The fields of Anachoma

So this is probably the best short I have written to date and one of my most favorite pieces.
It has woven into it some Greek Mythology, the myths of Actaeon and Orion. I recommend reading the myths(they are very short) if you read this story because I think it adds quite a bit of depth to the characters.


“Do you know why you are here, codename Oenopion?” A man, his feet and wrists bound to a simple wooden chair, he shook it violently with wide, wizened eyes. A lock of grey hair swept against a dirty gag, normally it would be brushed back in personal vanity to rest behind an ear, but now the man was too fearful to care about his appearance.
“You may recall,” stated the speaker, “the fields of Anachoma…”
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Orion,” called Actaeon, “we are due for patrol. Operative Diomedes is waiting.”
“Yes, I am coming,” replied the soldier, “the Anatoli will not make any advances for a week, you do not need to be so eager.”
“It is not I who is eager,” retorted Actaeon as he readjusted his breastplate under the strap of his longsword sheath, “but Diomedes.”
As they walked along the bunkers, Orion and Actaeon noted the common soldiers that huddled around smoldering campfires, basic troops derived from the masses with slim training in the art of war, unlike themselves who were of the best instruction in Dytikos. They had been assigned codenames to conceal their identities so they could fight without mercy and without connection to the common soldier and their fellow operatives.
The pair paced the stony trench to where a grizzled soldier stood still, his weathered eyes scanning a distant tree line and past that a ridge where slim spirals of smoke snaked towards the clouds.
“The enemy’s camp is still for so late in the morning,” noted Diomedes as the two approached.
“They must be out hunting for a stag for the morning meal,” joked Actaeon.
“Or a Dytikos warrior on patrol,” returned Orion more seriously, then, “they would have no luck hunting, we already hunted the herd from this valley,” he added with a wink to Actaeon.
“Be on your guard,” said Diomedes, “the air is too still.”

