Echoes of light, p.11
Echoes of Light, page 11
She waited for a long time until the last stragglers left the amphitheater and its gates were closed. A few guards remained, and Ofeer slunk into shadows. The sun dipped in the sky, and evening's shadows spread across the cobblestones. Finally the stars shone. They were the same stars Ofeer would gaze at from Zohar, so far away, and she wondered if her siblings were looking at them now too.
I'll find all of you, Ofeer swore. We'll be together again in the villa on Pine Hill. And I'll be different. I'll be better. She wiped her eyes. I'll be a Zoharite.
There were eighty entrances to the Amphitheatrum, ornately carved gateways, their keystones numbered. A handful of guards were patrolling the perimeter. Ofeer huddled in the shadows of a cypress, waiting for them to pass by. Then she scurried forward. She approached one of the entrances. The archway was formed of limestone, its keystone engraved with the number LXIII. Heavy doors stood within the archway, locked shut. Ofeer glanced around, waiting to make sure the guards were gone. When she heard nothing, she pulled the collar from her pocket, opened it, and slid out the skeleton key. She held her breath when she placed it into the lock, for a moment certain it wouldn't fit, that her quest would fail. She exhaled shakily when the lock clicked.
Glancing around, Ofeer hurried into the amphitheater.
The arena spread before her, covered in sand. On some days, the Aelarians flooded their arena and staged naval battles here. On other days, the ground writhed with snakes. Today the arena was simply packed with sand, its trapdoors hidden. The stone seats rose in rings, too many levels for Ofeer to count. During her days in Zohar, she had never imagined a structure so massive. The entire population of Beth Eloh, the largest city back home, could have fit into this single amphitheater. Only hours ago, there hadn't been a spare seat to be found. Yet now, in the night, the place was empty, eerily silent, bereft even of guards.
Ofeer glanced down at Ariel. He still slept against her chest. Perhaps she should have left him in the care of another, with Shaveet the priest, with kind Periel of the congregation, even with Noa the lumer. This was not a place for babies. And yet Ofeer had dared not part from Ariel; she would have sooner parted from her right arm. He still needed her, and she would continue to hold him, tend to him, even here.
She stepped toward the center of the arena. The moon shone directly above, and the ring of stone spread around her. The moonlight drenched her, leaving all else in shadow, and Ofeer felt like an actress on stage. Often Ofeer had felt so, as if her story, the story of Zohar, were a tragedy played for the amusement of celestial spectators. She didn't know if that meant that Eloh was cruel, a god who tortured his children in a grand arena, or whether like a playwright weeping over the death of his beloved characters, he tormented his creations to teach them morals.
Ofeer wished none of this would have happened. She wished that Seneca had never arrived in Zohar, that Jerael had never died, that the world had never shattered. And yet perhaps her own world had always been shattered, her soul cracked. Perhaps all this pain, this fear, these tears—perhaps they had changed her. Mended her. She was no longer the girl who would drink, cuss, and fuck in the port, drowning her pain in sex and spice and wine. She was no longer the girl who had joined Seneca, laughing as his forces destroyed her home. She was no longer the girl who would yell at her mother, torment her sister, and hate her home. That girl had drowned in the sea somewhere between Zohar and Aelar. Water and fire had cleansed her, and so perhaps, Ofeer thought, whatever invisible playwright forged her tale still loved her, still sought her redemption.
She looked at the babe in her arms, reflecting how Jerael would never meet him, how perhaps others in her family had died.
"What of them then?" she whispered. "What of all those who had died? What of the mausoleum where I saw the epitaph of a dead child? Were they not worthy of life, of a happy ending?"
Ofeer did not know, but she could only be the heroine of her own tale, could only see and hear and grieve in her own reality. A single player on a moonlit stage, all the other actors offstage, all the spectators faded into shadow.
She looked down, and in the moonlight she saw a stain in the sand. Blood. Remembering her task, Ofeer hurried toward one of the ornate gateways carved into the side of the arena, the one she had seen Atalia step through. The gateway loomed, tall and large as a house. Four columns supported a pediment engraved with stucco reliefs, and above reared four iron horses, life-sized, their hooves gilded. The bronze doors were closed, but when Ofeer placed her key in the lock, they too opened, and she stepped into a dark tunnel.
