The storm of Heaven ooe-3

by Thomas Harlan

  "Keep behind me." Thyatis advanced on the dogs, keeping the three lionesses in her field of vision. They were tearing at a dead body sixty feet away, growling and snapping at the air. The dogs were a greater concern in this frozen instant of time. "Pick up any weapon you can."

  The Nubian nodded, gulping, but controlling her fear.

  – |Another roar of delight rose up from below as Maxian completed his circuit. He knelt, hands gentle on either side of the copper bead. Each metal orb had been drawn from the same ingot, spun in heated air and formed into equal weights. That had not really been a sorcerer's job, but being able to manipulate temperature made it very easy. The Prince touched a finger to the bead and felt the chiming echo of its siblings. Maxian let the shape and pattern of the Flavian take shape in his thought.

  The amphitheater loomed over the city, instantly recognizable. For the tens of thousands of barbarians and foreigners passing through the Imperial capital each year, it was a symbol of the Empire. More, it stood at the middle of the city, square between four of the seven hills. Once, in an earlier age, the focal point of Nero's Golden House had rested here. Now it was the heart of urban Rome.

  Maxian, feeling the play of power in the building, knew it for the heart of the Empire as well. His brother Galen might be the symbol of the state, the living divine emperor, but this place was the keystone of the pattern sustaining the Empire itself.

  In every town and city throughout the Empire, there were replicas of this arena. The ceremonies that acclaimed the Empire, the Senate, the people, the city, were conducted here and there, like and like. In all those places the power and majesty of Rome were made flesh, manifest and unavoidable. Here, on the white sand, the lifeblood of criminals and traitors was spilled. There, in the provinces, the amphitheater was Rome. Only citizens could sit in the marble seats, enjoying the games, watching barbarian slaves and wild animals driven to their destruction. In each death, the glory of the state was reinforced and the triumph of civilization over barbarism reaffirmed.

  The Prince breathed out slowly, letting his mind settle. This was something he had never attempted before, an act of such a delicate nature that he put aside the humming power flowing within him, part and parcel of his sinew and bone, since Vesuvius. The constant muttering and whispering were shut away. Bit by bit, carefully, he began to disassemble the matrices and forms protecting his living body from the onslaught of the Oath.

  – |There were only four dogs left and they slunk away, growling.

  "Ready with another spear," Thyatis called over her shoulder.

  "Ready!" The Nubian woman had a good arm. It made everything much easier.

  Thyatis sprinted at the dogs, shrieking. The sound echoed back at her from the marble wall circling the arena floor. The dogs had had enough and they bolted, yelping in fear. She turned her body, still running, and threw in a single, graceful motion. The spear plunged into the body of the largest dog with a gelid slap. Howling in pain, the dog crashed to the ground. It tried to rise, whining and licking at the blood welling up from matted fur.

  Turning, Thyatis caught the second spear from the air. She grinned at the Nubian woman, getting a pale grimace in return. Then Thyatis froze, the spear half raised. The lionesses were padding up behind the Nubian, heads low, tongues tasting the air. The black woman froze as well, seeing Thyatis pause.

  "Lie down, slowly." Thyatis found her footing, spear at her shoulder.

  The first lioness bolted forward in complete silence, haunches and paws blurring over the sand. Thyatis felt her nostrils flare. Muscles burning with effort, she ran forward, the spear firmly held at her waist.

  The Nubian woman pressed herself to the sand, hands curled over her neck.

  – |Pale shades of blue faded from the air with the last of Maxian's shield. He sat, legs crossed, at the southern edge of the amphitheater, high above the Imperial box. Far below, his brother was attending the games, sitting in regal splendor under a crimson canopy, his wife, Helena, doubtless at his side. Maxian calmed his thoughts and let physical sensation flow away. It was very difficult to remain still, to hold an image of a quiet pool foremost in his mind. He strove to banish all intent from himself.

  The power of the Oath curdled around him, shimmering darkly in the wooden planks, in the marble statues of the gods, in grains of sand far below. A tendril, rich with destruction, flowed across him. The Prince struggled to keep the pool calm and serene. Flight or resistance would mean destruction in the instant it would take to raise his wards and barriers. He lay open to the power of the Oath, here in the very crucible. It lapped up against him, flowed over him.

