Devil's Sea a-3

by Robert Doherty

  Cassius’s eyes narrowed. The two criminals on the flanks were anything but. He could tell by the way they held their weapons, the movement of their feet, that they were trained killers.

  “Something is wrong,” Cassius told Kaia.

  She turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  “He is being set up. The two men on the end are not what they appear to be.”

  Her gaze shifted back to the arena. “No, they aren’t,” she said after a second. She closed her eyes. “He is to die. It is what the emperor wants, but most particularly what that man there” — she pointed at Senator Domidicus — “wants.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It is my gift.”

  * * *

  The two gladiators were moving forward, a pair of pincers, circling to drive him forward against the four, who held fast, uncertain what they should do. Falco decided it was time to change tactics. Shield held tight against his off side, he charged the four silently, knowing silence was more disconcerting than screaming. They brought their swords up awkwardly, then, as he had hoped, they scattered.

  Falco ran one down, spitting him on the point of his sword and pulling it out in one quick jab; then he went after a second criminal who was running for the wall. The man threw his sword down and jumped, his hands scrambling for a hold, but the entire rim of the wall surrounding the arena was topped with two-foot-wide rollers to prevent this very thing. His hands spun off the roller, and he slid back into the arena. Falco cut through the man’s hamstring, sending him screaming to the sand. Falco turned, breathing hard, feeling the sweat run under his armor.

  The two gladiators had accepted that their original plan wasn’t going to work. They were shoulder to shoulder now, edging in. The remaining two criminals were hanging back.

  “You did not give the salute,” Falco said to the gladiators as they approached.

  “We don’t plan on dying,” the tall one said.

  They were opposite-handed, another advantage they held, the tall one holding the sword in his left, the short one in this right. Falco blinked. For a second, their images had wavered. Then it happened again.

  You’ve been drugged.

  It wasn’t as if the words were spoken but the thought sent to him. And he knew from who. The woman in the back of the imperial box with Cassius.

  Falco blinked once more, trying to clear his vision, but he knew she was right. The glass of water the slave had given him just before Marcus had ordered him to the ring. He could see the smiles on the faces of the two gladiators as they saw him take an uncertain step backward. They knew, too. He had heard of all types of different drugs; ones that slowed a fighter’s reactions, ones that dulled pain, but this one seemed to be specific to his eyes, causing his vision to waver and dance.

  The two were coming closer now.

  Close your eyes. I will see for you.

  Falco yelled and swung his sword back and forth like a madman. The two gladiators retreated slightly, letting him waste energy on ghosts. Time was on their side as his vision grew worse.

  Trust me.

  Falco felt the emotion, more that he heard words inside his head. He had trusted no one in his life other than Drusilla. He closed his eyes. He saw the arena inside his head as if from above. He could see the two closing on him, edging in, swords at the ready.

  They both charged. Falco saw it, and he also could sense it as he had always been able, the two views complementing each other. He turned, shield out, and took the tall one’s blade on the shield, while he caught the short one’s blade with his own steel, sliding along until they locked guards. He shoved, pushing both men back, and they disengaged, retreating to ponder the strange fact that they were fighting a man who had his eyes closed, the easy kill they had anticipated turning out to be not so easy.

  * * *

  In Pompeii everyone could see the tall cloud that rose out of the top of Vesuvius. It was higher than anyone could recall, reaching into the heavens. The tremors in the Earth had also been felt. But what were they to do? Leave everything they had and run away every time the Earth moved and smoke came out of the volcano? They all knew they were living on borrowed time, but the hope was the note would not be called in during their lifetime.

  At Porta Vintus, Flavius Lucella was finally asleep, decadent dreams floating inside his head. Phaedra and Fabron waited nearby for his summons, seated together underneath an olive tree. They knew their life was not difficult, especially when compared with the slaves who worked the fields. But they had seen what Lucella did to the other household slaves when they reached a certain level of physical development. Both had seen his eyes going over their bodies as they fanned, and they knew the time was getting close.

  “I will not allow him to take me.” Phaedra had been saying that every day for months now.

  “Father will come for us,” was Fabron’s stock reply.

  “He cannot come,” Phaedra replies, picking up a twig and snapping it. “He is bound to the arena as tightly as we are bound here.”

  Fabron looked at the fat man sleeping on the hammock. “If he does not come and Lucella tries to force either of us, I will kill him.”

  “Then we will be killed.”

  Fabron shrugged. “I would prefer death.”

  “Why don’t we escape?” Phaedra asked.

  Fabron smiled at his sister. “And go where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “The Romans put to death anyone who helps a slave escape. All around us is the sea. We would need to get on a ship. And north are the mountains. I have talked to men who have seen them. They say you cannot get across them unescorted.”

  “It is not fair!” Phaedra threw a stick down.

  “It is the life we have been given,” Fabron said.

  “Why?” She pointed at Lucella. “Why does he have the power and money he has, and we are slaves? He didn’t choose that, as we didn’t choose this. He didn’t work for this wealth or freedom.”

