by Jean Lorrah
Zanos’ pleasant smile suddenly returned. “Come on,” he said, taking her arm again. “It’s too cold to stand out here.”
“Don’t you want to see what damage the earthquake did to your house?” she asked.
“My servants will clean it up. That house is very well built-at most, the quake oroke a few dishes.”
But many buildings were not so well constructed. As they made their way along the street, they came to a spot where a ramshackle apartment building had collapsed. People were digging furiously in the rubble, women weeping as they tried to drag broken beams off the pile.
“Magister!” cried a man as he heaved part of a wall into the street and turned to find someone in Reader’s robes. “Oh, Magister-tell us-are they alive?”
Astra didn’t need the women to converge on her, crying, “Our babies! Our children!” for she could Read four children inside the house-alive but trapped.
“Yes,” she told the mothers, “they’re alive-but we’ve got to get them out. It’s no use trying to get at them this way. They’ve fallen through to the cellar, and the rubble could collapse on them. Come around to the back. Zanos, please-”
He added his formidable strength to that of the other man as they heaved debris out of the stairwell leading down into the cellar. Hearing them, the children began to stir, the youngest to scream and the others to cry in terror.
Their mothers called to them, “It’s all right! We’re coming,” but the children either couldn’t hear over their own cries or were too frightened to be comforted by nothing but voices.
It was dark where the children were, and when they tried to move they encountered hard, sharp objects.
One little boy of perhaps five tried to stand, and gashed his head on something piercing the trash above him. Blood flowed into his eyes, and he cried even louder.
The two women tried to squeeze past the men as soon as they had an opening into the cellar, but Astra cried, “Wait! Be careful! All that stuff could come down on them!”
“I’ll get them,” said Zanos, and somehow levered his huge body through the opening they had created. In a moment he handed out the screaming baby into its mother’s eager arms, then the bleeding, crying boy.
Astra examined the wound, assuring the mother that it was nothing serious, the child more frightened than hurt.
Zanos, meanwhile, was trying to maneuver two little girls into position as they hindered him and one another by trying to climb out on their own. “Mama!
Mama!” they shouted, scraping knees and elbows on the debris and shoving each other-
“Here now,” said Zanos, “let me lift you-”
But just as he captured one of them and handed her out to her mother, the rubble shifted, knocking him down on top of the other child.
Both mothers and the three freed children began to scream in earnest, their panic taking hold of Astra, who was making no attempt to avoid Reading. For a moment she stood shaking, her brow sweating, her heart racing-and then she forced herself to take hold as she Read Zanos pinned under the debris, but still sheltering the child. Somehow, he had managed to hold the roof of rubble up with his own strong shoulders, instead of allowing it to knock him down to crush the girl beneath him.
Astra and the man beside her began hauling everything they could reach off the pile. “Hang on, Zanos!”
she cried. “We’ll get you out!”
She could feel the strain on his back-even a gladiator’s strength could not hold that weight for long.
Finally they uncovered his head and arms, spread to hold the debris off the child. When Astra reached for his hand, he said, “No! Reach under me-pull the child out!”
When the man did so, the girl reached eagerly for his hands and was hauled to safety.
Zanos sank to his knees beneath the weight of wall, floor, and furniture. Astra Read total weariness in his overstrained muscles, as if at that moment he could not even climb to his feet unassisted.
By this time other people had gathered, and they quickly dug Zanos out, unhurt, although covered with dust. “Zanos!” somebody exclaimed, and then the people he had helped began to thank him, while Astra wondered if he was going to be able to stay on his feet.
The children were carried into a neighboring house,
and the couple who lived there, insisted, “Come in, come in-rest for a spell. Zanos the Gladiator. An honor!”
“Aye,” said the mother of the injured boy as she smoothed his hair, “you’ll tell your children about this, Borius. You was rescued by the greatest gladiator of all time!”
