by Mira Zamin
Two days later, Calista cautiously teetered about the small hut, her feet splayed at odd angles to avoid placing pressure on the burns. Banonia could only gape at the rapidity of Calista’s convalescence, but insisted that Calista not leave the house; sand or dirt in her bandage would be death to remove and could irritate the wound enough to cause infection. Calista thought that at last, her accursed lineage was serving her.
As she healed, her desire to run back to Portus Tarrus to her mother and brother grew and grew. Now that she was so close, the feeling in her chest swirled harder than ever, but she knew that leaving too early could set her journey back weeks if she fell ill. And then there was Hadrian. While he was healing well, she could not move him from where he convalesced and would not leave him.
“I know what you are thinking,” he said.
Avoiding looking at the visage she had marred so terribly, Calista asked innocently, “What?”
“You’re restless. You want to leave, but you must realize the folly of traveling across the land, not even knowing where we stand or how far your home is.” She found it remarkable that his voice was as unchanged as his face was transformed.
She felt guilty skirting his gaze and she forced herself to unflinchingly look at Hadrian’s face. His features were still…marble-carved, smooth planed, minus the freshly scarlet pit which ran along the side of his cheek and chin, cutting from the corner of his eye to his jaw, narrowly missing his ear. His bandages had been removed momentarily to allow his wounds to breathe. They were healing and had acquired the sheen of new thin skin. Calista knew that burns were scattered beneath his robes. But it was not quite as bad as she had presumed, as her surreptitious glimpses had led her to believe. She thought back to what she had seen before. She knew her memory was accurate, and the rapid improvement of Hadrian’s wounds could only be explained by one thing: divinity. Fresh with hope, she thought of all the other people in Atlantis, hurt, yes, but healing just as miraculously as Hadrian. As amazingly as her.
“Not as beastly as you thought?” Hadrian smirked, the scar stretching painfully across his face.
Averting her eyes Calista murmured, “Not at all,” and limped to the pallet beside Hadrian for her feet burned with a ferocious agony. “I am sorry, you know,” she added. “I should have asked Thetis or Neptune to help, not Evadne.”
“I should be apologizing to you Calista. What you believed you had to do, you did with the most honorable of intentions. I behaved in a most ignoble fashion towards you; let me make amends. Let me help you rescue your family.” He looked up at her with sincerely gleaming eyes.
“What makes you think I’d want anything to do with you?” she snapped, feeling the same ugly emotions she’d felt the day of her departure uncoiling within her.
He flinched as if struck. “I understand.”
She look away as her deepest fears bubbled up within her: that she would never walk properly again, she would while away too much time recovering as her mother, brother, home, were destroyed by a relentless tyrant, that she had done the wrong thing in fleeing Portus Tarrus in the first place and that she would return too late…All thoughts of divine benefits slipped from her mind.
The door creaked open and Calista grasped Hadrian’s hand in shock. “Claudius.”
Ignoring Hadrian blandly, Claudius rushed to Calista, and to her eyes, he appeared as healthy as that faraway day when he had given her the chain. Not a single burn marred his complexion. His eyes ran over Calista and when they reached her feet, they halted dead. “You’re alive. You have no idea how I worried for you.” With those simple words, he seated himself beside Calista, still disregarding Hadrian who took the slight mildly.
Calista embraced him tightly. “How did you get here? Are you quite well? Have you seen Evadne or Philyra? Thetis? What of the others of Atlantis? How do they fare? How did find us?” She thought of how miraculous it was that both Hadrian and Claudius had washed up near her. Perhaps Neptune had heard her prayers after all.
He opened his mouth and then closed it, mulling over what to say and where to begin. Rubbing his aquiline nose absently, he said, “I was thrown up around here as I assume you were, and as you can see, I’m fine. How did I find you? I have traded with the people hereabouts, and they recognized me. When I asked them about you, they directed me here. As for the others…I have not seen them but no doubt they are somewhere and perfectly well.”
“You cannot know how relieved I am by the sight of you. At least I know the three of us survived and that gives me hope for the others.”
Hadrian muttered something.
“What was that?” Calista grinned. Her anger with Hadrian was dissipating.
Hadrian enunciated clearly, “I said, ‘It’s a happy occasion indeed, and fortuitously, there’s no drink about.” A grin fought with his cool facade.
“Fortuitous indeed,” agreed Claudius.
Laughter erupted. Tension was usurped by amusement, all the more hysterical for nerves. They fell silent as Banonia entered, her hands laden with bandages for Hadrian and Calista.
“Ah, Claudius, I see you found your friends,” she remarked. She set the bandages on the pallet and rolled her green sleeves past her elbows. Briskly, she applied salve to Hadrian’s cheek and tightly wound the strip of fabric around the wound.
She repeated the ministration with Calista’s foot. Its skin was now red and glossy, no longer overly soft and tender. “Both of you are healing remarkably quickly,” commented Banonia. “Although I do not think either of your skins will ever return to their former states you have…astounded me with the speed of your recovery. But you must remember to not apply undue force on those burns!”
