[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

People left in the course of the following days, their numbers less than I had expected. Most of our guests chose to accept our hospitality and proceeded to set up ways of passing messages back and forth with the rest of their kin. A quiet atmosphere of doom settled over the ceremonial house, which soon darkened into fully-bloomed gloom. The light in men’s and women’s eyes dwindled, waned while Time dripped past, droplet by droplet, and while news of the plague didn’t get any better. Information was scarce, gathered by those among the household servants who would dare take a single step beyond the limits of their duty and share gossip with us. Most of our attendants had adopted an attitude of strict neutrality toward us: they carried on their business and did their job with fastidious perfection, but all the casual warmth and talk between them and us had stopped.

The aisle of the ceremonial house dedicated to justice and all things druidic was now deserted. No petitioner came to us for a settlement of a private dispute. The noble cousins of the Carnutes tribe chief no longer strolled the corridors to make their presence known to all who came to us, or to whisper a request for advice on the gods’ will. As my mother had warned, we were alone in this. Every single aspect of our lives seemed to be receding, as if we were a lone ship leaving the ocean shore, drawn away by the irrepressible force of the tides. We were growing apart from our world, estranged. It was a tearing sensation upon our hearts, a sharp pain that dulled into a constant ache with the days, as we had no choice but to learn to live with it.

No further message came from the Sanctuary, not a sign that the power drowsing there even acknowledged our existence any longer. The Roman soldiers watching our mansion from a distance shared as little information with us as they could, and there was fear in their eyes whenever we approached them--even when we sent Deirdre and she drew on her most innocent, harmless expression. The days kept shortening: Samhain was almost upon us. Little by little, emptiness devoured our lives, and we watched it do so.

Frozen.

It couldn’t go on. This eerie, terrible calm smothering the city, it couldn’t last. It’d burst into chaos, and the longer it’d take for this phony peace to break, the uglier the result would be. A week before the first night of Samhain, the Roman governor passed a decree forbidding the holding of religious rites or ceremonies in public, restricting its application to those faiths which professed to be in direct contact with the gods and to have the ability to foretell what would be. Thus all pagan faiths were muzzled, while the Christian priests continued holding mass and gathering ever-growing crowds of people into their churches. Nobody rose to oppose this decree. Not a single protest came from the once powerful and influential priests of Jupiter. We tried sending messages out to them and others, to bring our strengths together, but none of our invitations got so much as an acknowledgment of receipt. Cenabum was reeking with muted terror.

Five days before Samhain, a curfew was put in effect, forbidding anyone to be outdoors from sunset to sunrise. While we were reading the official parchment a Roman officer had brought no farther than the threshold of the ceremonial house, a woman came from the nobles’ aisle. Spotting her fast-approaching shape, my mother dumped the governor’s edict into Macha’s hands and spun on her heels to bow to the newcomer. “Lady Viviana,” she greeted her in a guarded voice.

“Lady Muireann,” the proud noblewoman bowed back, then she stared my mother in the eye. “I came to settle the debt I owe you for helping me regain my freedom.” Her words were brisk, and her face was drawn. She had given birth to a son just before the outbreak of the plague. Beside me, Macha sucked in a breath, but our mother held her peace, waiting. “There’s talk in the city,” the lady Viviana went on, “of rooting out the evil that lends power to the sickness that’s killing our people. There are gatherings, small ones for now, but their numbers grow faster than that of flies over a rotting carcass. The Romans watch, but do nothing. There’s a rumor of reinforcements coming from Avaricum and Bibracte, but no confirmation.” She let out a small sigh. “There’s one last thing you should know,” she folded her lips into a thin line, “just now I came to the courtyard through the last door of all the other aisles that still opens on this part of the ceremonial house. It’ll be walled before nightfall, as have all the others before this one.”

“So,” the Lady Muireann pursed her lips, “we’re being cut out.” Lady Viviana winced, almost imperceptibly, but my mother waved her own words aside. “My thanks,” she nodded. “You honor your family, though they do little to deserve that these days. Go with our thanks, and our blessing, such as it is--if you’ll have it.” There was no mistaking the bitter irony in that last part of her sentence.

“I’ll take it, and gladly so.” Lady Viviana smiled. “May the gods shed light upon your path.” With that, the noblewoman spun on her heels, and went away in quick, nervous steps, almost breaking into a run.

“We must talk,” Macha said darkly.

“Yes, we must,” our mother agreed. “Our time is up. War is breathing on our necks.”

A meeting was held in the beginning of the afternoon. It was brief, and quiet. The decision was made to send children and young apprentices away, so that only those who could fight remained. Deirdre threw the worst tantrum I had ever seen when she heard she was among those who had to go, but our mother’s decision was final. A weight lifted off my heart when I helped my little sister pack as many things as she could. On the following morning, we watched our kin leave in several small convoys, as inconspicuous as possible. They had instructions to scatter in all four directions, before all circling back toward the West and Armorica--and the ocean of Brittany, which could be our last resort, should worst come to worst. There was pain in that name, a terrible pain that knifed through my heart and my soul, and made me want to howl a desperate denial to the winds.

In the same time that the convoys left, little groups of apprentices spread into the city, clad like servants, and went on errands on their own. They came back even as the sun was melting into the horizon, their saddle bags filled with supplies, and with carts hiding a more dangerous cargo: arrows aplenty, to replenish the stores of the little armory set next to the stables. It had taken them the whole day to get to distant villages, where their purchases would be less likely to draw the wrong kind of attention, carefully divided into small quantities such as hunters would use. Hart the butcher, bless the old poacher’s thieving heart, was the one who told us where to get them safely, a toothless grin splitting his face during the whole time he had spent explaining his tricks to high and mighty folk. Some of us had argued against using the assistance of such as him, but I knew Hart. I knew he wouldn’t betray us, if only because he nursed grudges like one would lovers, and because the Christian priests had hindered his sales of venison one time too many. Besides, nobody would ever think we’d stoop so low as to beg for a poacher’s help.

On their way back and through the city, the apprentices crossed the path of brightly colored groups: the priestesses of Isis and the auguries of Jupiter had decided to go on a spiritual journey before the storm hit and wiped them away as well. On that night, we established a watch, lighting torches atop the walls encircling the courtyard. When dawn came, a rumor spread into the town and found its way to us as well: the Roman judges were almost done conducting an investigation following a lawsuit regarding the possibility of a deliberate poisoning of the seeds that farmers had received after the Summer floods. It was whispered that all the pagan cultists fleeing Cenabum were in truth trying to escape having to face justice. It was also whispered in low, low voices lest the shadows might hear and warn us that, at the center of a conspiracy to regain the people’s support and turn them away from the gentle touch of Christianity, stood those who had seen their dominion threatened and their absolute power diminished: the druids, the hidden force behind the Gallic nobility, those who played everyone like puppets and behaved as if they owned the world.

It was a rumor, not a formal claim, so there was little else to do other than to watch people gather in bands that kept growing bigger, closer to the ceremonial house, and whisper angrily among themselves. The Roman administration should come out of the woods and state its accusation openly so as to defuse this rapidly rotting situation. It should move and show people that it was there, managing things and keeping order, bringing justice, however flawed. But it was content to wait. Perhaps its goal was to wait, until the crisis exploded and a chaotic mob solved the problem in its stead.

During the two days that followed, crowds started forming in the wide avenue leading to the ceremonial house, to disperse only when they came too close to the soldiers guarding the entrance of the courtyard. The Romans never moved to tell people off. They never tried to talk to them or to restore order and calm. We watched it all from the thin, slit-like holes in the walls. We didn’t dare show ourselves on the parapet walk, for fear of triggering the ugly confrontation we knew must come. As I crouched with the other watchers, I couldn’t help thinking that the enemy had almost won already, had almost managed to reduce us to scared shadows. In the wan light of dusk of the third day, our helpful Roman guards slipped away in silence, and without a word of warning or explanation. They faded into darkness like thieves. “Fools,” I heard myself hiss from my observation post.

The sun had set, to yield the world of men to the first night of Samhain.

There was no need to call to all who were left in the ceremonial house. Feeling the hand of Death in the air, they came out and armed themselves. They climbed up to the rampart walk and settled down for a long wait in the cold, cold dark. It was hard to glimpse what was going on in the avenue, but sounds carried far, rebounding from wall to wall, and they were sure to warn us fairly in advance. So we huddled together, and tried to keep warm, spreading our hands before the weak flames of the torches that cast a ghostly light on the parapet, so we could embrace what weak heat those small fires could share. And the night wore on.

