Favored Son of a Dying Star
This story was written for the Winter 2025 Writing Battle short story competition!
The prompts/limits were:
- Genre: Shipwrecked
- Character: Furry Companion
- Object: Statue
- Word Count: 1000
“Nautae, can one of you tell me what the Molossian is doing over there?”
“The hound? Digging for somethin’ or another in the remains of the Rhenus, I’d reckon.”
“Gods, I would rather the mutt helped bring the wheat ashore before the sea seeps into it! What is it dragging, some statuette?”
“Yes, yes! Centurion, it were the helmsman’s pet, the man crushed by the rear beam, and tis’ his effigy the dog does drag. I remember he said something to the hound, before he did pass, I had seen it…”
Master said ‘Go’, therefore I must go, unlike you who lacks conviction. Master prayed to this stone man-shape-thing, so I take it with me. Master wished to place the effigy high, so I will do this for him, dragging it by rope. Only then may I be with Master again.
My paws are blooded and torn. This is a new feeling, not like splinters from boat which Master would pull out. Fire claimed part of my fur, but sea foam has cleansed it. I work through pain, as Master once did.
The crew of the liburna called Rhenus, once big ship but now only wreck near the shore, are distant, uncaring about me. They say, “He’ll let go of Sol soon enough, you watch! Then that one’ll come back into the fold like a proper soldier of Rome.”
Master first, Rome second.
I have not taken such stone up hills before, and this stone is of great weight. Without feed I hunger, stomach-growingly and mind-destroyingly. My paws are digging into the limestone, claws trying as best they can to maintain balance and hold the stone.
I almost yelp when I feel my dew claw slip, rock cutting just under it, rending flesh. But to open jaws is to let go of rope, so there can be no giving voice to pain. I look down, ears pert, at statue of Sol Invictus, who Master said was the Master of the Sun. I think he looks back at me, with grey eyes, and tells me what Master said when he gave me Sol — ‘Go.’
I must go.
“You’ll part with such a fat piece of dried fish for a mongrel like him? Come off now, help us find firewood or we won’t last the night.”
“I’s can do what I want’s with my own share, an’ I like the mongrel. Though I’ll agree he’s wastin’ time with a god few care for anymore, he is…”
I chew. Much salt, but quells hunger, so must swallow.
“I’s believe in what you’re doin’, pup. Centurion Aulus ain’t let me help you take old Sol up the hill, but I hope this fish helps some. Tomorrow we’ll start repairin’ the Rhenus, but I’ll see if I can’t slip off an’ give you a little hard tack as well.”
Boy is good. His kindness is the sun.
New pains, in the hindlimbs and lower jaw. Have not punished body so bone-decayingly before, did not know own limbs could betray me this severely. Rope slipped a little, perhaps by half-dog’s length, since the climb began. Another full-dog’s length and Sol will be gone, falling down hill, so I will have failed Master.
Fish from earlier digests in gut, burning strength into body, along with ship’s biscuit given to me after that.
Master said I am strong. So I am strong.
I release the rope, because it is top of hill and to release rope does not mean betraying Master.
As the stone man-shape-thing falls on strange grass, I take it in jaws, place it up-standing on top of hill. I lay on my side, rest breath-pantingly. I have Sol placed so he looks towards horizon. I stay on side until I see big star in sky (of which stone man-shape-thing is Master, said Master) begin to disappear over horizon, giving way to white round star instead.
Tiredness, from tooth to tail. But work is done, so there is no betraying ahead.
Master said ‘Go.’ Now I go to Master.
Yet as I begin sleep-drifting away… I feel hand on head. Look up, to see if it is young sailor from before — is not. But I recognize this man.
Man touching my nape kindness-givingly is young, beardless, darker of features. Has cape of red, like Centurion, over armor of gold. In other hand, man holds big sphere. On man’s head, spikes of light collect, like crown made from sharp stars.
I know not how, but names come to me. Names I know man by, like Sol, or Sol Invictus, and new names that are old, like Helios, or simply Sun. Mind feels bigger, wider, as if I am… I am gaining a new form of consciousness by merely laying here in his presence. The sun god’s eyes are cosmic ideas given substance, and there is a great benevolence present in his gaze that reminds me of the helmsman I mourn, who used to hold my paw when I was sleeping.
As my eyes adjust, I see details that had escaped me at first glance. Sol’s crown is fractured, missing various pieces. His red cloak is tattered and unwashed, his armor stained with dirt. There are lines of duress on an otherwise youthful face.
Despite all this, the smile he gives me is pure. He cups my chin and scratches under my muzzle as my Master once did, then releases me and points down towards the beach. His lips part to speak, and the sky seems to brighten as the command reverberates through the evening air.
“Go.”
At the base of the hill, with the sea lapping at the shore, I see the crew of the Rhenus. They make camp with the supplies brought ashore before the tide made the ship’s wreckage unsalvageable, struggling to hunt quail for dinner. Likely wishing they had a hound by their side.
The new Master has told me — ‘Go.’
I shall go.