  It was like ice, freezing and cold, a perfect lattice of forms admitting no deviation.

  Maxian exhaled, slowly and evenly, and let death enter him with a drawing breath.

  Krista, in her desperate attempt to destroy him, had shown him a glimpse of the way. Though she had struggled against the Oath in his company, though she had been an enemy of the mindless power, she had escaped destruction. She had seen a road to survival where he had not. Fleeing from him in his exile at Ottaviano, she had embraced the dark power, vowing Maxian's destruction. A cancer it sought to drive from the body of the Empire. Maxian had laughed, realizing his earliest diagnosis had been correct in all but one critical element.

  The Oath was not an infection upon the body of the state and the people. He was.

  – |Sand scattered away as Thyatis crashed to the ground. She cried out, pain jolting through her side. The lioness bit down, claws raking the sand for traction. Gasping, Thyatis managed to wedge the haft of the spear into the beast's mouth. Five-inch fangs sheared past, inches from her face, grinding at the wood. She tried to roll, but the lion had her thigh pinned. Frantic, knowing the huntress would rake with a hind leg at any moment, Thyatis stabbed at the beast's eye with her right hand. It turned away, yowling, and she managed to roll free. The lioness spat out the spear, snarling, tail lashing furiously. Thyatis scuttled back and her foot ran into the Nubian girl's prostrate form.

  "Weapon!" Thyatis hissed, scrabbling behind her. The girl pushed something hiked into her hand. The lioness shook her head, then padded to the right. The other two lions were circling outside her arc of motion. Sweating now, heart racing in her chest, Thyatis turned as well, digging her feet in, trying to find purchase in the sand. The lioness doubled back, yowling, and Thyatis checked the heft of the blade in her hand. It was a large, single-bladed knife.

  Delightful.

  The lioness put its head low, tail lashing, eyes burning with rage. Thyatis went still, poised, waiting for the charge or leap. In a corner of her mind, her sense of smell told her the lioness thought she was a rival in heat, come to steal her mate. A flicker of sadness passed through her; black-mane must have been her male. His life was spilling out on the white sand a hundred feet away.

  The lioness leapt, a blur of motion, but Thyatis was ready. She twisted, taking the lion's charge on her moving arm. Her fist caught a ruff of fur at the neck and then she threw her own strength into the movement. The lion catapulted over, yowling in surprise, and slammed onto the sand with a crunch. Thyatis staggered, her arm burning with effort. Her teachers in the Open-Hand Way would be disgusted, her putting her own energy into the throw, but…

  The smaller of the other two lions charged in, fangs bared, biting at her neck. Thyatis' right forearm ground into the animal's neck, blocking it away from her head. The knife in her left hand flashed and then blood spattered as it sank into the lioness' shoulder. Thyatis staggered back, pressed by the beast's weight, striking again and again. The lioness yowled and leapt up, rear legs lashing out. Thyatis screamed, feeling her right thigh split open under razor-sharp yellow talons. Furious rage boiled up in her and she grappled as they rolled on the ground. Steel turned crimson as the blade stabbed, again and again, into the lion's chest. Thyatis suddenly found herself on top of the lioness and ground the knife down with both hands on the hilt.

  A huge, flat paw slamme
d into the side of her head, throwing her onto the ground. Blinking blood and sweat from her eyes, Thyatis rolled up, knife clenched in her hand. Blood covered her whole torso and flew from her hair. The young lioness was making a horrible bubbling sound, trying to yowl in fury, but her throat was torn out. Blood spilled onto the sand with each breath. Swaying, the lioness tried to move forward, but fell, the fire in the yellow eyes dimming like a fading lamp.

  "Here." The Nubian girl pressed a spear into Thyatis' hand, her face a cold mask. "Finish her. They shouldn't suffer like this."

  Thyatis took the spear and ran forward, lightly, her sandals slapping on the sand.

  Above her, in the stands, the crowd cheered wildly, sun hats held aloft. This was the best show they'd seen all year.

  Thyatis thrust the spear with all her strength, pinning the dying lioness to the ground. Iron grated on sand. A last spark of life guttered in the lambent eyes and then it was gone. Turning, blood and sweat streaming from her limbs, Diana felt a giddy rush of relief. The other lions slunk away. Attendants in black tunics advanced from iron-gated doorways set into the wall. They would kill or capture the remaining animals.

