[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

No, in case you thought you'd be spared the pain this year, stop hoping right now. I am going to dump junk mail in your inbox, and sometimes twice if you're unlucky enough to be part of the two mls I keep bugging with whatever my brain comes up with while I'm in Greece.

And this is yet another Saint Seiya fic, but I have discarded the Sci-Fi genre to get back to having fun with the past. Namely here, the key moment for Christianity's rise in early history, at the time of the Roman emperor Constantine I. And as usual, even though I did read stuff on the time period, once I was done I toyed with events and twisted reality to suit my needs. To people familiar with Saint Seiya, you'll probably be lost in this story, if you're looking for perfect manga canon. It's been a long time since I left that at the door, and went on creating my own Saint Seiya universe. This fic is set in Gaul, and in Greece, and you really don't need to know the Saint Seiya manga to read it, as the main character doesn't know anything about the Sanctuary or all the concepts Masami Kurumada created. As usual, my humblest apologies for all the historical inaccuracies and impossibilities.

That being said, I hope you'll enjoy the ride ^^

Fuu-chan.

A pale moon was wobbling up the sky. Suppressing a shiver, I gathered the heavy mantle of rabbit fur around me and shifted the position of my back against the rough trunk, so as to relieve the dull ache between my shoulder blades. The air I sighed out of my lungs shaped little clouds of mist before my eyes. The night’s silence was deep, so deep that it felt as if every single tree in the forest surrounding me was dead, shrouded by a thick veil of snow. No owl dared utter the faintest hoot, no wolf dared howl to call out to its pack in preparation for the hunt. The profound cold was a blade sharp enough to pierce through bone, heart and soul, the awful strength of it enough to claw at Time and forbid its passing--forbid dawn from ever coming to the land again.

During a long time, I stared at the forest spreading below, frozen in Winter's deadly embrace. I stared as the full moon's wan light strained to touch a tapestry of naked branches held out as though in prayer, and as it failed to break the night's spell. Bleak, the Romans would have called it. Bleak, and glaring. They despised it, as they did anything female, worshippers of the sun and of their own masculinity that they were. They spoke of it in hushed whispers, hiding their deep-seated fear behind stone walls and drowning the nagging dread they couldn't deny with wine and ribald songs--fools. There was a gentle push on the back of my left arm, and I pivoted to find the dark blue eyes of my steed watching me with something akin to reproach.

“Shh, Aedh,” I murmured even as I reached out to the chestnut mare. Her ears flicked back, as if she was considering biting off my outstretched fingers for bringing her up the sacred hill at the heart of the woods by such a gods awful night, then she snorted and shook her head before my hand could stroke her velvety nose. “I’m sorry.” That triggered another snort her, and the glum look in her eyes didn’t vanish. I could be sorry all I wanted, the great mare didn’t give a damn. She was a lady among her herd, and she was used to being pampered. Being out here in the cold wasn’t her idea of fun. Looking away from her, I refocused on the night and on the silent trees below.

The darkness was heavy. It weighed on my body as it did on the ancient oak’s branches above us. The tree’s canopy was a shelter from the obscurity’s dreadful strength, but a failing one. A smile tugged at my lips when I noticed the moonlight gleaming on white beads of mistletoe. A challenge it was, ages-old, of life and light against eternal slumber. Tonight was the Winter Solstice, and as it had been since the beginning of the world, it was being issued and taken up again.

From the corner of an eye, I caught sight of a jarred motion, and drew away from my gloomy reverie with difficulty. Aedh had lifted up her head, and the great mare was staring to her left, ears pricked up. As I followed her gaze, I heard it: muffled hoof beats. Almost at once, I saw a shadow detach itself from the woods. I blinked, but didn’t move when horse and rider started climbing up the sacred hill. With a gentle pull on the reins, I forbade Aedh to lay a loud claim on this piece of land or to reaffirm her dominance to the old enemy of hers which was now reaching our level. The grey stallion and she had been born on the same year, and they had hated each other at first sight. Finn’s rider jumped down and flailed her arms wildly, skidding to a precarious balance when her left foot landed upon ice dissimulated beneath a traitorous blanket of snow. A muted curse hissed through the darkness, and I found myself chuckling in response.

“Damn you, Gale,” the woman growled, striding toward me and coming to a stop right next to me, hands resting upon her hips. As her stark green eyes looked down on me, I fought to contain the laughter bubbling up my throat. She was beautiful, my sister. Beautiful and proud, with the fire-colored hair that tumbled down her back and her tall, slim shape. Many Roman men had mistaken her long, willowy limbs as signs of weakness and easy compliance, and they had quickly learnt to their cost the price for ignorance and prejudice. Strong she was, as strong as she was wise, this daughter of chiefs and druidesses, and I loved her more than life.

“For what?” I grinned at her. “Placing ice under the snow, or your unhealthy liking for flashy arrivals?”

“You’re a brat,” she spat, fake anger lighting her gaze, “and a foolish one at that!” She drew in a breath, and all of a sudden I glimpsed the clouds swirling in her eyes, so faint that I had missed them until now. A master at harnessing her emotions and feelings, she had all but managed to hide them from me.

“Macha,” I sighed.

“What are you doing here, Gale?” she cut me off. Her mask was dropped, and worry was riding her voice now. I didn’t care for the knowing light in her gaze. “Your place isn’t here, not tonight of all nights. There are so many reasons why you shouldn’t be here that I don’t even know where to start.” With a sigh, she waved her words aside, and held my eyes with hers. The urge to look away was almost undeniable, but I made myself stare back at her. Silence stretched on between us, thicker than the marshes along the Liger river after the Autumn rains. “He’s back,” she whispered at last. “Flavius has come back, as he promised he would. I know his messenger reached you. Why are you here, Gale?” Behind my sister, the pale moon was still struggling to reach its zenith. A cortege of stars was accompanying it, shining jewels that beckoned. “Oh, curse it!” Macha’s exclamation was a distant murmur. “Flavius is back, do you hear me? He’s kept his word, and the promise he made you.” My lips thinned into a smile when the breeze of those words brushed past me, unheeded--so far away, that they barely could reach beyond the curtain of the world. A promise, why, yes. A promise made under a canopy of stars.

A

Promise.

*****

The sky is turquoise, and emerald, and a blue deeper than that of rivers and lakes. Stars twinkle in wink into existence, tiny lanterns, bright and clear. It’s a beautiful evening, peaceful and serene. The heaviness of my soul doesn’t belong. Neither does the anvil that’s busy slowly crushing my heart, slowly. The green of the grass at our feet deepens to merge with that of the forest. “This place must be very precious to you.” My companion’s soft words glide past us to sink into the last moments of dusk. I draw in a breath, and turn to face him in a slow motion. Reluctant. “It’s the first time you’ve brought me here,” he adds, his voice thoughtful. His eyes are set on me.

“Yes,” I give a shrug. “It’s precious.” Not only to me, but to all those whose ancestors know of the gods’ and goddesses’ presence in the land, the waters and the sky. I don’t tell him that. It may be he knows, this proud young man who stands a full head taller than I do, even though we were born on the same year. Flavius is a Roman, and I’m a Gaul, as his people call us. He’s the third son of the provincial governor appointed by Rome in Cenabum, a Roman with thick golden hair and eyes that mirror a clear Summer sky--rather unconventional as Roman features go, and a likely sign of mixed blood in his ancestry. That may explain why instead of mingling with his own, he befriended the foundling adopted by the closest advisor of the Carnutes tribe leader.

