Past Lives (The Past Lives Chronicles Book 1)

by Terry Cloutier

  Lepida chuckled in the dark. “Flavius has many friends in the legion. He had word sent to me, asking for my help.”

  “To free me?” Malcolm asked, overwhelmed by Flavius’ last act of friendship. “But if you could do this for me, why didn’t you try to free him instead?”

  “Because you were segregated from the other prisoners in camp, and he was not. Besides, there wasn’t enough time for me to get here. By the time I learned any of this, he’d already been killed.”

  Malcolm nodded, understanding everything now except for one thing. “How did you manage this, Lepida? I mean no offense, but you’re not exactly young and spry anymore.”

  Lepida laughed low in her chest as she moved away. “Which means no one in this camp considered me a threat.” Light suddenly entered the enclosure as the old woman slipped aside the tent flap, allowing faint moonlight in that revealed two bodies lying twisted on the ground. Malcolm knew without having to ask that they were his guards. “There isn’t a legionnaire in the world who can resist hot pinsa on a cold night,” Lepida explained.

  “You poisoned them and waited for them to die before you dragged the bodies in here,” Malcolm said, remembering the female voice he’d heard before falling asleep. He carefully pushed himself to his feet, wobbling as he felt pins and needles working their way along his toes as the blood started to flow freely again.

  “I did,” Lepida said, looking tired and worn out in the moonlight. “That big one over there gave me a frightful time.” She glanced at Malcolm with a reproachful look. “I was hoping for some help from you, but you wouldn’t wake up, so I had to do it myself before someone noticed. My poor back will never recover.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Lepida,” Malcolm said, worried now for the old woman’s safety as he thought about what she’d done. “But you have to know they are going to figure out what you did and come for you.”

  “Let them,” Lepida said with a shrug, looking unworried. “And when they do, I will have already joined my husband in the kitchens of the gods, knowing that our debt to the Geta family has been paid in full. I cannot think of a better way to leave this world than that. So trust me when I say, Maximus, that coming here for Flavius was not only an honor, it was a relief to make things right between us.”

  Malcolm took in a deep breath, knowing this was the way that it had to go. He hobbled over to the woman and put a grateful hand on her boney shoulder. “I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

  “That is more than enough, young man,” Lepida said, patting his hand. “I could see how much my dear Flavius cared for you earlier, so any friend of his is a friend of mine.” She glanced down at the corpses and grimaced. “Now that my task is done, I must return to my shop where hot pinsa and my husband await me. Whatever happens from this point on is up to you, Maximus. Good luck.”

  Lepida passed through the entrance without another word and disappeared into the gloom. Malcolm stared after her, shaking his head and marveling at the courage it had taken for her to come here. He had needed a miracle to escape and he’d gotten one from the most unlikely of sources. Malcolm thought suddenly of the universe and his theory that the timelines constantly self-corrected, naturally avoiding paradox. Was this just another example of that, or had meeting Flavius and then Lepida simply been nothing but dumb luck? Malcolm wasn’t really sure, but he hoped for the sake of all future generations that it was the former. He stooped down, working quickly to strip the dead Romans of their gear until he’d outfitted himself as best he could. His disguise wouldn’t pass close inspection, but hopefully, he could reach Claire without being noticed and it wouldn’t matter. The sentries on the ramparts should all be looking outward, not worrying about a single legionnaire who couldn’t sleep, and with the late hour, he was betting no one else but him would be moving around.

  When he was ready, Malcolm stepped outside, pulling the cloak he’d taken from the bigger of the two Romans around him. The night was cool and his breath rose in tiny wisps that curled around his helmet, illuminated by the moonlight and flickering glare from the torches on the walls. He could see the shadowy forms of sentries walking the dirt ramparts as he’d expected, but other than that, the camp looked almost abandoned. Malcolm knew better as he made his way through the neatly aligned tents, heading for the via principalis while the sounds of men snoring inside the tents filled his ears.