A shiver went through the air.

Silent whispers in the rising breeze that raised the hair on my neck.

It was the first night of Samhain after all, and the spirit world was brushing against our own.

A low creak slithered in the night, coming from all sides, followed by the shuffle of many feet. From the sides, where the other aisles of the ceremonial house stood, where doors had been walled away--a scam. Even as we clambered up to our feet, we got a glimpse of black streams of people spilling into the courtyard beneath us, the metal of their weapons catching stray reflections of our torches’ puny lights. “They mean to trap us like rats!” Macha hissed beside me, her emerald eyes wide. Horrified.

She was right: the entry gate was bolted close to prevent a too easy intrusion, but it was also our only way out. And with a multiple attack coming from below us, all three groups converging toward the porch-- “Hell!” I snarled. There was no thought of parley in my mind, no thought of surrender. This was war, and they had started it. The deaths would be on their hands. Reaching for the closest torch, I plunged my left hand into its flames. Unheeding of the loud gasps coming from all around me, I drew out the Spear of Lugh. Its fire writhed in my hand. It demanded to be freed, to be given lives, blood that would sizzle on its incandescent blade. “Aye,” I told it softly and I arched my arm backward, as far as I could. Then I hurled the sacred weapon in the air.

A scream of pain cut through the darkness when the lance of flames speared through a man and slammed him to the ground. The dead body erupted into a torrent of flames, illuminating the courtyard and rattling the attackers. “Now!” I yelled, and I grasped the sword set against the wall on my right. “Protect the gate!” I shouted at Macha. With a nod of understanding, she dashed forward, a feverish light haunting her emerald eyes. In the same time, we rushed headlong into battle.

Chaos reared and clamped its jaws upon us. There was no reason left, no thought, only instinct and reflexes. Snarls and hisses, and shouts, moans and screams of pain. Life was torn out of bodies of flesh and blood. Bones were smashed. The waves of enemies broke when we flung ourselves at them, and then they recoiled before crashing upon us, again and again. We stumbled upon a swamp of corpses. Iron, icy and sharp, bit into my left flank, stopped by the hip bone, and a howl of rage echoed in the night, clawing free from my lips. My fingers dropped the useless sword they were holding and closed upon a blade of black wind instead. I didn’t feel the pain tearing at my heart, I didn’t feel the blood run from the deep wound in my side. I felt nothing at all. My jaw set, I held high the Sword of Nuada, and began hacking bodies to pieces with a single blow of its impossibly sharp ethereal blade.

Time lost its hold upon the world. Lives faded. Death laughed so loud that the sound of its triumphant glee roared in my ears and eclipsed everything else. At some point, arrows started raining from the sky, and one of them pierced through the thick leather armor I was wearing, winning through the space between my right collarbone and the top of the shoulder-blade. With an inarticulate growl, I snapped its back and pulled it out. Dark blood stained the chest plate of my armor, spreading fast. It was insignificant. It was nothing. Nothing at all. Lifting up my left hand toward the sky, I called out to the stars, and the Chain of Lugh descended from the heavens. Its glaring light illuminated faces that were distorted with pain and fury, and revealed eyes glittering with folly and bloodlust. I watched them, and felt a feral grin curl up my lips. Fools, all of them. Fools who wouldn’t see another dawn, for I’d kill them all. At my request, the Chain of Lugh coiled upon itself and shaped a shield of stars above the walls, into which the arrows drowned harmlessly, consumed in a heartbeat.

“Gale!” Somehow, the shrill cry registered in my brain. “Gale!” It was Macha’s voice. It was my sister, and she was calling my name, her voice filled with despair. Clinging to the last, tiny bits of sanity I had left, I pushed madness aside. I pushed it when it fought me with teeth and claws, refusing to let go. I pushed, until at last I saw Macha staggering back from the entry gate, whose double doors were opening. Slowly. Inexorably.

More waves of attackers would come from there. They’d overwhelm us from all sides. They’d crush us in the anvil they were forming, or so they thought. They were fools, ignorant fools who were so lost that they didn’t even remember their roots--that they forgot what night this was. In a heartbeat, I refused defeat and annihilation. There was only one path left to choose, black and terrible. A heinous deed that would be a betrayal of all that I had been taught, and all that I was. A feat that no druid had ever, or would ever attempt, no matter what. An action so horrible that nobody would even dare consider it. But then, in staying here we had all known that we’d end up shedding the blood of our own people, sooner rather than later. We had all accepted that possibility. I had accepted it. I would be cursed. Calm spread inside my heart, cold and profound, absolute, while I allowed one of the older apprentices to take my place and temporarily slipped back to a safer position. It wouldn’t be long. I drew in a deep, steadying breath, and stared up at the night.

“Come,” I whispered. “Come, Hunter. The way is open.” In the same time, I stretched myself. With ethereal hands, I reached out to grasp the curtain separating our world from the realm of spirits, and tore it apart. The Veil was thin, so thin and fragile that it yielded almost at once. An icy gust of wind embraced us all, attackers and defenders both, so powerful that it drowned all the other sounds. Then, silence fell over the battlefield--no, not silence. Not really. Murmurs slithered through the night. Rustles and sighs clawed at souls trapped away from fire and hearth, and wound themselves to terrified hearts. And then hooves clattered in the darkness.

Distant.

It was the deep rumble of a great many horses diving down upon us from the heavens. The sky above us was utterly black. In an instant, all the stars had winked out of existence. Around us, whines and whimpers crawled through the darkness. Low. Muffled. Smothered. Some people dropped to their knees, trembling. Others scampered away, scattering in all directions at once. It wouldn’t help them. The thunder of hooves was growing, eclipsing everything else, slamming terror into human hearts, and there would be no escaping it. There would be no evading the Hunter and its court. They’d reap all the lives in the courtyard, except for those I’d choose to shield. From very far away, I felt a smile curl up my lips.

A shadow, taller than the others, pawed its way to the threshold of the ceremonial house. My smile grew into a grin. It was a rider, an idiot who was weary of life. I opened my mouth to laugh at him. In the same time, words knifed through the night. “Do not fear! Stand strong and keep faith into your hearts! It’s nothing but the wind! Nothing but an old, impotent shadow! It cannot harm you! It’s nothing but an old nightmare the Lord banned from the world long ago!” The voice rang strong and true. It carried music and light. It carried power. It won above the deafening boom of galloping hooves, and our attackers stopped their disordered flight to face us again. “Stand firm! That old wraith can’t harm any of you! It cannot touch you!”

The stillness that had choked the world at my call receded.

The icy cold wind faltered, and the thunder of hooves ebbed away, fading into the darkness. Above us, tiny lanterns began twinkling into being once more. The stars, which rewove the Veil, the border that cut the gods’ realm away from our world. It was because of the rider’s voice, because of the magic filling it. Beside me, a white-haired woman gasped, her grey eyes wild. In the instant the sight of her registered in my mind, I understood why that voice had felt familiar, and why it could shield the hearts of men from the Hunter’s clutches.

It was the voice of a bard.

“Fire!” I shouted. “Give me fire, quick!” I was fast slipping out of the trance I had used to embrace the spirits’ world, and a debilitating pain was racing to engulf my limbs and drag me down. Fortunately someone heard me, and held a torch toward me. Unblinking, I reached into the flames, and again I drew out the Spear of Lugh. There was no choice, no matter that it ate at my soul to do this, and that the price to pay would be high. “Go!” I willed the sacred weapon as I threw it in the air, aiming for the spot where the rider had appeared. “Kill!”

It did so, even though the bard had vanished into the dark, and pierced through the chest of a man who was rubbing at his eyes, as if waking up from a nightmare. Numb, I watched him crumple down. It was hopeless. With a brisk shake of the head, I blew air out of my nostrils and sucked in a breath. Then I closed my fingers upon the Sword of Nuada. “We’re all going to die,” I told the earth beneath my feet and the night enveloping us, “for nothing.” Spinning to the left, I struck, and another man fell lifeless at my feet. In the ghostly light of the torches, I recognized Lir’s father, and ice tore through my gut. I staggered back, and someone bumped into me from behind, sending pain flaring from my right shoulder to spread to my whole body and rob me of breath for a moment. Grimly I fought it back, and glanced at the white-haired woman who was leaning upon me. “We must flee. Those of us who can must live. We can’t just die here like this,” I told her. She stared back at me with unseeing eyes.

Siena was dead.