Yes, it may explain why we grew up together, but it doesn’t explain other things, things I can’t tell him, like how sacred the ground beneath his feet really is. He shouldn’t be here. I’m wrong to have brought him, but--I see my reflection in his eyes. They’re like a mirror of polished silver. What is it that he perceives when he looks at me? A young man like him, smaller and thinner, whose dark green eyes don’t go with the shoulder-length black hair, most likely. More? There was a time when I would have dared pretend so.

“Oh, stop looking so glum.” Leaning some weight on the right heel, I pivot and easily avoid the hand that reaches out to my left shoulder.

“I’m not gloomy.” I summon a smile to my lips and sustain his gaze. Is there anything in those blue pools, anything at all? I cannot tell, I’ve been unable to since the day he met Livius Arenus, the head representative of the Christian church for our region of Gaul. Maybe there’s nothing there, nothing left, and maybe I’m a fool. Hissing air out between my teeth, I stare above the one I’ve never allowed myself to call more than friend. Beyond him, the stars now shine brightly in the rapidly darkening sky.

Straining my spirit, I reach out to those blazing presences. The tearing pain that ensues is a distant one, as is the thinning of my soul. It doesn’t matter. This is pure folly, but I must go through with it. I’m betraying secrets guarded by generation of druids, by people who bled and died, slaughtered when the Roman Caius Julius Caesar first came to our land and understood where our roots lie--and where the true seats of power and resistance lie. I’m also betraying myself, but he won’t know. I’m sure he won’t, even though I wish with all my heart that he would.

In silence, I call out and it answers me. Around us, the wind shivers and then retreats, bowing low before the bright presence that descends from the heavens. “That’s weird.” Before me, Flavius blinks and then rubs at his eyes. With a bemused little smile, he continues, “For a moment, I thought I saw a necklace of tiny candles twirling between us.” The fleeting light of wonder in his gaze is already gone, so sure that he has grown. So fettered, so locked away. I’ve lost, as I knew I had before coming here. With a brisk motion of the head, I look down at the chain of stars I’m holding in my hands. Lugh’s Chain, which I snatched from the sky for my own selfish purposes.

For nothing.

“Come on, it’s not the end of the world.” Flavius’ voice is barely above a whisper, soft. Gentle. It’s all I can do not to flinch when his right hand tousles my hair, disturbing the strands I had so painstakingly gathered into a neat ponytail. It’s all I can do not to crush him against me and fling at him words that would send him away, words that would make him recoil and summon to his heart a thing blacker than the night. Chewing at my lower lip, I stand rooted to the ground, and I hold on to the stars I’m grasping in my hands, and to the feeling of the looming oak tree behind me. Abruptly the light of Lugh’s Chain falters. It shimmers, and I See.

Flavius.

He’s older, but not much.

He stands before me in clothes as rich as usual.

The eyes he sets upon me don’t see me.

His gaze is empty, and something glitters, dangling on his chest. A pendant.

A cross.

The blade that hangs from his belt is sharp and clean. It won’t remain so for long.

Blood, red and dark.

I was wrong: he does see me. His eyes aren’t a void. What I glimpsed earlier is ice. Death.

Gasping in a breath, I reach up and close both hands upon my friend’s right wrist, clutching at it desperately--clutching at him. “Hey”, he says, his voice full of kindness. “I’ll be back.” He leans over me, and repeats in a barely audible murmur, “I’ll come back. I swear to you, Gale. I promise.”

I close my eyes tightly shut, and I swallow back the lump in my throat. I don’t look up at him. “I know.” My voice is toneless. “I know.” And as those words fade into the darkness, the Chain of Lugh escapes from my grasp and returns to its rightful place in the heavens.

*****

With the ginger motions of a very old man, I stood up, leaning most of my weight against the oak tree behind me. The irregularities in the rough bark tore at my clothes, but they didn’t manage to disperse the ghost haunting me. “I heard you fine the first time,” I told Macha in a voice devoid of emotions. It had been five years since that fateful night. Five years, since Flavius of the Varii had left our city of Cenabum to follow what he thought of as the calling of his heart. Five years, during which he had received the teachings of the Christian priests to enter their congregation, a move his parents supported since Christianity was now in favor in the Roman Empire’s highest circles of power.

Five years since I had shown him a thing the men who now owned his allegiance would have killed to gain access to, so they could destroy and uproot it. Five years since I had been forced to bow to the truth: that Flavius’ heart was closed to what was the essence of my being. Five years since the Lady Muireann had been waiting on the threshold of her home, waiting for the stray fool to whom she had offered a roof and a life to come back to her. She hadn’t said a single word, she had neither rebuked me, nor lectured me. There had been no need for that: as she well knew, there was no harsher judge of one’s actions than oneself. “I know he’s back,” I looked my sister right in the eyes, “and I’m sure he came with songs and a tapestry of intricate tales that’ll grip the minds of all those who listen to them.” A smile curled up my lips, and uncovered my teeth. “Why aren’t you there yourself?”

She chortled at that. “I was, and it was easier to leave as quickly as I could. It’s never been the same since the both of you came of age, you know that.” A hint of sadness had tainted her voice, and her gaze grew distant for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” I bowed my head, and cursed the painful lurch of my heartbeats as well as the sudden wave of nausea churning my stomach.

“Don’t be,” she retorted in a calm, composed tone. “The mistake was mine. I’m older, and I’m the one who should have been more careful during that celebration of Beltane. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she shrugged. The smile that had come to her lips was as painful as the light in her eyes.

“Past.” I snapped, shying away from that shadow in my memories. “Over and done,” I added between clenched teeth, even as I denied the cold ice clawing at my gut. “Neither you nor I can be held accountable for Fate’s sick jokes.” Around us, the night’s pressure was making it difficult to breathe. It would smother us, it would drown our hearts if we let it. Reaching out, I grasped Macha’s right hand with my left and clasped it, hard. Silence again embraced us, while we watched our intertwined fingers.

“Even then, the Christian priests were hovering close to the governor’s house, and they were scheming to get any tool that could serve them in their clutches,” Macha heaved out a loud sigh. “Even then, and yet--“ she looked away, and her voice dropped to a faint murmur as she said, “the only moment when the veil of emptiness lifted from Flavius’ gaze was when I told him I’d try and find you, and bring you back, fleeting though that moment was.” In the instant that barbered arrow was delivered, her hand gripped mine tight enough for our knuckles to go white.

I stood very still while my sister’s words sunk in, and while the flames they breathed to life in their wake licked at the walls of my soul. “Too late,” I said at last. “It was decided five years ago. He’s gone.” No shadow flickered in Macha’s gaze. No change in her pulse, which meant that it was what she had expected, what she had read from me. In spite of that, she had come through ice and snow, through darkness to find me and offer me a chance to try and regain what I had lost, should I decide to do so at the risk of endangering all that her mother and she--all that we were. For if I went and repeated the stupid mistake of bringing the enemy to the place where our roots were-- “I love you,” I told her, which could mean any number of things. She’d pick up the right, true significance of that statement, I knew. It was a game between us, albeit a dark one.

An exorcism.

“Brat!” she hissed, letting go of my hand and reaching for my ponytail in a lightning-quick movement. Grasping my hair, she pushed against my neck and touched her brow to mine. “I love you too, little brother,” she smiled, and released me.

I took a step back, and nodded at her. “Go back if you feel like it, but don’t wait for me. I’ll stay here a while longer.” There would be music and dancing. There would be mead and wine, and many young people. Macha could fend for herself and find company for the night without stumbling on Flavius again. It was one of the rare good things about Roman parties: there were so many guests that you could very easily lose yourself among the crowd. “I’ll drop by our mother’s house later on to throw a log into her fire, and to share the warmth of her hearth if she’ll have me.”

