Persia itself, further east, fell under the control of Parthians like Mithradates, and they remained the staunch enemies of Rome, not permitting any further expansion to the east. They now rejected the Hellenistic culture that had been imposed on them for a hundred and fifty years or more, and returned to their cultural roots, embracing sorcery, summoning, and their own brand of natural philosophy. And they promulgated Zoroaster’s teachings more powerfully than at any time since the Achaemenid kings, and reinvented themselves as the true spiritual successors to ancient Babylon.
This is the cultural legacy that we see in the Persian Empire today, and it informs all of their actions, to include the so-called ‘Shadow War’ between the Empire and Rome, which is played out, ceaselessly, in Judea, Syria, Tyre, and Asia Minor.
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* Note: Magi is a slippery term. Magus is the singular, and used for both men and women. It can be used as a title of respect, as well. Magi is both the plural of magus, and the name of a noted organization of sorcerers and summoners. You may denote ‘Persian magicians,’ plural, generically, as magi. When referring to the organized group of magic-users, many of whom have intermarried and pass their powers along generational lines, however, use the term the Magi. If someone within the Persian Empire is a magus, and dares to call himself or herself one of the Magi, and has not been initiated properly to this assemblage, they would best be advised to make out a final will and testament.
—Citlali Xipil. Babylon: A Historical Survey. University of Tenochtitlan Press, 1945 AC, pp. 10-12.
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Februarius 25, 1955 AC
The news report on the far-viewer continued to natter in the background of the apartment in Rome as Kanmi passed his two sons their bowls of injere fit-fit, which was shredded sourdough bread from dinner the night before, cooked lightly in clarified butter and various spices, each with a pool of ‘barbaric’ yogurt in the middle (Romans still had the oddest dietary prejudices when it came to milk products, Kanmi had long since decided). He then handed them each a larger piece of bread with which to spoon the food into their mouths. “Come on,” he chided them, impatiently. “You need something on your stomachs before your pedagogue sits you down for lessons all morning.” Privately, he wasn’t actually quite sure what the pedagogue, Alala Koikinos, could really teach Bodi, who’d just turned four, but Himi was set to start school in fall, and Kanmi was emphatic about wanting to make sure his elder son was proficient in Latin and Hellene before he began. He wasn’t expecting Himi to be able to read in both languages immediately, but his goal was ensuring that Himi wouldn’t face the same problems he, himself had had when he’d first gone to school in Athens, with only a textbook knowledge of Hellene. Both of his sons had been raised in Tyre, so they actually did understand and speak modern Carthaginian . . . but Kanmi had been making a point of speaking Latin and Hellene whenever he was home over the past two months, and jokingly using Nahautl words for things to force the boys to ‘correct’ him. It became more of a game that way, and he’d quickly noticed that they retained whatever they giggled at. “Bodi, don’t pick at it, just eat it.”
“I don’t like it,” Bodi pouted. Kanmi always tended to see more of their mother in the two boys than himself; their skin tone was somewhere between Bastet’s coffee brown and his own lighter olive, and they had her liquid dark eyes . . . but their hair was closer to his shade of brown, and had more of the wavy consistency of his, as well—something Bastet muttered gratitude for every time she worked a comb through the boys’ hair. She kept her own hair cut severely close to her skull, for practicality’s sake. She did work in a hospital, after all.
“You had it yesterday and liked it fine then. Eat.”
“I think he means he’d rather have a Roman breakfast, like when we stayed at the neighbors’ last week. Puls with eggs and nuts.” Himi piped up, tentatively.
“Yes! I like puls.” Bodi was definite on that matter.
“Sorry. Don’t have any. Eat.” Kanmi took the double-chambered vacuum coffee brewer off the stove, now that one side had finally finished decanting into the other, and poured himself a cup. Bastet hated the damned thing—she insisted that coffee was a ceremony—but Kanmi did not really have an hour in which to prepare coffee every morning. He dumped sugar and cream into the cup and stirred rapidly before taking a hasty sip. Barbaric cream, he thought, with amusement. Romans think milk is only suited for making cheeses, and if Bastet caught me putting milk in her coffee, I think she might actually cut my fingers off. I can’t win either way, but by the gods, it tastes so much better this way.
