The sky, enraged, rippled like a sea in full storm. Rain fell, lashing the man. Rivers of water ran, carrying away the blood and the tears in a slurry of mud. In the rain, in the stuttering flare of the lightning, the hand of the dead boy twitched.
Something was standing over the fallen body of the Quryash. Zoee turned away, blinded, with the streaked afterimage of something with coruscating wings bestride him and rising colossally above the building. Blinded, she pressed her face against the cold tesserae of the floor. The world was silent and still, but she felt the tremble of the darkness in the air around her. The hidden world was in chaos, with mighty powers striving back and forth. Mohammed's left boot beat a sharp tattoo on the rooftop.
Vision returned and Zoee stared down at her hands, seeing them outlined in a soft white glow. She looked up, and for an instant she saw the temple around her as it had stood on the day it had been completed. It was vast with a two-story central hall. Ranks of roundbellied pillars lined the sides of the great open space. The walls gleamed in pale white outline and domes arched toward the heavens. Hundreds of windows pierced the upper walls. She stood, reaching out her hand to the nearest column, which rose up perfect and whole toward the distant, vaulted ceiling.
It faded, slowly growing fainter and fainter. The roof went first, replaced by winking stars, and then the soaring walls dissolved. In only moments the looming shape of the Roman temple returned. Zoee felt tears seep from her eyes and loss churned in her stomach. She looked out upon the city, seeing the white roofs and winding narrow streets for the first time. The white radiance was flowing away from her, touching the windowsills and vine arbors as it passed. Zoee held her breath, seeing the soft white light pass over the land, illuminating everything with the refulgence of day. Olive trees, stockyards, temples, hilltops, tents were all thrown in sharp relief and then shadow came along behind as night closed in.
The light passed and darkness settled around Zoe like a comfortable cloak. The writhing ebon tendrils were gone as well, swallowed up in the blood-stained slab and into the body of the Quryash, who lay still on the rooftop. Zoe ventured to move a foot and found that she could. Even the blindness had passed, leaving only sparkles at the edges of her vision. She felt lighter, as if a great oppressive weight had been taken from her shoulders. Kneeling, she touched the side of Mohammed's throat. There was a pulse, at first thready, but rapidly growing stronger. His skin was hot to her touch and she realized that she was very cold.
In the distance, a dog awoke and began barking furiously. Something had troubled its dreams.
Zoe rolled back Mohammed's eyelid with a thumb and froze in shock. Darkness, live and twisting, had shimmered in his pupil for a moment. Taking a breath to steady herself, she pressed her hands to his temples and settled within herself. Her own power woke and stretched and tested the confines of the world. Mohammed's body glowed between her hands and she felt, for the first time, an enormous strength in him. It was like banked coals burning white hot- not noticeable from a distance, but should you come within their proximity- like the heart of a sun. Echoes of conflict still drifted about him- both the cruel bitter darkness and that brilliant light.
The Palmyrene stood up suddenly, shaking, and shook her hands as if they were wet.
Something has entered him. The thought was plain and appalling. The man at her feet had become the vessel of some power. It slept within him now, but could wake at any moment. Her head rang like a temple bell with the brush of its strength. Pure and unalloyed, it nestled at the heart of the man.
Is this the God of the Wasteland that he worships? Zoe was daunted by the prospect. In all the days of her life she had been told that the powers of the gods- Zeus Ammon, Bel the Guardian, all their ilk- were expressed through men, through their priests. Once she had joined the Legions of Rome, Zoe had learned that she herself- a mortal womanpossessed powers of her will and mind that could mimic or surpass any prelate or high priest. In that light, she had found the gods paltry and weak, perhaps no more than the fantasies of men. Tools that the cunning might use to bend the common people to their will.
But this? This was the hem of a garment far beyond her ken. She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes, willing the images to pass and the memory to be blotted from her mind.
Lights at the edge of the plaza caught her attention. Men with torches had come out of the buildings, drawn by the disturbance in the night. She crouched down and gathered up the old man's body. It was heavy, but she was young and strong. With a grunt, she managed to slide him onto her shoulders and then stand. His head lolled against her shoulder and he began to snore.
Just like a man, she cursed to herself, fall asleepafter everything's done and leave a woman to clean up!
Staggering under the weight, she made her way out of the temple and to the top of the stairs. One foot was on the top step before she realized that a flicker of torchlight was gleaming below. The mutter of sleepy voices rose up. Snarling at the ill-luck, she backed away, casting about with her mage-sight for another way off of the plaza.
On the southern side of the vast open space, a light caught her eye. It was a wisp of blue, hanging in the air like a candle flame. Below her the sound of voices strengthened.
"Search the compound," came a gruff voice. It had the ring of a Legion centurion. She moved farther away from the stairwell. The hanging flame beckoned and, without any better ideas, she hurried over to where it flickered in the darkness. As she came closer, it disappeared, falling below the level of the platform. There was an opening between her feet, round and dark, with the smell of water rising out of it.
The flame fluttered away, swirling down the well. There were steps cut into the wall, winding down into the foundation. Somewhere below, water dripped into a pool. Zoe shifted the Quryash on her shoulders to a more comfortable position and put her foot on the first step.
Gingerly, she descended into the encompassing dark.
The Palatine Hill, Roma Mater
Good evening, Augustus, Lord and God Galen, Emperor of the Romans." Anastasia bowed formally, a single curl of her dark hair falling over one eye. It was evening and the lights of the city twinkled through the windows of the Emperor's study, high on the southern face of the Palatine hill. The Duchess turned, the doubled necklace of black pearls around her pale neck glinting in the lantern light. She bowed as well to Aurelian, who like his brother, had risen at her entrance. "Aurelian, Caesar, Prince of the Empire, greetings unto you."
The two men were sitting at ease over the remains of a light dinner of roasted black grouse brushed with garlic, cardoon in vinegar and oil, and hardboiled goose eggs dusted with paprika. With the weather tending toward the heat of summer, everyone was beginning to avoid heavy foods. Still, the night threatened enough of a chill to warrant woolen tunics, and for Aurelian, a half-cape. Despite his heavier build, it seemed that he was more sensitive than his brother to changes in temperature.
One of the servants who had been standing in an alcove off the study brought out a slim-legged oak chair and placed it beside the pair of couches.
The Duchess sat delicately, letting the long drape of her charcoal gray gown fall naturally. Her hair was bound up in a cloud on the top of her head, shot with silver pins. Even her sandals were in fine leather dyed a very dark brown. Anastasia did not come bearing good news and her garments reflected her mood. Galen coughed, his nervous eyes darting over her face, hands, and clothes. The Duchess repressed a wry smile; she could ken his thought, divining some unexpected disaster. His brother, the bluff Aurelian, was just frowning, wondering why she had interrupted their little moment of privacy and quiet.