“Oh she’ll have you,” my sister sniggered, “although you might have turned into an icicle by the time she gets back. There are many people who’ll want her blessing during this long night.”

“I’ll manage,” I shrugged one shoulder. Then, catching a glint in her stallion’s eyes on her left, I added, “You’d better go, before that ugly brute of yours decides it’s way too cold to indulge his rider’s whims and stay here any longer.”

With a casual gesture of the right hand, Macha reached to her left, and caught her steed’s chin into an iron grip while spinning on her heels to face the grey. “Is that true, Finn? You’d leave me out here to freeze?” The horse’s ears went flat on his skull, and Macha burst out laughing. “Yes, I can see it’s true. Well,” she looked back at me, “I’ll go then and leave you to whatever challenge you’ve set for yourself tonight.” With that, she reached for her saddle and easily vaulted up on the stallion’s back. “Don’t stay here too long,” she urged me quietly. “The dark has no liking for defeat, and you shine like a beacon for it to strike in revenge.”

I took in a murky light in her eyes, and didn’t laugh. “I won’t,” I promised her. “Now go,” I told her, even as I slapped her horse’s rump. With a half-startled, half-indignant whinny, the grey shied away, sending a half-hearted kick in my general direction and missing me by several inches. On Finn’s back, my sister went along with the brusque motions with the graceful ease of the greatest riders.

“Be well, Gale.” Her gaze met mine, dark and unreadable all of a sudden. “Be well, little brother.” With that, she touched her heels to the stallion’s flanks, and both rider and horse were gone from my sight within a few heartbeats, swallowed by the forest and the night. For a while, I stared into the direction she had vanished, and wondered what it was she had glimpsed. The eldest daughter of Lady Muireann had inherited her mother’s gift of Sight, but it had been long since all they would See had been anything other than tainted and dark. We never truly talked about it: it hurt enough as it was, and there was nothing we could do except to bear with it all, and hold still. To hold still, to be steady, as I had challenged myself to do through this night, while darkness rose to enfold the world and my traitorous heart beat in synch with the imagined echoes of a familiar voice singing tales and scanning epic verses.

Time trickled by, feeding the cold and fueling a harsh wind that had risen from the North-East. Clouds followed in its wake, heavy with snow. It wouldn’t take them long to claim mastery of the sky and to start shedding a good part of their burden. Beside me, Aedh snorted, and blew her unhappiness in my left ear. “Yes,” I murmured, and reached out to stroke her right cheek. Remaining much longer would be dangerous, not to mention futile. Looking heavenward, I noted that the moon was now past its zenith. All around, the silence was still as profound and threatening. “We’re leaving,” I told the chestnut mare with an absentminded nod. It was hard to detach myself from the sight of the pale moon. Something in me wanted to stay, wanted to drown into that empty contemplation, and warnings be damned. Something in me wanted to feel the soft embrace of snow and fall prey to a slumber so deep there would be no waking from it.

“Hey!” The startled yelp sent the silence recoiling in tiny, sullen waves. Belatedly I realized I was the one who had uttered it in the moment when Aedh’s head had bumped into my left side and unbalanced me. The great mare was eyeing me dubiously, as if questioning her rider’s sanity. “Thank you,” I whispered, and I stifled a groan when I stepped to her left. I patted her neck, grimacing. I was stiff all over, and miserably cold to boot. I’d be lucky if I didn’t go down with a fever come morning--a fate I’d fully deserve. Tentatively I moved an arm and rolled a shoulder, then the other. When I wrinkled my nose, Aedh neighed, mocking human stupidity. “All right,” I spat, even as I gathered my strength and vaulted up her back. That almost ended in a much undignified fall nose first into the snow, but somehow I managed to cling to my usually much more restless steed. “Let’s go,” I grumbled before she could look back at me with horse-like amusement. Her ears flicked this way and that, as if she could perceive sounds despite the blanket of silence, then she started down a slow, careful walk away from the sacred hill.

Taking a look at the sky beyond a roof of twigs and branches, I cursed under my breath. The latest gust of wind had carried the smell of snow with it and, indeed, the clouds had all but conquered the night. There were no more stars to be glimpsed; the sole source of light was a faint halo where the waning moon was fast gliding toward the horizon. We hadn’t made good time, and we weren’t about to get home any quicker: in spite of the cold, the snow was so thick under the trees that Aedh kept sinking into it up to a good third of her legs. Asking her for more than a very slow canter was tantamount to breaking her legs and killing her.

Damn it!

Upon reaching an almost invisible crossroads between the forest’s secluded trails, the chestnut mare shied to the right. As gently as I could, I stopped her and stroked her neck. Her great body was shivering, and that didn’t come from the cold. Straining my ears, I listened to the silence, and eventually I heard a faint, faint sound like the ghost of padded feet trotting upon bare rock. For a moment I didn’t move, unsure of my perception, then I touched my right heel to Aedh’s flank and pushed her toward a direction she had no wish to follow. “I know, girl,” I whispered, “but there’s not much choice. Besides, the fools know better. They’re not after us.” Her ears were flat on her skull, making her disagreement plain, but I pushed her on nonetheless.

It didn’t take us long to reach the source of Aedh’s fears. As we neared one of the greater clearings on the edge of the woods, we were greeted by the wind’s howl and a harsh slap of snow. When my steed tried to recoil I pressed my legs against her sides and willed her not to move. “Steady,” I told her in a hushed voice. Before us, the clearing was cut into two halves by one of the rare roads that skirted along the forest. It was an ancient path, one that few people knew of, and fewer people still used. Yet, there was what looked like a Roman cart, a rather big and rich one by the looks of it, dragged by a team of two horses. It was stuck in the middle of the opening. For a fraction of a second, I thought one of the wheels had sunk too deeply into the snow, then I realized that it was the driver who had stopped it. The reason for that apparently absurd decision was spreading before the cart into the shape of a rapidly bending bow.

Wolves.

A whole pack of them, and they were famished if I was to judge by the hip bones protruding from their rumps and their overall skeletal look. They must be on the brink of starvation for them to take on people like that. A shadow glided through the trees on our left, silent as death, and another. And another. As the rest of the pack came into the clearing from behind us, Aedh never moved. Good girl, I stroked her neck once more, feeling her trembling like a lamb facing slaughter. It’s okay. They won’t harm you. I’m here. And the truth was we had nothing to fear from the ravenous predators. The cart, its horses and its passengers were another matter. Immobile, I watched the wolves close their trap’s jaws upon their prey. What folly could have possessed those people to travel into the old forest during the Winter Solstice’s night? During a long, awful moment, I considered leaving the fools to whatever fate awaited them. They were Romans, and maybe even Christians. Let them face the doom their blindness and insanity had brought them to. Their blood wouldn’t be on my hands.

The shrill neigh of the two horses pulling the cart knifed through the night.

“Ah shit,” I said to no one in particular, and I dug my heels into Aedh’s sides. The chestnut mare bared her teeth and sprang forward. The brusque movement surprised the wolves. To them, we had been just a part of the forest, one with the trees, but now the circle they had drawn wavered as we galloped toward them. Our intervention alone wouldn’t be enough. They were desperate for food. Focusing my will, I stretched my spirit beyond the thick clouds, and reached for the brightest stars in the sky. Lugh’s Chain answered my call, coming to the left hand I had held up toward the masked heavens. Its radiant light splashed over the pack of wolves. “Go!” I commanded them. “Leave!”

A furlong before us, the cart’s door opened, and someone unhurriedly came out.