My mind empty, I looked at the lady of the bards, at the husk of flesh that she had become, and stepped aside. Without a sound, her corpse dropped to the ground, while I made my way toward my sister. “Macha!” I called for her, my voice hoarse, even as I reached her side. She glanced at me. Her eyes were glittering with what could have been fever. “Where’s our mother?!”

“Dead,” she gestured toward the entry gate, a crooked smile frozen on her lips. “She tried to reach the rider who broke your spell, but a stray arrow killed her.” Macha’s voice was devoid of emotion. The flames haunting her gaze were madness. She’d fight until the attackers cut her to pieces. She’d die cursing them.

She mustn’t.

“Go,” I told her in Greek. “Flee this place, and find a way to rejoin Deirdre. Take them all.” I waved toward those of us still alive, “All those you can save. Take them, and go!”

“No!” She snarled at me.

I grabbed her right arm with the left hand. “You will go, Macha. And you will live. Hear me?” I asked her in a calm, calm voice. Something flickered in her gaze, dark and unreadable, and I felt her shake under my fingers. For an awful moment, she simply watched me, her eyes unfocused, then abruptly she jerked her head back, and bowed. Before the curtain of her long, red hair could hide her face, I saw her bit her lower lip, and nod. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t challenge me, even though she was the eldest, and our mother’s heir. Instead, she turned her back on me, and made her way toward the stables, gathering people as she went. Discarding her, I drew out the Spear of Lugh, and flung it at our enemies.

Again.

And again.

Until I was the only one left standing, and the fading sound of hooves reached my ears. Then I glanced at my surroundings, and saw only death. There was nobody else alive in the courtyard. The tide of attackers had stopped.

Too late for my mother.

Too late for Siena.

Too late for us.

In slow, wobbly steps, I slipped into the night.

A wall stopped me. I hit it, took a faltering step back and then stared at its familiar, fading colors. For a moment, I grappled with the memory of what those shades indicated, until at last my abused mind recognized it. It was the border between the temple of Epona and the luxury mansion where a high flame lived--a dark flame who reached higher than the stars themselves, and who had averted his gaze so as to allow fate to crush me and mine. My feet had led me here on their own, and now here I was standing, dizzy with blood loss and exhaustion, at the end my strength. I was so far gone that pain and grief had lost all significance. Bothersome, insignificant bees buzzing in my ears, nothing more.

There was only one thing to do, now that I was here. Spotting the ladder I had used on previous visits, I tottered toward it and clambered up its rungs. It took me forever to reach the top of that wall. Around me, the silence was deep and threatening, but I could discern no sound of pursuit. There was no clanking of swords, no shouts cutting through the night. It was as if it had all been a simple nightmare, a trick of mischievous spirits during the first night of Samhain. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps I had imagined it all. Perhaps, come morning, I’d find that the world, my world, hadn’t been torched and torn asunder.

Glancing down at the ladder, I decided I wouldn’t be able to lift it up and set it against the other side to facilitate my descent. I drew in a breath, then proceeded to get across the thick wall. Lifting my left leg over the top of it required that I grip my thigh with the left hand, hard, pull at the limb, and then drag its dead weight over the rough stones. It hurt, a part of me insisted. It hurt so bad that I should stop now and faint, but I didn’t listen. With jerking, awkward motions, I swung my body so its weight would carry my stupid leg the rest of the way. Then I slipped over the edge.

I crashed into a set of low bushes, that served to cushion my fall somewhat. For a moment I lay motionless, panting, focusing on holding back the howl clawing at my throat. When it finally yielded, I leaned a hand against the wall and gathered myself from the ground. I was lucky the bushes sported thick, soft leaves instead of sharp thorns. Laughter, absurd, followed in the wake of that consideration, and it tore free of me. I laughed, until my voice was hoarse and until I realized that the sky above me was growing grey. The night was coming to an end.

I should wake up now.

I should find Aurelia striding toward me, her eyes glittering with anger.

I should open my eyes to find Deirdre mocking me for having drunk too much mead after the evening meal.

“You’re staining the stones.” In the instant the flat words registered in my brain, I knew it was the truth. There were indeed blots on the wall where I had leant my back. Dark, reddish spots that would be hard to scrub clean. Too bad for Aurelia, was the answer that popped inside my mind. Too bad for Cein and her. At last, I made myself look up and found a tall, dark-skinned man watching me with no small amount of hostility in his tile blue eyes. “You’re not welcome here,” he added, his voice toneless. “Go away. Leave this place.”

In silence, I stared at him. I stared into the dark, dark flames glowing in his aquamarine gaze. From very far away, I felt my whole body shake, as if in the throes of the fever which had plagued the land in Summer.

It was true.

All my jumbled memories.

All the deaths.

All the pain.

The face of Lir’s father lit by a torch’s faint light, dead. The man’s life reaped by my own hand. My mother. Lady Siena. “Make me.” Those two words had come from me. There was no hint of emotion in them, nothing but the emptiness that had claimed me in a heartbeat. “I won’t leave and give myself over to either a mob or the Roman soldiers. So you’ll have to make me, or to kill me yourself.” The corners of my mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. By his own admission, the Sanctuary was neutral in this conflict. To force me out or to take my life would mean stepping in, so he wouldn’t. The smile he echoed back at me was icy. “I won’t shield you. I won’t protect you. If you still have the slightest bit of intelligence, you’ll leave this garden and run. You’ll run, and then you’ll find a way to atone for this night’s slaughter.” With that, he turned his back on me and walked away.

In a slow motion, I slumped to the ground. What did he mean? Why should I atone for anything, when I had merely been defending my own? He didn’t understand anything at all. He was the fool, not I. Peering up at the now pale sky, I tried to gather thoughts inside my mind. I tried to decide what I should do. Perhaps I could rest here for a while, until the sun set again. Then I’d have regained enough strength to leave. Maybe I should then go to the Christian church and burn it to the ground. Maybe I should go to Flavius and kill him and his father both. In spite of myself, I snorted. They were crazy thoughts. I could do nothing. I could plan nothing. I needed to rest and to close my eyes. Just for a moment.

Voices.

My eyes snapped open, and I blinked back the fog clogging my brain. There were voices, and they were coming my way. They sounded familiar, even though I couldn’t yet decipher what they were saying. Above me, the sun had risen, but not for long, if I was to go by the angle with which its light was touching the garden around me. Laying weight upon my left hand, I tried to stand up and failed with a muffled groan. My whole body was stiff, and the pain in my hip and my back had become unbearable.

“...not at all.” I tensed, and bit back a cry. It was Azzure, and he was getting closer. He wasn’t alone. “I’m glad for your visit. The maid had just warned me she heard a noise before running to hide in her room. You know how women are.” His voice trailed off into silence, its contents of snideness and lies spilled to whomever was accompanying him. None in the Sanctuary would have looked down on women because of their gender. The only ones who did--

A metallic clang.

Eyes wide, I struggled to get to my feet, and barely managed it. There was no way I could flee, or even simply step away. Soldiers were accompanying Azzure, and he was leading them straight to me. He was-- The snake that had coiled up around my shoulder blades and was busy crushing them, ever so slowly, reared up its head. It bit at my heart, its fangs digging deep and tearing it apart. Poison spilled from them, and flooded my being. I didn’t scream that pain. Instead, I sniffed for the smallest breeze in the air, and drew the Sword of Nuada.

My fingers closed upon emptiness.

The gentle wind licked at my fingertips and I peered down at it, my mind a blank. In spirit, I called out to the sacred weapon, but the ethereal blade eluded my grasp. That wasn’t possible. Nothing but death could cut me away from it. It had been with me for as long as I could remember. I tried again. I failed again.

A dozen men appeared in my field of vision. Roman soldiers indeed, led by Azzure and next to him, by the fair-haired son of the governor. Flavius’ sky blue eyes set on me, unreadable. “Well,” Azzure grimaced, “look at those stains upon the wall.”

A polite smile came to Flavius’ lips. “My sympathies, sir. I’m sure your servants will find a way to clean it,” he said, his voice distant, and he came straight toward me. The soldiers who had followed him drew a semi-circle around me, their pikes directed at my chest. “We’ll rid you of the thief trespassing in your garden, if you don’t mind.” I didn’t burst out laughing, it would have hurt too much. I didn’t react in any way.

Azzure snorted. His eyes met mine, but he didn’t see me. Annoyance and contempt were the only things perceptible in his expression when he replied, “Of course I don’t mind. Do your job, gentlemen. I’ll leave you to it, and wish you a pleasant day. I have matters to attend to far more important than this.”