With a wink at Hadrian, Calista said cryptically, “One would almost think some divine providence were at work here, hmm?”
Not noticing Calista’s attempted sly tone, Banonia replied earnestly, “Exactly! Highly unusual but clearly Borvo has blessed you two greatly. Both of you should give him your thanks.”
“There’s another god whom I intensely desire to thank,” muttered Calista, her jovial mood flagging as her mind lurched to Neptune and Atlantis.
“You should not say such things,” reprimanded Banonia.
Calista replied in a carefully modulated voice, “They are as flawed as you or I.”
Banonia dusted her hands and surveyed the room, ascertaining that nothing was out of place. Without responding to Calista’s comment she said, “I’ll have Lugurix bring up a meal for you three. You, Captain Claudius, I assume, will pay for your meal and stay here as well as anything else you will take?”
His blue eyes amused, Claudius drawled, “Of course.”
Satisfied, Banonia left the three alone.
Silence followed Banonia’s departure, for all three were filled with so much to say, they were unsure where to begin. Then, all three began speaking, a few syllables escaping their lips, followed by protestations that the others speak first.
“Calista, I would have thought that you would have dashed as soon as possible towards your family, injury or no injury,” Claudius said. “Although I must admit that I am thankful to have found you so quickly. A benediction of the gods.”
Vehemently, Calista replied, “Don’t speak to me of their blessing. If you speak to me of their meddling and insensibility I would be the first to concur with you but of their good will? They are fickle and foolish and one wonders how they came by such power. A wonder of wonders that such idiots managed any power.”
“Don’t say such things,” Claudius gently reprimanded.
Her nose stung. “My brother used to scold me when I would say such blasphemous things. Gods, I miss him.”
“And how do you intend to return to him? What schemes have you been plotting?”
She smiled. “I can’t see that the odds are in our favor.”
“What of hiring your own mercenaries? Or pleading your case in Rome?” Claudius said.
Calista rose and tested her feet against the floor despite Banon
ia’s recommendations. She drew in a sharp breath—although the pain was much less than it had been days before. She did not have all the time in the world and her task was the most urgent of all. “Mercenaries?” she snorted. “What would I pay them with? Feeble promises? I have no gold or wealth at my disposal and certainly my divine origins do not give me rights to demand others’ wealth for a cause as lost as this.
“There is no time for Rome. Had we more people, we could send someone to Rome but at this point, no person can be spared. We will not succeed unless some providence takes deep pity on us and frankly, I do not see that happening. And yet, I would rather die a thousand tortuous deaths than not try at all—and because of this, you should turn back. You owe me nothing.”
“On the contrary,” Hadrian said, “this seems like the perfect opportunity to make amends.”
Calista did not know how to reply to him. “We have very few advantages, you realize. I have spent these last few days tabulating exactly which things lie in our favor and which stand against us. In Atlantis, I believed that escaping was the greatest obstacle and after that everything would fall neatly into place.” She chuckled dryly.
Grimness shadowed Claudius’ face. “Our advantages…?”
Somewhat embarrassedly, Calista continued, “Well, surprise. Avaritus thinks I’m dead. It does not fully level the situation but it shifts the balance slightly. Enough, I hope, to break in, rescue my family, and assassinate Avaritus. Cut off the snake’s head and he is lost.”
Hadrian asked, “What of the mercenaries?”
“I doubt they will linger without Avaritus paying them.”
“I thought your goal was to rescue your family. Why must you kill Avaritus as well?” asked Hadrian gently.
Calista bit her lip. In Atlantis, when she could only handle two causes, she had held on to escaping the city and rescuing her family. Now that one of her obstacles had been surmounted, she added a new one. Avaritus. She could not imagine going to Portus Tarrus only to leave with that bastard still drawing breath. For what he had done to her and her family, for what he had shattered beyond repair, he deserved death. “It is the fate he deserves—and I intend to deal it to him. Soon.”
Without another word, Hadrian left the house and disappeared into the town. Calista limped to the door but did not venture through.
“Where do you suppose he is going?” asked Calista.
Claudius shrugged and the two waited quietly for their companion to return. That is, until, Claudius said, “Calista, do you love me? At all?”
Her face suffused with heat. Finally, she managed, “You are truly one of my greatest friends in the world Claudius. I owe you almost everything. I most certainly owe you my life. And before, in Portus Tarrus, you must understand. I was foolish, I was being forced into a marriage and you seemed such a hero in my eyes. But you are my brother, my own flesh, the same blood flows through our veins, and because of that, I can love you as nothing more than a dear friend and brother. I am sorry.” And she was. If Avaritus deserved death, then surely Claudius, kind and brave Claudius, deserved love.
Claudius turned away, so she could only see his broad back. “And do you love Hadrian?”
This inquiry astonished her almost as much as the other one had. She croaked, “I-I like him very much, yes.”
Tight-lipped, he turned to face her. “Tell him before you march to your death. I reckon he returns the sentiment. How could he not?”
“How could he what?” asked Hadrian, striding into the room. Bright humor hung about him and his cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement. By the same count, a slight sheen of clean perspiration clung to him.