  He finally reached the main street and stopped in surprise as a legionnaire appeared out of the gloom, almost bumping into him. Malcolm dropped his hand to his gladius, but the man simply mumbled something about needing to take a piss in a sleepy voice and continued past him. Malcolm just nodded his head, saying nothing as he kept walking in the opposite direction. He finally reached the open square of the forum and paused there, studying the towering praetorium that stood less than a hundred feet away. Consul Carbo would be inside that tent, Malcolm knew. But would Claire be with him? Malcolm guessed she would be, somehow sensing that she wasn’t far away. But to get to her, he’d need to deal with the two guards standing at attention outside the Consul’s tent first.

  “They’re all yours, Artturi,” Malcolm whispered as he removed the dagger he wore on his hip, holding it in his right hand hidden by his cloak. He began to walk forward, moving at a brisk pace as if he had important business on his mind.

  One of the sentries saw him almost immediately and he lifted a hand as Malcolm drew closer. “The Consul is not allowing visitors tonight. Come back in the morning.”

  Malcolm started to answer, but his words were cut off by a muffled scream from inside the praetorium. Claire! Malcolm had to force himself not to dash forward, needing to be close to the sentries before he unleashed Artturi. Whatever was happening to Claire inside that tent, he knew he wouldn’t be able to help her if he lost his head and things went bad for him out here. First deal with the problem before you, Malcolm told himself, then you can go to Claire’s aid. He kept walking, not changing his pace as he tried to keep his face as blank as possible, while inside, he could feel his heart thudding against his ribcage.

  “Are your ears on backwards?” the same legionnaire growled as Malcolm kept coming. The man was big, with a twisted nose that had clearly been broken more than once.

  Neither soldier had lowered their spears toward him yet, which Malcolm took to be a good sign. “Is the Consul all right?” he asked, drawing closer still. “Should I call for a physician?”

  The shorter of the two sentries on Malcolm’s right chuckled. “You must be new or stupid,” he said. “Either way, you’ll get used to the screaming after a while. Now I suggest you listen to Calienus and come back in the morning.”

  “But it’s important,” Malcolm protested, not slowing.

  The man’s features hardened as Malcolm finally stopped six feet away from the two legionnaires, keeping his head down so that his hood threw a shadow over his face. “We’re showing you more courtesy here than you deserve. If Sergius and Barbatio had been on duty instead of us, you’d already be on your arse. So turn around and go away, or we’ll be forced to make you.”

  “Can I at least show you why I’ve come?” Malcolm asked, fumbling within his cloak. “I have it right here.”

  The big man named Calienus rolled his eyes. “Fine, if that’s what it takes to get rid of you.” He glanced at his companion and shook his head. “It’s easier to shake the pox than this bastard.”

  The smaller legionnaire laughed, holding out his hand. “All right, friend, give me what you have.”

  “Here it is!” Malcolm grunted as he let Artturi loose.

  The Cimbri warrior jabbed outward with the dagger, taking the small man in the throat even as he used his foot to sweep the legs out from under Calienus to his left. The big soldier fell hard, the breath exploding from his lungs as he hit the ground, looking shocked. Artturi leaped on him like a cat, clamping his hand over the man’s mouth as he stabbed upward into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. Calienus shuddered, gagging on his own blood
before his eyes fluttered and he lay still. Malcolm waited after that, listening, but he heard nothing other than the sounds of his own breathing and intermittent moans coming from inside the tent. He glanced over at the second legionnaire, who was lying on his side staring at Malcolm with sightless eyes, his face still twisted in surprise.

  Satisfied that no one had heard or seen anything, Malcolm stood, wiping the knife on his cloak as he pushed his way into Consul Carbo’s tent. He paused just inside, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that awaited him. Claire stood suspended in the center of the tent, naked and balanced on her toes on a curved wooden slab, held there by a rope tied around her thin wrists. Her head hung limply against her pale chest, and her face was hidden by her hair as long rivulets of blood rolled down her legs to pool on the wood beneath her. Claire was making a low, pitiful sobbing sound as Carbo stood in front of a desk with his back to the girl while he hummed as he wrote on a piece of paper.

  “Claire!” Malcolm finally managed to say, the word more a growl of outrage than anything else as he rushed forward.

  Claire didn’t react at all to his voice as Carbo whirled around, his eyes widening in surprise. “It’s you!” he gasped in disbelief, the color draining from his features.

  “It’s me, you son of a bitch!” Malcolm grunted as he took three long strides toward the Consul.

  “Guards!” Carbo managed to squeak out in a frightened voice, looking terrified as he shrank back.