“Of course,” Flavius murmured, even as Azzure went back the way he had come. Once the dark-skinned man had disappeared into the mansion, Flavius nodded toward me. “He cannot walk,” he told the soldiers. “Bring him. Drag him if you must, but without making his wounds worse.” Bowing, they proceeded to do just that.

The way to the building the Romans used as a prison was long. The distance itself was short enough, but it took forever for the soldiers to pull me along the wide avenue leading toward it. With the sunrise, people had started filling the streets, and many stopped to stare at the unexpected spectacle. Terror tainted most of the gazes set on me, and hatred as well. None of them said a thing. Nobody called for my head. Nobody mentioned the events of the night, or demanded vengeance. They all just watched us go by in utter silence, as if they were ghosts, or puppets without strings.

When at last we reached our destination, I was taken down stairs, below the ground level, down and down, as if to the bottom of a mine. At the floor where we finally stopped, all the cells were empty. The air so far beneath the ground was damp and heavy. Unclean. We came to a halt before a door, and almost at once a guardian came, the sick, servile smile on his lips belied by the sullen look in his eyes. Without a word, Flavius indicated the door, and the man hurried to open it. Once that was done, I was shoved inside, and everything went black.

Darkness ebbed away from me in brooding little waves. Pain rushed in to replace it, and a moan won past my lips when I tried to move. Clamping my jaws shut, I took a good look around, to find that I was lying upon a thin layer of old, decaying straw. Chains were tying me to the wall, set around my wrists and my ankles, long enough to allow me to crawl away from my current position over half a step at the most. There was nothing remotely resembling latrines in the cell. There wasn’t even a small bucket of water. I bit back the laughter bubbling up my throat. It wouldn’t be long for me to rot away and be in a state worse than that of the straw under my body. If they wanted to have a public execution, they’d have to schedule it quickly, or there’d be no more life left to squeeze out of me.

Time dripped past, and I felt myself starting to doze off, unable to fight the urgent need to release my hold upon the world. I was closing my eyes when my cell’s door creaked open. Involuntarily, I tensed, and bit my tongue to suppress a cry. “You look awful.” A hazy silhouette I belatedly identified as Flavius stepped inside. It took my mind a desperate effort of will to make his image come into focus. At last, I saw he was nodding at the keeper, who scampered aside. Behind Flavius, the door was left open. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to exploit that opening,” my childhood friend smiled while squatting down next to me. For a moment his eyes scanned my body, the look in them an appraising one, then he held out a cup. “If you’re wise, you won’t throw it to my face, but drink it. It should help with the pain.”

With a slow movement of the hand, I took it and sniffed its contents. Herbs. Medicinal herbs, if I remembered correctly. I couldn’t force my brain to summon their names. Anyway, what did it matter? I was at his mercy, he could kill me whenever it suited him. Poisoning me would have been absurd. I took a careful sip from it, and its sweet, rich taste filled my mouth. It rolled down my stomach in little puddles of warmth, and I drank some more. It was good, and it did seem to push some of the pain away. I glanced at Flavius, then emptied the contents of the cup before handing it back to him without a word.

“Good.” He gave another nod, set the cup on the floor beside him, then he heaved out a sigh. “I warned you, didn’t I?” That was no real question, and it didn’t deserve any kind of comment. “They’re going to want answers out of you: details concerning the network of communications between the druids of all the Gallic tribes, the plans of escape you drew, where they’re all fleeing and what routes they’ll use.”

“They can ask,” I told him in a quiet voice. “They can also kill me. It will save everyone a lot of time.”

He chuckled at that. “They won’t. Not until they have what they want. And they’ll get it.” Unable to prevent the reaction, I shivered when I heard the certitude in Flavius’ tone. “I can spare you that.”

I had to laugh. Through the searing pain that ensued, I gazed at him. “Don’t bother. You don’t know what it is you’re asking me to do. You don’t know what it is your Christian friends are doing. They’ll destroy the balance of our world if we let them.”

“So you argued when last we met,” Flavius shrugged. “I don’t believe you any more now than I believed you then. They’re the tool of change. They’re the ones who were caught in the folds of destiny, and so power is flowing to them. That’s where it will go, no matter how you try to fight it. It’s no use. You’ve already lost, and you know it.” He let out another sigh. “It didn’t have to happen this way. I tried to warn you. I tried to help you and hold out my hand to you, but you’ve never wanted it.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “You’ve never wanted me--my friendship or anything else, for that matter.”

“No!” I blurted out. “No.” Head bowed, I chewed at my lower lip. I struggled to find sounds and will them past the choking blanket of his words. I fought the smothering pressure crushing my ribcage, and made myself face him. “It’s not true, Flavius. I tried,” I shook my head, and dragged in a shuddering breath. “I tried so hard to make you see, to make you understand. I took you to the place most sacred to me, and I tried to show you. I tried.” I looked away.

Silence regained its hold on the cell, then: “The necklace of stars that descended to your hand in the dusk that day. Yes, I do remember that, if that’s what you mean.”

I stifled back a cry. “You knew,” I heard myself say in a dead voice. “All this time, you knew. Everything.”

“Who do you think it was who helped design their strategy to win the hearts and minds of your people?” One by one, the sounds knifed through my being, each one shredding the thin sails of my soul. Cold engulfed me in a moment, so harsh I had to close my eyes to blink back tears and keep the horrible pain to myself. At last, I stared up at Flavius.

A rider in the night who had broken my hold on the spirit world.

A rider whose voice carried power and light.

A bard.

The suspicions uttered by the lady Siena concerning the efficiency with which the Christians were winning our people over.

A bard.

Bards sent to live among Romans. And Flavius--Flavius’ fair hair and pale blue eyes came from his mother, from Gallic ancestors in her line. “There’s no other way,” he repeated. “I told you so on that day, I tell you so now. You won’t stop the tide of change. You can only go along with it, adapt and adjust.” He drew in a breath then said, his voice so soft it was barely above a whisper, “Come with me, Gale. Follow me and I’ll spare you all this. I won’t ask you to convert to Christianity or to forsake what you believe in. Give me the answers they want, swear that you’ll stay at my side, and it’ll be over. You’ll have to keep up appearances, but I’ll see to it that you can keep visiting the forest you love so much.” He reached out to me. “Come with me, Gale.”

I stared at his proffered right hand, my vision blurred. He was sincere. It was the truth, all of it. His proposition, which was nothing other than a claim on me, on all that I was. I could accept, and fall. I was a symbol. He knew it. He had seen--seen me. I looked up at him. He had abused his bardic heritage. I could give myself, and bring about the end of my world. Most likely I’d live a life comfortable enough. I’d seal the doom I had fought and killed to prevent. “No,” I told him.

Darkness drowned Flavius’ gaze. “As you wish.” He smiled. “They’ll come, and ask their questions. And you’ll give them their answers, because they will break you.” In a slow motion, he stood up. “I’ll tell them how to.” Glancing down, he kicked the empty cup out of his way. “The power you have won’t help you. I made sure of that.” Ice speared my gut while I watched the cup roll toward me. When it bumped against my right leg and stopped, I almost snarled. With difficulty, I tore my eyes away from it, and made myself meet Flavius’ gaze. “I swear to you, Gale,” he went on with the same smile frozen on his lips, “I’ll tell them how to break you. And break you, they will. One last chance, Gale.”

With a brusque motion of the head, I looked away, my jaw set, and didn’t grace him with an answer. When the door of my cell banged shut, I closed my eyes, but tears spilled out of them nonetheless.

Unstoppable.

The rhythm of Time’s passing changed. There was no light in the cell other than the faint glow of torches un the corridor outside, and that never varied. After a while, I stopped trying to measure the moments. My meals were composed of tasteless gruel, always accompanied by a cup of the same drink that Flavius had tricked me into drinking. The first time I had found food and drink set on the floor just within the little area of freedom my chains were designed to allow me, I had reached for the cup first and brought it to my lips in a thoughtless gesture. A reflex. Then I had realized what it was I was doing. I had smelled its distinctive, sweet scent, and flung the cup against the wall. I had missed it and allowed myself to be tricked once, and I had no intention of being played for a fool again.