A humanlike silhouette, dark. So dark it detached itself sharply from the snow.

A shadow.

The circle of wolves broke before Aedh and I, even as that black wraith turned. Tile blue eyes met mine, and then flicked upward--toward my left hand which was still holding Lugh’s Chain high--and those eyes widened.

He could feel it, this black ghost who had come out of a Roman cart. Worse, he could see it. In the middle of the scampering wolves, I opened my hand and freed the bright stars, which whisked out of existence at once. Beneath me, Aedh reared, ears flat on her skull, and instinct took over. Now that Lugh’s Chain was no longer lighting the clearing, darkness had rushed in to regain dominion over it, the only thing in its way the weak halo of the moon. Anything could happen during a Winter Solstice’s night. Even a Roman couldn’t be sure of the events that took place in that strange, dangerous time. Even I couldn’t be certain that this black ghost wasn’t a trick of the gods to test the steadiness of my mind. With a harsh yank on the reins, I pulled Aedh to the right and dived for the shelter of the trees.

All thought of the cart’s peril fled from my mind while we raced for the woods. Anyway, the wolves were gone, unsettled by the stark, blinding light of Lugh’s chain, and spooked by a somber phantom calmly revealing itself, shedding the guise of easy prey they had first fallen for.

Through the thundering of my heart, I willed the fog of crazy fear to lift from my mind. Reluctantly it did so, even as Aedh reached the first trees and as the forest swallowed us. I let the chestnut mare gallop some more before pulling her to a walk. It was only when I bowed my head and gulped in a shuddering breath, that I realized that my body was so tense I was hurting all over.

There had been no pursuit.

The ghost hadn’t followed after us.

Tilting my head backward, I let out a heavy sigh. It was the night of Winter Solstice. Anything could happen. It might be the wolves and I had been tricked by the gods. It might be nothing at all had happened--no, it was likely. I reached out to Aedh’s neck, and found her coat lathered with sweat. “I’m sorry,” I offered her for the second time this night, which was met by a snort and a slow, tired flick of her ears. “Let’s go home.”

The heavy sigh I released was quickly drowned by the clatter of hooves resounding over the courtyard’s stones, as well as by the constant hustle of people coming and going. On my left, a rather sizeable cart came to an abrupt halt, all but spilling its whole content of hay to the ground. That would be Lir, the second son of the farmer we were dealing with concerning the feeding of our horses during the Winter season. And as usual, Lir would come late, always running behind the tight delivery schedule his stern father set for him. “M’lord Gale.” I glanced to the left to catch sight of Lir greeting me, the depth of his bow completed by a very bright and wide smile.

“A good day to you, Lir,” I nodded. Then, taking in the trail of spilled hay that marked his reckless path since the entry gate, I added, “Before leaving, give a hand to the servants for cleaning up the yard.” My request was met by an audible groan, but the boy would obey. He had little choice in the matter. Overtaking him, I lifted up my face toward the sky and drew in a deep breath. Despite the crisp quality of the air, I could feel the sun’s warmth tickling my skin. Winter was giving way, tiny step by tiny step now that we had won through the Solstice night. Sniffing at the light breeze, I searched for hints of an early thaw, but found none. “Ah well,” I whispered to myself, “enough stalling.” With another sigh, I forced my eyes to set on the high building before me.

The ceremonial house of the Carnutes looked everything like a Roman noble’s palace. It had been many years since the last huts had been abandoned for the comfortable Roman villas. If truth be told, even the most traditionalist families had bowed to that change with a smile. The clever central heating system and the thermae had won everyone over eventually. There was little to say to oppose the ease with which one could enjoy a nice, hot bath in the middle of Winter. “You’re late!” As the singsong words registered in my brain, my shoulders sagged, ever so slightly. Then, with an effort of will, I made myself look up. There she was, all right: staring down at me from one of the man-sized windows of the first floor, a skinny girl was leaning against the wooden frame, her arms crossed over her stomach.

“So what?” I shrugged back at her.

“So there are people waiting for an audience, who came here after requesting mother’s permission.” The freckles spotting her face and the limbs that seemed too long to fit with her body marked her as a child at the beginning of adolescence. As those things went, her coming of age was in the process of gifting the girl with one of the foulest tempers I had experienced.

“Whatever.” I waved her words aside. “I’ll be there in a minute. Make yourself useful and tell them so, why don’t you, Deirdre?” A loud snort and a grimace were her response to my calling of her name, but she complied and quickly left her observation post. A chuckle escaped me while I watched her disappear, her long red hair bouncing upon her shoulders and back, catching a stray ray of sunshine. My younger sister was a nasty little will o’ the wisp, but she had entered a phase of hero-worship over Macha that made her hate the sound of her own name with a passion. It was the only weapon I currently had against her, and I dreaded the moment when she’d be over it.

When I strode past the house’s threshold, I was greeted by a much welcome whiff of warmth, and I discarded my heavy cloak and gloves with a faint sigh. Just as I was about to drop the garments on the closest table, I caught myself and went to hang them on the peg set on the far side of the wall instead. Oh, servants would have seen to them, but it was bad manners not to take care of a minimum of things oneself; it was shameful, was what I had been taught since I had been a very selfish and lazy little kid. There was only a single other cloak set on the peg beside my mother’s and Deidre’s. So. With a nod, I filed teenaged erratic and sometimes vengeful behavior away, and made for the small waiting office at the other end of the great hall in brisk strides.

A woman was sitting in the guest’s chair set before my desk, her back very straight. Tense, I thought to myself when I entered the room. At once, she stood and pivoted toward me. “Lady Viviana,” I blurted out as I recognized one of the beautiful stepdaughters of the tribe leader. She bowed her proud head deep, much deeper than was expected or proper considering I was the one standing before her. “Please,” I told her, “excuse my late arrival. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Straightening, she met my gaze squarely. “Audiences in matters of private law are traditionally held once the sun has passed its zenith. It is I who am sorry for ignoring the custom in such a blatant fashion,” her lips were twisted into what was definitely not a smile, “but there’s no way I could have come to your lady mother at the appointed time.” A shadow flickered briefly in the noblewoman’s dark brown eyes, and then was gone. It wasn’t arrogance that had prompted her to request a private hearing, it wasn’t the belief that it was beneath her station to have to walk and wait among common folk. The clouds she had blinked from her gaze were fear, deep-seated.

Ignoring the familiar sensation of cold spreading in my gut, I smiled at her. “There’s no need for justification. The Lady Muireann gave her permission, and you’re welcome, Lady Viviana.” On impulse, I spun away from my desk and the heavy books and piles of paper littering its surface. “Follow me if you will,” I told her, and her eyes widened at that breach of our carefully established, ancient judicial procedure. Still, she didn’t protest, but stepped in behind me, silent. A short walk through empty corridors brought us before the double doors that opened upon the main judicial hall. “Wait here, please, my lady,” I asked her from above my shoulder. “It shouldn’t be long.” Her only answer was another, short bow, and I pushed the left side of the heavy doors ajar, just enough to let me through.

The great hall was empty, and the sound of my steps raised strange, muffled echoes that rebounded against the walls and the columns marking the central alley, disturbing the shadows and memories of judgments past. “Improperly dressed.” I started, and froze when a human silhouette detached itself from the row of columns on my right. “You didn’t even take the time to don the outer ceremonial robes,” the diminutive woman went on, her voice as calm as if she was talking about the weather, “and I see your hands are empty. Is that you once again trying to shirk your duty and the paperwork you hate so much, or is your reading of Lady Viviana’s reason for coming to us so bad?”