Zanos sank down on a pallet on the floor-the few chairs were hard wood. These were poor people, but they shared what they had. The woman showed the two now homeless mothers where to put their children to bed, then brought Zanos a mug of hot soup. Soon he was leaning against the wall, taking an interest in the bustle about them.
After assuring the women that all the children needed was to have their cuts and scratches washed, Astra turned to Read Zanos again, and found him recovering quickly. The ready grin was back as he listened to the owner of the house telling everybody who would listen, “Zanos the Gladiator! I seen him from the cheapest seats in the arena, and now he’s in my own house! Remia! Open that cask of ale-”
“No-please don’t,” said Zanos. “The soup was all I needed, really. Thank you. Save everything else to help you help your neighbors.”
Astra could Read his envious surprise at how these neighbors so readily shared their meager worldly goods. In his world it was dog eat dog-and a favor meant something expected in return.
The man ignored Zanos’ protests, and soon put mismatched cups of ale into his hand and Astra’s, saying,
“Remember the day you won your freedom, Zanos? You was the best ever-we all said it. I won ten coppers on you that day-though Gromius said nobody could beat three of the best gladiators in one afternoon!”
“The gods were with me, ” Zanos replied.
Astra remembered-the whole city had talked of nothing else for days. She hadn’t been there, of course, but she had heard that all three opponents were considered “unbeatable,” yet Zanos had dispatched them one after another. As a reward for a show such as Tiberium had never seen before, the Emperor himself had granted Zanos his freedom, and the whole city had celebrated as if it had happened to each and every one of them personally.
Such was the impact of this strange man. It seemed instinctive to like him-but still something about him disturbed her. When he caught her eyes on him, he scrambled to his feet. “We must get you back to your Academy, Magister.” And he would brook no argument against walking with her all the way, although she could Read that his body ached with the strain he had put it through to hold up that collapsing floor.
He left her at the Academy gates, and headed back the way he had come. As she watched him disappear around the corner, Astra shook her head in puzzlement. “It’s a miracle we weren’t crushed,”
she had said to him after the earthquake. And then he had saved those children-another miracle? Did the gods look with special favor on this man? Had the gods brought him into her life this day? Strange feelings stirred within her, and her memory replayed, uninvited, the feel of his strong arms lifting her-No! she told herself firmly. / am a Magister Reader, virgin-sworn. No man has a place in my destiny.
Certainly not that strangely compelling ex-gladiator.
“A Reader?” the old woman asked, appalled. “Have you gone mad?”
Zanos shook his head, fighting the confusion of fatigue. “What did you expect me to do? I saved her life.
You always say life should be sacred, even to one who has killed so many in the arena. When the earthquake started, I just saw somebody in trouble. I didn’t think about the color of her cloak-”
“Or consider the danger!” Serafon countered. “She might have Read you-might have discovered your secret! Indeed, she may be Reading for you at this very moment, bringing the city guards to arrest you!”
“Serafon, she�
��s not like that!” Zanos protested, although he couldn’t explain why he believed that Astra wasn’t just like any other Reader, constantly spying. Before Serafon could ask, he squatted down to her seated level and said gently, “I protected us. Once I realized she was a Reader, I led her from the temple area so cleverly she never realized I wanted her away from here.”
“You think you could fool a Reader?”
“She had no reason to suspect anything,” he explained. “I apologized for shouting at her at the arena today, told her stories-I kept her mind so busy she had no time to think about Reading where I had come from.”
They were in an anteroom of the Temple of Fiesta, the goddess of the harvest, whose high priestess Serafon was. She was a woman in her late fifties, dressed in the beige-and-orange robes of her calling.
Her iron-gray hair was bound with bands of gold. Her bearing was regal, but her concern for Zanos was as clear as if he could Read her.
“This was the same Reader who discovered white lotus in Clavius’ blood,” she continued. “What if she suspects you know more about it than you admitted to her?” Her eyes drifted to the shrouded corpse on the nearby table. “You were his owner. You should have known every facet of his life and training. She could have been in that alleyway to spy on you-she might think you’re involved in the drug trade.”
