The Gate of fire ooe-2

by Thomas Harlan

  – |Nikos' skull rapped hard against the side of a log, drawing a weak curse from him, and then Jusuf pushed him over the lip of the fallen tree. He fell on his broken arm, and the whole world suddenly burst into pain and an agonizing throbbing light. The Khazar rolled over the log right behind him, landing on the Illyrian's legs.

  "Mars! Get off me!" Nikos barely had the strength to curse, but Jusuf managed to crawl away.

  Nikos could only see the log in front of him, but suddenly the whole sky lit up with a blue-white light. Instants later a vast booming sound flattened the two men into the mud, and then a rush of flame and ruddy red light filled the world. The villa in the swale below them shattered, granite pillars weakened by the curse shattering like reeds, long tile roofs flying up in the air on a billowing pillar of flame. Walls tumbled down, crushed by the blast of fire, and the dead trees in the garden and on the surrounding hillsides burst alight.

  Jusuf and Nikos burrowed deeper, trying to get away from the stunning noise.

  Something rose from the fire, a long dark shape with wings of iron. It twisted, its scales shimmering in the heat haze, and bunched its mighty limbs under it. There was a shriek like a dying city and it sprang away into the black clouds. Thunder cracked in its passage, and a great hiss of steam rose as rain continued to pour down on the burning ruins of the villa.

  On the hillside, Jusuf raised his head, blinking mud and water from his eyes. Something rushed away overhead, high in the air, but he could not make out what it was. He spit mud and a broken tooth from his mouth. He rolled over, his mouth open in a cry of pain. Something had slashed his back open. Rain sluiced down over him, washing the mud from his face.

  Nikos, still stunned by the blast, and shocky with the pain of his shattered arm, tried to roll over. He was too weak. Mud slopped around his face, and he felt the hillside quiver.

  "Jusuf?" His voice was so weak, he could barely recognize it.

  The Khazar turned, his dark eyes slitted against the rain. Nikos gestured weakly at the hill above them. Jusuf looked up, seeing nothing but fire, dark trees, and an ebon sky. Then he squinted again; the trees were swaying, toppling over even as they burned fiercely. A haze of smoke and steam billowed up into the sky, joining with the clouds.

  As he watched, a tree, its crown burning merrily, slid sideways and crashed into one of its fellows. Then Jusuf felt the quiver under his feet and heard the rumbling of boulders grinding under the earth. The entire slope above them, loosened by rain and the eroding influence of the Oath, had separated. The Khazar looked around wildly, seeing the burning villa suddenly rush toward them. He cursed, a dreadful oath of his people.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Thira

  "This is Herakles," Thyatis said with a grin. "He is the only man allowed on Thira, for he serves the Matron of the Island, and the Goddess."

  Shirin smiled back and ran a slim hand along the curving prow of the ship. It was a single banked galley, no more than forty feet long, with sleek flanks and a wickedly sinuous line. Two deep steering oars were slung at the back, and it was built low to the water. The flanks were Miletian oak, carefully carved and bent to form the hull. A black varnish covered the ship, both the planking and the seating on the low rowing benches. Thyatis swung up onto the railing and dropped inside. The ship trembled, even at her weight. Shirin followed, her sandals-calfskin with long, thin lacings that ran up to just under her knee-squeaking on the deck. The whole vessel breathed speed and power.

  "There are no other men on the island?" Shirin considered this and found it pleasing.

  "No-nor have there ever been." Thyatis walked aft and stepped up onto a bench set behind the two steering oars. She sat, folding her legs under her. The Roman woman was clad in the dark green tunic, bronze greaves and arm-brace of one of the parthenos of the Order. A round straw hat hung at her back from a thong looped around her neck. Shirin came up to stand by her, but she leaned on the stern rail and looked out into the lagoon that lay behind the ship. The Khazar woman was wearing only a short cotton shift, bound at the waist with a belt of pale-brown leather, and her hair was braided back in a single thick ponytail. She had spent the day in the training circle, sparring with the other students. Her first examinations were coming up soon.