When gifted apprentices were troubled by too sharp visions of what might be, when their talent led them to feel the touch of the spirit world night and day, wearing their souls thin, they were given a drug to dull their perceptions and help them through the dangerous stages of learning to cope with their abilities. It had to be carefully dosed, and they had to stop taking it gradually because of its addictive properties. It took the body very little time to get hooked and to crave the substance. If I had needed a definite proof of Flavius’ heritage, this would have been it.

Living only on the unsavory gruel wouldn’t last me long. I’d need to drink, sooner rather than later. So I tried to draw the Sword of Nuada out of a cold, wet gust of stale air that stank of sweat and rot. I tried, I fought through the thick, heavy fog enshrouding my spirit, and failed. I struggled against the thirst burning my throat, kicking the next two cups away and spilling their contents before my body’s blind need could overcome the feeble strength of my will. All the while, I kept trying to draw the insubstantial blade, to no avail. It might be the result of my abusing my talent during the nightmarish battle. It might be that Flavius’ drug was more potent than the one the druids used.

It might be my sense of Time’s passing was skewed.

I couldn’t tell whether they brought me meals every hour, twice a day, once a day or less. The only things I could tell were that I wouldn’t be able to deny my thirst any longer, and that I was going to have to relieve myself. Even the constant haze of pain smothering my mind wasn’t enough to dampen the worsening sensations twisting my insides. Sick at heart, I looked around the bare cell, and found nothing more than all the other times when I had scanned it for anything resembling latrines. On impulse, I laughed at the bad joke played on me, and it rekindled the ache in my back, which was good because it allowed me to focus on something other than my body’s needs for a moment. It didn’t last. By the time a guard brought the next meal, I had had no other choice than to yield to my humanity, using the ridiculous freedom of movement I had been given so that I wouldn’t have to lie or to sit into my own excrements.

Time resumed its passing, a ghost dancing a slow, drunken jig inside my mind. Pain was a stubborn mist, a veil that relentlessly obscured my vision, and in the end I surrendered to the thirst that gnawed at me. The drug helped somewhat, but it wasn’t designed to allow me any respite, any escape from reality. It robbed me of sleep, or at least it appeared to do so, but there was nothing for me to measure whether it was true. The exhaustion dragging me down was no sufficient proof. And Time wore on.

When next I realized the insisting creaking noise meant that someone was opening a door, my cell was reeking with human waste and sweat--not that I could still really smell anything, but the grimaces distorting the faces of the newcomers were eloquent enough. “Good Lord!” One of them hissed. “Someone ought to teach that filthy dog to clean after himself!”

A faint cackle shook my shoulders, and I stared down at the graying straw wisps beneath me. Whoever these three men were, they were wasting precious time coming here. “You think it’s funny, hey?” Another said, his voice soft, and very close all of a sudden. “I guess we’ll have to teach you.” A kick crashed into my left hip.

I screamed, even as another one landed in my right shoulder, and another one in my ribs, and another. And another. I thought my bones would shatter under the storm of blows. I thought that my heart would burst, but it didn’t. I screamed, again and again, unable to keep the excruciating pain to myself, until at some point everything stopped. It took my vision a while to clear. By the time I had regained my sense of sight, the cell was empty, except for me. I tried to move, and gave up with a weak moan. My bones weren’t broken, but I wouldn’t be able to manage more than a crawl. Slumping back against the wall, I closed my eyes.

A scraping sound roused me, then a sigh reached my ears even as I was struggling to lift my head and look up. “This won’t do.” The man who said this came to sit on his heels next to me. With a slow motion of the right hand, he reached out to me, and pushed a thick, dirty lock of hair away from my face. The touch of his fingers was careful. Gentle. “We can’t let you revel in filth like that. It’s unhealthy.” A smile full of kindness touched his lips, then he slapped me. Hard. I tried to shield myself when the blows came and a soft, sickening crack resounded through my body when a kick shattered the bones of my right forearm. I cried out, and cried out again while blows kept raining down on me.

Time hobbled to a stop.

Pain became the essence of my being, the definition of my identity.

Pain became my roots.

Pain became everything.

“Shh,” a voice murmured in my left ear. “Here,” it crooned, shooing the all-encompassing hurt away. A hand was supporting my neck, and my head was resting against someone’s chest. Even as my eyes fluttered open, something was set against my lips. Smooth. Cool. A cup, my mind conjured up the word, while a wonderfully sweet scent reached my nostrils. Gratefully I drank when the hand holding the cup tilted it so the liquid would spill into my mouth. Warmth trickled down my stomach, dulling a pain I could no longer bear whenever I dragged in a breath. “Good boy,” the same voice said. It belonged to a man not much older than I was, clean-shaven and strong in built. He was handsome as Romans went, and there was obvious intelligence in his brown eyes. “Look at yourself,” he told me in a gentle, patient voice. “Look at what you forced us to do. We can’t have that, can we?”

I took a glance at the wreckage of my body, and found myself shaking my head in agreement. “Of course not.” His right hand wiped sweat from my brow in a caress. “Good. Now, tell me. I need to know where your friends are going, the names of those who lead them, the paths they’re using, and the names of their contacts within all the tribes of Gaul.”

I blinked. The man was insane. Beaten and battered as I was, drugged as I was, I still knew who and what I was. I still knew my heart. Laughter spilled from me in a pitiful croak. Instead of dropping me to the floor and starting another round of beating, he brought me against him, his arms closed around me in a vise-like grip. “Go ahead,” he nodded at the two others. One was holding what looked like a rather sleek, small poker made of wood. Reaching inside a pocket, he took out a piece of supple leather he fastened around one end of the weird tool. Once he was done, the third one bent over me, and grabbed the top of my torn, filthy breeches.

Ice speared my heart.

“No!” I yelled, pleading. “No!” Pain blinded me as I fought the one holding me and the one trying to undress me. “No!” I howled, but I was too weak to resist. The second man pulled my pants down to my ankles, then he set his weight on my left hip and my knee, while the third one did the same of my right leg, his weird poker of wood still in the right hand. I twisted my body, or rather I tried to. I arched it upward and down, but I had no strength left. It took them mere moments to spread my legs and secure their hold on me. Then the poker was brought between my thighs, and it disappeared from my view.

I bit my tongue, and didn’t scream. I closed my eyes, and willed the vision of the sacred forest to the fore of my mind. I held on to the memory of the small hill, of the rough bark of the oak trees’ trunks. I clung to the sparkling emerald of the leaves. When the vision wavered, I clutched at it with my mind, desperately, and the beautiful, lush green shimmered--darkened. Blood rolled over the leaves, hungrily devouring their light. Dark blood which oozed from deep cuts in the trunks, streamed upon twigs and branches, and drowned the leaves altogether. The forest wept, then, and I cried with it while sobs tore at my throat.

While pain engulfed everything.

Eventually, it stopped. The hands holding me released my limbs, and I fell to the floor, crumpling against the wall like a puppet without strings. Lifeless. I didn’t hear them leave. My heart was still beating inside my chest. Air kept being dragged inside my lungs and then out, the torture of breathing a distant, insignificant thing. Reflexively I set the palm of my left hand against the floor and pushed myself up to a sitting position. A dark reddish stain had spread into the straw between my thighs. It meant nothing. Just as the smoldering ache in my lower back and my butt meant nothing. Nothing. Nothing meant anything at all, not even the absurd fact that someone had refastened my pants around my waist. I’ll tell them how to break you. Those words mocked me, whirling round and round in my mind. “Flavius,” I heard myself whisper as I leaned my head back against the wall. “Oh gods. Flavius.”

Time did weird things again, out of my grasp or my understanding. I couldn’t bring myself to care enough to reach out to it. I was empty, just empty--or so I thought, until three shadows once more entered my cell. Something like sobs shook my body, and I looked away. I stared at the far wall of the cell, and denied the reality of them. “Still nothing to tell me?” The soft voice of the handsome-looking Roman asked. “Ah well,” he sighed, “the Lord will show you the way eventually.” His arms locked around me, and I didn’t fight him. I didn’t react when his companions spread my legs and pinned them to the floor. I wasn’t there. They weren’t there.

A pendant slipped out from inside the shirt of the one holding the wooden poker. A cross.

Something inside me snapped. I snarled at them. I fought their hold even though it was futile. I fought and fought, and the one holding me murmured meaningless sounds in my right ear, even as his right hand covered my eyes, blindfolding me like one would a wild animal. The soft, senseless words blanketed my mind, mocking. I tried to jerk away, to win free, but he didn’t let go. His fingers’ pressure upon my brow, my temples and the edge of my nose remained a gentle, careful one. I struggled in his strong, sure grip. I struggled and, as a result, I didn’t manage to slip into a trance in time to shield myself, if only a little. This time, I felt everything.

