Spirit Invictus Complete Series

by Mark Tiro

  I couldn’t help it. I knew. Underneath, I was sick and throwing up, and I knew exactly why.

  It wasn’t the blow to my head. At least that would have been honorable. I was sick, at myself. Sick and disgusted: I should have killed him. That bastard Arminius—I should have killed you when I had the chance. I should have driven my sword into you when you—hell, that was the whole point we’d gone there for. Why does this keep happening to me?

  The thought filled me with rage. At myself.

  I began to throw up, all over again.

  At last, when my stomach had stopped convulsing, I stood up. I saw his face. It flashed clearly now. I held it an instant in my mind. And then it was gone, just as quickly. I resolved then and there; I focused on one thought only. If the gods ever grant me the chance in this lifetime or another, I will kill you. I swear, I will hunt you down. I will not hesitate next time. I will kill you.

  But it wasn't Arminius I was thinking about now.

  Now it was Varus.

  Without Varus, there could be no Arminius. Varus did this, by his bloody appeasing of that ass sucking liar. I could have killed Arminius when I had the chance, but Varus always has been—always will be—the problem. Varus, and people like him. If ever I see you again Varus…

  Just as I was slipping down into the darkness of my cold fantasy, Caelius came back.

  “Marcus,” he said, giving me a hand and lifting me to my feet. “You’re the ranking officer here.”

  “That’s impossible. What about Varus’ nephew? What about the rest of his command staff?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I got word now. They mean to attempt a break out here.” He looked off into the distance, indicating to me a small clearing that seemed devoid of barbarians. The Primus Pilus avoided making any hand gestures that might have given away the chosen spot.

  “Varus’ nephew, and what’s left of Varus’ command staff, are going to make a dash for it. What’s left of the 18th here is going to try to punch a hole through the German line and hold it open as long as we can. If we manage to succeed, Varus’ nephew and the command staff should be able to break through. It'd at least give them a fighting chance to make it back to our garrison at Aliso. I think you should join them Marcus. Get yourself back to that fort, and then maybe—back to your family.”

  “What about the 18th?” I asked, looking squarely at him. “What about you? What about the rest of the men? What about the legion’s standards? Varus’ nephew can’t be meaning to turn and run and leave the 18th’s eagles here, to be captured by… by… barbarians. It’d be a disgrace. No Roman could live that down.”

  “If he could, I’m sure he’d have taken the eagles with him. That way he’d not only be able to save his own ass, but he’d also be able to claim victory for the whole debacle. Once he was safely back with the garrison of course. But he can’t. The standards would weigh him down so much, that none of them would ever be able to make it through the line. If he’s going to break out, he has no choice but to abandon them.”

  “The boys here—they’ll crumble,” I said, “once they see their officers ride off without even the standards. How long will your legion hold Caelius, once the boys realize they’ve been abandoned, pinned down, and left to die?”

  “Hell, eagles or no eagles—they’ll collapse once they see their officers give them up for dead. Maybe not the veterans, the ones who campaigned with Drusus. Those ones’ll stiffen up. They’ll at least have a shot of holding out, maybe even another day or two. But how many of them are left? The rest are just kids. Just look around. Hell, half of them had never been this deep into the shit, ever. Well, not until yesterday.”

  “I’m not about to slink off with Varus’ nephew. To leave our boys here to die alone.”

  “Thank you. But they’re not going to die alone. I’m here with them.”

  “Well, let’s get to it then. You know, we can’t just go down here, taking missiles for the rest of our lives—however short our lives may be.”

  We both laughed. Grimly.

  “Thank you,” he said, laying his hands on my shoulders. “We’ll die like Romans then. With our bloody dignity intact.”

  “Why didn’t Varus’ nephew recruit you to his cohort? I’m sure he could use an experienced Primus Pilus, to keep everyone focused.”

  “He doesn’t think that way.”

  “You mean, strategically?”

  “Exactly. He’s about as much of a general as Varus himself.”

  “Too bad. Then at least, there’d be someone left, to tell the story of the 18th. At the very least, there’d be someone to get the truth out about what Varus did to destroy and entire Roman army in the field.”

  “These are my men Marcus. I’m proud to stand here beside them. And proud to stand here with you.” Then he looked into my eyes and said, “Thank you.”

  “Together, or not at all. We’ll get off this battlefield, Caelius, one way or another. But together—or not at all.”

  We both sat there, in silence a while now. I felt a quiet stillness come over me. A calmness. And then, just for an instant, an unrestrained joy washed over me like a giant wave after an earthquake. It rushed in all at once. Instead of blanketing the earth in water though, it blanketed my soul in love.

  It filled me like a balm, and in that moment, everything was okay. In that moment, I had no desire for revenge. No desire to live, or to die. No desire for anything at all.

  The silence was broken by the wild rumblings of the barbarians surrounding us.

  Caelius leaned over and whispered, “Thank you, sir. If I don’t see you again today, then we’ll meet tonight, in Elysium.”

  “In Elysium it is then.”