  Malcolm reached the man and reversed the dagger in his hand with a quick flip, then used the hilt like a battering ram, shoving it as hard as he could into Carbo’s soft stomach. He would have loved to kill the bastard, but history recorded that Carbo had taken his own life in disgrace after being impeached and exiled. Malcolm was determined to see that fate happen. The Consul gasped, dropping a small whip Malcolm hadn’t noticed he’d been clutching in his left hand and almost falling if not for the desk behind him. Malcolm tossed the dagger he held aside, afraid he might still be tempted to use the pointy end, then balled his fist and pounded two savage rights into the Consul’s face. Carbo sagged beneath the blows, his eyes fluttering as blood sprayed from his nose and lips, then he dropped to the carpeted floor and lay still.

  Malcolm spit on the prone body, then hurried over to Claire, supporting her in his arms as he drew his gladius and cut her bonds. “It’s all right now, Claire,” Malcolm said in a gentle voice, horrified at what had been done to her. Claire moaned, unable to stand on her own, her eyes filled with pain and horrible suffering. Malcolm glanced around, then guided Claire toward Carbo’s luxurious bed, setting her down as carefully as he could. Claire screamed the moment her skin touched the soft covers, and Malcolm cursed himself for a fool, turning her on her side. He could feel his stomach churning with anger and disgust as he stared at the crimson streaks crisscrossing her legs, back, and buttocks.

  “You sadistic bastard,” Malcolm hissed, pausing to glance with loathing over his shoulder at the unconscious Consul. Claire moaned again and Malcolm turned back to her. “It’s all right now,” he said as he knelt over the girl. He pushed back some strands of loose hair that had fallen into her eyes. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.”

  Claire put a shaking arm around his neck, drawing him down in a grateful hug even as she hissed in pain as her wounds stretched open. Malcolm could see the coverings beneath her were already streaked red with blood, knowing he needed to stop the flow first before getting her out of there.

  Malcolm gently extricated himself from Claire’s embrace, hesitating as she moaned in protest. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her. “I’m just going to get something to treat your wounds and find you some clothing.”

  Claire let her arm drop to the bed as she slowly relaxed. She smiled weakly and glanced past Malcolm as he stood, her eyes widening even as she opened her mouth and screamed in warning. Malcolm whirled, his brain registering that Carbo was almost upon him with his right hand already thrusting the discarded dagger for his back. Malcolm snatched at his sword, knowing even as he did so that he would be too late. He started to wince, anticipating cold steel penetrating his flesh, but Claire had other ideas and she launched herself off the bed, shoving Malcolm out of the way. The blade meant for Malcolm’s vulnerable back hissed through empty air and kept going, plunging into Claire’s stomach instead. She cried out as the point went in, then screamed again as Carbo twisted and tugged at the blade, cursing as the weapon stuck for a moment before ripping free with a sucking sound. Claire stood in shock, looking down at herself before she slowly dropped to her knees, her face still frozen in disbelief as she clutched at the horrendous wound.

  “Claire!” Malcolm cried out.

  “You stinking barbarian!” Carbo snarled as he turned and slashed with the dagger at Malcolm, who just managed to leap backward, feeling the blade scraping against his cuirass as it passed. “Come into my house, will you!” the Consul spat, his bloodied lips quivering with rage. “Disturb my work, will you!”

  Malcolm felt Artturi reaching for the gladius and he held him back as the Cimbri warrior hissed in frustration. As much as the man deserved it, Malcolm wanted him alive, so he waited, biding his time as Carbo crouched, weaving the dagger in front of him. The Consul’s face was bright red with anger, and he finally made his move, jumping forward and cutting through the air at Malcolm’s midsection with a vicious backhand. But Malcolm was ready for him this time and he blocked the Consul’s attack using his left arm, then grabbed Carbo’s wrist that held the dagger with his right hand. Malcolm twisted until the blade pointed down, then he squeezed with everything he had, both men almost eye to eye. Carbo cried out, trying to resist, but the pressure was too much, and finally, with a whimper, he dropped the dagger. Malcolm snarled, letting Artturi free for a moment as he drew his head back and smashed the crest of his helmet into the other man’s face. Carbo squealed and staggered backward, stumbling over a stool and falling to the floor, where he lay sobbing and holding his ruined face with both hands.