She could see only a few steps ahead. The tunnel plunged into total darkness. Ariel wriggled in his sling and gave a short cry. Ofeer froze, terrified that guards would hear, but no guards came rushing forth, and Ariel soon fell back asleep. Ofeer walked down the tunnel until all light faded, and she walked with one hand against the wall. The tunnel delved deeper, passing under the city streets, until it began to rise again, and she saw light ahead.
An archway led to a corridor lined with lanterns. Ofeer froze, pressed herself against the wall, and listened. She heard two male voices, gruff, speaking with lowborn accents.
"You saw Uro's wife?" one man said. "The tits on her."
The other man laughed. "Bigger than her head."
"Last time she visited here, I watched them. Through the bars. He fucked her right in the tits."
"Did he now?"
A snort. "Doesn't want to place another miserable slave in her belly, I reckon."
Hiding in the dark tunnel, Ofeer thought back to the grisly display she had witnessed from her seat that day. Uro had been one of the gladiators, she remembered. A beefy, bald man who had slain three attackers. Was his wife not a slave, then? Did wives visit this place?
She peeked around the corner, just for an instant, then pulled her head back. She had seen a small chamber with two guards. Both men wore armor and helmets, and swords hung from their belts. Both seemed lowborn, not legionaries or Magisterian guards, just stubbly brutes, hulking and dumb and mean. Both men sat at a table, playing dice. Beyond them, Ofeer had seen a corridor, torchlit and lined with barred cells. When she peeked again, she glimpsed shadowy figures in those cells—gladiators.
"I heard that bald brute already stuck slave babies into a hundred bellies in the city," said one of the guards. "A hundred bald bastards now roaming around the Empire. Good thing we got him trapped behind bars now."
"I'll tell you who's got nice tits. That clawed lioness. Now with her husband dead, think she'd let me into her bed?"
A spit. "She's a fucking gladiatrix. You're a guard. Go stick your cock in one of the Lunapar's whores."
Raucous laughter. "Once they start paying us silver. Until then I'll stick to back alley whores."
Ofeer took a deep breath. Confirming that her key still hid in her pocket, she stepped into the lit chamber.
The guards glanced her way, then gasped and leaped to their feet. Their chairs and dice clattered down, and the men reached for their swords. Ariel woke up and wailed.
"Who the fuck are you?" a guard said, red-eyed and large-nosed.
Ofeer made a show of meekness. "The guards outside told me to come through the back door. My name is Odelia." She held out her crying babe, and she let tears fill her eyes. "I want his father to see him. I want Uro to see his son."
The red-eyed guard grunted and turned toward his friend. "What did I tell you? A thousand fucking bald baby bastards."
"You said a hundred," said the other guard.
The first guard spat on the floor. "Thousand more likely." He looked at Ofeer, nodding. "Aye, she's a pretty one. Anytime we let Uro out into town, another girl's belly fills."
"Can I see Uro?" Ofeer said.
The guard scratched his crotch, looked around, then back at her. "The master's not around. Hurry. If he comes back here and sees you, he'll have our hides—and your babe too, most like." He grabbed Ofeer's arm and tugged her with him. "Come on."
He pulled her down a corridor lit by oil lanterns. Cells lined the wall, their doors barred. Ofeer looked into each cell she passed, seeking Atalia, but saw only hulking men in loincloths, a hissing woman with braided red hair, and then—there!
Ofeer's heart skipped a beat. Atalia! It had to be her! She was lying on her side, her back to the bars, and did not see Ofeer. Perhaps she slept. But Ofeer would recognize her sister anywhere, even in the shadows. Before Ofeer could call out, the guard pulled her onward, and they left Atalia's cell behind. Ofeer's heart wrenched as Atalia was torn from her view.
They approached a cell at the back of the corridor. Uro the gladiator sat there, a sword across his lap. He raised his eyes, looked at Ofeer and her baby, and tilted his head. The guard opened the barred door and let Ofeer in, then slammed the door shut.
"You got the length of a shit," the guard said, then walked away.