  Sound washed over her as Thyatis raised the spear in salute to the Emperor and the crowd. They were clapping and cheering.

  For you, my friends, find these gifts in the cold darkness, let this victory guide you, light your path in the dead world. O my friends, find the golden fields heavy with wheat. Drink deep of this life, sweet as wine.

  – |Sweat purled from Maxian's forehead, pooling in the cavity of his throat and shoulders. His shirt was sticky, clinging to his wiry torso. Yet, he lived and breathed and found himself suspended in an ocean of darkness. His balance was a delicate thing, keeping his perception alive, retaining his ability to flex power and alter the world. He struggled to blend into the pattern. The Oath was all around him, in him, pervading all things.

  I am not an enemy, he whispered into the darkness. I am a friend. A friend.

  He had not been annihilated. Indeed, it seemed that he floated in darkness, carried along with so many other patterns and forms. The Prince breathed slower, finding a welcome sense of relief in the balance.

  I am still alive.

  He opened his eyes. The sun was sliding down into the west. He wiped sweat from his eyes and rose, almost stumbling. It was draining to do nothing in this way. One of the guardsmen approached.

  "Bring me wine and something to eat." Maxian was startled by the raspy sound of his voice.

  "Of course, lord." The man hurried off.

  Maxian sat back down, his arms trembling. "Whooo…" He grinned, then smoothed back his hair. Salt stung his eyes, but he felt elevated, free.

  – |In the Imperial box, under the shade of a large canopy, Empress Helena looked up from her letter. Though the Emperor had to sit and observe the games, reacting with the crowd, indicating his pleasure or displeasure, the Empress was free to curl up in a large wicker chair. Some soft pillows were wedged behind her back and neck. Her attention had been drawn by a change in the sound of the audience. The bowl shape of the amphitheater funnelled sound into the Imperial box, magnifying it as if it were the mouth of a horn.

  Helena craned her white neck, looking out onto the sand. The first battle was done, some foolishness of wild beasts and slaves. One eyebrow, tinted with antimony and carefully shaped by the application of small golden tweezers, rose in surprise. The victors were a pair of women, one dark, one light. It seemed the animals had been defeated. This was unusual. Slaves and criminals rarely lasted long against the beasts. Against the professionals-the venatores-half-starved animals rarely triumphed. The two victors approached the Imperial box, herded forward by attendants in black robes and grotesque gray masks. The redheaded woman reluctantly yielded up a knife, a sword and a bloody spear, throwing them on the ground.

  Galen rose, sighing, heavy robes rustling. He stepped to the edge of the Imperial box, taking his time, making sure that everyone in the huge building could see and hear him. As he did so the murmur of the crowd fell away into silence. The matter of the prize monies and the palm branches was of considerable interest to the crowd. Helena sat up as well.

  "We have all waited for this day." The Emperor's words carried in the silence. The design of the amphitheater made his voice audible even in the highest seats. "I know many of you have been impatient for these games, fearing the spirits of the dead would take their displeasure out upon those who still live."

  A low rumble came back in response. Everyone in the city had expressed their opinion, at one time or another, of the Emperor's delay, usually in unflattering terms. Now that the games had begun, ushered in by a fabulous parade and three days of feasting on the Imperial ticket, the mood of the people had mellowed.

  "It is my belief," Galen continued, raising his voice slightly, "that something should be done well if it is to be done. Excellence in such things takes time. The people of Rome deserve the best games that can be provided. Are the citizens of this great city not the finest in the world, deserving of the best in all things?"

  A cheer rose, echoing from the statues on the highest level, reverberating from the encircling wall and the huge canvas sails now run out to shade the northern side of the amphitheater. More and more people had entered the Flavian as the day progressed and now it was near capacity. Everyone liked to hear how important they were and how much the Emperor cared to put on a spectacular show.

  "The portents are good," Galen declaimed, "and the first fights auspicious! Let these two brave Amazons come forward for their reward!"

  The Charon-masked attendants motioned for the redheaded woman and the Nubian girl to approach the Imperial box. They did so, but seemed paralyzed by fear. Helena frowned, seeing the Gaulish woman was staring down at the sand under her feet, unable to look up.

