The Storm of Heaven (32 page)

Maxian returned to his waking mind and his body shook for a moment. Then a brilliant wash of light spilled out over the hilltop, making the stones and cracked columns stand out, even in the morning sun. When it had passed, the Prince stood, his face grim, on the summit. His tattered cloak was clean and whole again, the glassy scar on the side of his head vanished, his torn boots mended.

"Thank you, shepherd," he called out, over the tangled brush and vines. "I will remember your words. I will strive to erase the black stain on me with actions accounted good. I have committed grave crimes against the people and the state and my sworn oath as a physician. I will bend all my effort to repairing this broken trust. I am going home."

With that, he climbed down from the boulder and began walking downhill towards the sea. As he clambered amongst fallen trees and stones, he sent forth a call, arrow swift, to the south. The crippled Engine was waiting for him offshore near Pergamum, hidden in shallow water. It was severely damaged but it could still fly.

Come, foal of iron, child of the Medusa,
he called.
I need your swift wings and steel heart. I would be home and you my steed to carry me there.

The Prince passed between two slender oaks and disappeared into a thicket of tamarisk.

Ila woke in darkness, hearing a strange sound. She was curled up with a mended old quilt and a thin straw pillow. It was a small bed, really no more than a box bolted to the side of the wagon. Beneath were two cabinets filled with tent stakes, ropes, flags and boxes of carefully hoarded brass nails. Cautiously, she looked around, seeing nothing but darkness and a thin slat of moonlight at the edge of the door.

"Go away, bad ghosts," she whispered. Since the horrible night of the eruption, the
manes
and
lamiae
that crept and crawled in the countryside had been very restless. Sometimes, when the moon had set at night, she could hear them
tap-tap-tapp
ing on the doors or scratching at the windows. Ila made sure to keep inside, with her charms close at hand. It was worse, of course, if they were near a crossroads.

The sound came again, a hoarse moaning like a rabbit being steamed alive in a copper kettle.

Ila shuddered and burrowed under the covers, pulling the quilt over her mussed brown hair. She prayed fervently to the Many-Handed to make the sound go away, hoping that it was just one of the horses taken with the bloat or maybe Otho drunk, puking under the wagon.

Anything but a ghost!

This time the sound was sharp and abrupt, followed by a rattling sound. Ila poked her head out of the covers, pressing her ear to the wall of the wagon. There was a muffled sound—footsteps?—and the creak of a door. Now, that
did
sound like Otho. Perhaps he and Franco had been out too late and had gotten some bad wine. Then they had been vomiting behind the wagons. Ila shook her head. Those boys were going to get in big trouble.

She climbed down out of the box, dragging the quilt along, and pushed open the door. Across the way, dimly illuminated by the thin moon, she saw the door of Diana's wagon standing half open. Candlelight flickered inside.

"Oh, dear!" Ila scurried across the grass between the wagons and hopped up the steps to the doorway. The quilt trailed behind her like a big floppy tail, picking up leaves and stems. For the last two days, they had been camped on the hunting grounds of a rich senator whom Vitellix knew, near the city. The troupe master had been gone for quite some time, inquiring after the state of the games and who would be arranging them. It was very dull, waiting for him to come back. Ila was feeling skittish—she hadn't been able to show her riding tricks in Narni; the stage had been too small. Even teaching Diana to drive a chariot was dull—the redheaded woman's reflexes were too good... not so much as a crash to liven things up!

A small tallow candle lit Diana's wagon. Ila peered in, blinking in the light.

"Shhh." Ila's head jerked to one side, snub nose twitching. Dummonus was standing beside the bed. He was only half dressed, his broad chest smooth and bare, his hair mussed with sleep. His face, though, was as calm as ever, the placid perfection of a temple statue.

Diana moaned again, turning in the woolen covers. One arm rose, candlelight gleaming on the patchwork of fine white scars covering her forearms.

"Look out," she said in a perfectly normal voice. "No, Nikos. Look out."

Ila crept into the wagon and to the side of Diana's bed. The young woman was sweating heavily, tangled in her covers. Dummonus held her shoulders down. One of her arms was bruised from striking the wall of the wagon. Diana's eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Ila gulped. Her friend's face was contorted by a horrible feral grimace.

"What is it?" Ila could barely whisper.