  Herakles was nestled in a deep-mouthed sea cave that opened out onto the central lagoon of the island. Once, ages before, a cyst had formed in the flank of the ancient volcano. Over eons of time, the shell-like walls of the cavity had worn away until, at last, the sea spilled into the lagoon. In time, the Sisters had come and found the island and made it their home. Then the opening had been carefully widened and improved. Two quays of black basalt had been built out into the cave, providing mooring for the ships that plied the waters of the Mare Aegeum on the business of the sisterhood. This late in the day, the sun had already fallen behind the towering cliffs that ringed the lagoon, plunging the center of the island into a twilit gloom.

  Still, from the back of the galley, Shirin could see the sky-fading to purple and deepest blue-reflecting in the quiet waters of the lagoon. Even here, in the cave, the sweet smell of the sea and the flower gardens of the hidden city reached her. The Princess marked the quiet that had settled upon them, rocking gently in this ship of war. So like Thira, she mused, filled with unexpected moments of solitude.

  She turned, looking down upon her friend. Thyatis was sitting quietly, her legs crossed in the manner favored by the teacher Mikele, watching Shirin with troubled eyes.

  "Oh, such a look you give me! Are you sad?" Shirin sat and took Thyatis' hand in her own.

  "I will miss you," Thyatis said, her lips quirking down on one side. "I wonder if we will see each other again after I go."

  One of Shirin's eyebrows crept up toward her rich dark hair. She frowned. "You had better return," she growled, squeezing Thyatis' hand. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life cooped up on this island-as restful as it may be. Too, you and that mean uncle of mine have spirited my children away. I miss them terribly."

  Thyatis smiled wryly and raised Shirin's hand-slim and dark-to her lips. "I know you miss the little ones," she said, "and all of us will be back together as soon as it is safe. As soon as I reach the Duchess I will find out if the Eastern Emperor is still hunting for you. If he has abandoned that stratagem, we will all go to Rome together."

  Shirin cocked her head to one side and pointed with her chin. "They cannot come here? Wouldn't it be safer on the island? Rome must be a very hive of intrigue, even in times of peace. I know you hold this Duchess in great trust, but these are my children."

  Thyatis laughed and brushed a tangle of curls over her shoulder. Shirin was half standing again, her eyes flashing in almost anger. "Pax! Pax! Your daughters could come, but Avrahan and little Sahul could not. We will meet Jusuf and Nikos and the others in Rome, then find someplace safe for you to raise them up."

  "Perhaps," Shirin said, sitting down, her face serious. "Have you thought upon what we will do-being together, raising this family-beyond just these moments? Our time on this island? Escaping these troubles that now circle us around like dire wolves in winter?"

  Thyatis' face blanked for a moment, her thought turned inward, but then her eyes cleared and she nodded slowly. "Yes, my love, I have thought on it." Thyatis took a small cedar box out of her blouse. It was a deep red and delicately carved with winding flowers and tree trunks. A copper clasp held it closed. She held it for a moment, looking at it, and then offered it to Shirin. "I once spoke with your cousin Dahvos about the customs of your fathers, while we were mewed up in an attic in Tauris. He said that among your people it is customary to give a parting gift to those you love, something to indicate you will return and that they are close to your heart while you are away."

  Shirin took the little box and turned it over in her hand. Her deep brown eyes looked up, and Thyatis felt a little shock at her gaze. The Princess was smiling, the hidden smile that meant the most to Thyatis.

  "Among my people," Thya
tis continued, clasping her hands together nervously, "we have no matching tradition, or any way for a woman to express to another woman what she might feel. But here, on the island, there is the hand-fasting that one Sister may make to another. Such things are sealed with a token. This… this I brought for you out of the house of dreams, out of Ctesiphon. I saw it, and knew that it was meant for you."

  Shirin opened the box and her eyes lit up and the cupid's bow of her mouth curved into a smile. She reached inside and drew out a fine golden chain. At the end of the chain, set into a simple curve of white gold, was a single perfect bloodred jewel the size of Thyatis' thumb.

  "The Eye of Ormazd," Shirin breathed in delight. She held it up, and the jewel caught the light of the torches at the end of the quay, shining like a fallen star. Golden red light played on her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and the curve of her neck. "The rarest of jewels-the fire opal of the uttermost East. The wedding price of Shapur the Victorious to his lover, the Queen Yehana of Balkh. Carried out of fallen Amida by the warrior king in his greatest triumph. Worth a kingdom-"

  "Worthy of an empress," Thyatis said, her hand tracing the line of Shirin's cheek. "Worthy of you, my love. This is my pledge: I will return to you, I will bring you to your children. I will stay by your side until the end of our days. Will you take it?"

