Spirit Invictus Complete Series

by Mark Tiro

  Kanashibari

  I’m floating up now, over my dead body and away—out of this coffeehouse... out of this lifetime.

  For just the smallest instant, I get the sense that everything will be okay. Until… it isn’t.

  Cloudy. Everything is suddenly cloudy now. Muddled and dark—confusion is starting to envelop me.

  Everything is so heavy now. Too heavy. I can’t move. I can’t catch my—what? My breath? No—it’s my thoughts. It’s not my breath that I can’t catch. It’s my thoughts. I can’t catch my thoughts. I need to slow down. I need to think.

  I need to close my eyes… to just rest.

  And then I wake up.

  Aaah! Run, the other way. But it’s too heavy. Everything’s too heavy. I can’t run. I can’t even move.

  Now I see it. Now it’s here.

  The terror. It’s here.

  I claw my way up, awake. I’m out from under the weight. Up. Up.

  Holy shit, what was that? A dream? Ka… ka… kana?… shi-what?

  An echo, an idea, a… distant word.

  Kanashibari.

  The terror, and it’s coming.

  I can’t move. It’s here. I’m trying, but I can’t move. Syllables and parts of words and sentences rattle around in my mind, but they don’t make any sense.

  Get up! I yell at myself, tying to move. Get up! Get up! Get up!

  I can’t move.

  Now, the images begin to overwhelm me.

  I see it, it’s coming. It’s, it’s…

  But I can’t see. Though I know. I know. It’s coming.

  Goddamn it, move. Move. MOVE NOW.

  Something in me breaks. I will myself to move. I’m paralyzed no more.

  Run! I tell myself. I shudder in terror. Just turn. Now—just run.

  Get out of here.

  Don’t looking back!

  Run, hide. It’s coming. It’s chasing you. Run. Before it finds you.

  Disappear. Before it catches you.

  One image, a split second. Much less.

  Fear. Obvious fear. Why didn’t I…

  Then a flash of anger comes to me. All at once, I’m overwhelmed in a flash of anger… and then, the crush of guilt too. The overwhelming, heavy crush of guilt—I had the chance, but I filled the void with questions instead.

  And now—I feel a rush of anger. Anger! FURY!

  Roooaaarrrrr!

  But… but… but… it was me. It was all me the whole time. All me. Only me.

  It was all… all… all my fault.

  I’m deflated… defeated.

  There’s no one else here now. Just me.

  Face to face, I looked. I now I know. I know—I am responsible.

  I did this. Everyone, dead.

  It’s all because of me. All because of me. I did this.

  It is my fault.

  Now I bolt upright.

  In a panic, I bolt up and break through the guilt.

  I throw off its weight now… throw it to the ground.

  And now I turn.

  I turn, and I run like hell.

  II

  VITA UMBRATILIS

  1

  One

  I closed my eyes.

  Everything was heavy. I was heavy. I was heavy, my body was dizzy. And if I remember wanting anything, it was that I could just sit there and be left alone.

  “Get up! Marcus, can you hear me? You have to get up if you can.”

  “Okay, I will, you don’t have to tell me twice,” I answered, to no one in particular, as I staggered to my feet. I still couldn’t see who it was that had roused me, but as I felt the breeze from two missiles sail over my head—arrows, maybe spears; I was still too dazed to be sure which—it started to come back to me.

  “Stay down, behind this wall here. You were knocked out in the last wave.”

  “How long?” I asked. “How long was I out?”

  “A couple minutes. An eternity maybe? I’d wager, you were halfway to the Fields of Elysium. No matter though. You’re back.”

  I was starting to come to my senses now. As I did, I was relieved to see it was the 18th’s Primus Pilus—the first spear, senior centurion—standing over me. “Thank you,” I said, pulling myself to my feet now. “What’s your name centurion?”

  “Caelius. Caelius, son of Titus. Given name is Marcus.” He hesitated, obviously trying to decide just how much of a head injury I’d suffered.