The boys reluctantly sat still and ate, while Kanmi, finally freed from riding herd on them for a minute or two, turned up the volume on the far-viewer. It was a technomancy-based unit, and as such, was a perfect sphere of glass, populated with tiny, black-and-white, three-dimensional figures. “In other news today,” the anchor, a perfectly made-up Roman female with softly waving dark hair, intoned, “the Senate has moved into week two of its investigation of Marcus Caelestis Dioscuri, former governor of Nahautl, and his wife, Nochtli. The governor was recalled three months ago, to make an account of how members of his household, to include his wife, were involved with the late high priest of Tlaloc, Tlilpotonqui Tototl, who allegedly was part of an attempted coup against the sitting emperor of the Nahautl, Achcauhtli.” The anchor paused. “Governor Dioscuri has seemed wholly calm in the face of the questioning, in spite of detractors who have speculated that he may have ‘gone native.’” A quick flash of Dioscuri, wearing his senatorial toga as he entered the closed session of the Senate . . . and the camera lingered on the gold earplugs he wore, just for a moment. “It is widely expected that the former governor will be acquitted of any personal wrong-doing, and his hearings are only scheduled to proceed for two more days. After they end, however, the Senate will be questioning his Nahautl wife as to the particulars of her acquaintanceship with the deceased high priest. Nochtli Dioscuri has gone on record only as saying that the late priest and alleged conspirator was ‘an old family friend.’” The anchor’s voice swooped a little on the quoted words.
Sucks to be them, Kanmi thought, not without sympathy, but mostly, he was dispassionate about it. The part of him that delighted in seeing someone high-born, wealthy, or powerful find their downfall was partially silenced by the realization that the governor had been, for years, tempering Achcauhtli’s more aggressive tendencies, and that without a strong hand to check him, the Emperor of the Nahautl might take matters into his own hands in dealing with the Quechan rebels . . . regardless of the limited self-rule accords that Livorus had just finished brokering for the Tikali region. That was a major factor. Dioscuri mightn’t have known what his wife was getting into, with her fundraisers for what were, in the main, charities . . . and it really was an open question if the wife had realized anything herself. It could have been perfectly innocent. By the time the Senate’s questioning was done, and the media had had its say, she could look like a victim, and have actually have been a co-conspirator . . . or she might be painted to look like the downfall of the Roman empire, and have honestly been tarred merely by association. It’s a hell of a world we live in, Kanmi thought, glancing at his sons. I have to trust we got as much information out of Nahautl as possible, and that the lawyers and magistrates will make sense of it all. The system isn’t perfect . . . but it’s all we have. If we could just keep the media out of it . . . though they say they exist to keep the politicians honest . . . hah!
The news report started up again. “In other news out of Nahautl, Iuhicatl Matatl is the seventeenth member of the state-run ley-power company to have pled guilty to conspiracy to commit ritual murder. This is in regards to the third power plant so far found with a murder victim buried under its foundation. Authorities have tied these ritual sacrifices to Tlilpotonqui Tototl and half-Roman noble Gratian Xicohtencatl, who both allegedly were involved in the aforementioned coup attempt. The sacrifices were, authorities claim, part of an
effort to revitalize Nahautl religious practices that have been dormant for five hundred years, and to capitalize on that religious enthusiasm to promote Nahautl self-identity.” The anchor paused, looking at the camera. “Matatl, who had been charged as a co-conspirator, swore under oath that his participation in the plot solely involved helping to design the new ley-facility, and helping dig the grave for victim number three, Xoco Tepin. He further swore that he did not participate in the sacrifice, and that he did not know how she had met her end, because there were no marks on the body indicating foul play. He swore that he was told there had been an accident, and that the body needed to be hidden to avoid publicity, and that he feared for his job if he did not comply.” The news anchor paused. “Xoco Tepin was twenty-two years old, and had just finished her nursing degree when she went missing from the campus of the University of Tenochtitlan early last year. As a result of the plea-bargain, Matatl has had his sentence of death by crucifixion for participating in human sacrifice commuted to a lifetime of slavery. Tepin’s parents, who have been on hand for the executions of all those involved in their daughter’s death, expressed satisfaction with this trial’s outcome.”