  Shirin's eyes glistened, and she settled the gold chain around her neck. The Eye nestled between her breasts, still glowing with captured firelight. It was warm to the touch. Under her fingers the surface of the jewel was as fine as silk. "I accept your gift and your promise, dear barbarian." Shirin's voice was thick with emotion. "I will wait for you to return, but heed me! If you do not come soon, I will come looking for you. Do not think that a pretty bauble like this will keep me locked away and content!"

  Thyatis laughed, her face wry. "I would not dream that it would. If the winds are fair, I should be to Rome and back within six months. Can you wait that long?"

  "Perhaps," Shirin said, looking away with an imperious mien. "I may become bored here on this island with nothing to do but train and think and meditate… I may go mad, too, if nothing exciting happens."

  "Pray, beloved!" Thyatis raised a hand in a sign of warding against disaster. "Take the peace that comes with this blessed isle-do not seek out trouble or excitement! The Matron is getting along in years, and her heart may not bear up…"

  Shirin laughed, her eyes shining, and tweaked Thyatis' nose. "You are a silly and beloved barbarian. I am a guest here and I will not dishonor the guest-right."

  Smiling, Thyatis leaned close and Shirin met her lips.

  After a time, they parted and sat in silence, listening to the waves lap against the quayside and echo from the high ceiling of the darkening sea cave.

  – |"Back oars!" The steerswoman of Herakles had a voice like a bullhorn, echoing loudly in the sea cave. At the prow, Thyatis let go of Shirin's fingers and pressed fingertips to her lips. On the quay, Shirin stood up and returned the blown kiss. The galley, trim and riding even lower to the sea now that forty of the strongest parthenae on the island had taken their places on its rowing benches, slid backward as the leaf-shaped oars bit the water. Behind the Princess, the Matron and her attendants were gathered in a silent cluster. Herakles scudded out into the brightness of day, onto the glassy green surface of the lagoon. Thyatis stared into the dark entrance of the sea cave, momentarily blinded, and Shirin was gone.

  Herakles spun around its long axis as it slipped across the lagoon, one bank of rowers digging in while the others held their oars, shining with seawater, high in salute. Thyatis sat down, taking her place at the first rank of oars. The galley completed its evolution, and the gleaming walls of the city, bright with summer flowers and the muted splendor of the statues and temples, rose up before her. Facing the stern, Thyatis watched the sea cave as it receded. It hurt more to leave than she had expected.

  Herakles moved swiftly across the water of the lagoon, leaving a fine curling wake in the crystalline water. Behind her, Thyatis could hear the booming roar and thunder of waves in the passage. At the base of the stern, an elderly woman raised a hand, her head cocked to one side. The rowers halted their stroke and shipped oars a half-length. The ship slid forward, carried by momentum into the passage. Vast, dark volcanic walls rose up, closing off the sky. The temperature dropped, and a wind picked up, driven out of the bowl of the lagoon. The steerswoman leaned on the oars, guiding them down the narrows. A dozen yards were all that stood between the walls of the passage and the sides of the ship.

  All this Thyatis ignored, watching the distant black cavity of the sea cave until at last, as the passage turned a little, it disappeared from view. At that last moment, as the jagged cliffs closed off the view of the lagoon, there was a momentary bright red flash, an eye winking in darkness, and then the hidden city and all that it contained were gone.

  The tumultuous sound of the waves in the entrance to the passage rose higher and higher, drowning out even the loudest shout. The current picked up, rushing through the passage, a swirling boil of violent waters. Only twice a day did the passage run out, pulled by the sun-and moon-tide in conjunction. At these times, carefully charted by the astrologos of the Temple, it was possible for a ship to escape the island. Otherwise, only ruin waited for any ship foolish enough to dare the sharp volcanic teeth of the passage or the reefs beyond. Now they ran with the current, the ship bucking and twisting as the sweep of the waters swerved first against this cliff face and then against the other.

