Eagle of the Empire

by Martin Ferguson

  He turns on me, stepping closer, and I wait, every moment of delay vital. I know I can’t beat him, but I can buy time until the police arrive.

  ‘Don’t do this, Adam,’ Matt tries to warn.

  ‘It is too late for brotherly concern,’ Makov states. ‘I will not hold back this time, my friend.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to,’ I reply, raising my guard. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  He charges me, wanting it over as soon as possible. I back away, trying to keep a distance between us but he is far too quick. A fist strikes my arms, then another, before he ducks round and hammers into my stomach. The wind is knocked out of me but I force myself to recover quickly, pushing on and attacking to force him back. A hand grips my shoulder, pulling me down towards a rising knee, but I lash out, driving both fists into his chest with all the strength and fury I possess. He falls back, rolling as he lands on the polished floor before rising up.

  ‘Very good, Adam. Much improved,’ Makov praises me.

  I say nothing in reply, saving my breath. Makov flies forward again. There is no rage or anger on his face, only focussed determination to beat me. I do all I can to block his strikes and fight back, but he is too fast, twisting and turning, finding a way through my defences despite all efforts. I throw a bolas at him but he knocks the cord away with ease. I throw another as he leaps over a fallen table, and though the cord wraps around his arm, he tears free before it can fully constrict him. I am quick though, and somehow, by some miracle, the pendant is dangling from my fingers. Throwing it to the floor I stamp down hard, the crystal shattering beneath my boot.

  Makov just laughs.

  ‘You are not the first to make that mistake,’ he taunts me as flames cover his fist and he strikes me hard, throwing me back across the room. ‘I do not rely on trinkets or treasures, you young fool.’ He continues to laugh. ‘Have you not listened to a word I have said? My strength is built from the lives and souls of the lost, and you shall soon join them.’

  Closing in, his fists strike me, again and again until I barely have the strength to keep my arms up. Grasping one arm, he twists my joints and they crack sickeningly but remain unbroken. His boot stamps down on the back of my knee and he barges me forward, crashing through tables and chairs, collapsing before Leon and Bishop. My brother looks on in horror. Makov grabs me by the throat and he lifts me to standing, striking me hard across my face again and again until I am barely conscious.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ Matt roars, trying to rise up before his captors force him down and pull the hood back over his head.

  The distant sounds of sirens can be heard, and for a moment I think it’s just ringing in my ears.

  ‘You alerted the police? Not very wise, my friend! Not wise at all!’

  He throws me with all the force he possesses into the display cabinets, the glass shattering on impact. I crash through and into the relics within, the recovered remnants of the people of Pompeii, smashing the ash debris to pieces. My body screams in agony, old wounds reopen and fresh ones join them. Warm blood trickles down the side of my face.

  ‘At full strength, and with a clear head, you may have stood a chance,’ Makov says as he steps into the display, glass crunching beneath his boots. I let him talk, feeling a dangerously large shard of glass beneath me.

  The drone of helicopter rotors grows, three of them visible through the large windows, searchlights all focused on us.

  ‘Vladimir Makov, you and your men are ordered to surrender,’ the police declare over the loudspeakers from the helicopters. ‘Release your prisoners and lay down your weapons.’

  I use the distraction, sliding the shard of glass across to Matt’s bound hands.

  ‘Ignore that fool’s threats,’ Makov tells Leon and Bishop. ‘He can do nothing from there. When we are done here, blast him out of the sky.’

  Makov turns his attention back to me.

  ‘Again, you have proven yourself unworthy, Adam. No one can help you. Not your brother or this soldier, and certainly not those fools outside.’

  I see Matt pass the shard to Dave – it’s almost time.

  ‘A lesson must be taught to you all.’

  ‘Distract,’ I struggle to say.

  ‘And act!’ Matt roars, rising up and disarming Leon, wrestling the gun from the rogue’s hands. Matt fires three times at Makov.

  The bullets all strike at his chest, and for a moment, doubt crosses the fiend’s face before his mocking smile returns.