I should think so. The two men who picked her up by way of a campus personals ad, posing as a nice young man looking for a virgin wife to placate his conservative, traditional family, and then dosed her with chloroform and dragged her off into the wilds for Tototl to tear her heart out while it was still beating, so Tlaloc could drink her blood and her tears . . . those two, I went to their executions, myself. This poor slob probably didn’t know a damned thing about what was going on. He was just an architect who happened to be on hand when they were all out of people with shovels. Still, he had to have known some kind of power was being pulled down, and that it wasn’t ley. He probably thought, poor idiot, that it was electricity or magnetism, or some damned thing. Kanmi drank the rest of his coffee, and had just managed to put it in the sink as Bastet exploded out of the bathing area at a high rate of speed. He could smell sweet oil on her skin as she leaned down to give him a quick kiss; she was wearing a skirt and a lab coat today. “Going to be late tonight,” she informed him, quickly, her mind clearly already at work. “Double shift. I’ll be home . . . probably around four antemeridian.”
Before Kanmi could even reply, she’d opened the door to the hall, and the pedagogue was outlined in the frame, one hand raised to knock. “Come in, come in,” Bastet urged the Hellene woman. “I’m going to be late. I’m so sorry. I’ll talk with you about Himi’s mathematics tomorrow!”
The door closed behind Bastet, and Kanmi shook his head. And to think she complains about my not being here. He looked at the tutor, and said, “Actually, I’ll talk with you about his math now. I have time before work. My wife forgets when I’m here, I think.” He turned the far-viewer off, with a click, and managed a thin smile for the woman. Bastet had insisted on giving the pedagogue a second chance after Himi’s accident. Kanmi, for his part, hadn’t agreed, but he’d been stuck in Nahautl for six damned months, so he couldn’t really intervene. Every time he looked at the surgical scar on Himi’s left arm, from where the doctors had had to implant brackets and rods to allow the bones to grow back together properly, however, he seethed. And he didn’t care if the pedagogue knew it. In fact, he rather hoped she did.
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In another part of Rome, in a gymnasium run by the Praetorian Guards, Trennus and Adam had met before breakfast for their daily sparring practice. Most wrestling matches, in traditional Roman-Hellenic schools, were still done in the nude. Bitahevn, the quintessentially Judean martial art, however, had been derived from a number of Asian martial art traditions and the old sword and spear techniques that had been used in Judea for centuries. Thanks to the Asian influences and Judean modesty laws, practitioners wore gi tops and pants, while remaining barefoot. Adam and Trennus were, therefore, the only two clothed men in the entire gym. Female Praetorians were required to wear clothing on the wrestling mats, regardless of what art they were practicing; until twenty years ago, women in the Praetorians had had entirely separate practice facilities, until it was correctly pointed out that they needed to practice against men, since they were far more likely to wind up fighting men on the job.
Over the past several months, Adam had been greatly pleased by having Trennus as a sparring partner. Once the Britannian had loosened up a bit and lost his shyness and inhibitions, particularly at sparring where an audience could see them, Adam had gotten a measure of his real skill. The Britannian had half a foot of height on him, and about fifty pounds of weight, but Trennus didn’t rely on that, or his raw strength; he was skilled on the ground, and simply getting him there was a challenge for Adam. What Adam lacked in inches and pounds, however, he made up for in speed, agility, experience, and native talent. Working against a larger opponent was always a good challenge. And teaching was the best way to learn and reinforce what he knew, anyway.