Dummonus shook his head slowly. Diana suddenly shuddered under his hands and he bore down. Her arms twitched and quivered, then her fingers curled around some invisible object as if she were crushing it. A deep growl issued from her chest. Then she suddenly became still again.

"I do not know, mouse. She woke me with a cry."

Ila's fingers crept out of the quilt and took Diana's hand.

"Oh, Dummonus. She's so cold!" Ila wrapped her thin hands around Diana's, trying to press some warmth back into them. "Is she remembering?"

"Yes," the aerialist said in his placid voice. "I think she is."

Ila crawled into the bed, dragging her quilt behind her. Diana moaned again, softly, and turned away from her towards the wall. Ila curled in behind her, dragging the blankets over the two of them. Ila wrapped her arm around Diana and closed her eyes. Diana's flesh was cold and chill to the touch, but her breathing eased. Dummonus waited a moment before snuffing out the candle.

Then he sat back down in the darkness to wait.

"Shirin?"

Morning sunlight shone in through the door of the wagon. Diana looked around, her eyes heavy with sleep. She frowned at the door. It should be closed. She tried to get up, but there was an unexpectedly heavy weight on her chest. There were three or four more quilts on her than she remembered and it was very warm in the bed. She fell back, still very sleepy.

Wasn't there someone here with me, sleeping, her head on my chest?

Sparrows called outside in the trees. There were voices too, the usual cheerful banter around the morning fire. Tin plates rattling and horses whickering. Otho whistling as he filled their feed bags. Everything was just as it should be.

"Oh, oh, goddess..." Diana felt a horrible pain in her chest. There was supposed to be someone here, right here, lying beside her. She put out her hand. There was warmth under the quilts, right where someone should have been. But no one was there. The pain got worse, choking her, and she struggled under the covers, trying to throw them back.

"Time for breakfast!" Ila climbed up into the wagon, her cheerful little face haloed by the morning sun. "Are you awake? Diana!"

Diana couldn't breathe. She was choking. Her left hand clawed at the wall. Ila was at her side in a blur of motion, her little round face close. Her eyes were huge with concern.

"Oh! Oh! Diana, you've got to breathe! Don't let the ghosts steal your breath!"

Diana made a choking sound and wrenched herself upright. Ila flew backwards, hitting the wall. The young woman rolled out of the bed onto the cold, hard floor and her stomach heaved. Nothing came out. She started to curl up, banging her head on the floor. Ila scrambled down off the bed and threw her arms around Diana's shoulders. With all her might, she dragged back, trying to uncurl the woman. There was a gasping sound and then a groan. Diana collapsed.

Ila rolled aside, panting with effort. She was strong for a girl her age, but the raw power in the woman's shoulders and upper arms was more than she could overcome.

"Are you breathing?" Ila pushed at Diana's shoulders and rolled the woman over. Diana stared at her with dead eyes. She said nothing. Ila sat back against the wall and let out a huge sigh of relief. "You
are
breathing."

After a moment, Diana sat up, looking away from the girl. She stood and began to dress herself. Ila waited for a little while, but Diana refused to look at her. The mousy girl frowned and thought of saying what was on her mind, but decided not to.

"Vitellix came back," she said at last. "He says that there will be a choosing tonight, at the house of one of the senators. He has invitations for two of us. I think he wants you and me to go with him."

"Why?" Diana was still facing the wall and her voice sounded listless and drained.

"Because there aren't any other female aerialists, silly. And only one Ila, who can ride horses."

Diana turned a little, looking over her shoulder, eyes dark with anger. "Anyone can ride a horse."

"Not like me," Ila said with a sniff of disdain. "You should know that."

Diana glared at the girl, but her anger had already faded. She felt ill—empty and full at the same time. The world was filled with portents and hidden signs; even the beatific face of the girl seemed to hide something. Something foul.

"I will go," she said, her voice still flat. "I should have some use."

It was well after dark when they came to the house of the senator. The street was lined with bright torches and lanterns. Vitellix flipped the reins and clucked at the two high-stepping horses drawing the little chariot. Diana and Ila, wrapped in heavy floor-length cloaks, clung to the rails. Otho and Franco had built the chariot the winter before for a new act. Tonight, feeling they needed to make a suitable entrance, Vitellix decided to drive.