  “I don’t —” Fabron began, but he halted as the Earth trembled. They looked up the slope and were the first to see the initial eruption. Directly above them, a thousand feet higher, a hole was blasted outward in the side of the mountain with a loud sound like the crack of thunder. They started, staring as the jet of black smoke raced out laterally from the side of the mountain, going over their heads and extending outward for several kilometers.

  “What is it?” Phaedra asked as her brother wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders.

  Fabron didn’t have a chance to reply, as a wave of searing gas came down the slope, burning everything in its path. He saw the trees above them bursting into flames, pulled Phaedra to his chest, and turned his back to the coming wave.

  * * *

  The two gladiators were closing again, this time more carefully. Falco hefted his shield and sword in preparation when a shaft of pain blanked out the vision being sent to him and even his own sense of the arena. He fell to his knees, crying out in anguish, dropping his shield and sword.

  He had not been certain Phaedra and Fabron were alive, but now he was certain they had just died.

  * * *

  Kaia jumped to her feet. “Emperor!” she called out.

  Titus turned, irritated. “Priestess, you —”

  “It comes, Emperor,” Kaia pointed to the south. “Stop the fight.”

  Titus raised a hand, which surprised even him. Trumpets sounded, and the two gladiators froze, just scant feet from finishing off Falco.

  Silence fell over the stadium. Titus stared at his hand as if it wasn’t his. He felt as if he had been a puppet for that brief moment, the strings pulled by someone else. But he didn’t signal the action to begin.

  * * *

  The first explosion on the side of Vesuvius was minor compared to what happened next. It gave enough warning to the people of Pompeii for most of them to get out of their houses and into the streets. Then the top of the volcano blew. The sound washed across the town first.

&nb
sp; Just behind it, a wall of black, containing superheated gases and choking ash, raced over the countryside. Thousands died as the wall swept over the town, killing every living thing it touched, either by heat or suffocation, depending if they were indoors or out.

  * * *

  “Kill me.” Falco could no longer see the gladiators, but he knew they were close by. “Kill me,” he begged.

  The stadium had been unnaturally silent for almost a minute. Now there was a murmur as the crowd wondered why the emperor had signaled all to stop. And he had yet to indicate what should happen to Falco, on his knees, head bowed in the arena.

  In the imperial box, Kaia had made her way past all the flunkies surrounding the emperor. She stood in front of him.

  “I see nothing,” Titus said. “I hear nothing. What is this thing you say has happened?” He was angry now, himself unsure why he had stopped everything.

  Kaia reached up and touched her neck. “You may strike here with your sharpest blade if I am wrong. It has already happened.” She pointed to the arena. “He knows.”

  The emperor signaled for Falco to be brought forward. Two soldiers ran out and grabbed his arms, dragging him to his feet and across the sand. He hung limply in their arms. The crowd noticed and began signaling, thumbs up or down, what they desired. The majority were in the down position, the years of entertainment Falco had provided forgotten in the desire to see more blood.

  “Gladiator, why did you stop fighting?” Titus demanded.

  Falco’s head came up, his eyes filled with tears. “Pompeii is gone. Vesuvius has erupted. They are all dead. All dead.

  The murmuring in the crowd grew louder, as those who heard spread the word around the stands.

  “How do you know this?” Titus was on his feet.

  “My children were there. I felt them die.”

  Titus laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. “I am growing tired of seers and those who see what has happened far away. He raised his hand, and his thumb was extended downward.

  At that moment, a deep rumble cause the entire arena to quake. Titus had to grab the arm of his chair for a second to steady himself. On the north side of the stands, people were pointing. Looking in that direction, they could all see the plume of smoke on the far horizon.

  Titus turned for the tunnel that led out of the imperial box. “Bring her,” he jabbed a finger at Kaia.

  “We need him also,” Kaia was pointing toward the arena, where one of the soldiers had drawn his sword in preparation for killing Falco. “Immediately,” Titus ordered Thyestes.

  * * *

  Falco had washed his eyes with water, and he could see, but his vision was still blurry. It was good enough, though, for him to note that he was in the reception hall of the emperor’s Imperial Palace. The strange woman was in front of the emperor’s throne, and the escort shoved Falco to the front to join them. As he went forward, he noted Cassius, Epione, and Senator Domidicus along with other notables off to the side, among the various statues of the Caesars. In the arena, Thyestes had stopped the soldier just as the steel was ready to slice across his neck. Falco had felt the coldness of the blade, and he even had a scratch where the razor-sharp edge had rested. He’d wanted the relief of nothingness, of not feeling pain, but it was not yet to be.

  “We have received no messenger from Pompeii yet,” Titus said.

  “You will receive none, Emperor,” the woman said. “The city is destroyed. Everyone is dead.”

  “How do you know?” Titus demanded.

  “I could feel them die,” the woman said, which made Falco blink several times to try to get a better view of her.

  “And you say this is caused by a Shadow outside the borders of the empire?” Titus asked.

  “Yes, Emperor,” she replied. “And it will get worse. This was only the beginning.”

  And you, Falco?” the emperor asked. “What did you feel?”

  “My children die,” Falco said. He did not address the emperor properly and could care less.