Adam ducked under a punch that he was damned glad hadn’t connected, turned, slammed his hip into Trennus’, and, with light hands on Tren’s elbow and shoulder, propelled the larger man to the ground, before dropping to straddle and throw elbows and punches. Trennus got his elbows up, deflected the blows, and, as Adam got in, trying for a choke, actually managed to roll over, slamming a forearm down across Adam’s throat . . . making him swear mentally. Once Trennus wound up in the mount, it was an uphill battle to unseat him and get back to at least even ground. Trennus grinned at him good-naturedly as Adam twisted to get the constriction off his windpipe, snaked a hand up, and demonstrated a thumb to Tren’s eye to get him to pull back . . . which took at least fifty pounds off of Adam’s chest. More than enough to work with. Adam pulled his body sideways, and fifteen brutal seconds later, was back on top . . . but this time in the guard, having his ribs compressed by Tren’s legs. Not optimal, but an improvement. Fifteen seconds after that, he finally got Tren in a choke that worked, and Trennus tapped on the mat, signaling submission. Adam got back to his feet, having sweated nearly through his gi top over the past forty-five minutes, and grinned, offering Trennus a hand up. “Good one. You’re making me work for every inch lately.”
“Sort of the point, isn’t it?” Trennus accepted the hand up, and wiped at his face. The long braids he wore would make an excellent hand-hold for an opponent, as Adam had pointed out midway through their first month together on the job; Trennus had grinned and acknowledged the fact, but added that he’d bind someone with magic before he’d consider cutting his hair.
They’d been practicing together every morning for the past two months, and for the six months in Nahautl, it’d been at least every other morning, as duty permitted. The other Praetorians here in the Roman gym were used to seeing them at this point, and Adam was aware that a couple of Romans had taken to ‘keeping score’ for them on a blackboard in the corner. If money was trading hands as a result, he was carefully remaining oblivious to the fact. And sparring had long since gone beyond ‘job readiness’ and simply become a way in which the two men routinely spent time together. As a result, they’d become very good friends. Adam would never have thought to have said that of a summoner before the past year, but it was true.
It was the chorus of whistles from between teeth that got his attention as he and Trennus were both mopping at their faces with towels. Adam looked up, and saw Sigrun walking placidly into the workout area, ignoring the various men who were breaking from clinches all around to react to her presence. Adam had seen a few of the men respond to other female guards entering the room a bit more crudely—invitations to come over and polish their swords, for instance. This was a whole different level from Kanmi’s button-pushing. Kanmi pushed everyone’s buttons—Adam’s, Tren’s, and Sigrun’s—and in as many different ways as possible. He didn’t single Sigrun out on the basis of her being female.
The reaction here in the gymnasium was another thing entirely. On the one hand, he understood it; the Praetorians were, after all, a larg
ely male organization, and a quintessentially Roman one, at that. They liked establishing territorial boundaries when there was an intruder present, and they categorized a woman as an intruder in this space. And Adam himself was used to a certain amount of gender segregation from his childhood in Judea. On the other hand, the point behind gender differentiation in Judea was to show respect for one another . . . or so he’d been raised to believe, anyway. He’d started to question that first in India, and then in Novo Gaul and other places. But that didn’t matter. What did matter, was that the lack of respect here grated on him. Women had been in the Praetorians for the protection of the empresses, consuls’ wives, and diplomats’ wives for generations. They were held to close to the same physical standards as the men, and the fact that they endured hazing just to be allowed to do their jobs . . . irked him. Most of them seemed to pretend to ignore their own gender just to get through the day. Which might be, now that he thought about it, what Sigrun herself did.
Of course, every man in the room knew precisely what Sigrun Caetia was. And knew that she could probably break any man there with her bare hands. Which was why it stopped at wolf-whistles for her, with perhaps a random, “Hey, valkyrie!” from someone in the safe anonymity of the far side of the room. She ignored the teasing without any visible facial reaction, not even glancing at the various men as she padded, light-footed, over to Adam and Trennus, and looked up at them. Her hair had grown back fairly rapidly after the burning she’d suffered in Nahautl, falling to her shoulders now, though it was tied back in a neat tail at the moment. “Here to spar?” Adam asked, as if nothing had happened at all.
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 49