‘You fool! hissed Aristotle, his hand cupping the stone at his breast. Instantly he was gone.
The Darkness rolled on towards them while from within the cloud came the sound of a slow drumbeat, impossibly loud, like controlled thunder.
‘What is that noise?’ asked Parmenion, his voice shaking.
‘The heartbeat of Chaos,’ answered the Sword King.
And still the Spartans stood firm.
The demonic army gathered itself and edged forward, filling the pass, while the Dark hovered behind them.
The warmth of life touched Parmenion’s back and he swung to see the globe of light swelling upon the boulder, growing, bathing the rocks, rising, glowing like sunlight over the pass.
The horde faltered, shielding their eyes from the brightness, and Parmenion felt the weight of fear lifting from his
heart. The heartbeat of Chaos sounded again, louder, and the Dark oozed forward.
Light and Dark, terror and hope, came together at the centre of the pass, merging, twisting, rising higher into the sky, swirling into a great, streaked sphere, lightning lancing from its centre.
The army of Hades stood still, all eyes turned to the colossal battle being waged in the sky. At first the darkness appeared to swamp the light, but the soul blazed back, rending and tearing, shining clear in golden shafts that lit the pass with sudden flashes.
Higher and higher the battle swirled until, at last, only the faintest sparks could be seen. Then there was nothing, save the unremitting grey of the Hades sky.
The Sword King sheathed his blade and turned to Parmenion.
‘Who is the child?’ he asked, his voice hushed, his tone reverential.
‘The son of the Macedonian king,’ answered Parmenion.
‘Would that he were Spartan. Would that I could know him.’
‘What is happening?’ asked Parmenion, as the demonic army began to disperse, the creatures of the Void moving sullenly back from the pass, seeking their eternal homes of shadows and gloom.
‘The child is born,’ said the Sword King.
‘And the Dark God was defeated?’
‘I fear not. They are locked together, and will remain so, in a constant struggle. But the child will be mighty. He may yet conquer.’
‘Then I failed,’ whispered Parmenion.
‘There is no failure. He will be a child of Light and Dark. He will need friends to guide him, to help him, to strengthen him. And he will have you, Parmenion.’
The Gates to the Elysian fields shimmered open, the sunlight glorious. The Spartan king took Parmenion’s hand. ‘Your life beckons you, brother. Go back to it.’
‘I … I have no way to thank you. You have given me more than I believed was possible.’
The King smiled. ‘You would do no less for a kinsman, Parmenion. Go. Protect the child. He is born to be great.’
*
Aristotle opened his eyes just as the demon reached for Derae.
‘No!’ he screamed. A shaft of light smote the creature’s chest, pitching him back against the far wall, his skin blistering, flames licking from the wound. Within moments fire covered the beast, black smoke filling the room.
The magus rose from the bed, a sword of golden light appearing in his hand. Moving swiftly forward, he touched the blade to the blazing beast which disappeared instantly.
The corridor vanished, the walls of the room reappearing; Aristotle gazed down on Leucion’s dismembered corpse.
‘You fought valiantly,’ whispered the magus, ‘for there would have been more than one.’ The sword flowed into Aristotle’s hand, becoming a ball of fire which he laid on Leucion’s chest. The body was healed of all wounds and the head drawn back into place. ‘It is better for Derae to see you thus,’ Aristotle told the corpse, reaching out to close the dead eyes. Fishing into the pouch at his side, he produced a silver obol which he placed in Leucion’s mouth. ‘For the ferryman,’ he said softly. ‘May your journey end in light.’
Returning to the bed, Aristotle took Derae’s hand, calling her home.
Pella, Spring, 356 BC
Mothac was beside the bed when the miracle occurred. The colour flowed back into Parmenion’s face, the flesh filling out, but more than this – his hair thickened and darkened, the lines around his eyes, nose and chin fading back and disappearing.