land I’ve built is you. Your sacrifices give me the strength to try and sustain their growth.” Quintis nodded bashfully,

So many times had he walked these endless rows cursing Veles.

“They are still a young race of people, but I have confidence in them. One day this will be in the past, and they will stop killing each other. They will cherish what we give them and they will be able to sustain this place without our help, but they need you to keep doing this until then.”

Quintis pulled off his helmet and stared into its hollow black eyes.

“I know Veles, I know. It gets hard sometimes. I wouldn’t be here still if I didn’t believe.”

Veles stared at his devoted charge. He noticed streaks of wetness on Quitis’ cheeks. The Old One hesitated, then put a hand on his shoulder.

“I need you to keep doing this until they grow up. Yes, tonight we are lucky that they chose to battle here. This blood sacrifice will strengthen me, as will yours. You will have a much-needed rest.” Quintis nodded, looking at the old druid with his child-like eyes,

“But, for how long? The years have been long and punishing. I am so tired, Veles. You will need to call upon me again eventually.”

The Old Druid smiled,

“Yes Quintis, I will need you until they become what I know they can be, then you will be free to leave. I will even give you your youth back if you so choose. You will be able to live all those years you have missed in your service to me. You can live your life how you choose.”

Quintis looked at the slowing battle with steeled eyes. The holes, metal husks, and the splintered tree trunks that remained now housed the fighters.

They looked like they would be staying for a while, some were getting rest. Quintis had had enough. He was blood sick now, standing up and tying his galea back on his belt. He yanked his Gladius from the dirt and put it back into its resting place.

“I know Veles, I know… You are kind, but will I want to live another life after our work is finished?”

The old Legionnaire finally said after staring into the seemingly endless rows of pear trees for a while. They didn’t seem so bad now, calming and serene compared to that hellscape behind him.

“I toil in here endlessly, by myself. It can get hard. I would appreciate the larders to be filled with wine, cheese, and meats. If you could, old one. It would help.”

The Ancestral Spirit stood and placed a hand on Quintis’ shoulder again.

“I know my young friend. You’ve been working hard, pruning and weeding my trees. Picking my fruit for me, with the yearly sacrifices. I see you and I hear you, though you don’t always see or hear me. I appreciate what you do, and I hope you don’t truly hold a grudge against me for bringing you here all those centuries ago.”

Quintis sighed,

“I don’t, Veles. Not truly. This work is rewarding in its own right.”

“I do wish I could spend more time here with you Quintis, but a God's work is never done. I enjoy these little breaks through. You give me hope. Go and rest until I call upon you again. When you wake, you shall have what you ask.” A cloud passed over the moon and Veles vanished.

Quintis stood silent and alone in the moonlit grove once more. He looked at the star-flecked sky. After a while, he headed back to where his cross stood. To his relief, It was now adorned with a straw man.

The old Legionnaire smiled to himself before he picked a tree to rest against. He nestled in and closed his eyes as the warmth of sleep washed over him.

Quintis found himself wandering fields of wheat across the lush plains of his home, dreams of lands long gone. Rest for another few cycles at least…