The horrible tearing inside me.

The tears searing my eyes and streaking my cheeks.

My voice begging them to stop, over and over again.

The blood, warm and viscous, sticking to the inside of my thighs.

The gentle tousling of my hair when they were done, and the soft whisper in my ear, “Take your time. We’re in no hurry. You’ll give us the answers when you’re ready.”

Once the echo pf their steps had faded into the corridor, I crawled back against the wall, and banged my head against it. I gathered my strength, and slammed my skull against the unyielding stones. Again. Again. Again, until I gave up, too weak to even pound the life out of me. Sobbing, I curled into a ball. I couldn’t win free. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t kill myself. I’d yield. At some point, I would. The small shreds of sanity I had left would escape me, and then I’d tell them anything so they’d end it.

No.

Something inside me rose. It was a dim, battered thing at the core of my soul. A thing that I had almost forgotten and let go, even though it was at the center of my being.

A Necklace of Stars.

A Blade of Wind.

A Spear of Flames.

They were mine. No drug could undo that. What the drug could do was to befuddle my mind, but it wouldn’t sever my links with Fire, Air and the Stars. Nothing could. I called them. I called out to the brightest stars in the heavens. It didn’t matter whether it was night or day outside. It didn’t matter if I didn’t feel their touch or their answer. They’d burn me and scorch the life out of me if I failed. The only thing that was required was that I held on to their names, and that I call them.

Call.

And call.

And call.

“Stop.” Somehow, the faint murmur won through the endless litany of my pleas to the stars. “You can stop now, Gale.” The sound of my name broke the spell, and all of a sudden I realized that I was no longer alone in the cell.

An inarticulate cry left my lips, mad with terror and refusal, then I recognized the beautiful, dark-skinned figure looming over me.

Azzure.

My heart lurched, so brutally that everything went black for a moment. When I regained my sense of sight, I looked away and hissed, “Begone!” I clenched my teeth, and shook my head. “Begone! Begone!” He couldn’t be here, and even if he could, I didn’t want him to be. I didn’t want him to see this, to see the pathetic, ragged doll I had been reduced to. But anyway, he wasn’t here. He was a pawn of the Sanctuary. He was remote. Aloof. Neutral. He wasn’t here, this absurd lord of light with his pure white cloak and the glittering mantle of gold enfolding his body. Unheeding of me, he stepped closer and started squatting down next to me. “Don’t!” I snarled. “Don’t look at me! Don’t touch me!” The shriek that left my lips was too weak to carry beyond the cell’s walls. “I’ll call out,” I told the stubborn ghost, “I’ll call out and they’ll find you, and you’ll have betrayed your precious Sanctuary. So go the hell away!” Embers smoldered in the aquamarine gaze for the time of a heartbeat, and then were gone.

His right palm rested upon my knee, gingerly. “What’s this?” He was staring at the dried blood stains caking the inner side of my pants.

One last time, I tried to tell myself that none of this was real, and failed. There was no denying the warm touch of his hand upon my knee. There was no denying the emptiness devouring my heart. There was no denying the overwhelming wave of nausea raking my body when I saw in his eyes the reflection of the filthy wretch lying in his own waste and chained at the wall like a downed beast. “What do you think?!” I flung back at him. “What do you think Christian zealots would do to one who’s a symbol of a faith they abhor and denounce as bloodthirsty and fond of orgies?”

Azzure’s eyes met mine. They were black. No longer tile blue, but black. The light in them was terrible. It was fury. It was rage. It was hatred and contempt. It was death, eager to strike, trembling with the need to tear life apart. That was good. “Kill me.” Try thought I might, I couldn’t keep the desperate plea from my voice. “If you’re real and not a mad dream, kill me.”

During a long, awful moment, the shining, godlike figure just watched me. Then the darkness receded from his gaze. It withdrew slowly, reluctantly, and he shook his head. “I’m real, and I didn’t come here for that. You’d have finished the job of draining your life dry on your own quickly enough.” With that, he reached to the chains fettering me, and shattered them with a mere touch of his fingertips, without so much as a blink of his eyes. Then he unhooked his white cloak from his shoulders, and draped it around me in swift, yet careful gestures. I didn’t protest. It was all absurd and growing more insane by the moment, but I had no will left to rein in the craziness of my mind. Someone would come and check, must come, must know that an intruder had breached the prison grounds.

And yet, nobody came. Effortlessly he bore me up in his arms, as if I weighed nothing more than a child. He didn’t grimace or wrinkle his nose. No disgust flashed in his eyes, even though the stench of me must be unbearable. When he exited the cell, I spotted four bodies sprawled on the floor, and blinked. Following my gaze, he snorted. “They’re alive. Trapped in their worst fears and in the ugliness of their worthless souls. They’ll remember nothing. The lucky ones will be those who drown into madness and cannot claw their way back to sanity.” The smile on Azzure’s lips was mirrored in his gaze, and there was nothing human in it. It was alien and cold, and I shivered in his arms. “Enough.” He peered down at me. “It’s over. Close your eyes, and let go. It’s over.” The existence of this proud, tall figure wearing an armor of shining gold was impossible. It was as if one of the lords of the spirit world had parted the curtain separating his domain from ours, and bridged the abyss to come to me. It was as if one of the gods had descended from the heavens.

A dream.

A beautiful, precious dream, like the soft golden light enfolding my body and spooking the pain away. With a nod, I obeyed, and released my hold upon the world.

Soft music was soothing the darkness, cajoling it and taming it in little touches of notes. Words were gliding with the melody, one with it. They were a song, and the sounds of it were peaceful, in harmony with the music of what must be a lyre. Ever so gently it warmed my spirit, it wound around my soul, and drew me out of the black waters which had closed upon me. Winning free of the dark swamp smothering my mind wasn’t easy, but it hurt less than I had expected. I found myself lying upon a bed, in a room lit by a familiar glow, and the weak light of dusk. A shadow was sitting in a chair not far from the bed. I blinked, taking in the improbability of the illusion summoned by my failing mind.

Next to me, the shadow moved. It grew closer. Instinct took over, a strength I didn’t know I had left, and I flung myself out of the bed. Hands pounded on my shoulders, their iron grip rekindling the dull ache I had let slip to the back of my mind into full-blown pain. I snarled at it. I snarled at the shadow, and fought it with all I had. I punched and kicked, strangely unhindered by the chains that should bind my wrists and my ankles. There was a snap and a crushing noise, weak, as if a twig had just been shattered in many tiny pieces. “Stop!” The shadow pleaded. “Please, you’ll only hurt yourself.” It was a woman’s voice. “You’re safe,” she added. “Safe,” she repeated.

A woman. That fact was confirmed by the feel of her body as she held me upward, preventing me from falling headlong to the floor. I couldn’t stand. My left hip wouldn’t bear its share of my weight, and my ribs were searing with pain. Reflexively I blinked back tears, and allowed her to help me sit back on the bed. She wasn’t a shadow, I realized while my eyes were growing used to the glow of the fire crackling in the hearth of the far side of the room. I looked into the dark brown eyes watching me, and blinked again. “Aurelia.” Her name won past me, and she gave a single nod of the head. I glanced beyond her, and stared at the comfortable room, at the fine wood of the furniture and at the soft blue of the walls. It had a single door, less than five steps away, and it was left ajar. Right behind the young woman, something lay on the floor, broken.

A lyre.

I looked up at her, the sharp, jarring motion of my head sending a bout of dizziness through my body. For a moment she stared back at me, then her eyes darted toward the shattered lyre on the floor. “It’s all right,” she shrugged. “Don’t worry.” But it wasn’t all right. It wasn’t, and the sight of the broken instrument was somehow unbearable. “I promise,” she said, which was a lie and absurd. All of a sudden, a frown creased her brow, and the scattered bits of wood and strings rose in to the air to come hover between us. Her eyes lost in concentration, Aurelia pursed her lips, then the little pieces of lyre came alive and assembled themselves in quick, brisk sweeps across the empty air. A heartbeat later, Aurelia was holding the small instrument in her hands. It was intact. “See?” She smiled. “It’s all right.”

Head bowed, I sucked in a breath. “Oh gods.” I clamped my jaws shut, before the sobs crowding my throat could win past my lips. At last, I managed to look up at her, and ask, “Where are we?”