* * * * * * * * * * *
“So have you heard from her lately?” whispered Actaeon to Orion softly as they crept through the foliage below two high crags.
“No, since we burned Diadromos there has been no word.”
“I am sure she is fine,” consoled Actaeon, “she is the daughter of an enemy operative…”
“Oenopion’s firm hand is a factor I could do without,” returned Orion, his voice elevated slightly.
“Hush,” whispered Diomedes, “let us not forget ourselves.” Orion nodded and checked his composure.
“Still,” hissed Actaeon, “there must be news, she did reply to your apology.”
“A courtesy,” said Orion doubtfully, “she has every reason to detest me for that action.”
“But she won’t, she still cares for you…”
“Shh…” repeated Diomedes; a twig cracked not twenty yards from them.
“Anatoli,” breathed Actaeon and he drew his blade.
“They have marked us,” said Diomedes drawing his own weapon.
A sword flashed across their vision and sliced Orion across the forehead, the soldier cried out as blood streamed into his eyes. Actaeon engaged the assailant, a man in light metal armor with green war paint smeared across his face.
“I am blinded,” roared Orion slashing wildly to his right and left.
Diomedes dispatched a second attacker with a few quick slashes of his sword. A third man had flanked Orion and buffeted him from behind with a shield, the Dytikos warrior fell to the ground unconscious. Diomedes knocked this Anatoli away as well and picked Orion up like a child and threw him over his shoulder.
“Actaeon,” called Diomedes, “fall back!”
“I will cover you,” replied the soldier.
“Don’t take too long,” roared Diomedes as he struck the third so hard he spun dizzyingly to the dust, then fled up a shallow ravine towards the Dytikos lines.
Actaeon’s brow was furrowed with lines of concentration as he fenced with the Anatoli operative. From his peripheral Actaeon spotted a fourth Anatoli sprinting towards their position. The new warrior cried “Oenopion!” and hurled his spear at Actaeon.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Rise,” commanded the Anatoli commander.
Actaeon rose groggily to his feet under the weight of new armor, heavy Anatoli breastplates, pauldrons, and a helm now burdened his shoulders. The whole of his body stung with a fiery pain.
“Run,” ordered the man Actaeon now recognized to be Oenopion.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Actaeon sprinted under the weight, he was free of the trees, Anatoli armor was not so heavy as he had first thought. Behind him an entire contingent of Anatoli warriors were in pursuit; seventeen gold marks had been placed on his head by Oenopion to the one who brought him back. Actaeon’s feet pounded against the ground, sweat dripped down his forehead and caused it to mix with a substance that had been painted there, it dripped onto his eyes. Casually, the Dytikos soldier wiped the back of his hand and his eyes grew wide as he realized it was green Anatoli war paint. He was wearing Anatoli armor. Actaeon lifted his eyes to the Dytikos defenses not two hundred yards ahead of him.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Wax dripped from the stand to the wooden floor in a slow fall, the light provided by the candle barely illuminated the chair’s prisoner in the middle of the room. The figure who quietly paced circles around the exterior of the dim lighting was barely revealed. A black coat was tight around his torso fell loose to his feet and black bands of cloth were wrapped tightly about his hands and up the sleeves. Black hair fell over black eyes and was ruffled unchecked by the slight breeze that passed between the wooden walls. A dark scarf wrapped around his face revealed only the eyes. Above the eyes, a razor thin white line, straight as the edge of a sword.
From in the folds of the coat a knife was drawn, slender and dark as it’s bearer. The captive’s eyes grew wide once again and he began to shake the chair and cry out through the gag.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Orion grazed his hand along a taut white bandage that held the cut on his forehead closed. Then that hand seized the arrow from his quiver and notched it to string. Fifteen other Dytikos soldiers had done likewise and they now trained them on the contingent of Anatoli soldiers who were charging up the field. One brave soldier was far ahead of the rest, he would be the first to die. The Dytikos released their shafts at the oncoming Anatoli.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Diomedes and Orion walked out to where the Anatoli soldier lay dead on the field, as soon as they had slain him the whole of the contingent fled back towards the trees, a strange tactic to be used by an army. Orion wished his shot had killed the Anatoli, since Actaeon had not returned he was ever more apprehensive of his returning friend. He had thought for a moment that the man who broke from the trees was Actaeon disguised in Anatoli armor but the warrior was wearing green paint and Actaeon would have no access to that.
Orion fell to his knees as he saw who the fallen warrior was, a tear trickled down his cheek at the sight. The helmet had come askew from Actaeon’s head and revealed the familiar curves of his face. But that was not the worst of it, fresh weld marks connected each individual piece of armor to Actaeon’s body. The armor must have been applied searing hot to his skin and then hammered together while on his body so it could not be removed. Green paint was still damp, either from being freshly applied or from the sweat of Actaeon’s exhausted body. It was a truly barbarous thing to cause a soldier to flee for his own countrymen only to trick him into his death.
Orion’s gaze was shifted from his friend as the tears continued to come in a heavier stream than the first. From behind the watery haze Orion’s eyes settled on an Anatoli looking smug at the tree line.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“And so I tracked you here,” said the dark man, resting his hand on the captive’s chin. He sharply pulled it up to look into his eyes, blood trickled over those eyes from a fresh slice along his forehead. “You knew I was coming, you saw signs. I got to Catreus, Glaucus, and Asterion and you knew it was only a matter of time. I found out what you did to her too, in a drunken rage you killed her because of me. You killed your own daughter. This is why you built the high walls of this castle and this is why you dug the moat so deep, yet here I am.”
The prisoner had begun to sob and the sound he made through his gag sounded similar to the bleating of a sheep. The dark man took his hand away from wretched soul and commented,
“at least Catreus, Glaucus, and Asterion died with honor, to protect you, to protect you. I hope they know their sacrifices were not in vain.”
The old man had begun whimpering now almost uncontrollably, he was mumbling something through the gag. The dark man cut it with a quick slash of his knife.
“Have mercy,” choked the wretched one.
“There is no mercy for you, only judgement,” whispered Orion.