  Gulls were flying overhead again. If I ever have the chance, I thought, I will find out how you stay aloft. Maybe even one day, I will figure out how to fly with you there, on your thermals, free from all this pain.

  Pain. That must’ve been it. Just even the thought of it. My mind went there, and all of the sudden, it felt like a powerful invisible hand reached down and pulled me out of my reverie. It reached down, then grabbed me, pulling me by my throat. It pulled me up and smashed me against the earthen ramparts. It threw me with such a shock. And then, it threw me out of my mind.

  Rage.

  I was raging.

  Suddenly, viciously—uncontrollably—I thought of Varus. I thought of him, and I raged.

  In anger, and in hatred, and in fear. It all swirled together, and in this tempest, I raged.

  I remembered how he’d led us into this godforsaken hole of mud where we were all about to die. I seethed. If I die tonight and come across you on the river Styx tomorrow Varus, I will drown you with my two bare hands. I don’t care if I have to take both of us down together. I pictured throwing him face down into the water, squeezing him by the neck, and slowly strangling every last drop of life out of him.

  This image seemed to make me happy, and I kept replaying it, over and over, in my mind.

  “Well that might offend the gods come morning time.” It was a little, sarcastic voice in my head, making commentary, in deadpan.

  “I don’t care what the bloody gods think!” I roared. To myself again. In my head.

  Now I was tired, and I just wanted to lay down. To sleep. To not wake up.

  After that, the end was not long off. Varus’ nephew had seen an opening. He’d attempted to break out with a group of his Praetorian guards. But they hadn’t been able to form up even a full cohort. Some of them had made it past the initial line of Arminius’ auxiliary fighters. But they were met there by a second wave of barbarians that came up from behind.

  Surrounded now, he called for help to a detachment that was trying to form up behind Caelius. This caused the scraggly mass that was by now made up mostly of young archers (who had themselves never been in battle at all before today) to rush out headlong from their position. To their credit, they were trying to save their officers. But without any real order or format
ion, it was a slaughter.

  This breakdown in formation left Caelius’ position defenseless. He was exposed from his flank. I turned to shore it up, but I was hit in the head. Again.

  This time though, it was a spear. It pierced straight through my skull and came out to the other side, taking a good chunk of my brain with it.

  I hadn’t seen it coming. There was a split second when I felt a sudden change in air pressure.

  Then, nothing.

  It was done. My body made a dull thud as it crumpled into a pile on the ground. But by then, I was long gone.

  The Flower and the Rock

  I’m dead again, but it’s a little clearer now.

  The mist had been there. Now it was gone.

  I can see, I think.

  Clouds everywhere now, but moving. Not stagnant. They part, just an instant. A faint wisp of light pulses through. Not light though, something else. Something more.

  No. Just light. Clouds drift past, and light rushes in. It pours into me.

  Then, more clouds.

  More clouds, and no more light.

  I rack my brain, I try to think. I ask the questions. What?

  But my head starts to hurt, and I decide to rest again. I can’t think. Just let me rest a minute.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  There, see, it’s okay. I can catch my breath here.

  And then I let go. Crying, uncontrollably—I let go. Let go, and I cry. Then, I float.

  Tears open up the floodgates as I float up, off. Up and off.

  Unbearable weight, a lifetime.

  Whoosh.

  I don’t know what I was crying for. I can’t remember. The tears are still wet on my cheeks, but I can’t for the life of me remember why.

  One more deep breath, and now I can see. Love is peeking through the clouds now. It’s washing over me. I remember. I can see. But it’s fleeting, it comes and goes. But I can remember it, even if just in glimpses.

  I will not leave you to die here alone. I will not abandon you.

  There. Love.

  And now, nothing. Darkness.

  Everything is still okay. It is always okay.

  I thought, and I remembered. This time it was specifics. I saw the form now, and in looking on form, I was blinded. Again. And in my blindness, I saw everything crystal clear. I felt, and I saw, everything. Crystal clear.

  I could have stopped him. I swear, I could have stopped him.

  I was angry, all over again that I didn’t stop him. And I pushed that thought back down. Back down, away. Down.

  Next time, I will stop him, I resolved. I am stopping him now. Right now.

  And that was it.

  Darkness fell over me. Again.

  Drifting, falling, dark.

  This time though, I fought. This time, I fought it. I tried with all my might to claw my way up, to keep myself from falling, to prevent this.

  And just like I thought, I wasn’t falling anymore. I was now… just… what?

  I see again, the love of a flower poking up, rising up, growing out of the mud shithole all around it.

  It is beautiful. I love you.

  I will not abandon you. I will protect you.

  You are beauty itself.

  Fear, and pain, dying in the dirt and trenches all around—it was there, but off to the periphery. There, but I pushed it aside, out of mind.

  Focus on the flower, I told myself. Hold the love safe.

  Only the love. Nothing else matters. Only this.

  Then from behind, I felt the blow of the heavy weight crash over me.

  The rock.

  Then, everything went dark.

  III

  SABINE

  1

  One

  My message was pushed out on a Tuesday.