Uro looked back at the sword on his lap. "Usually when the guards bring me a lupa, she doesn't have her baby with her." He frowned. "Wait a minute. That one isn't mine, is it? I don't think I ever lay with you."
Ofeer turned her back toward him. She peered between the door's bars back at the shadowy corridor. The guard was gone. She looked back at Uro. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for Atalia. Can I trust you?"
Uro's frown deepened. "What's going on, girl?"
She glared at him. "Can I trust you? If you care about Atalia at all, be quiet!" She pulled her skeleton key from her pocket. Gently—wincing at every clack and creak—she unlocked and opened the cell's door.
Uro cursed and leaped to his feet. "What—"
"Hush!"
Ofeer stepped into the corridor, holding Ariel. Blessedly, the baby was still sleeping. She knew she had only moments. She hurried toward Atalia's cell, unlocked the door, and burst inside.
Her older sister still slept, curled up on her cot, her back to Ofeer.
"Atalia!" Ofeer grabbed her. "Atalia, it's me!"
Atalia rolled over, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Go away, Ofeer," she mumbled. "I'm tired. I—" She opened her eyes. She leaped up. "Of—"
"Shh!" Ofeer said. "Quie—"
Atalia grabbed her, pulled her into her embrace, and squeezed her.
"You fucking stupid little . . ." Atalia wept onto her shoulder. "I should fucking strangle you. I fucking hate you. I should fucking rip out your heart and . . ." She shook, tears falling. "But I love you. I love you, you goddamn piece of shit."
Ofeer wriggled herself free. "Careful with the baby."
Atalia stared at the child, then up at Ofeer. Her eyes widened. "Is it . . ."
Ofeer grabbed her sister's hand. "No time. We only have the length of a shit." She laughed at the absurd notion. "Hurry. Let's get out of here."
There were so many things Ofeer wanted to say. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to tell her sister about Ariel. She wanted to ask if Atalia knew about the others. She hadn't seen her sister in nearly a year, had thought Atalia dead for most of this year—but all that would have to wait. Atalia grabbed her sword, and the two left the cell and walked down the corridor.
They walked into the guards' chamber, where a lone man was playing with dice. When he saw them, he leaped from his chair and reached for his sword.
"Get back into your—" he began.
Atalia's blade slammed into his neck, driving deep, twisting. She pulled it free with a shower of blood.
"Atalia!" Ofeer screamed, couldn't help but scream, horrified, the blood splashing her. Ariel woke and wailed.
The second guard walked into the room, lacing up his trousers.
The man saw Atalia with her bloody sword. His eyes widened, and he drew his own sword, managed to parry as Atalia attacked. She kicked, driving him back, and swung her blade into his armor. The guard grunted, shoved off the wall, and lunged toward her. Atalia ducked, dodging his blade, but the guard pressed on the attack.
Watching the battle, Ofeer realized that these guards weren't merely dumb brutes. This one fought with skill, perhaps once a soldier or a gladiator. Atalia kept landing blows, but the man's armor protected him, and his sword nicked Atalia's side.
Ofeer grabbed the dice from the table and tossed them. The guard stepped on one, lost his balance, and Atalia's blade drove into his throat.
The sisters glanced at each other. The sound of more guards came from down an unfamiliar corridor.
"Into the arena," Ofeer said.
Atalia nodded. They ran down the dark tunnel, passing under the city street, then into the moonlit arena. The tiers of seats rose around them in a ring. Ofeer led the way, running toward one of the exits. A guard emerged from behind them, shouting.
"Escaped slaves! Escaped slaves!"
Another guard emerged from the archway Ofeer had been running to. Three more guards raced in from another archway. The men moved in, surrounding Ofeer and Atalia in the arena.
No, Ofeer thought, holding her baby close. No, it can't end here. Not like this.
"Watch over your baby, Ofeer," Atalia said softly. "I'll look after you."
Ofeer pulled her little saw from her belt. "Just leave me a few of them to saw. This saw bloodied the cock of an emperor. It can take on the world."
