‘I remember it.’

‘How can you remember it?’ Asterius finally looked up at the Scarlet and his gaze was full of sincere astonishment. ‘How old were you then? Five?’

‘I was seven and the Grandmaster always sat me in the saddle in front of him so that I would learn not to fear death - neither my own nor someone else's. And to understand the course of the battle.’

‘What a bastard,’ the tauran grumbled, but the Scarlet let it pass. He was trying to remember that day and that battle, his first battle.

Al-Nasir put archers in the vanguard and the heavy cavalry of the allied forces had to retreat. The ranks were mixed, war horses trampled their own infantry. Then the Order stepped forward.

‘I remember how the first line — the scarlets — been nearly wiped out,’ the knight finally spoke. ‘The goldens, alongside the Navarrese, with their last strength, crushed the left flank of the Almohads. I remember how the Grandmaster smiled at me. He said: 'Be brave. Perhaps this day is our last.' His words drowned in the terrible roar and rumble the whites were striking their shields, chanting over and over 'Wrath of God! Wrath of God! ‘

‘Call on Gods, but row away from the rocks,’ Asterius murmured, bowing his head. ‘I was in the third line, with the whites. When my brothers called me, I turned. And did what I do best…’

‘Charge an army of a thousand on your own?’ the Scarlet suddenly burst into laughter. ‘I've heard quite a bit about that.’

The tauran also laughed and nodded.

‘And honestly, how many men can you take down? Alone?’ the Scarlet asked curiously.

Asterius smiled again. This time without cheer.

‘One hundred and twenty-eight men - exactly. I had a reason to count once. But that's not the point. The point is fear. Fear is my army, hastatus. Imagine it — a creature with a bull's head, clad in armour, axes swinging, charging at you — a monstrous, almost invulnerable force, uncontrollable in its rage. I can tear out a warhorse's throat, crumple a knight's armour like paper. I can knock a man down and trample him to death. And — yes, I wield axes well, even in my half-bull form. Not to mention that I also have horns.’

‘And a thunderstorm,’ the Scarlet said quietly.

‘Yes. And a thunderstorm.’

‘I remember the thunder. I remember how darkness swallowed the sky — and it was July, midsummer, and the day had been clear. But suddenly a terrible, heavy gloom swept in, and the battlefield was plunged into utter darkness. The ground shook from the thunderclaps as if a hundred black bulls were charging behind the Order. The darkness was torn by flashes of lightning, but that only made it more terrifying. Strangely, I don't remember you. How could I have missed you, Asterius?’ the Scarlet asked, almost offended.

‘Be grateful to your gods,’ the tauran said, ‘perhaps that's why you do not stutter.’

The Scarlet burst into laughter. He couldn’t even recall the last time he had laughed this hard. Was it when the Grandmaster was alive? A cold, cruel man, yet one with a biting sense of humour. His jokes often left others speechless — but they always amused Scarlet, even when he was the target.

‘Like lightning bolts,’ he thought suddenly, ‘those jokes scorched away the faintest trace of fear, the last drop of deception, leaving only the truth.’

He glanced at Asterius. He sat, his legs folded in the Bedouin manner, his elbows resting on his knees, staring incessantly at the sea. He resembled the Grandmaster in no way — not in appearance, voice, or temperament. But, whoever Asterius was, beast or man, like the Grandmaster, he was not afraid of what frightened and confused many others — the truth.

Asterius slowly turned around. His heavy half-closed eyelids gave him a sleepy look.

‘On that day the Order took a heavy blow, and no one had my back,’ he continued, ’Guided only by rage, I never cared for such a trifle as my own life. I broke through the ranks of the enemy to their very camp, where I clashed with the black guard of the Caliph. They had a hard time. Horses shied away from me in uncontrollable fear, throwing and trampling their riders. Completely mad from the smell of blood, I crushed and tore everything alive. I already heard the victorious cry of the Castilians — they were the first to rush into the bloody breach made by me...’

‘Yes, I remember,’ the Scarlet nodded, ‘After them, the Grandmaster led that handful of ours that survived the first attack. Then the young king of Aragon rushed with his knights.’

‘And then some fool let loose an arrow at random, which struck me. Through the seams of the armour,’ Asterius shook his head and laughed, ‘Through the seams! An Ifriqiyan, the one I had just yanked off his horse and was about to gut like a squirrel, managed to land a saber blow so hard it split my corselet. I killed him, but after that… I don’t remember much. I think it started raining. I tried to roll onto my back so I wouldn’t choke in the mud. Maybe I succeeded — I remember a snap. The arrow broke and drove deeper. I thought I had escaped the darkness forever, but the gates of Hades stood wide open, waiting for my return. That day, the darkness caught up with me again — and I died.’

Gloria Mu, The Game of Jart, 2022

Translated by YB

Artwork by Aleks Klepnev

Published with authors permission

Extra definitions you don’t need — but might enjoy:

• vanguard — The pointy end of the spear: the first line that meets the boss fight.

• heavy cavalry — Medieval tanks with manes: armored shock troops on very sturdy horses.

• Almohads — A reformist Berber dynasty (12th–13th c.) ruling the Maghreb and pushing into Iberia; big players in North African–Iberian wars.

• Navarrese — Folks from the old Kingdom of Navarre in the Pyrenees (between today’s Spain and France); famous for hardy fighters.

• scarlets / goldens / whites — Color-coded companies of the Order in this story world—think house teams with matching banners.

• black guard of the Caliph — The caliph’s elite household troops. If they show up in black, it’s never for fashion week.

• Ifriqiyan — From Ifriqiya, medieval North Africa centered on Tunis (bits of modern Tunisia, E. Algeria, W. Libya).

• corselet (cuirass) — Chestplate armor for your torso; the medieval version of a hard shell case.

• Hades — The Greek underworld: less pitchforks, more paperwork; souls check in, they don’t check out quickly.

• “Call on gods, but row away from the rocks” — Pray all you like, then paddle hard; faith plus hustle beats faith alone.