  The emperor looked past him. “Epione. Were his children in Pompeii?”

  Epione stepped forward, for once looking small. “Yes, Emperor. At my brother’s estate, Porta Vintus, on the slopes of the mountain itself.”

  The emperor waved a hand. “Everyone out except these three.”

  There was the shuffling of feet on tile, then the large doors swung shut. Titus sat down and placed his elbow on his knee, his chin on his fist as he regarded Kaia.

  “How can this Shadow do this?”

  “I do not know.”

  Titus frowned. “What can I do about it?”

  “You can aid me. I will travel to the Shadow.”

  “You can defeat it?” Titus asked.

  “Yes. It is my destiny.”

  Falco heard her confident words, but he could sense the uncertainty inside her.

  “How?” Titus asked.

  “That is not clear yet. The gods will show me when it is time.”

  “The gods.” Titus tapped his staff on the arm of this throne for several moments. “What do you need from me?”

  She turned and pointed at Falco. “Him. And soldiers to help me on my journey to the Shadow.”

  Titus stood once more. He looked down at the woman. “Let me discuss with my advisor.”

  They were escorted out of the room.

  “Who are you?” Falco asked the woman once they were in the antechamber.

  “My name is Kaia.”

  “You helped me in the arena.”

  “I helped you help yourself,” she said. “You have the same power I do.”

  “And what is that power?” Falco asked.

  “To see into the hearts and minds of others. And to hear the voices of the gods.”

  “There are no gods.”

  “Not as worshipped here in Rome, there aren’t,” she agreed. “But you have heard their voices, haven’t you?”

  “If there are gods,” Falco argued, instead of answering, “why do we suffer so?”

  Kaia didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice was very low, so that only he could hear. “You wish to die. We all will die, gladiator. Your time is not now. To die like an animal led to slaughter in the arena is no fitting death of a soldier.”

  “Death is death,” Falco said. “You cheated me of mine.

  “Then I owe you your death,” Kaia said. “Trust me, I will repay you.”

  * * *

  Titus grabbed a goblet and downed the wine in one long swallow. Then he faced Thyestes as his senior advisor came in.

  “An imperial galley landed at Ostia, and a messenger just arrived from there,” Thyestes said. “They report seeing smoke and flame on Vesuvius.”

  “So it’s true?”

  “I would say so, Emperor.”

  “Recommendations on how to deal with this problem?”

  “Every problem is an opportunity if looked at correctly,” Thyestes said.

  “Speak clearly,” Titus snapped, tired of the Greek’s way with words.

  “She wants Falco. Let her have him. This will placate Domidicus. She wants troops. Give her the XXV Legion.”

  Titus smiled. The XXV was a legion formed by the rebel Vitellius, who had briefly held the emperorship before Vespasian established the Flavian line. Vespasian had sent the legion to the Regnum Dacae, at the very northeast part of the empire, to face the barbarians out of Asia and to keep it as far away from Rome as possible. Despite Vitellius’s assassination, the XXV Legion was a potential source of trouble.

  “And,” Thyestes continued, “give command of the legion to one of your best officers: Lucius Cassius.”

  “Very good,” Titus acknowledged. Killing three birds with one stone: the XXV, Cassius, and Falco. “Order them to come in.”

  He took another drink of wine as Falco, Cassius, and Kaia were brought in and lined up in front of his throne.

  “General Lucius Cassius, your emperor has need of your services.”

  Cassius
nodded. “Whatever my emperor commands is my duty.”

  Titus shifted his gaze to Falco. “Gladiator, you are ordered returned to the army at your former rank of Centurion. You will accompany General Cassius.”

  There was no response from Falco, but Titus didn’t care as he turned back to Cassius.

  “General, you are hereby directed to use imperial transport to travel to Regnum Dacae and take command of the XXV Legion. You will lead the legion northeast, into Regnum Bospous in search of this Shadow. You will then destroy the Shadow.”

  “And then, Emperor?” Cassius asked.

  “You are to depart immediately via imperial dispatch to Brundisium. I will give you orders to be opened once you complete your journey.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE PRESENT

  “This is Colonel Felix Shashenka, of the Russian Army,” Foreman introduced one of the men waiting for them outside the elevator entrance. “And Colonel Loomis from our Special Operations Command.”

  Dane shook each man’s hand as the elevator’s doors slid open, revealing a short Japanese man and a taller woman. “Professor Nagoya and his senior assistant, Professor Ahana,” Foreman continued the introductions.

  When that was done, they got on the elevator and began descending. Chelsea pressed herself against Dane’s leg, nervous about the strange feeling of going into the Earth. Dane had worked search and rescue with Chelsea before being recruited by Paul Michelet to rescue his daughter, Ariana, from the Angkor gate in Cambodia, and neither liked being underground.

  “Any updates on the Devil’s Sea gate?” Foreman asked.

  “Both probes are still on-line, and we are still receiving and analyzing data,” Nagoya said.

  “How will these probes allow us access into the gate?” Dane asked the question that Foreman had been unable to answer.

  ‘Well, it is only a theory,” Nagoya said, “but we —”