Zanos let out a derisive snort. “The Readers don’t care about drugs in the empire! If they used their powers where it really mattered, there wouldn’t be any white lotus in Tiberium. They’re paid to look the other way, just like the city guards.”
“I’m sure some of them are,” Serafon conceded, “but certainly not all of them. This Astra is a Magister, not a Master. She’s young, maybe idealistic. Those Readers who are corrupt can’t take just anyone into their confidence-they don’t want to split the wealth too many ways, for one thing. And for another-”
“I know.” It was the same reason Zanos and Serafon dared not try to identify others like themselves. “If the wrong person found out, their secrets could be made public before they could silence him… or her.”
Serafon nodded. “Astra might be free of the corruption. If she found the drug in Clavius’ blood, she must be a very thorough Reader-all she was assigned to do was verify that he was dead. Any Reader sent to do that job is not a highly regarded one, and most would have done only what was necessary. She sounds like an idealist.
“The Readers’ Academies are much like this temple, Zanos-we have students and young priestesses who seek to ingratiate themselves with their elders. So, if Astra’s youth makes her idealistic, and if she would like to get into the good graces of her superiors-”
“She might very well turn me in,” Zanos reluctantly agreed, “if she suspected the truth. Serafon, I can’t explain it, but I somehow don’t think she would do that. If she suspects me of dealing in drugs, she won’t act without evidence-and since I don’t, she won’t find any. Besides, if she had done what you fear, surely the city guards would be here by now. We’re not in any immediate danger.”
“If they’re not waiting at your house,” Serafon warned. “Zanos-don’t risk everything on your hunch about this Reader. Stay away from her.”
“You and I risk everything every day we stay in this land, ” he reminded her as he stood to stretch his legs. “We should have left the moment I won my freedom. The longer I stay here, the more danger there is from people like Vortius. He seems determined to take everything I have. Astra may be able to help me get the information I need to fight him… so I won’t have to take more direct action.”
“Zanos.” Serafon’s quiet tones forced him to look her in the eye. “Is that what you’d really like to do? Kill Vortius?”
He restlessly paced the tiny room, trying to sort out his thoughts. “It would be direct and clean. Serafon, I’m not a schemer like Vortius. But no, I don’t want to kill him-or anyone else who has not agreed to the risk in honorable combat. Vortius chose to make us enemies, not me. For more than two years I’ve honored your wishes, because he is the son of your close friend. But friend or no, you don’t dare tell her the secret you and I share.”
Serafon replied grimly, “It has been more than a generation since I fled the southlands, but I remember the fear. More than that, I remember the temptation to kill-the desire to kill anyone who might prove a threat, should he or she learn about my gift-”
“Gift?” Zanos echoed. “It’s a curse!”
“That curse enabled you to win every gladiatorial contest you’ve fought, and to do much good in secret.
With such power comes equal responsibility, Zanos. Right now, you are feeling the weight of that responsibility.”
The gladiator stopped pacing, searching for words to continue the argument, but fatigue was rapidly overtaking him. Serafon’s wisdom had saved his life countless times, but sometimes his fighter’s instinct outweighed any wisdom.
“Zanos,” Serafon continued quietly, “you’re a fighter, but you’re not a murderer.”
“No?” he asked. “I’m not so sure. Sometimes I see the faces of my opponents in my dreams-accusing me of killing them with unfair strength. At other times I feel their blood on my hands, blood that will never wash off.” He stared down at his palms, then closed them into tight fists. “I hate this empire, Serafon. I hate them for enslaving me, and for what they made me do to stay alive. Most of all, I hate them for this mockery they call freedom-”
Serafon now stood before him, gently cupping her hands around his clenched fists, as though trying to draw the anger from his spirit. He could see his anguish reflected in her eyes.