  ‘Have you learned nothing?’ he asks before unleashing blue flames towards Matt, blasting him across the room. Smoke rises from his body and he moans in pain before calling out to us with two words, ‘Stop him!’

  With a roar, Dave unleashes an anger I didn’t know he possessed, taking vengeance as he quickly rises up and beats down Leon and then charges the towering Bishop. Dave strikes the American several times before turning to face Makov. I struggle to rise, to help him, the pair of us facing the lone immortal. We fight together as a unit, but Makov is still standing. He takes everything we have – still grinning.

  ‘May I begin now?’ he asks, before unleashing a blast of blue flames that knocks us all back.

  We are floored but we rise again to attack this black-eyed demon. There is little hope against his supernatural powers, his fires wracking us with agony. We are smashed to the floor again, toppling one of the ash-cases from the display cabinet and onto the floor, where it splits to reveal a flash of bronze.

  It still shines brightly after all these years. I try to stop Makov as he reaches out for the Eagle, the standard of the Legio IX Hispana. Then it is in his hands.

  ‘Incredible,’ Makov says as he gazes upon it. ‘After all this time, it has survived. Even the fires of Vesuvius could not melt it.’

  He stops for a moment, blinking furiously, fingers flexing around the Eagle’s staff.

  ‘I can feel it…’ he murmurs, a smile growing across his face. ‘It was no myth. I can feel it! The wrath of the gods! The world should know of this! The world will see this!’

  Makov begins to lift it high, the bronze wings of the Eagle catching the light brilliantly. I clamp my eyes shut but even then I am still blinded, ears deafened by the God-like scream. The building shakes and trembles, and there is a great tearing above me. Peering through barely open eyes, I see almost all the roof ripped from over my head, a great beam of light surging down from the sky above.

  Gunfire sounds and bullets sing past us as the helicopters recklessly open fire. Everyone ducks for cover except Makov, the undaunted immortal. He lifts the Eagle high, calling forth the power of the gods to rain from the sky, striking the police helicopters. Great towering beams of light soar down from the heavens, a tornado of godly might. Smoke and fire pours from their rotors and the aircraft falls from the sky.

  ‘Now you see the truth!’ Makov declares, looking down on us with maddened glee. ‘Myth, legend, all these stories are proved true by this one Eagle. The world will know, but I am afraid this is where your story ends.’

  I close my eyes, expecting the wrath of the gods to descend upon us all.

  I have failed. I am not worthy.

  33

  MARCUS AURELIUS—Pompeii

  From the shadow of Vesuvius, where the escaped gladiator Spartacus defeated the praetor Glaber, I see the mountain’s peak billow smoke. It is a bad omen, a damning sign from the gods and so I urge my stead on towards the city and its port. I must find Lucilla.

  As I enter the city, the very ground begins to shake. My horse rears up, throwing me from the saddle before bolting. I land hard on the ground, body wracked with pain, wounds still healing from the melee at the Colosseum. The tremors grow until the buildings around me begin to fall. Screams of Pompeii’s people echo all around. The smoke ceases to rise from the peak, and for the briefest moment, I think the gods’ anger is calmed – then the mountain explodes before my eyes.

  The sky turns black and blots out the sun. Day turns to night. Ash falls as
if it is rain, falling like a soft blanket, covering everything in sight. Rocks and fire streak the night sky like falling stars, tearing through everything in their path; no building is left standing in their wake.

  I must find Lucilla.

  I’m running through the streets, screaming out her name.

  ‘LUCILLA!’ I shout again and again, until my throat is hoarse but I do not stop.

  ‘Marcus! MARCUS!’

  My legs stop running, stilled by the amazement of seeing her. Her long blonde hair, her sun-kissed skin, her eyes, which glitter with diamonds. And in spite of all the horror, the fear, she is smiling through her tears. My wife, Lucilla.

  We run into an embrace, holding each other tightly, never wanting release.

  ‘I knew you would find me,’ she says with lips that seek mine.

  ‘I could not rest until I held you again,’ I tell her. ‘I am so sorry…’

  ‘Don’t.’ My wife silences my apologies with her lips.