  It was not a part of the regularly scheduled briefing that went out publicly each day.

  But it went out as if it were. Which was the genius in the thing.

  No one had seen it coming. No one from the Committee had known it was coming, or even suspected a thing, until, well… until, it was already out. Then—bam!

  It was done.

  My message had gone wide. It was out to everyone. The poor people saw it pop up on their handhelds, and their personal connections, while the rich who had the benefit of implants that kept them continuously connected, saw it play out instantly in their HUD fields in front of them.

  No one had seen it coming. That was the genius. That was my genius. And I’m still just sixteen.

  I don’t mean the words. They weren’t my words anyway. I didn’t write them, of course. I’m not that smart. It’s not that I’m dumb either.

  It’s just that, well, I’ve had to take care of my mom since before I can remember. My mom doesn’t get out of bed much. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her physically. I mean, not that I know about. It’s just that she never has the energy to get out of bed. So I spend a lot of time at home, and not at school, because I’m always having to take care of her. Despite all this, I’ve always liked the challenge of figuring out how to get shit done. I taught myself to do a lot of stuff on the network that anyone without a Committee-level clearance isn’t supposed to be able to do.

  But I can do it. If you want to get into the network, and you don’t want anyone to know it was you that was there—then I’m your girl.

  I can get you in.

  It’s things like that that I’m good with. Not so much with words or writing, or even really talking, unless it’s in front of someone I’ve known for a really long time.

  But Rhys is. Good with words, that is. Rhys is a poet. Or at least, he’s good enough that he should be. He’s one of the students from the university. Of all of them, I think he’s the smartest. I know he is. He’s the one who wrote it.

  He’s also good with his hands.

  Or so I imagine.

  I do a lot of imagining about that. My heart beats faster, when I think about that sort of thing with him.

  But I was the one who was able to push those words out to 87.2 percent of the population. The entire Committee had been on guard for a while, but they didn’t know enough to stop me. So just like that, almost half of, well…way over half of like—everyone—saw it before the Committee was able to roll back the network updates and wipe it all clean.

  By then though, it was long done. Rhys’ words were out.

  Do you want to hear the words? It might be a little serious, I know. Sometimes I even can’t understand what he’s getting at. I’m sure that’s just his genius for poetry.

  And I should probably be his muse. Every good artist needs a muse. I read that somewhere, for school once. I could be his.

  Anyway, here’s what he wrote, the message that went out to the network:

  “The Father of the Nation, General de la Barca, has agreed to come out from his retirement. Listen! Everybody with two good ears to hear; Listen and rejoice! De la Barca is returning! To lead the Assembly. To lead the people. And what bigger hero does the nation have than de la Barca? Who stared down almost certain defeat and turned back the armies of an entire Continent? De la Barca of course. And who then stood up to the crooked king once the war was done, when the crooked king sought to massacre the innocents? When he tried to crush the Assembly of the People? De la Barca! He alone stood up to the armies of the Continent. He alone stood up to the crooked king of tyranny. De la Barca.

  But who then got down on one knee, who prostrated himself before the Assembly? Who unsheathed his sword and laid it down? De la Barca, that’s who! He blessed the People’s Assembly, and then turned around and went home.

  How modest is he, our Father of the Nation? He could have anointed himself king. There were plenty who called for it. But did he? The Father of the Nation? No! He went home, a simple man for a simple people.

  De la Barca! De la Barca! De la Barca!

  And now he returns. The Father of the Nation returns to unite the Factions and once more, to save the people and the nation
. The Committee now proclaims that it leads the Assembly and the nation. It promises there will be elections.

  But everybody with two good eyes can see now: the Committee intends to call no elections. The Committee is no better than the crooked king we threw out. The Factions stand united now! The Factions and the people, united again, in one will.

  De la Barca, Father of the Nation. Return and put this right.

  The opposition to the Committee struggles valiantly. Give us your heart, oh people of the nation. And give de la Barca, our one true leader, your hearts as well.

  He is our one hope, to keep the darkness at bay. Welcome back de la Barca. He alone can set us free and throw off the tyranny the usurping Committee has become!”

  You must see what I mean. About his beautiful poetry, right? I mean, I know Rhys can be a little harsh around the edges sometimes. I think that’s what happens to boys when they go off to university. But the words themselves, they’re absolute poetry, right? Like velvet. It’s chocolate cream for the soul. That’s cute, huh? I like chocolate. Chocolate, and cream too. But the point is, you can just see his mind working in the lusciousness of his words. I’m sure every girl would be able to see that. It’s so obvious. But I’m the only one—well, one of the only ones—who knows it’s really him behind the beautiful words.

  “Bravo Sabine!”

  A loud shout erupted when I opened the tavern door.

  They were all there—the student leaders, and more than a few Assembly members. Not the Mountain people, of course. That’s what the ones who support the Committee call themselves—‘the Mountain’. But there were more than a few faces I recognized from my newsfeed. People who’d been on the Assembly all the way back when the king had been captured and killed.