“Ah, nothing!” exclaimed Calista in an unusually high-pitched voice, shooting Claudius a dangerous glance. “Just wondering where you had disappeared to!”
Hadrian announced with a flourish, “Domina Calista, you admit you lead us on a fool’s errand. Why wait for it to become a useless fool’s errand as time passes by? Come outside dear domina and see what I have procured!”
Exchanging curious looks with Claudius, Calista limped to the doorway. Upon the shifting sand whinnied three mares, all young and speckled different shades of gold, red and brown. The horses, barebacked but for the reins and bridle contraption, tossed their heads impatiently, tugging against the post to which they were tied. Bags brimming with food and bandages were strapped. to their backs.
Calista’s eyes widened. “Leave now?” She thought she had never heard a better idea.
“What better time?” replied Hadrian. A wide grin spread across his face as he leapt up onto his own horse, untying her from the post.
“Where did you learn to ride?” Calista asked curiously as she scrambled around the hut, searching for her sandals.
“Seahorses,” Hadrian responded seriously as he swung down from his mount and picked Calista up lest the sand worm into her bandages and placed her on a mare. “Come now my good man. Get up!” he said to Claudius.
Claudius seemed somewhat reluctant seat himself on his horse and carefully examined their rides and asked, “Where did you find these horses?”
Raising an eyebrow, Hadrian answered, “Bought them, of course. You can pay me back for the horses and food with your armband.” His heavy Atlantis heirloom ring was no longer on his finger, no doubt bartered for their mounts.
Thinking of the locket which was to have paid for two of these horses, Calista shook her head.
Wordlessly, Claudius tugged the band from his arm but instead of throwing it immediately to Hadrian, his careful fingers ran over its curling gold form, the ridges of lapis lazuli at the ends. Raising it to the bright sun, he squinted at it one last time before handing it to Hadrian. He flung himself onto his mare. Grunting, Hadrian heaved himself up and the three examined the sandy town which had housed and healed them. Pursing her lips tightly against remorse, Calista reeled away but then was immediately halted by the appearance of Lugurix with their meal in a basket.
Squinting against the sun, Lugurix demanded, “Where are you going?”
Calista exchanged a glance with Hadrian and said, “Home, Lugurix. And I thank you and your town, especially Banonia, from the bottom of my heart for the kindness you have shown us but my task is urgent and we must fly.”
The boy’s eyebrows squirmed of their own accord. “The Roman Road is perhaps, a mile away towards the sun. Good lu—” He ran into Banonia’s house and within a few moments reappeared with a basket laden with medicinal goods. “She will not mind,” he said in response to the surprised twist of Calista’s face.
Earnestly, Calista pulled the boy into a sidewise hug from her perch on the horse. “Thank you so much. I know that seems so inadequate but I will never forget you all. We will never forget.”
With a final wave, she wheeled her horse towards the sun. The Hadrian and Claudius galloped behind her though Calista’s turned around one last time to blow a kiss to Lugurix, her golden hair streaming behind her.
They rode on rapidly in silence, each attempting to grow habituated to riding. After all, Claudius was a seaman who was more accustomed to water transportation than land and as for Hadrian, despite his jesting about seahorses, horses had never factored into his existence. Calista’s own education in the matter was rudimentary at best. By the time they clattered onto the Roman Road, whose dark stones had smoothed from age, the three of them had managed some ginger semblance of a solid seat on their mounts.
Breaking the silence, Calista asked, “You have been here before, you said. How far are we from Portus Tarrus, Claudius?”
“You must remember that I came by sea; roads are liable to lead us to other ends.”
“Can you not judge by the sun and give us a distance?” Calista prodded.
Claudius barked a laugh. “We gauge distance and space by stars. I can only tell you that we are going in the correct direction by the sun. Let Apollo rest for the night before I give you any definite directions. If I had an itinerarium that would not even
be necessary. If only I had the presence of mind…”
“What is an itinerarium?” asked Hadrian.
Answering for Claudius, Calista explained, “It is a guide as to which cities come upon the Road and approximately how far each is from the other.”
In quiet discussion, they raced down the road, passing very few travelers. Around them, the world was still frozen in winter, with dark branches shaking overhead, occasionally broken by the green of firs. She loved the sight of trees, of the open sky. Of sights that were normal and utterly beautiful in that. Calista deeply inhaled the fresh air, which was touched just slightly with salt but heavily with the cold sweetness of approaching rain. Clouds had begun to coalesce in the sky above them. When Calista caught Hadrian staring openmouthed at his surroundings she could not hold back her laughter.
“What?” he asked, startled.
“You seem so confused by all this. It is not so terribly abnormal,” she laughed softly.
Grinning, he shook his head but did not reply. Atlantis was already beginning to seem like a fantasy she had conjured up. Except for Hadrian and her burns she would have thought the whole thing a delusion. She urged her horse to gallop faster, her light purple peplos flapping about her legs like a mad seagull. Now, she went to rescue the remnants of her life, the people she loved most in the worlds of mortals and immortals.
CHAPTER XXV