Nobody in his right mind would have called Muireann of the Carnutes beautiful. The angular lines of her face seemed to have been carved by a blade too sharp, and the light in her charcoal eyes was too harsh. She was too small as well, and the perpetual hardness in her expression finished the job of making her seem more man than woman. Yet, in spite of all this or perhaps because of it, there was no denying the feeling that gripped the heart of all those who laid eyes upon her: she was a power to be reckoned with. Inside her veins, the blood of the old druids flowed freely, and her cold gaze saw beyond the veil of the world to capture the gods’ and goddesses’ images in their dark irises. I had known her for as long as I had lived, and yet every time we met in this hall and she wore the mantle of high judge, the feeling of her sent gooseflesh crawling up my arms.

I gave myself seven heartbeats to weigh the question, then at last I shrugged one shoulder. “She’s afraid,” I replied in a soft voice, and I met my lady mother’s stern gaze. “Fear is what I found lurking inside her, deep and dark like poison. I didn’t inquire. I didn’t start a formal reading. I just thought she should see you. Now.”

“So,” the middle-aged woman nodded, unruly locks of hair as red as that of her daughters but much longer coming before her face as she did so. “Behave,” she chided her thick mane as if it were a child, pushing her hair back where it belonged. “Bring her in,” she gestured toward me. At once, I moved to obey, and Lady Viviana slipped into the great hall with a swish of her long-sleeved Winter dress.

“Lady,” the noblewoman murmured, bowing low with her hands resting against her knees. Well, that was that. Now I could go back to my office and start studying through inches-thick books of Roman and Greek law. In a slow motion, I turned away.

“Gale, stay.” I froze in my steps, then faced both women once more, wondering whether I should feel grateful for the temporary reprieve from long, tedious hours of reading boring articles of foreign law.

Law was in the unwritten songs binding people together, in the covenants sealed with land, water and sky--not in words scribbled down by roman scholars. When I caught he glint in my mother’s eyes, my heart sank. No reprieve by the looks of it, no respite from the day’s work. So much for dreams of lazing around in the thermae, then. Releasing air from my lungs in an inaudible sigh, I refocused on the two women. “Why did you come to the Carnutes’ high judge?” My mother was using her druidess voice, and Lady Viviana took a small, involuntary step back. There was no escaping that voice, no lying, no evading answers. The sounds of it filled the air, and trapped the one it had been aimed for, unfailingly. “State the matter that brought you to this sacred place truly, and hear the gods’ judgment.” The solemn words echoed in the hall, leaping from stone to stone until at last they consented to sink into the floor.

Silence, thick and viscous, descended upon us, but I denied its hold on my body while stepping to my watching post on the high judge’s left. “As the gods of our tribe know, I’m married to the Roman Marius of the Levii.” Lady Viviana drew in a breath. “I need that oath to come undone. I need to be released from that bond before the snow starts melting and life returns to the land.” The noblewoman’s voice remained steady as she uttered those words, and her gaze kept its clarity. The hands she had wrung together and was now forcefully unclenching told another story.

“A divorce.” My mother’s left eyebrow was arched up in a question mark. “Do you wish me to break that which you bound with your own hands, defying your kin’s will and advice?” There was a subtle hint of mockery in the question, so faint that many would have missed it, but not Lady Viviana.

“Yes,” she retorted at once, her chin held high.

A somber flame of mirth danced in my mother’s eyes. “Why?” she demanded to know. “There are no marks on you, and obviously you’re free to go where you will.”

“That is an illusion!” Lady Viviana hissed. Then, folding her lips, she bowed her head. “Things have changed, and they have changed for the worse.” Her voice was muffled, and so tense that it felt as though she had to force the words through clenched teeth. “The terms of the covenant we drew together are no longer met.”

“What terms?” the haughty judge standing before her shot back. “You knew the risks. Both your stepfather and I argued with you against that marriage. You were warned about the Romans’ ways, you were warned about how they view their women.”

“Tools,” the noblewoman answered without hesitation, “objects used for their own pleasure, yes, I’m aware of that.” She had looked up and was sustaining my mother’s steady gaze. Her face had drained of color, but still she stood her ground. Pride was bristling in her like a bonfire, and beneath it, a dread that had no name. “This is different.” She took a step forward. “I no longer am the mistress of my own house. I can no longer tend to my own hearth. Ever since the Christian priests came from Rome and beyond, and since the one I called my husband embraced their faith, the tapestry binding us together has started to unravel. Now it holds only by the thinnest thread, and I need it severed.” She went silent and her eyes darted to the left, meeting mine. In a heartbeat, she looked away, as if for a way out, but there was none. She was the one who had come here and started this. I knew my lady mother: she wouldn’t let this petitioner rest until all her reasons for choosing this path were out in the open.

“By Roman law, I have the right to divorce my husband, but as it integrates more Christian rules with each day, I must relinquish claims of ownership to what was mine unless I can show proof that my property didn’t enter into the contract.” Joyless laughter mingled with her words as she went on, ”Galling though that prospect is, I haven’t come to you to preserve my wealth and my comfortable status. I have come,” for a moment, she wavered and cracks appeared in the mask she had set upon her face, “I have come because I won’t bow to Christian rules, and because I refuse to let them have the child I’m carrying.” Lady Viviana’s eyes were very bright while she uttered that last piece, but no tears ran down her cheeks. “Once that starts to show, Roman law will forbid me to claim my freedom and my child. I need your help, Lady High Judge, because I refuse to bow or flee.” She went silent then, her hands closed into tight fists at her sides and her eyes set on my mother’s.

Muireann of the Carnutes gave the petitioner standing before her a long, appraising glance. For an awful moment, it felt as though she were a merchant sizing up a horse and pondering its selling price. Then at last, she turned away and stepped toward me. “Go to the governor’s house,” she bade me, her tone even. “Find his archivist and get the contract regarding Lady Viviana’s marriage. They’re honor-bound to have kept it intact, but still it’ll have been written down in such a way as to ensure most of what she owned was subject to it. We’ll see what we can do about that.” A thin smile had curled up my lady mother’s lips. Blinking, I looked back at her, and didn’t move. To go to the governor’s house, as if that were easy, as if--she knew. I willed my heartbeats to steady. She knew what it was she was asking, and it was precisely because of that that she had given me that order.

“Aye,” I murmured, and I gave her a quick bow.

As I moved to obey, she looked above her shoulder and added, “Go, Lady Viviana. Neither your kin nor your gods ever acknowledged the bond between you and Marius of the Levii. There is nothing for me to break. Still, we’ll help you unclench this trap’s jaws, and we’ll thwart the Christian rules as much as we can. There’s no way the tribe will allow the Romans to claim yet more land from us.” With that, she strode away. Her judgment hung in the hall, enveloping the rigid, frozen figure of the one who had come here seeking help out of a situation she had shaped with her own hands.

Gathering my strength, I pushed away from the column I had been resting against, and I walked past Lady Viviana without sparing her a glance. Relief and shame, anger and fear and sorrow were choking the air around her, plain in the painful set of her limbs and in the wavering light of her gaze. I didn’t stop to comfort her. She’d have rebuked me. She was a Gallic woman, strong and proud, and free. She’d face what the future held, just as I’d face the task my dear lady mother had set for me. There was no other choice, neither for her, not for me.

Declining to disturb Aedh’s midday nap had been a mistake. A bad one, I repeated myself for the hundredth time since I had started crossing the whole town on foot. Cenabum was a Gallic city, and as such it was said to be small and crude when compared to the great cities one found further South and East. The walk from one end to the other was a short one, except on market day, and of course today was market day. As I stepped through the busy crowd of people, I allowed my mind to be lulled by the peddlers’ many voices. The stands all around, their vivid colors and their sometimes pungent smells, the chaos of people moving in great waves and the occasional outcry of a buyer who suddenly realized his purse had been cut, all that was familiar and safe.