The guards ran toward them. Atalia howled and swung her blade. Swords clanged together and sparked. A blade nicked Atalia's leg, and she cried out, dropped to one knee, rose again. A soldier leaped toward Ofeer, and she scampered back, holding Ariel with one hand, thrusting her saw. She screamed as a sword hit her thigh. Her blood spurted, and Ofeer fell, crying out in terror, dropping her saw and clutching Ariel with both hands. She hit her back, and her baby screamed, and Atalia fought above them, trying to hold back five armored guards, her blood dripping, and Ofeer knew that they would die.
A roar tore across the arena. A shadow leaped and slammed into two guards. Uro bellowed, swinging his sword. Another gladiator leaped forward, then another. Soon a dozen filled the arena, lashing at the guards, cutting them down until all lay dead.
Ofeer panted and struggled to her feet. Her thigh bled, and Ariel was wailing. As she tried to comfort the baby, she looked around and saw the other gladiators looking at Atalia, solemn.
Uro nodded at her. "You did all this," he said. "Yourself. That is what we'll tell them. That you're the greatest among us."
Atalia touched his arm, and her voice was soft. "Come with me." She looked at the others. "All of you."
Uro shook his head. "There is no more place for us in the world. This arena—this is our only world now." He gazed upon the tiers of empty seats. "This is our only battlefield, our only glory."
Atalia looked at the other gladiators, but they all moved closer to Uro. All but one, a gladiatrix with red hair and a painted face. She stepped forward, and Atalia stiffened and raised her arms as if preparing for a blow. But the redhead clasped Atalia's arm and nodded.
"Go find your home, lioness," the gladiatrix said. "Fuck the arena's sand. You should roar in the desert."
Atalia still bled from her leg. She nodded. "Thank you, Breeana. Glory to you in the arena and in the world after."
Ofeer took her sister's hand. They exited the amphitheater and stood in the dark Acropolis, cedars rustling around them. Both were bleeding, panting, afraid in the shadows and far from home. But Ofeer had her sister back. All was right in the world.
"I love you, Atalia," Ofeer whispered, and her tears flowed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything that I did. I'm sorry."
Atalia's eyes too were damp, and she squeezed Ofeer's hand. "I love you too, little sis. You are forgiven." She sniffed and blinked away her tears. "Now come on. Let's get the fuck out of this city and grab a ship home."
"No." Ofeer shook her head. "Not yet. There's something here we still must do."
"What?" Atalia asked.
Ofeer stared at the city lights that sprawled below the hill. She caressed the saw that hung from her belt.
"Kill Emperor Tirus Valerius," she said.
KOREN
He walked through the camp at night, moving between tents, campfires, and legionaries, seeking her. Around Koren sprawled the Republic Army in all its might. Thousands of Aelarian soldiers spread across the field, playing dice, sharpening gladius swords, shaving in front of small bronze mirrors, and speaking of their homeland, which drew ever nearer in the south. They had spent years in cold, distant Elania, and they all missed Aelar. Camp followers moved between them, drawn from towns and villages they had passed. Old men sold buttons, thread, and needles. Children juggled and danced for coins. A handful of women and boys sold their bodies for the night. Many legionaries had no need for purchased flesh; they had married wives in Elania, and they had brought the red-haired women along, often with children in tow.
This isn't just an army, Koren thought. It's civilization on the move.
Finally he saw Valentina's tent, woven of crimson wool and embroidered with golden eagles. He stepped inside to find her standing by a table, gazing at a map that covered the tabletop. Wooden eagles, dragons, and lions were placed on the parchment, painted in different colors. Red eagles were the most numerous, representing the imperial legions of Tirus Valerius; they covered many areas on the map. Black eagles marked Seneca's legions south of the Encircled Sea, while blue eagles represented the Republic Army, which Valentina commanded. Dragons represented the Gaelian horde besieging Aelar's walls and ravaging the countryside. A single wooden lion roared in Zohar, battling Claudia's eagles. Here it was, spread across this map—a war that was burning the world.
As she studied the map, Valentina's back was turned to Koren, and for a moment he stood, watching her. The candlelight shone on her armor, white hair, and the hilt of her sword. During the days, she rode at the head of her army, shoulders squared, chin raised, Domina Valentina Cassius, fighting to restore the Republic. But here, alone in her tent, her head was lowered, her shoulders stooped.