  ‘Where is your family?’ I ask, horribly aware that we must act or die.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lucilla replies, her hands clutching mine tightly with fear. ‘I could not find them.’

  The ground shakes again, and more fire and rock strikes the city around us; ash settles in our hair and on our shoulders.

  ‘The mountain…’ she says with trembling words, drawing my eyes to Vesuvius.

  We see the great tide of fire and ash surging from the mountain and destroying all in its path: the city and its people. Another roar sounds but this time from the ocean. A massive wave sends the harbour ships crashing through the dock and into the city. Around us, the people flee, some on horseback, others by cart, and others simply running for their lives. They will not escape. There is no escape from this.

  ‘The gods have damned us,’ Lucilla sobs, looking only into my eyes.

  ‘No, they have blessed us for we are together,’ I say, holding her tight. ‘Death will not see us parted. Do not cry, my love. We are together, and we are free.’

  ‘I love you,’ she says.

  ‘I love you.’ We embrace one final time – the world and its destruction forgotten. She is all that matters, in this life and the next.

  34

  ADAM—The Vatican

  I wait for the end but it doesn’t come. I open my eyes, stunned that the world is still as it was. I am still breathing, and the museum is still standing, minus its roof. Matt and Dave remain captives and Leon and Bishop merely look on expectantly.

  ‘No, that would be too easy,’ Makov says. ‘Open your eyes, Adam. See true power.’

  All around me, figures flicker into existence. Men, women, children, people of all races, they stand around me, their spirits summoned.

  ‘I am God of the Afterlife,’ Makov declares with a cruel glee. ‘This is the true power of the Eagle. Now, my brothers and sisters, dispose of these cretins – all of them.’

  They move towards us, and though we try to force them away, they cannot be stopped. Our hands pass straight through them, and yet I feel their cold, icy hands on me, around my neck, on my arms and legs, growing tighter. They’re on Matt and Dave too, all focused on our annihilation – except for one.

  A man clad in Roman armour, a soldier barely a year or two older than me. I know who he is. I have been following his trail for days. It is the centurion.

  He looks to me sadly, then shaking his head, he screams silently, throwing himself at Makov.

  ‘No!’ he yells. ‘What are you doing? I command you to kill them! Unhand me!’

  Makov summons his flames but they do nothing against the spirit who grabs for the Eagle, wrenching it from Makov’s hands. The Eagle falls to the floor, the bronze clattering on the marble with no sign of damage

  ‘How can this be?’ he growls. He is held by the centurion and unable to see me reach for the Eagle.

  ‘No, don’t!’ he warns, but it is too late. I grasp the standard and lift it high.

  I feel it first, growing within my hand and then surging through me. The very museum shakes as the remains of the ceiling and roof are torn apart; a blinding white light surges down and engulfs me with a deafening roar. I can’t understand or explain it. All I can do is bask in the light as it surrounds me. I feel no pain, my own wounds forgotten. Then it ends.

  My vision returns instantly, and my ears are once more filled with cries of pain. Bishop and Leon lie fallen on the floor, clutching at their eyes and screaming for help, blood running between their fingers. Makov staggers near to me, his eyes still clamped shut and fists clenched tight as he suffers his own agony.

  ‘How did you do that?’ he demands as blue flames gather around him, swirling, building bigger than ever before. ‘How could you do that?’

  I turn on him, the Eagle still raised.

  ‘Tantum dignos,’ I declare, feeling the Eagle’s power build again before the light tears towards Makov.

  ‘ONLY THE WORTHY!’ I yell above the mighty roar of the Eagle’s power. ‘YOU ARE NOT WORTHY!’

  He flees, stumbling with his blindness. Dave picks up one of the fallen firearms and fires, hitting the immortal twice, but it doesn’t slow him. Makov runs through the nearest window and falls from view. I hurry after him and peer down from the windows, seeing a drop of over thirty feet. There is no sign of Makov, but the spirits still surround us, and they are all looking to me for command.

  I see the centurion. He looks to me and says, ‘Tantum dignos.’