“Anything that strikes your fancy, young lord?” I glanced toward the merchant, and gave him a smile as well as a negative gesture of the right hand. The woolen blankets he was selling were nice indeed, but his prices were outrageous, not to mention that Aedh already had all she needed where blankets were concerned. Rubbing the fine fabric between thumb and forefinger, I hummed softly to myself. It was truly good work, but. With regret, I straightened and got ready to dive into the crowd once again. I shouldn’t tarry along as I was doing. It would no more make my task disappear than it would make it easier. In front of me, the great wave of people abruptly rolled back. I blinked as the motion grew more perceptible by the moment.

Grumbled protests glided over men’s and women’s heads, that people had no time for Roman whims and the utter lack of respect and consideration Rome’s soldiers usually showed civilians. My curiosity piqued, I started swimming against the crowd’s current, and quickly reached the source of the discontent: a dozen or so men wearing the blood red cloaks of the Roman army had drawn a half-circle around the stand of Hart the butcher. As I stepped closer, I noted that the meat he was selling was as sound and came from animals as freshly killed as ever. Winter was the only time of the year during which Hart could easily come to the market, and the pieces of game he brought along always found a lot of success with the city dwellers, who had no time to spare for hunting through the region’s thick forests. Of course, it happened that Hart sometimes was lazy and decided to try his luck in the druids’ sacred forest, but it was nothing a friendly discussion and a gift of the finer parts of his catch couldn’t settle. It had been a while since the man’s last bout of mischief. Eyeing the soldiers once more, I couldn’t help but wonder what the wily little man had done to run afoul of the roman authorities. Then, I saw them.

Clad in long brown robes, two men were arguing with Hart, whose expression was a closed one, mixture of anger and stubbornness. It meant that the men were wasting their time not--that they cared. “Man,” one of them was busy saying, “it’s enough that you willfully ignore the Emperor’s prescription of a rest day. Slaughtering animals during the day of the Lord is intolerable.” Almost, I plugged my ears and went on my way. Instead, hissing out a breath, I strode between two of the soldiers.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Reflexively, I danced aside to avoid the hand that had snatched out to grab my right shoulder.

“Where my place is,” I retorted, pivoting just the time for the legionary to take a good look at my face. The hand he had rested upon his sword’s hilt left it to rest against his right side while he sketched a mocking bow my way. He didn’t quite dare spit to the ground as I passed him by. “Fool,” I told him amicably, which elicited an inarticulate growl in response, but he had the wisdom to drop the matter. I discarded him from my mind, and stepped toward Hart’s little stall.

“Gale!” My heart skipped a beat as the sounds of the voice enfolded me, and I swallowed the bile rising up my throat. Of course, Flavius would be here. Of course, he would accompany the two robed men and lend them the power his name carried. Of course. “Gale!” He called again, and I found myself turning to face him in a slow, slow motion.

“Flavius,” I greeted him with a polite nod of the head, the tone of my voice a non-committable one. Even.

The bright light that had inflamed his gaze whooshed out in an instant, replaced by a darkness that was pain and sorrow both. Is this what we have come to, you and I? his eyes seemed to want to say. Is this what we have become? For the time of three heartbeats, he searched my face, as if he expected to see something there, memories of a past forever out of our reach, perhaps. Facing the hurt and incomprehension in his sky blue eyes was hard enough, but I managed somehow. He was the one who had walked away, the one who had chosen the other path at the fork. He had known when he had fallen for the lure of the Christian god’s professed eternal love, he had known what I was, even then. Well, not all that I was, but still he had known who my mother was, and what I was learning to become--what I had been learning since I had been a very young kid.

“What’s your quarrel with this man?” I asked, gesturing toward Hart. The poacher wisely kept his mouth shut, and didn’t try to escape into the shadows of the other stands newt to his when the two robed men turned away from him to check the source of the sudden disturbance.

“The meat he’s selling is fresh,” Flavius explained softly. “He won’t dispute that. It’s enough that most here choose to ignore the Emperor’s edict concerning the day of rest. Selling meat from animals slaughtered on this very day is forbidden by law. All the priests want is for him to remove his goods from the market. They’ll still be good tomorrow. The weather is so cold that water keeps freezing even at midday. It’s not so much to ask, is it?” The requesting tone of his question wasn’t mirrored in his gaze.

“To ask?” I arched an eyebrow up. “No,” I gave a shrug, “it’s not.” For a small tidbit of time I waited, while the unmistakable glint of triumph lit my childhood friend’s eyes. Triumph, not relief. I noted that as I had other things, and dismissed the dull, nameless pain spreading inside my chest. “But ask is all your priests can do, so long as they don’t disrupt the normal course of business,” I went on in a voice as soft as his had been. “The law you speak of may be effective throughout the Empire, but as long as it hasn’t been presented for review and approved by the council of elders, it won’t apply to the Carnutes tribe.”

“Must it be that way between our peoples, between us? The vote of your elders is but a formality, and we both know it.” The bitterness that was now seeping from Flavius’ words wasn’t feigned. In silence, I considered him, weighing truth against honeyed lies, and the heaviness of my soul against the ice freezing my blood at the sight of Christian priests roaming Cenabum’s market and trying to dictate what the Carnutes’ way of life should be. The question hung between us for an ugly moment, then I made my decision.

“The coexistence of our peoples rests upon a fragile understanding,” I began in a voice from which I chased all hint of feeling. Savagely. “It lies upon a delicate balance and sharing of power. Upon rules and laws, and customs sealed by our ancestors, long ago. If that were to be broken, no matter in how tiny a fraction, then the whole covenant binding us together would be extinguished.” Mine were dangerous words, and when I saw Flavius take a reflexive step back, I knew he had grasped their full significance. “Let the priests try to talk him out of selling his goods. If they can manage that, good for them. But there will be no soldiers rounding up on peddlers or merchants to pressure them into obedience.” Had she heard me, my lady mother would have started a round of vile curses before sending me to do a mountain of chores, each more unpleasant than the other. A madman was what she’d have called me, for challenging the rising power in the Empire, and for dangling before its eyes the one threat it feared the most.

Because it was true, what I had said.

Because it had happened before.

Because the Romans couldn’t help but remember, who wrote down tedious journals of their lives and kept records of all that had taken place, be it centuries before.

Laughter spilled from Flavius’ lips, dissonant. “All that for such a small thing!” he exclaimed. “You’d thrown the end of all we have known in the balance for a butcher who’s most likely a poacher to boot” The blue of his eyes had darkened into a frightening hue like a hailstorm rising.

“No!” I rushed in to say, my voice low and intent. “You have to see it, Flavius, I’m sure you can see it. It’s not a small thing, it’s the piling up of little pebbles that end up shaping a high mountain. So much has changed for us since it all began. So much. Let tradition unfold and things run their proper course in their proper time. Please.” Unmoving, he stared back at me, his face a cold, expressionless mask. An abrupt gust of wind swept past us, bringing snow in its wake. Slowly Flavius raised his left hand and closed it upon the one I had used to clasp his arm.

“I supposed you can be given this much,” he smiled. Then, letting go of my hand, he gestured toward the soldiers, who went away muttering under their breaths. “So,” my friend sighed, “unless you came all the way from the Carnutes’ hall of judgment to settle this rotten matter, what brought you out of your stronghold?” The same smile was still hovering on his lips, but the darkness hadn’t left his gaze. It had all but devoured one who was among the very few people for whom I’d have gladly laid down my life.

