TERRA (The Portal Series, Book 2)

by Bowker, Richard;

  "I think Decius has a different plan in mind," Affron said, pouring himself a cup of wine and drinking it down.

  "Indeed," the governor murmured.

  Valleia looked from one to the other. "And what is that plan?" she asked.

  "What is the highlight of the Games?" Affron responded.

  "The chariot race, of course," Valleia answered.

  "And who is always at the race to crown the victor, in front of two hundred thousand cheering citizens?" Decius asked.

  Valleia finally seemed to get it. "The pontifex," she whispered.

  "Of course. It is the one time he appears in Roma, along with his vice pontifexes. And what if, at that very moment, the gods strike him dead?"

  We fell silent, contemplating this idea.

  Finally Decius continued. "Now the people are triumphant. Their prayers have been answered! Rumors sweep the city that Affron is still alive, that he will become the new pontifex. The people demand Affron. Affron's many supporters in Urbis are emboldened; opposition to him crumbles. He comes out of hiding, is acclaimed pontifex, and a new age dawns for Terra. No need to sneak into Urbis. No need to worry about the soldiers. No need to kill anyone—except Tirelius. And, I suppose, his cronies."

  "Or, perhaps, I merely drive them mad," Affron said.

  Decius shrugged. "Madness might be better," he replied. "The judgment of the gods would be even clearer."

  "But what if Tirelius decides it is too dangerous to show up?" I asked.

  He glanced at me darkly, as if wondering why I dared to speak to him. I realized he probably thought I was just a servant. "Tirelius will have to show up," he replied. "The pontifex always comes. To stay in Urbis would be an admission of weakness."

  Valleia looked at Affron, who stared down at his wine cup. "I don't like it," she said.

  "Why not?" Decius asked.

  "It puts too much pressure on Affron."

  "To do what he did back in that room to me and my soldiers? Was that difficult, Affron?"

  Affron rubbed his chin. "No," he said finally. "No, it wasn't. I wish it were difficult."

  "Can you do it in the stands at the end of the chariot race? Do you need to be close to Tirelius? Will the presence of tens of thousands of people bother you?"

  He shook his head. "No, they shouldn't be a problem. Nothing should be a problem."

  "If this is going to be difficult," Decius persisted, "we must discuss it now. Once we agree to this, once I set the plan in motion, you cannot fail me. I don't care what powers you possess. If you fail me, I will hunt you down and destroy you."

  Affron raised his eyes from the wine cup and stared at Decius. And then he bowed ever so slightly. "We are all taking risks here," he said in reply. "I know what I can do. You have felt my power."

  "Very well." Decius raised his wine cup to him. "So long as we know where we stand."

  And then they started in on a long discussion of what exactly Decius wanted from Affron once he became pontifex. I didn't follow much of it, partly because the Latin got complicated, partly because I wasn't that interested. Affron didn't seem interested either, so Valleia did most of the talking for us. They discussed tax revenues, and medical care, and rebuilding the neighborhoods where the poor lived. They talked about improving the port and increasing grain shipments from Egypt. Decius became very animated when he brought up these issues; he really seemed to care. Valleia also cared, and the two of them seemed to agree on practically everything.

  And as they talked, I realized that it was finally going to happen: Affron would defeat Tirelius and become the new pontifex, and I could return to Urbis and use the portal to go home. At last.

  At some point I must have fallen asleep from the heat and the wine, because the next thing I knew Affron was standing over me and shaking me awake. "Time to go, Larry," he said. Valleia and Decius too were standing up. I got to my feet. It was twilight, and a couple of torches had been lit in the peristyle.

  "Go out into the city as little as possible," he was warning them. "Tirelius will only search harder for you when he sees what is happening."

  "We understand," Valleia replied.

  "Very well. We will not see each other again until after it is done."

  Affron bowed to him. "We will not disappoint," he said. And then we left the peristyle the way we had entered it, by the small door in the rear wall.

  Outside, the carriage was gone from the alley.