The young woman let out a faint sigh. “In a guest room on the first floor of the mansion the Sanctuary owns in Cenabum, as I told you before.” In Cenabum. Violently I tensed, unable to suppress a grimace of pain, and made to stand up. “We’re safe, all of us. You’re safe.” She pressed her hands upon my shoulders, pinning me down. Wildly I struggled against her hold on me. It wasn’t Aurelia. She was too strong. The hands squeezing my shoulders weren’t the slim, delicate hands of a woman. They belonged to another, to one who whispered senseless words in my ear while his companions-- I screamed.

The hands let go of me.

“I’m sorry.” Aurelia chewed at her lower lip. “I forgot you can’t bear with someone holding you down.” A sad little smile twisted the lines of her mouth. “I should remember though, after going through this a dozen times.” The sorrow and compassion shining in her eyes were true. She was the truth. “You’re safe here for now,” she added. “The Romans searched this house and others, but they couldn’t find you. Even if they came back, they wouldn’t find you. They’re easy to lure on false trails.” Her smile thinned into a sneer. “Their minds are weak, and they’re easily deceived.”

I drew in a breath. “You’ve told me before.” I peered up at her.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Time and again, in the three days since lord Azzure brought you back.”

I looked away. Lord Azzure. It fitted with my insane memories. Coherent madness. Something like a scoff rose in the air, coming from me. “It’s too late!” I spat, staring at the shadows drowsing on the wall. “Too late.” I gave a brisk shake of the head, and smothered the howl clawing at my throat.

“It’ll take time,” Aurelia told me in a carefully neutral voice, “but your wounds are mending. Neither Cein nor I can compare with the lady Rowan, but you’ll soon be whole. The drug they gave you is another matter.” She heaved out a loud, weary sigh. “You’re through the worst of it, but its hold upon your mind and your talent will last for a while longer. I wish we could help more, but we’re just apprentices. I’m sorry.”

They had healed me. That explained why pain had stopped being the heart beating inside my chest. Reluctantly I faced her again. The same light was still shining in her eyes, and I hated it. I hated the pity shimmering there. It churned my stomach, and sent shivers up my spine. For a moment we watched each other in silence, then she gave me another nod. “You feel like your mind is clearer this time, so I’m going to leave you, and get a bit of rest.” Even as her words faded into silence, I saw her hide a yawn behind her left hand, and suddenly I took in the drawn lines of her face. How much sleep had she gotten in the last three days?

“You shouldn’t have,” I whispered. “It’s not worth it.”

She scoffed. “I’m sole judge of that. Lord Azzure wished me to care for you, but now his wishes are just that. I agreed tot do this, so there.”

Azzure. His name kept echoing inside my mind, kindling a searing sensation in my heart like fire. “He came,” I smiled in spite of myself, “even though it was too late. He came, clad in bright, glittering gold.”

A light flickered in Aurelia’s gaze, dark. “No longer.” Her mouth was drawn in a taut line. Spitting out a breath, she waved her words aside, then she looked me straight in the eye. “I need you to swear that you won’t try to harm yourself--or to kill yourself. I can read thoughts, so lies won’t fool me.” A wry smile was hovering on her lips.

In silence, I sustained her steady gaze. Her claim was probably the truth, if I was to go by the uncannily correct insight she had on my current state of mind. If I didn’t swear, she’s just stay by my side, and she wouldn’t fall asleep. Her constant, careful vigil wouldn’t fail. At last, I nodded. “I promise.”

“Good.” That word was little more than a sigh of relief. Straightening, she made for the door, and stopped on its threshold. “I’ll leave it open. If there’s need, call and I’ll hear you,” she added above her shoulder. “I left a cup and a jug on the small table next to you. The drink will soothe you and help you sleep. It has no lasting effects.” As her words echoed in the room, she stepped into he corridor and vanished in the darkness.

Unmoving, I sat on the bed, and stared into emptiness. I’d keep my word. I had no doubt that she’d be here in a moment if I broke my promise and tried to take my life. It might be that she wouldn’t be quick enough, but if she was and then decided the best way to get a bit of rest was to restrain me--I shuddered. The temptation to draw the Spear of Lugh out of the flames dancing in the hearth of stones and then give it its price, letting it pierce through my beating heart, was almost irrepressible. But even that might not work, if she could snatch the intent from my mind and pop into being in the blink of an eye, barring my way. At last, I laid back against the pillow, and hissed when pain flared up in my right forearm.

There were the bones which had shattered under the storms of blows. Images flashed before my eyes, and I closed them tightly shut. That didn’t stop them. Shaking, I clenched my teeth and refused the scream that demanded I let it out. As I dragged air inside my lungs in a shuddering breath, I remembered Aurelia’s parting words and reached a wavering hand toward the jug and the cup set on the small table on my left.

I was trembling so badly that I spilled quite a bit of the liquid, but at last I managed to drink some. Then I closed my eyes--

--and opened them a heartbeat later, except that a bright light was splashing over the room. It was daylight. I blinked back the sudden sensation of moisture in my eyes, and sat up against the pillow in slow, awkward motions. The fire was drowsing in its hearth, dwindled into smoldering embers. The sun had risen upon the world. I could feel its warmth seep into the room through the man-sized window. Time had reasserted itself.

There was a faint knock on the door. When the echoes of the sound rebounded on the walls, my heart skipped a beat. It was Aurelia, and there was a smile on her lips. Relief was sparkling in her dark gaze. “Good morning,” she said in a warm voice. “It looks like you did manage to get a true night’s rest this time.”

I gave her a nod. If the tableau of sunlight illuminating a small room and painting its walls a pale shade of blue was the truth then, yes, I had really slept through the night. It was thanks to the drink she had left me, but she must know that. She came to my side in quick steps, then she gave me a look. “Before you get anything down your stomach, I think it’d do you good to go to the thermae. We have some in this mansion,” she explained her tone a hopeful one. Wordlessly I stared back at her. Ludicrous though her suggestion sounded, she truly appeared to think that I could get up from this bed and get myself to the thermae. I could find no reason not to try, so I gathered my strength and pushed up from the bed.

She had to hook an arm around my shoulders to help me, and support a part of my weight, but I did manage to stand on my own. I drew in a breath. The pain was less than I had expected it to be, reduced to a dull ache, like glowering embers which refused to turn into ashes. Aurelia gave me a quick, weighing peek, then she set a white linen cloth around my right arm and tied it to my neck, so that the limb would have to bear its own weight. Then she took me through empty corridors, down narrow stairs, until we reached what she had labeled as thermae.

It was more modest than the real thing. In the center of the small hall, there was a pool of clear waters, its size roughly twice that of a grown man. A naiad-shaped fountain was spilling water inside it with a pleasant, musical sound. We stopped on the threshold of the spacious room, and Aurelia waited beside me in silence. When at last she decided that she was bored, she heaved out a loud sigh. “I won’t peep if you don’t want me to. I thought you’d want to do this yourself, but if I’m wrong, I can take care of it. I don’t mind in the slightest.”

With a pang, I realized that she was telling me she was all right with bathing me like a mother would an infant. I chuckled at the thought, and that unhappy sound resounded between the high columns of marble supporting the ceiling. In slow steps, I walked to the edge of the not so small bath, and took off the shirt and pants I was wearing. It was easier than I had imagined, in spite of the cloth around my right arm. Once I was done, I dipped a toe into the water, and found it to be warm. There was no valid excuse not to proceed with the whole bath thing, so I did step into the pool.

Water enveloped me, its touch inescapable but strangely unthreatening. There was soap on the far edge of the pool. With a sigh, I waded through the water to reach it, then started scrubbing myself clean. On the surface, it looked easy enough: none of the grime and filth remained from my stay in the Roman prison cell. Nevertheless, there was something, like a faint odor of rot clinging to me. I rubbed at my skin until it was almost raw, but it refused to leave me. In the end, I gave up, and stole a glance toward the threshold of the thermae. True to her word, Aurelia was looking the other way. In spite of everything, I smiled, and dunked my head under the water on impulse. For a while I held my breath, and watched the funnily distorted shapes of the columns and the blots of color on the ceiling that were really old paintings of a garden in Summer. There was a weird, weird muffled sound when I laughed in the water, mocking the stray thought that whispered at me to stay like this beneath the surface until I drowned. Before swallowing water through my nostrils, I straightened. I took a moment to rinse my body, than I stepped out of the pool and reached for a big towel that had been left close to its edge so anyone using the thermae could dry him or herself.