I sent those thoughts and their unwelcome cortege of emotions away with a flick of the right hand, then heaved out a sigh of my own. “As it happens, I was on my way to your father’s house: my mother has sent me there to search through your archives for some stupid judicial matter,” I finished with a faint whine.

The shadow left his eyes, as brutally as it had claimed them, and his smile widened to reveal his teeth as he took that unsubtle bait. How low you’ve come to see us, I longed to tell him, for you to believe that a druid’s apprentice would speak thus of the duty laid upon him by his master. You should know better, you should know me better, I ached to shout at him. Instead, I took in the contempt barely hidden behind his smile and the sympathetic light that had come to his gaze. “I see,” he chuckled, the last remnants of his anger and frustration flung to the wind. “Well, I’ll accompany you, if you’ll have me--and even if you won’t,” he grinned at me. “With me at your side, things should proceed more smoothly, and at least Lucius Valero, our archivist, won’t send you off on a wild goose chase for official authorization papers that don’t exist.”

That was the truth. It would be much easier if one of the house’s young lords lent me the power his presence brought. As I bobbed my head in ascent, I wondered who was worst for using him this way: the Christian priests, or me. “Thank you,” I murmured at him, and I waved for him to lead the way. Behind us, Hart the butcher chortled, and winked my way, which I acknowledged with an almost imperceptible bow before following in Flavius’ steps. There was one the cursed priests wouldn’t get, but as we stepped through the market, I glimpsed more than a few people closing down their stalls, even though it would be quite a few hours before sundown, and they had lots of goods yet to sell. Their images seared my mind, but I didn’t allow my steps to falter.

First, the Roman invasion and its insidious, slow gnawing at our old ways, and now the rise of those strange believers in a single, all-knowing, all-powerful god. Their ascension to power was too fast, too strong and irrepressible. Three centuries of Romans mingling their blood with ours and bit by bit replacing our values and the roots of our society with their own, so gently a huge majority of our people hadn’t seen it--hadn’t felt it except when it was too late, as Lady Viviana had learned to her cost--it had poisoned the core of our spirits. If the Christian influence kept growing, and theirs became the only hands shaping the laws of Rome, we would die.

Our knowledge, our lore, our ways and our memories, our forests and our hills under a canopy of stars--they would eradicate it all.

“Here,” the wizened old man grumbled, while making a show of dumping a mountain of papers on the table before me.

“My thanks, citizen archivist,” I beamed at him, not at all fooled. Despite appearances, the huge pile had landed safely on the wooden surface, and not a single sheet had suffered from the fake rough treatment Lucius Valero had given them. Bending down, I started browsing through it as quickly as I could. The only sources of light in the dusty room were a few oil lanterns, and the smell of them mixed with the dry scent of old books and parchments was the best defense this archive had against thieves. The two soldiers standing guard on the other side of the door were really unnecessary.

Through watering eyes, I squinted to decipher a particularly obscure piece of scribbling. On my right, the old man had taken to fidgeting, the drum of his fingertips tapping against the table’s hard wood a maddening reminder that I wasn’t welcome, and that I had best leave his domain fast. “All right,” I nodded at last, and all of a sudden, the itch in my nose became unbearable. With a brisk movement, I spun on my heels and sneezed. “Gods!” I mumbled, before sneezing again, and a third time for good measure. Spitting out a breath, I waited some more to be certain that the fit had passed, then I straightened. “It’s what I wanted,” I told the archivist, who had folded his lips in an attempt to suppress laughter. His two assistants hadn’t been so polite: I could hear muffled cackles coming from behind the first wall of books on the left.

Lucius Valero released his breath in a sigh, all trace of mirth gone from his gaze. Stepping toward the other end of the table, he took a pen and some ink before labeling with tedious precision the identity of each and every document I had requested in his book of records. “Highly irregular,” he muttered for the umpteenth time since the moment I had set foot in his domain. “It’s improper for official documents to leave the library. Intolerable. Intolerable,” he mumbled, a dark glint in his brown eyes.

“As improper and intolerable as it is for your people to refuse to acknowledge our recording system and our ancestral way of settling disputes,” I retorted with an easy shrug. The archivist merely snorted in reply. To him and those of his ilk, a tradition of laws, lore and records handed down from generation to generation through voice and words, their receptacle a thing as immaterial as a druid’s or a bard’s memory was absurd. Memory could fail, people could lie, no matter that it would have been anathema to do so. It was what they believed, so unable to understand us as they were, so afraid of what they couldn’t grasp that they were. Writing accounts down on paper wasn’t any safer: the hand that would trace intricate patterns of ink could be as false as the mouth that voiced a memory--not to mention that documents could be altered, or replaced by clever imitations.

Reaching for the big leather bag hanging from my left shoulder, I set it on the table and started carefully putting in the piles of papers. “Why would the Carnutes house of judgment require all acts and data concerning the whole family of the tribe’s chief?” Lucius Valero abruptly asked.

For the time of a heartbeat, I paused, then I started on my tedious work again. “It’s none of your business,” I replied in a quiet voice, without looking up at him. There, that sheet after that one, and the sequence would be correct. Good. “but if you must know,” I settled the now heavy bag against my left hip and passed its strap over my head so it would lean upon the opposite shoulder, “our chief’s two younger sons are coming of age, and it’s time for them to receive land at the hands of their sire. Better make sure the land he’s giving away hasn’t already passed to someone else, don’t you think?” I grinned at the old man.

Of course, Lucius Valero nodded his understanding to what was a lie so obvious it would have sent even the dumbest man of the tribe guffawing in laughter. To the Roman man standing before me, relying on written paper was as natural as breathing. I gave him a slight bow. “As we agreed, these will be returned by the time of the next full moon,” I told him by way of farewell. Then the archivist waved me away, all too happy to have the intruding barbarian that I was out of his realm of dusty books. Blowing air through my nostrils in a sigh of relief, I exited the closed room in quick, brisk strides. Even though the reason for my taking away so many archives from his library truly was none of Lucius Valero’s concern, throwing him a bone on which to chew had been the correct choice to make. He was certain to break his obligation of discretion and report the detail of what I had requested to his master the governor. Better to direct the way their thoughts would go than to let them wander freely.

As I reached the threshold of the terrace outside the Roman administration library, I stretched both arms down and arched my back, tilting my head back and drinking in the icy cold air of the afternoon. “Oh, gods,” I groaned when some knots came loose above my shoulder blades, and when others sent dull aches coursing along my spine.

“Well, you’ve sure been in there long enough!” Flavius chuckled, coming toward me. I rubbed at my eyes to rid them of the sting resulting from exposure to the oil lamps’ smoke, and looked at my one-time friend. “I hope it was worth it, and you got what you were seeking.” There was a question in the clear blue eyes, but he didn’t voice it aloud. He had no need to.

Reaching up with the left hand, I started applying pressure on both sides of the line between my neck and my right shoulder, but the cursed ache wouldn’t go away. “No thanks to Lucius Valero,” I snorted. “Your archivist is worse than a mother hen fussing over her hatchlings, I swear. Not to mention he has no love lost for barbarians.”