  We said little as we walked back to Parioli; Affron and Valleia both seemed tired. At the house, we were greeted with hugs. But Carmody was puzzled when Valleia described the new plan. "Do you think that can really work?" he asked.

  "Yes, if Decius can do what he has promised."

  "And Affron," Carmody pointed out.

  "I have now seen what Affron can do with his magic," Valleia said. "And it is amazing. Three men, suddenly almost dead—simply through the power of his mind."

  Carmody shook his head. "I don't understand it."

  "You are a soldier, William. You understand a different kind of weapon. It will be fine."

  "Many lives will be saved if we don't have to attack Urbis," Affron pointed out.

  "And that is all to the good, of course," Carmody admitted. But he still didn't look convinced.

  Palta wasn't convinced either, but she didn't say anything about the plan in front of the others. "I don't like it," she said to me later that night, when we were alone in my room.

  "Why not?"

  "This magic—Affron says he doesn't understand it. And I know that he doesn't like it. He is risking too much."

  "What is he risking? I've seen him use his power twice. It tires him out a bit, and he doesn't like doing it. But I don't think he's risking anything."

  "You just want to go home," Palta said. "You'll do anything to go home."

  "That's not fair, I also don't want to be captured and then executed on that scaffold in the Urbis forum. We've got to do something."

  Palta couldn't argue with that. So she just shrugged and went off to her room, and the next morning I woke up alone.

  Chapter 14

  And then we waited.

  Palta and I were the only ones who left the house now, and only to get food. We went to different shops every day, so that we wouldn't become too familiar to people. And that meant we could report back on what was happening in the city.

  Things changed almost immediately. We started seeing drawings and graffiti on the walls of buildings, even in the Parioli district—caricatures of the pontifex, making him look like a doddering old fool, with "Tirelius non curat!" scrawled underneath. Tirelius doesn't care! And stick figures of what was supposed to be Affron, along with the phrase "Affronius pro pontifice!"–Affronius for pontifex! In the markets where we shopped, we now heard people complaining about how unfair the priests were, how Roma and its people were always being taken for granted, how it was time for a change. And why were they persecuting that wonderful viator Affron, who only wanted to help the Roman people? Shoppers talked of seeing protests against the priests—protests that the governor's soldiers did nothing to break up.

  So Decius was holding up his end of the bargain. But in the meantime... Affron sat for long hours in the peristyle, speaking to no one, just staring off into space. At dinner, he would drink wine until Valleia ordered Palta to take the jug away. "What is the matter?" Valleia asked him one night.

  "Nothing is the matter," he replied. "I am just contemplating what I will do when I become pontifex."

  "I don't believe you."

  He shrugged. "It will all be fine," he said. "No need to worry."

  But the rest of us worried.

  "He is our weapon," Carmody said to me after Affron had gone to bed one night. "One shouldn't go into battle with a weapon that hasn't been tested."

  "But the rest of us have seen him use his magic," I pointed out. "Everyone but you. It works. It's powerful. He can do this."

  "He is not acting like he can do it."

 
; I couldn't argue with that. "Should we talk to Decius?" I asked Valleia.

  "And say what?" she demanded. "Decius has made it clear what will happen if we don't go through with this." She looked at Carmody for support.

  He nodded. "We are committed to the plan," he said. "We must make it work."

  Palta said nothing.

  And then, finally, the Roman Games opened. Banners and flags flew from every building. Even in our quiet castellum the main streets were filled with dancers and musicians and revelers. Everyone seemed to have a jug of wine; everyone seemed happy.

  Inside our house, though, everyone was quiet and tense.

  Affron spent most of the day sitting motionless in the peristyle. I sat next to him, hoping we'd have another one of our conversations, like we'd had after he'd stolen the money from the pawnbroker, but he stayed silent.

  The chariot race was to be held on the afternoon of the second day. It was always the highlight of the Games.

  I didn't sleep well the night before. I couldn't imagine anyone else did, either.