The stench of corruption filled my nose, and I recoiled.

It was coming from me.

I staggered back, until my back hit one of the marble columns, and I doubled over, my body heaving with nausea. Bile was the only thing that had to retch: my stomach was empty. The echo of running steps intruded in the panting noise of my fighting to get a hold of myself. Abruptly, I saw Aurelia standing next to me. She was bending down and wrapping the towel around my shaking body, supporting my weight. At last, the wave of sickness ebbed away, and I gasped in a breath. The revolting odor of rot was still heavy in the air. “I stink!” I hissed, and I looked straight at her.

There was no revulsion marking the lines of the young woman’s face. No grimace, no wrinkling of her nose, only clouds making her gaze murky. “No,” she replied at last. Softly. “You don’t.” She glanced aside. “It’s one of the after-effects of the drug they used on you. It alters your perceptions. It’ll go away once your bloodstream is rid of it.” She didn’t sound convinced. Going along with the flow nonetheless, I rubbed myself dry, and wore an entire set of new clothes.

As we were going back to the room I had been assigned to, Aurelia abruptly froze in her steps, frowning. She gave a brisk shake of the head, then spat out a breath. “You’ve got a visitor,” she told me, “one we can’t just tell to wait until a more suitable time.” Her eyes met mine, and she added, as if she could feel the snake biting at my gut, “It’s all right. It’s safe. Will you see her?” She asked me, unable to completely mask the plea and urgency in her voice. “I think it’s important.”

What else could I do? Bobbing down my head in consent, I let the young woman lead me to a waiting room that overlooked the garden. It was strange for a waiting room to be so deep inside the house, instead of right next to its outer walls or entry gate. Of course, this mansion belonged to the Sanctuary, so anything was possible. Aurelia stopped on the room’s threshold, and she let me enter it alone.

A woman was staring at the garden, tall and slim. Her long, flowing red hair was tumbling down to reach the small of her back. I drew a sharp intake of breath, even as she spun on her heels to face me.

Emerald eyes met mine.

“Macha?” I rubbed at my temples, even as she flung herself at me.

Unable to suppress the reflex, I stiffened when she held me tight. It was all I could do not to break her embrace and flee. “Gale,” she whispered. “Little brother,” she dragged in a breath, “oh gods!” She was shaking. I remained frozen in her arms, struggling with the solidity of her body against mine and with the scent of her. The scent of fallen leaves and rain, and of cold dispersed only partly by a smothered fire. At last, she took a step back.

She was there, even though she shouldn’t, couldn’t be. Even though she smelled of the road and of Autumn waning. She should be on the road, I remembered all of a sudden. She should be far, far away from here, where the Romans would seize her and then give her over to the Christians. I hugged myself. “Why are you here?!” I snarled at her. “How can you be here?! Macha, you don’t know the danger--”

“I do,” she cut me off in a voice carefully devoid of emotions. “I came because they told me. I needed to come. You needed--” she clamped her jaws shut. Her tone hadn’t wavered, but the clouds swirling in her green gaze betrayed her. It was sorrow again, and compassion, and impotent fury. I wanted none of them. They crushed my heart, and I hated them.

Snatching at a drowsing flame of anger inside me, I clung to it. “They,” I retorted between clenched teeth, “who’s they?”

She gave me a look, then her eyes darted toward something beyond me. Aurelia was still waiting on the threshold of the room. Before me, Macha bowed her head, and heaved out a sigh. “All right, not they. He told me. The lord Azzure. One of his servants brought me all the way here, just as he’ll send me back. I’m in no danger. Gale, you know--”

Laughter burst from me, black and joyless. Dissonant. “He told you,” I sneered. “Oh yes, I bet he did. Do you know he came to get me out of my cell?” I gave a wild shake of the head and closed my hands into tight fists against the trembling of my body. The image of Macha standing in front of me had faded. All there was before me was darkness and sensations, memories that clawed at me and tore bloody rends in the fabric of my soul. “Do you know he rescued me after first giving me to them? Do you?!” I snarled again. “It’s too late, Macha! Too late! It was far too late when he came, and he didn’t even kill me when I begged him to!” From very far away, I could feel pain in my throat, and I could hear the hoarse words I had shouted echo in the air.

“Enough.” Abruptly, fingers pressed against my lips and silenced me. “Enough,” Macha repeated in a faint whisper, a wavering light shimmering in her eyes. She drew in a deep breath, and folded her lips into a thin line before releasing air from her lungs in a shuddering sigh. “I don’t have much time. I wish I could stay with you and tell you differently, but--Gale,” her palm left my mouth and her hand went to rest lightly upon my left shoulder. “You must get over it,” she bit her lower lip, “over yourself.” Her eyes were pools of dark, dark green, and I couldn’t see my reflection in them. “I know that what you endured was...” she bowed her head, then faced me again, “beyond torture. But you must stop allowing yourself to drown in it. You must stop with the self-pity.” I blinked, then staggered back, recoiling under the harsh truth of those words. Macha’s fingers on my shoulder squeezed, and she held me back. “You must understand, Gale. You must think it through.” There was a smile on her lips, crooked and full of the terrible sorrow that was haunting her gaze. “Who and what is lord Azzure? What would it mean for such as he to get you out of the Roman Christians’ clutches, no matter how late that action of his was?”

I looked away, my jaw set. Ice had speared my heart in the instant my sister’s voice had reached my ears. Absurd. “I don’t give a damn!” I hissed between clenched teeth.

Macha’s hands shook me, hard, and pain flared up in my right arm. “Of course you do!” She growled. In spite of myself, I faced her again. In a moment, naked anger had whipped her grief aside, and was now glinting in her eyes. “Think, curse you! You’ve been to the Sanctuary. You’ve seen the Twelve! You’ve been among them much more than anyone else has!” With an effort of will, I sustained her stormy gaze. “He was ordered to remain neutral. You told me so yourself, and yet he went against that command. You--” She dragged in a breath. “Be fair, my little brother,” a sad little smile twisted her lips, “you need to be fair, with him and with yourself. You need to be true. It’s the only way for you to heal.”

In slow, slow steps, I backed away from Macha, and she let me go this time. Her words were finding echoes inside my mind, of things Aurelia had said, hinted at. The cold that had pierced through my heart was spreading to my limbs. Try though I might, I couldn’t deny it or will it away. It was poison in my blood. It turned my legs to jelly, and it hurt. It hurt. “I have to go, Gale. I can’t stay here any longer.”

I stared up at her with a sharp motion of the head. She was about to leave. Perhaps I should go with her, be with them all. Understanding flickered in her green eyes, and she held out a hand. The silence stretched on, heavy, while I watched her proffered right hand. They’d take me in. In spite of the nightmare I had drowned them into, they’d welcome me among them, in their flight from the black, cruel fate that had befallen us all. I’d go with them. Into exile. I’d abandon my roots. I’d abandon--a garden. Peace. Serenity, as profound as the beating heart of the sacred forest. A place as holy.

The touch of the land upon my soul.

The breath of the wind and the warmth of the sun.

The feeling of the earth and the rain cloaking my being.

“See?” The smile was trembling on Macha’s lips, even though her voice didn’t. “I told you, little brother. You need to be fair, and you need to be true. Just as we will be. We’ll be safe, and we’ll endure. I promise you.” Even as those words reached me, my sister spun on her heels and walked to the other door of the waiting rooms in long, brisk strides.

“Macha!” I called, unable to run after her. My feet were rooted to the floor. This was farewell. She was leaving. Forever. And I--I couldn’t go after her. I couldn’t go to her. My legs refused to move. “I love you,” I managed to force the faint whisper out of my mouth. She didn’t stop. She didn’t slow. My heart heavy, I watched her disappear through the door. I watched the shadows there during a long, long time, until at last I turned away.

Aurelia was still waiting one step away from the room’s threshold. She was waiting for me, I realized with a pang. All of a sudden, my legs decided they’d obey me again, and I joined her side.

I needed to be fair.

Cold was riding Macha’s words, but they were true nonetheless. “You told me things,” I said to the young woman, “concerning Azzure. Things I didn’t understand. And you hinted at others. What did you mean?”

Aurelia’s dark gaze met mine. “It’s not for me to say.”

I bit my lower lip, hard. Before the shards of ice tearing at my insides could engulf me and make me change my mind, I nodded at her. “Then I’ll have to see him, I guess.” Instead of a snort, I got a short bow of her head, and then she led me through the mansion’s corridors in silence.

End of Chapter 7.

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