The senator's house was on the side of a broad hill, on a narrow street of blank walls and deeply recessed doorways. Tonight, with this party under way, the walls of the house were ornamented with hanging garlands and wreaths of holly and flowers. Guardsmen loitered around the doorway. Vitellix pulled up and dismounted with a flourish. Diana stepped down lightly after him, the hood of the cloak pulled well over her face. Ila hopped down afterwards and twitched her own hood forwards.

A servant ran up and Vitellix passed the boy a coin and the reins. The boy ducked his head, pocketed the coin before the guardsmen could see, then led the horses and the chariot away. The nearest of the guardsmen, his helmet crowned by stiff plumes of ostrich feathers, raised a hand as the three stepped into the entryway. "Invitation, citizen."

Vitellix proffered a stamped metal disk. The guardsman squinted at the token, his face mostly hidden by his helmet. Satisfied, he waved them inside. Ila crept past, hiding between Diana and Vitellix. The Gaul seemed quite at home in this place with its high white walls and evergreen wreaths. Diana seemed comfortable as well, though the guardsmen looked at her suspiciously as she passed. The doorway led into a hall of pillars and smooth, polished stone floors. More servants were waiting.

Vitellix waved them aside, politely refusing drink, food, a companion and a place to put his cloak. Diana drifted after him, her footfalls whisper soft on shining marble. The hall was formed by a series of domed vaults. The ceiling of each dome was filled with a painting of blue sky, complete with fleecy clouds, birds and—in the center of one—a glowing golden sun. Circular iron chandeliers hung from chains in each dome, crowded with candles. Ila followed Vitellix, her hand on his belt, staring up in wonder.

In the massed candlelight the domes gleamed and shone, sparkling like the blue skin of a fish. Somehow the light of the candles was reflected back onto the crowd of people filling the hall. Vitellix moved among them smoothly, nodding to those he knew, speaking a few words to some. Diana and Ila, quiet and unobtrusive in their dark gray cloaks, followed silently. Diana, in particular, was unusually quiet. Ila wondered if Diana was really following, but whenever Ila turned to look she was still there.

The hallway opened into a pillared arcade surrounding a garden. There were even more people, all dressed in fine, elegant clothes. Ila peeked around Vitellix, marveling at a cluster of women with their hair braided up into high, sweeping cones. Jewels and filaments of gold were woven into their coiffure, shining and winking in the light of hundreds of lamps and torches.

A constant, steady noise filled the air. Servants in plain yellow tunics moved through the crowd, bearing platters of sweetmeats, candies, iced drinks, cleverly cut fruit, cheese and small stuffed owls glazed with honey. Ila clung tighter to Vitellix, and the man reached back and squeezed her shoulder.

"Only a bit more of this, mouse. Then we'll be someplace quiet."

They turned right and walked the length of the arcade. Slowly, as they moved away from the entrance hallway and the main part of the garden, the press of the crowd eased. Finally, at the corner of the garden, where the arcade turned, Ila could breathe again. It was darker here, with only half as many racks of candles and lamps. They passed doors into the kitchens, where dozens of cooks and servants were hurrying about in clouds of smoke and steam. Men loitered outside the doors, chewing on hunks of meat, leather flagons in the crooks of their arms.

"Ah, Dionysos!" Vitellix saw a man he knew among a crowd of tradesmen and actors sitting on long marble benches at the side of the arcade. Here, out of sight of the main crowd at the front of the house, the "regular people," as Vitellix called them, were sitting and eating their supper. The Gaul stopped at one of the benches and clasped forearms with a scrawny little Latin.

"Vitellix, you dirty Gaul, it's been a time since I last saw you!"

"And I, you, runt." Vitellix hooked his thumbs into his belt, smiling down at the tiny old man. "Are you well?"

"Oh, I could be," Dionysos replied in a sour voice. It matched his shrunken old face perfectly. "If this fool of an emperor—all praise him, Lord and God!—would get about his divine business!"

Vitellix sighed in sympathy and motioned for the two women to step into the shadow of the nearest pillar. They had eaten supper from a hamper before entering the city. Ila was a little disappointed. Now that there were owls to eat, she wanted one. Vitellix had forbidden them to eat or drink at the party. Ila hid behind Diana's broad shoulders, looking about with interest. The scrawny man and Vitellix were catching up, nattering on about old friends and boring business.