  We were all up early the next morning. The day was hot, overcast, and oppressive. Valleia had decided that she, Affron, and Carmody would be the ones to go to the Circus Maximus. They were going to leave early to ensure that they got seats close enough to Tirelius. Valleia didn't want Palta and me to come. "We can't all march in there together," she pointed out. "It will be too obvious. We don't want to be captured now, when we're so close to victory."

  This time Affron didn't insist on taking me. He didn't say anything.

  "Then Larry and I will go by ourselves," Palta announced.

  "As you wish," Valleia replied. "But you'll be safer here."

  Palta gave her a look that said: I don't have to obey you.

  "Be careful," she said to Affron before they left. He smiled at Palta and me and kissed each of us on both cheeks; Carmody shook our hands, and then the three of them headed off.

  Palta pulled at her earlobe as we stood in the atrium. She did that a lot when she was tense or thinking hard. "We can't stay here," she said. "We must see what happens."

  "But it'll be hours before the chariot race. Do you want to sit out in the heat all day?"

  Then abruptly she sat down and started to cry. "I don't want this to happen," she said finally. "If it fails, it will be bad. If it succeeds, it will be worse."

  "Why will it be worse?"

  Her gray eyes looked up at me. "Because then you will go home."

  I didn't know what to say to that. So I sat down next to her, and I took her hand in mine. We stayed there for a while before we silently stood up and left.

  Everyone was headed to the Circus Maximus. Jugglers and dancers and even magicians were out on the streets to entertain the crowds. Most women had garlands of flowers on their heads, so Palta bought a cheap one from a street vendor and put it on. She looked pretty, and the garland seemed to make her a little happier. She grabbed my hand.

  As we approached the Circus Maximus the crowds got even bigger. And that's where we saw the demonstration: a large, milling mass of people had gathered in the plaza outside the stadium and were shouting at a bunch of soldiers who stood in formation, shields raised, keeping the crowd from advancing any further. I could hear people chanting: "Tirelius non curat! Sacerdotes non curant! Affron pro pontifice!" Tirelius doesn't care! The priests don't care! Affron for pontifex! Occasionally someone threw a rock at a soldier, but he would fend it off with his shield without even flinching.

  "Those soldiers are well trained," Palta remarked.

  "Decius will claim he's doing all he can to stop the protestors," I said.

  "But it's obvious he could do more, isn't it?"

  "I suppose he could order the soldiers to attack the people. But he could claim to Tirelius that that would just make things worse."

  "What if Tirelius doesn't come?"

  "Decius was sure he'd come."

  I realized that this idea gave her hope. If Tirelius didn't show up, then everything would be okay—for a while, anyway.

  We circled around the protestors and soldiers and made our way to one of the entrances. From inside I could hear the roaring of the crowd and the blare of trumpets. I thought about gladiators fighting lions in ancient Rome; this wouldn't be like that, I was pretty sure. But people sure sounded excited.

  Admission was free to the Games, and there was no such thing as reserved seats. You just pushed your way through the crowds into the stadium and tried to find a place to sit.

  We walked along one of the long torch-lit tunnels, elbowing past people—some entering, some leaving, some just standing around and drinking cups of wine. Palta held onto my arm to keep us from getting separated. A couple of drunks tried to pinch her, and she spat out curses at them.

  And then, finally, we were inside. The huge place was packed with cheering people. Out on the field a burly, long-haired man was winding up to throw the discus. He had a big chest and thickly muscled arms and legs. He twirled a couple of times and let the discus fly; it soared into the air and landed a long way down the field. But apparently it wasn't good enough; the man shook his head and turned away, and there were scattered boos from the crowd.

  We climbed up into the stands, looking for empty spaces in the long concrete rows. There weren't any. We kept climbing, both of us sweating in the humid air. Finally we pushed our way into a row near the very top. I was right up against a fat guy in a stained robe who stank of body odor and garlic. We were so high up we could barely make out the athletes on the field.

  "Have you ever seen anything like this?" I asked Palta. "You know, sports events?"

  She shook her head. "I have seen stadiums on Gaia, but they were always empty, ruined. No time for sports."