  ‘Rest,’ I command. The centurion nods his thanks before turning to grasp the hand of the young female spirit next to him, her hair shimmering like golden dust,

  ‘Adam,’ Matt calls out to me and I hurry to his side. ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he says with a broad smile, hugging me tightly through the pain. ‘God, you look a state, little brother.’

  ‘You should see yourself,’ I reply, assessing the extent to his injuries. ‘I have to get you to a hospital.’

  ‘I’ll join you for that,’ Dave mutters.

  Dave picks up the hood that covered his head and tears it apart, forming a rough bandage which he wraps tight around Matt’s gunshot wound. When this is done, he moves onto tying up the two injured thugs, unable to resist booting each one in the stomach before leaving them to face the police.

  ‘That’s it then?’ Dave asks, looking to the Eagle. I nod.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s actually real,’ Matt says. He approaches but stops short of placing a hand on it.

  ‘The spirit, the centurion, he fought Makov but not you?’ he asks, to which I nod. ‘And the Eagle burned their eyes?’

  ‘But not ours,’ I say.

  ‘Because we weren’t foolish enough to have our eyes open,’ Dave says with certainty.

  ‘No,’ I disagree. ‘It’s because I willed it to save you.’

  ‘Like the legatus probably did for his legion,’ Matt says. ‘Did you see the tomb in Scotland?’

  ‘I followed your clues all the way,’ I tell him.

  He smiles for a moment before the hum of helicopters sounds overhead again, joining the sirens. Looking up, I see film crews hovering above us, too.

  ‘Time to go,’ I say.

  ‘You two head that way,’ Dave orders, pointing towards the rear of the museum as he takes my rucksack from me. ‘I’ll tidy up here.’

  ‘Won’t you get caught?’ I ask.

  ‘Dave has found his way out of trickier situations than this,’ Matt assures me as I help him to stand.

  ‘Wait,’ I say, stopping and hurrying back to Leon and Bishop, both still writhing on the floor in pain.

  ‘Your baseball cap,’ I say, taking the hat and throwing it to Matt.

  ‘C’mon, brother,’ he says, his smile broadening as he pulls on his cap. ‘Let’s go home.’

  35

  ADAM—Somewhere over the English Channel

  ‘You boys look like you’ve been in a scrap,’ an air stewardess says as she passes us.

  ‘Stag weekend,’ Matt lie
s, an easy explanation for our cuts, bruises and many other injuries. ‘A little too much drink.’

  ‘Who’s the lucky groom?’ she asks.

  ‘Him,’ I say, pointing to the snoring Dave seated in front of us.

  ‘Sounds like he’s recovering well,’ she says, walking farther down the plane to check on the rest of the passengers.

  Em is seated next to Dave, fast asleep as well. Her leg is heavily bandaged, painkillers easing the pain and helping her to rest. It was quite the reunion, all four of us in the same hospital for Matt’s gunshot wound and the countless injuries Dave and I carry. Now, after several days recuperating, we are finally flying home. We could’ve left earlier, separately, but wanted to return together, as a team.

  ‘So, why didn’t you tell me?’ I ask Matt, this being the first time we have a moment alone.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he replies with a smile.

  ‘You know exactly what I mean. The British Museum, this life of yours. I still can’t believe it. I always thought you were just some stuffy office worker, yet you do all this. It’s a whole new you, one I don’t know.’

  ‘Hey, I’m still your brother,’ he says. ‘Think back to when we were kids. Rock climbing, abseiling, scuba diving, anything that could get the pulse racing. Is it really that much of a stretch? Besides, could you really see me stuck in an office? I am sorry for lying to you, I truly am, but…’

  ‘You’re afraid of heights.’ I laugh in disbelief. ‘How have you been able to do any of this?’

  ‘You’d be surprised what you are capable of for the right cause. As you found out.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me?’ I ask.

  ‘I know you too well, little brother,’ he says, still smiling. ‘We were brought up on tales of myths, legends, and ancient histories by our mother, and especially our father. If I’d told you what I do for a living, I knew you would’ve wanted in. I didn’t want you to just follow me. I wanted you to make your own decisions, your own life.’