  “Marcus, like you sir. It was quite a blow you took back there. You know, speaking for the men at least, I can’t think of anyone that would wish anything bad on you. Not after how you’ve stayed here and fought with all of us. If Varus and the rest of them had half as much… I’m sorry sir, what I’m trying to say is it’s quite a spot old Varus has put us in.” He looked around, and I did too. Everything was coming into focus now. The more it did, the more I thought it might’ve been better if I’d just stayed down.

  “Well, there’s still Arminius we have to deal with sir. Arminius and his whole bloody Cherusci. Probably the rest of those bloody barbarians too. They're all trying to bring us into the afterlife sooner than I’m keen on going. So the way I figure it, we may as well bloody up their noses the best we can. You know, before we head off to the Fields of Elysium.”

  “Spoken like a true son of Romulus,” I said. “Situation’s grim though. I’m not too injured to see that. Starting to look like this might just be our Cannae.”

  “Well unless you’re Scipio, you might be right sir.”

  I sat down again, waiting for the pounding in my skull to stop.

  “You know, you should have killed the bastard when you had the chance,” Caelius said. The way he said it however, was the matter-of-fact way you would expect of a battle-hardened old legionary. His voice held none of the bitterness or judgment I would’ve expected to hear back in Rome. He looked up towards the ramparts, saying the words with the steeled resignation of a lifelong veteran who had seen so many battles go sideways that he had long since decided not to waste energy regretting what could have happened but didn’t.

  Just then, another volley flew over our heads. At least I think it did. I was thrown onto my back again and knocked out. I don’t know how long it took me to come to. When I did, I was looking up at the grey sky. I tried to sit up but when I did, a dizzy haziness overwhelmed me. I fell back onto the ramparts, against the broken trunk of a small pine tree.

  Just then a deluge of rain began beating down, turning the ground around me into a steady stream of mud. There was nowhere we could get away from the pounding rain, and so I did the only thing I could.

  I pulled my cloak up over my head and closed my eyes.

  Everything went dark.

  Again.

  I floated through a classroom. I was teaching now. Rhetoric, of some Ancient Greek master. And clear as day, I could see him.

  Varus.

  Sitting right there in front of me.

  He was my student. Some distant corner of memory sparked. I turned to see that familiar, smug look. He was gone now. I had taught him what I could. I had taken him in as a favor to his father. I’d promised him I’d teach his son the ways of the law courts. And now Varus was gone, and he’d agreed to plead the case against me.

  Varus was in with Agrippa somehow. I don’t know how, but he bloody ambushed me. Bought the jury, or simply intimidated them. Agrippa showed up for the closing speeches, but it might as well have been the Emperor himself sitting there.

  My client got word of that, and accepted exile that day, rather than risk a verdict once the jury came back. The prescribed sentence upon conviction was death. And once it became clear that Varus had bought the support of the jury, and probably the Emperor too—or at least his consul for the year—well, suddenly exile didn't seem like such a bad option after all.

  As for me, I had felt pure humiliation. Now, lying there staring up at that grey German sky, I remembered it once more, clear as day.

  I will humiliate you, Varus. I will have my reven
ge, I swear. You little shit—I will wipe that smug smile off your face. One day Varus, one day.

  2

  Two

  “Brother—Varus has already brought his client around.” No sooner had the door closed than Quintus was across the room, pulling out a wax tablet from beneath the folds in his toga. “It’s exactly what we demanded in your last offer. His client agreed to it. They both agreed to it. 700,000 sesterces, now, and another 500,000 once he sells his villa in Tusculum.”

  “Quintus, don’t you need to be at home, soothing that wife of yours? You don’t have to read me notes on his offer. He could offer a million sesterces, and my answer would still be the same.”

  “He did. Oh, don’t tell me I need to do the math for you.”

  “You don’t.”

  “It’s more than a million he offered. So what is it then? I told Varus to wait, and I’d go back to let him know your answer today, before the sun goes down. I have the litter waiting outside to carry me back. If you say yes, we’ll have the first 700,000 by tomorrow morning.”