“Well,” Flavius gave me an appraising glance, “it would have been worse if you sported a beard or a mustache--or if you braided your hair on both sides of your head instead of gathering it in a ponytail. Just be glad you got what you wanted,” he clapped my back with the right hand stepping to my side in the same time in a quick, fluid motion. Before I could react, he bent over me and tentatively sniffed at my hair, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “The stench of oil and dust clings to you,” he breathed in my ear, even as the hand he has used to clap my back climbed up to meet mine, which was still gripping my right shoulder in a futile attempt to discipline the persistent pain plaguing it. Of their own volition, my fingers intertwined with his, and followed his lead when he started massaging the cramp there. “Better?” he asked softly. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t recoil. I couldn’t think. I could only deny the trembling of my limbs and the knife sawing off my heartstrings. I could only hold on to the ground beneath my feet and refuse to fall.

For a moment, I thought the cry in my throat would win free, but I managed to clamp my jaws shut, just in time. I didn’t want this, I didn’t want it! I bowed my head and rested my bow in the hollow of his left shoulder. “Yes,” I murmured the lie, and I hated myself for it. Harshly I got myself together, and straightened. There was no trace of dampness on his cloak where I had leant against him, good. Taking a step back, I disengaged from his embrace. Slowly. Slowly.

“You showed me what was most precious to you once,” he whispered, even as his fingers clasped mine, holding me back. “Don’t think I have forgotten, or that I’d ever forget.” His voice was laden with sadness, and almost I yielded. “Won’t you let me do the same? Won’t you let me try to share it with you and make you understand?”

Almost.

I gave a gentle pull, and freed myself from his embrace. My mind empty, I made myself look up at him. “Not now.” I smiled. “There’ll be time later, when Winter has released its grip upon the world and I’m done carrying out the tasks set for me.” Each word was a needle piercing through my throat, and the smile was torture, but I held up the mask nonetheless, even when darkness reclaimed Flavius’ gaze.

“As you wish,” he said, his voice toneless. Blackness stared at me through his eyes while he brought his right hand back to his side and took a set back as well. It wasn’t fair, I knew. I wasn’t being fair, but even sharper was the certainty that allowing Flavius his chance and allowing the old bond between us to survive and regain strength would only lead to more harm for everyone involved. So I looked away from him, and focused on the main courtyard of the governor’s house instead.

Stable boys were busy cleaning the stalls in the side building, and the stench of ammoniac was rising in the air. One of the younger servants jumped aside with a furious yelp, barely avoiding a collision with a rider who had thundered into the yard with reckless speed. The man gave a harsh pull on the reins, and his horse skidded to a halt, a heartbeat away from losing its footing on the slippery mixture of half-melted snow and spilled straw. Never stopping or even slowing, the man vaulted down his steed and ran for the guards’ barracks on the far side of the courtyard, a rolled parchment held tightly in his left hand. A messenger, then but I very much doubted that the news he was bearing were worth endangering his horse or the boy he had all but rammed into.

Taking my eyes from the boring spectacle of the entry yard, I scanned the other parts of the huge, fortress-like mansion the governor of our province owned. It was a strange mix between a noble Roman’s villa and the oppidum the Gauls of ancient times had been fond of erecting upon great hilltops. The outer walls seemed to exist to defend the place from attack, and the barracks as well as the stables betrayed a concern for possible strife or even war in the mind of its builders, but besides those, the tower of the archivist or the main mansion building itself were clearly designed according to the standard Roman taste for luxury and comfort. The various gardens were a testimony to that, great sources of water consumptions that they were--yet another oddity in the overall feeling of this weird house. In wintertime, most of the gardens were sullen spots of brown earth and drowsing, leafless trees. Flowers would bloom again come Spring, after we celebrated the festival of Imbolg, but right now they looked like abandoned, gloomy places, except for the one where a grove of yew was growing.

They were old, those scrawny trees, ancient even. Druid lore claimed they had been planted even before Caius Julius Caesar’s coming to Gaul. The yew was long-lived, and close to the core of our beliefs. For some reason, the Roman governors had kept them, and chosen not to uproot what was a symbol of our gods’ and goddesses’ presence in the land. Enclosed into the walls of a Roman mansion, the grove endured, away from its tenders.

A black spot.

I started, blinked, but it didn’t disappear. Detaching itself from the heart of the yew grove in unhurried, almost lazy motions, a black silhouette stepped into the garden. Human, and not black as I had first thought, but brown. A brown so dark it was making for a stark contrast with the snow around it--him, I surmised from the lines of the strong, yet slim body I could glimpse from under what seemed like a cloak far too thin to sustain the weather in this time of year. It was that white cape which had made me wonder at what kind of being was walking the gardens. That, and the thick, incredible long mane of jet black hair cascading down the man’s back to reach below his buttocks. Idly, I wondered what kind of visitor was now enjoying the governor’s hospitality. There was a foreign look around the stranger, something alien I couldn’t quite place. If only he’d turn to face my way.... As if in answer to my silent whim, the man pivoted.

Dark.

Again, I blinked. Dark, the skin of his face, the dark brown of the earth beneath the great oaks in the forest. The lines of his face could have been carved by a master craftsman. Tall and proud, haughty even, the outlandish man was standing right next to the grove of yew, as if he belonged there, as if the ancient trees had welcomed him as a friend. As he continued his movement, the stranger’s dark gaze met mine.

Tile blue.

With a sharp intake of breath, I recoiled, unable to refrain from staggering back. For the time of a heartbeat, his image superposed with that of a black wraith stepping out of a Roman cart under the pale rays of a full moon, but no flash of recognition lit those storm blue eyes. The man didn’t even register my presence or Flavius’ as he scanned the details of the place surrounding him. Illusion, I berated myself for the lapse, and for the irrational, stupid reaction I had been unable to control. A trick of the gods, a test I had obviously failed during the night of the Winter Solstice. Likely it meant I still had much to learn, and to study before being free of my lady mother’s merciless tutelage, and of the unbearable books on Roman law and history. Ah, well.

“What’s wrong?” Flavius asked next to me, a light of incomprehension in his eyes, and curiosity plain in the tone of his question.

It was too late to curse my stupidity and to regret my behaving like a fretful colt who jumped at the memory of imagined ghosts. So I flicked a thumb toward the dark stranger, and replied, “Who’s that man?”

Flavius’ gaze followed the direction I had indicated, and as he spotted the silhouette below, his eyes widened. The corners of his mouth lifted up in what felt more like a grimace than a smile, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “From where we stand, he does look like a Numid slave, don’t you think?” Beneath the idle quality of his voice, something darker was lurking, like disgust or contempt. When he realized I had no answer to provide him, my companion went on, “From what I heard he’s the representative of some powerful guild of merchants and traders based in Greece. Obviously he’s not from around there. Some of my father’s advisers claim he’s from a land far to the East of the Hellespont, the place where Alexander the Great’s conquests ended. As if they knew what they were talking about,” Flavius gave another shrug. “The man himself hasn’t volunteered any details. He’s been here for a while, but he hadn’t condescended to find some time to pay his respects to my father until now.”

“He doesn’t look like a merchant,” I remarked softly.

“No!” Flavius let out a short burst of laughter. “He looks like a panther on a tight leash, and my father should have him locked away until we can determine what he is, and what the guild he represents wants with a province in faraway Gaul.” That question was a good one, and the concern it was giving rise to was warranted. Still, it mattered nothing to me. Roman affairs were Roman affairs, and none of my kin wanted a part in them.

Before Flavius could refocus on the matter between us and my response to the overture he had murmured in my ear, I bowed at him. “All right, I won’t waste more of your time with silly questions. Thanks to you, I got what I came here for, so I’ll go. I’m expected to return as soon as I can, and I’m sure you’ve got many things to take care of on your side. Farewell.” With that, I turned my back on him and went away as fast as a walk would allow. He didn’t call after me, and I didn’t look back.

End of Chapter 1.

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