  "You are victorious," Galen cried, looking out at the crowd rather than down at the two convicts below him. "As Rome is victorious over the world! Your reward is not just life, though that is precious, but the acclaim of these citizens!"

  Again there was a tumult of cheering. Most of the people in the crowd weren't paying attention yet, this was just one of the warm-ups, but those that were had gotten good value for their money. Helena shook her head and rolled her eyes at the thought. Admission was free, though the allotment of seats was carefully controlled and the seats awarded only to the patricians and certain classes of the city. She turned back to her letter, ignoring the two convict women as they were presented with palm leaves and, in a Greek touch, crowns of holly.

  Dear Artemisia, she wrote, quill nib squeaking slightly on the parchment. I hope that you are well, or as well as can be, married to a flatulent ox…

  – |Thyatis stared at the crown of holly in her hand. It didn't seem right to put it on.

  "Go ahead!" The Nubian girl hissed out of the corner of her mouth. "It's expected."

  Keeping her head low, Thyatis put on the crown. One of the black-robed attendants jabbed at her with a spear and she turned, glaring at the man. It would take only one swift motion to snatch the spear away from him… but she did not. She put on the crown and raised her arms again. Scattered cheers came back. Then she and the Nubian girl were herded away into one of the tunnels that led out of the arena at ground level.

  "What is your name?" The Nubian girl was giggling. Thyatis understood perfectly-they had escaped death. It felt good, being alive. There was a delicious lassitude in her limbs, a fine afterglow. Far better than the gray dullness which had held her captive for so long.

  "Diana," she answered, clasping forearms with the slave. "And yours?"

  "Candace." The girl grinned, showing fine white teeth. "I guess we are Amazons!"

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The District of the Cisterns, Constantinople

  "Carefully, children, carefully!" The voice out of the darkness was fierce. Four of the Walach cowered on the walkway, clustered around a heavy pine crate. They had been trying to move the crate down
a narrow path of stone and rotting wood. Oily, dark water of unknown depth lay under the walkway. Mist pooled in the air, making vision and breath difficult. "Those things are precious."

  The Dark Queen appeared out of the fog, a black shape against gray mist. Lanterns hung from poles beside the walkway, throwing a shifting, fitful light across the mossy planks. Her face was a pale oval, white eyes gleaming in the darkness. The Walach crawled before her, pressing their faces to the wood.

  "Two of you ahead," she hissed, looming over them, "and two behind."

  The Walach boys took hold of the crate, musk glands oozing fear into the close, humid air. The Queen brooded, watching as they hauled the crate onto their shoulders. The walkway creaked alarmingly but did not give way. With careful steps, they inched down the path. The carved jadeite vases in the crate were absurdly heavy. Shaking her head in disgust, the Queen stalked up onto the platform. It galled her to have to move like this, in a hurry, rushed.

  Her platform was empty, stripped down to ancient beech planks. The Chin vases, covered with coiling dragons, birds and mountains wrapped in delicate cloud, were the last to leave. Snarling to herself, the Queen drew a vial out of her cloak and wrenched off the cap. A hiss escaped and she quickly turned her face away. Preserving her beauty had cost too much already; she hated the thought of losing what little remained. A flick of her thin hand scattered silver dust across the platform.

  She stepped back, the hem of the cloak over her face, and paced quickly away down the walkway. Behind her the platform began to smoke, sending up dark, curling wisps. Even in the heavy, warm air, she could feel the heat of the fire build. Within the hour, nothing would be left but the gorgon's heads, caked with soot. At the entrance, she leapt up the stairs, driven by anger.

  These Fates will rue the day they trifled with the Queen of Night!

  – |Her fury had not abated by the time she reached the highest point in the old acropolis. Zeus Pankrator had not visited his temple in millennia, but it remained a glorious structure, perched on a high hill overlooking the watery junction of the Golden Horn and the Propontis. From this vantage, the Queen looked out to the east. Below, in the harbor, her ships were putting out to sea, driven by long oars and the tireless backs of her children. There were six of them in all, fast merchantmen, and then the swift Helios pacing them as a guard. Huddled in their holds were the last of the surapa remaining in the city.