  In the stands near the middle of the field I spotted several empty rows of seats covered by a purple canopy. And in the middle of the seats were three thrones. I pointed to them. "I bet that's where Tirelius and the rest of them will sit."

  Palta nodded. "It is so far away. Will people even notice what happens?"

  "Decius will make sure people find out."

  "I can't see Affron and the others. Can you?"

  I shook my head. "I'm sure they're over there somewhere."

  Down on the field, more naked, burly men threw the discus. Before long I became bored. When would the chariot race start? When would Tirelius show up? Sweat poured down my body. Eventually the discus competition ended. There was a ceremony on the field, like in the Olympics. A bunch of trumpeters came out from beneath the stands and played. Someone on the field—it looked like a priest—put a laurel wreath on the victor's head. Then he ran around the track, waving to the crowd. People stood and cheered.

  And then the discus throwers left the field, and the javelin throwers came out and started their contest. The fat guy next to me went off and came back in a few minutes with a cup of wine. He seemed to enjoy farting, and the smell was just about unbearable. Palta and I bought figs from a passing vendor. The sky became overcast; I felt a few drops of rain. The javelin competition seemed to last forever. The crowd didn't seem to mind. Maybe I had watched too much sports on TV, but I thought it was really boring. I wanted to see the chariot race. I wanted to see Tirelius start to crown the victor with a laurel wreath. Then I wanted to see him fall to the ground and start writhing in agony as the crowd gasped in horror.

  I wanted to step into the portal and step out of it into Glanbury—back when I left it, if possible. Or whenever. I wanted my family, my friends, my school. I wanted to be a counselor-in-training. I wanted to go to high school. I wanted to eat Doritos.

  Morning turned to afternoon. The javelin throwers finished, one of them was crowned with laurel, and then there was a spectacular interlude when dancers and gymnasts performed while a huge band played weird music. It was like a halftime show in a football game, except the music on Terra never sounded quite right to me—the harmonies didn't make sense, the melodies never seemed to go anywhere.

  Af
ter that, men in pants and tunics came out to prepare the field for the chariot race. The crowd cheered and then became quiet. The men seemed to take forever. Palta and I bought bread and cheese. I went to pee, and it was hard to get back to my seat. People were sitting in the narrow aisles now and pushing to make room in the already cramped rows. All around the stands people were waving flags and banners.

  And then, finally, the chariots appeared, emerging through a large opening in the stands, on the opposite side of the field from the seats with the purple canopy. The chariots themselves weren't much to look at, really—they were basically small wagons with open backs and platforms for the drivers to stand on, with a couple of wheels underneath them. But the four horses that pulled each chariot were gorgeous. The charioteers waved to the crowd as they came out. Unlike the other athletes, they weren't naked; each of them wore a different-colored tunic and a leather helmet. The crowd cheered for all of them.

  "Do you have chariot races in your world?" Palta asked me.

  "We used to, I guess." I told her a bit about horse racing, but I didn't know that much about it, and anyway, chariot racing looked like it was going to be much more exciting. The chariots made a slow circuit of the track. Then the drivers got down and took care of their horses for a while. A long while.

  "Tirelius isn't going to come," Palta said suddenly. "They're waiting for him, and he isn't coming."

  "He'll come," I replied. But what did I know?

  We waited. The crowd was on its feet, but quiet. The rain was heavier now. "Rain means many deaths," the fat man next to me said. He seemed pretty excited by the idea.

  Finally there was a stirring. The charioteers lined up their chariots on the track; soldiers marched out onto the field and made a double line extending to the purple-canopied seats. A half-dozen trumpeters played a fanfare. Then a bunch of people came out, walking in pairs. I guessed that they were Roman officials; I thought I saw Decius in his white robe in among them, and the crowd gave a loud cheer when he appeared.

  They were followed by purple-robed viators, and that's when the booing started. And then, finally, a litter emerged, carried by six men. On the litter was an ornate chair, and on the ornate chair sat Tirelius. Even from this far away I recognized him.