“All I’ve ever wanted is to go home to Madura,” he whispered. “To go home-and take with me anyone who lives in chains or in fear, and wants to breathe free air.”
“Yes, Zanos, I know.” Her left hand gently touched his face. “It is a most noble dream, but one that can come true only if you move with careful steps. Rash action will only bring you grief.”
He nodded agreement-even though it was more that he was too tired to argue further than that he fully agreed. He needed at least one more season in the arena to pull together the money and connections required to make his dream a reality. One more year-would it really be murder to rid Tiberium of a man who threatened a plan that would help so many people?
As if she knew his doubts, Serafon said, “Zanos, please… leave Vortius to me. I have ways of influencing him that you do not know.”
The strength of his anger was gone. “I’ll do it your way, ” he agreed, “for the time being. But if Vortius forces a confrontation, I won’t wait for your advice. He’s not taking any more of my money-or my men,” he added, glancing at the brown sheet covering Clavius’ body.
Watching him, Serafon said quietly, “I understand,” and left the room. He knew she was going to summon the temple workers to take the body for burial in Slaves’ Field, amid a thousand other unmarked graves.
A thousand leagues from the homeland Clavius never even got to see. “I’m sorry, my friend,” Zanos whispered. “I failed you twice today-in the arena, and here in the temple. I can’t believe you accepted that drug deliberately. You wanted to gain your freedom in reality, not in dreams. At least you are free now, Clavius. The gods have answered your prayers in their own way-but it was not the way I intended.”
“You look as if you crawled back from the arena!”
The voice that cut across Astra’s thoughts could belong only to Magister Tressa, her closest rival for the Academy’s honors. Tressa of the night-black hair and fierce dark eyes. Tressa of the deadly tongue.
Tressa, who always knew everyone else’s business, but was never caught violating the Reader’s Code.
Tressa was always in trouble, always pulling punishment duty-yet never doing anything quite bad enough to get herself transferred to a lesser Academy. Especially since her wide-ranging talent as a Reader had her tagged, as was Astra, as a potential future Master.
Astra threw a muttered greeting over her
shoulder and tried to get away from this irritant, but Tressa caught up with her and pretended not to realize that Astra did not want her company.
“You don’t seem to have any injuries,” Tressa said as she scanned her. “Why did it take you so long to get back? What were you doing?”
“Finding some children trapped under a collapsed house,” Astra replied truthfully.
But Tressa wasn’t satisfied. “Wasn’t that Zanos the Gladiator with you at the gate?”
Astra said nothing, merely enforced her mental shields and kept on walking toward Portias office.
“Such an interesting man,” Tressa went on. “I’ve spoken to him at the stadium. He’s so… beautiful, don’t you think? Like a wild animal, all that strength-is he the reason you’re so late?”
“I didn’t know you pulled so many punishment assignments at the arena,” Astra returned. “How many times have you angered Portia? A dozen times? A hun-”
Astra stopped in midsentence as a mental scream tore through her. Tressa must have “heard” it also, for her face reflected the anguish Astra felt.
Astra bolted for the door to Portia’s office, Tressa on her heels. They burst in to find Master Claudia sitting at the desk with her face buried in her hands.
“Master Claudia?” Astra approached carefully. “Are you all right?”
The middle-aged woman slowly lowered her hands and looked up at both Magisters with an expression of horror. Astra became aware of running footsteps in the corridor, as other Readers converged on the office, drawn by the scream.
Claudia said in a choked voice, “I just received word from Master Portia. Master Quantus, head of the Palonius Academy, died suddenly tonight.”
Grief-stricken reactions filled the room, a maelstrom of emotions that-for one terrible moment—
threatened to drown Astra. But it subsided quickly, for none of the other women here knew Master Quantus personally-it was merely that one of their own was gone, and as Readers, they shared the grief of his fellows who truly mourned.
But as the wave of overwhelming grief subsided, it was replaced for Astra by a sudden anguish-mixed with fury.