  Malcolm picked up the dagger, barely glancing at the fallen man as he dropped to his knees beside the stricken girl. “Oh, Claire,” he whispered in dismay as she stared helplessly at him. Both her hands were covered in gore as she pressed them to the wound, trying to keep her internal organs from dropping out. Malcolm couldn’t tear his gaze away from all the dark blood, horrified by the sheer volume pooling around her. “I’m so sorry,” he said, feeling incredibly guilty. “I should have kept my eye on the bastard.”

  Claire smiled sadly, looking resigned as she lifted one hand away from her wound to rub his arm. Slime-covered intestines immediately slipped out of her to lie glistening on the carpet.

  “Goddamn it!” Malcolm grunted, trying to shove the organs back in while clamping off the wound with his hand as best he could. He finally gave it up as hopeless and lay the girl prone on the floor, then used some of the bedding to try to staunch the blood. But within a matter of seconds, the cloth was already drenched. “I’ll go get help,” Malcolm said, coming to a decision. Claire’s wound was beyond his ability to fix, and the only chance she had was for him to find a physician. The Romans would capture him again, he knew, but it was a small price to pay to keep Claire alive. She grabbed his arm as he turned to go, holding him back, then shook her head as she made a weak writing motion in the air with her hand. It took Malcolm a moment to understand what it was she wanted. “Your tablet?” he asked. “You want your tablet? Now?” Claire nodded, and Malcolm glanced around. “Where is it?”

  Claire pointed with a shaking, blood-smeared hand to Carbo’s desk, and Malcolm jumped to his feet, pausing over the Consul where he lay curled up on the floor. The man was still sobbing, though Malcolm thought he could see a sheen of resistance rising in his eyes now. “If you move from that spot, or even sneeze,” Malcolm said as he pressed the point of the dagger against the Consul’s throat. “I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

  “I can make you
rich,” Carbo said in a muffled voice from behind his cupped hands. “Richer than any barbarian could ever dream of being.”

  Malcolm snorted and shook his head. “As I said, one move from you and I’ll gut you like a fish. And that’s a promise.” Malcolm went to the desk, seeing Claire’s tablet sitting on the corner. He brought it back to the girl and knelt beside her again as she motioned for him to open it. Malcolm glanced at Carbo, ensuring he hadn’t moved, then held the wooden boards above Claire as she fought to write. It took her a long time, and finally, when she was done, he turned the tablet and read, frowning at the words.

  I’m sorry it has to end like this. I was looking forward to more of our talks on the way back.

  “This isn’t the end, Claire,” Malcolm said, feeling helpless, knowing by the ashen color of her skin that she had little time left. “Besides, you told me we were both immortal, remember?” he added with a sad smile.

  Claire tried to smile in acknowledgment as she stared up at the ceiling, her thin body shivering all over. Malcolm could see her lips were rapidly turning blue, and he drew the rest of the bedclothes off the bed and tucked them around her. He checked on Carbo again, but the man hadn’t moved as he watched them both with a look of rapt wonder on his face. Malcolm looked away, feeling nothing but revulsion for the man. He sheathed his dagger, feeling his heart stop for a moment when he looked back at Claire, thinking she was gone as she lay still with her eyes closed. But then her eyelids flickered and she looked at him, motioning with a groan for the tablet again. Malcolm obediently held it out as she wrote, this time having to rest several times before she finally got the words down. Claire looked up at him then, her mouth working as if desperate to say something, then her eyes fixated over his shoulder and her body went limp.

  “Claire?” Malcolm whispered. He shook her shoulder, knowing even as he did so that she was dead. He could feel something inside him unraveling, a familiar essence that he’d carried with him almost from the moment he’d entered this timeline. It was Claire’s consciousness leaving, he realized as he sat back, holding her hand and feeling a crushing weight of loneliness fall over him. He looked down at the tablet in his hand as tears threatened and he shook his head, knowing that he was being silly. Claire wasn’t really dead—she had just moved on. He’d be seeing her soon enough in another life, and this time they’d finally be able to communicate without having to use a stupid tablet. Malcolm slowly turned that tablet over and stared down at the words Claire had written in the wax.