  Suddenly, darkness closed in around them-they were in the heart of the passage-and then sunlight fell upon them again; they were in the Crucible, where the passage turned a little, making a bowl that in all other times was a howling whirlpool. The Titans flashed past, their massive graven arms and legs standing out from the cliffs. Even now, when she had seen them before, Thyatis felt a chill at the grim faces that loomed out of the rock, half entombed, a hundred yards high. Then they were gone, and the steerswoman leaned hard into the current. The old woman at the base of the stern made a sign, and the rowers prepared to unship oars at her signal.

  Herakles burst forth from the wall of Thira, a wooden bolt shot from the engine of the passage's wave surge. For a sickening instant the ship rode up the side of a massive breaker that was gathering itself up to smash into oblivion on the crags of the island. The old woman's hand slashed down, and the rowers struck the water as one, their oars biting into the curling green wall that loomed over them.

  The ship shuddered as the oars caught the water and dug deep. Herakles surged up the rising wall, already raised twenty feet or more by the growing mountain of water. The prow suddenly cut free of the top of the wave, spearing into the air, and a fierce shout from behind warned Thyatis to ship her oar as fast as humanly possible. Herakles' limbs scuttled back inside the body of the galley as the ship tipped and then rushed down the back slope of the wave like a thrown javelin. It splashed deep, the nose of the ship digging into the valley of water between the wave and the open sea, then surged up again, spilling bright water over the foredeck.

  Thyatis laughed in joy at being alive, drenched as she was, and she and the thirty-nine parthenos slid oars out. As one, they pulled and the ship leapt forward, on the open sea at last. Herakles surged forward, foam boiling at her prow, the wine dark sea open before her. The steerswoman began to sing, her strong voice rising above the creak of the oars and the murmur of the sea.

  Behind them the crag of Thira rose, barren and bleak, a sullen black thumb thrust from a turbulent ocean.

  – |The sun settled on the horizon, a great orb of red and gold, turning the wave tops and the sea into an ocean of fire. The sky, clear and cloudless, shaded from pale gold to pink and then to the deep of night. Stars began to gleam in the firmament above, slowly crowding the eastern sky. Shirin walked alone on the northern shore of the island, her bare feet leaving a long line of tracks in the fine black sand of the narrow beach. The moon was rising, huge and yellow, ov
er the eastern rim of the world. Soon the sea would disappear into a black void, marked only by the phosphorescence of the breakers: The Princess was troubled and had been sent away from the day's training by Mikele.

  Your mind and body are far apart, the Chin woman had said. Go find them.

  Shirin stopped, feeling the edge of the surf curl up over her toes. The water was warm and it spilled around her ankles, sighing. She looked out over the waters. Somewhere to the north and west, her friend sped away from her, driven by wind and oar toward distant Rome. Rome and her children and her uncle. Her family was far away, and she was alone. "Is this what I want?" she spoke aloud, though there was no one to hear her. Shirin bent her head in thought, casting her mind ahead, over years and decades that might come. Some things made her smile, others frown. So she walked, under the moon, alone on a deserted beach by an empty sea.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Forum, Roma Mater

  The sun stood high in the sky, shedding its beneficent rays upon glorious Rome.

  Galen Atreus, Caesar, and Augustus, wiped sweat from his brow as he came to the last and highest step of the great staircase that vaulted up from the floor of the Forum to the gatehouse of the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Behind him, filling the plaza of the Forum to capacity and beyond, sixty thousand Roman citizens raised their voices in a chant of victory. Here, from the height of the Capitoline hill, looking back upon them, Galen saw a shimmering sea of color and upturned faces. The beat of their voices in the air washed over him like the surf of some fantastic sea. He raised his arm, saluting them, proclaiming victory. Their voices raised up again, and the sound was a storm on the height.

  "Ave! Ave, Imperator!"

  At his side, Galen felt his brother raise his arm as well, and then the ranks of legionaries both in the plaza below and arrayed along the sides of the steps. Each man saluted the city and the people, and there-across the plaza-on the steps of the Curia Julia-the senate of Rome. The senators, as one, raised their arms in reply and great horns sounded, winding a long, solemn note. At this, the lictors and attendants who had preceded Galen up the long staircase turned and entered the platform that housed the Temple of Jupiter.