  “By tomorrow morning, I have a closing speech to prepare. There are only two days left before the extortion courts close for the games, so I’ll have to cut out quite a bit. You know, sometimes I think that the extortion court is about the only entertainment the city’s had since the games from last fall rapped up. We should give the citizens what they want, no?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said Marcus? What closing? What speech? Varus will settle. He was practically begging me. You should have seen him—he hasn’t talked to me this courteously since… well, since…” he hesitated a moment, thinking. “Hell, you know, Varus is an arrogant bastard.”

  “He’s a little shit Quintus. I taught him the greatest oratory the extortion courts have ever known. Well at least since Hortensius.”

  “You’re not forgetting—”

  “No, I’m not! And don’t try to change the subject. This is about Varus. Hell, that little shit wouldn’t even know where the extortion court sits without me to point the way. Which… is exactly why I need to finish preparing this speech of mine. In the meantime, why don’t you go home? Let him wonder a couple hours what happened to you before it dawns on him that he’s about the be humiliated tomorrow morning in front of all of Rome. By the way, why don’t you come here early tomorrow, and we’ll go down together to the Court. I’ve called in a favor. You remember Claudius, right? He's the mill owner who had killed his own father. I pled his case in the extortion court for him all the way back in my first year advocating.”

  “But he didn't do it. He didn’t kill him. You proved it when you won him an acquittal.”

  “Ah, that’s right Quintus. After I was done defending the wretch, it turned out that he hadn’t done it after all. Or at least that’s what the jury said. Who knew, right?”

  Quintus was giving me a sideways glance, which I mostly decided to ignore.

  “Anyway, after the jury came back with its verdict, I was as surprised as anyone to discover that the wretch hadn’t done it. Who says this job isn’t interesting? And just look now at what an upstanding citizen our young Claudius has become. Innocent and what not. Oh, and did I mention, the lad is doing quite well carrying on the family business?”

  “Family business? But his father wasn't a mill owner Marcus. You know that…”

  “No but his father was quite the killer. Or so I’m told. But this mill business of his? That’s just the front part of his operation. Have you ever stopped to think what a bread maker could possibly need with the small army of former gladiators and legionaries our Claudius has amassed… to work for his bread mill?”

  “Now that you mention it, no. And? What of it Marcus?”

  “You know, Claudius has had his nose broken so many times, he doesn’t really have a nose for baking bread anymore. He’d have been out of the mill business years ago if he hadn’t stumbled upon his little private muscle for hire side operation. You know, whenever anyone who can pay his price needs a little something extra to close the deal. Anyway, Claudius owes me a favor and it’s time we collect on it.”

  “But why do you want to get into bed with him? That sad sack…” Quintus asked.

  “Because that sad sack owes me a favor, and tomorrow we need a favor.”

  “Marcus, I gave Varus my word I’d be back. What are you doing here? Take the money, and let’s move on.”

  “Listen, our Claudius Novius has made arrangements for us to have thirty of his toughest gladiators… er, I mean, grain porters… here at the house in the morning—they’ll all be with us as we walk down to the law court.”

  “Thirty? That’s a lot of… grain porters Marcus.”

  “Gladiators, the whole lot of them. It’s a lot of gladii Quintus. I expect we’ll make a very… persuasive showing in court tomorrow. I think we will have no problem emphasizing… the strength of our… arguments… to the jury. You understand what I mean, right?”

  “No, I don’t understand. Take the damn money Marcus! Why would you want to go and humiliate this man? He’s already thrown up his hands. And this way too. Where is the honor?”

  “Quintus, do not…”

  “Fine. But Marcus—this man Varus, him and his client—they’re giving you what you want. What your client wants. What you asked me to take over there in your offer letter. Your offer letter! And he accepted it! Now you want to go forward and finish the trial for no other purpose than to humiliate them?”

  “Them? No. Just Varus. I don’t give a shit about that client of his. It’s not always about winning. It’s about how you win. And there's no better way to beat Varus than to utterly humiliate the man in front of the entire city.”

  “Just stop talking please.” Quintus was seething now, and he stopped only to take a breath. “Can you just stop talking! It's about revenge to you, isn’t it? How long have you been holding this grudge? How long have you been planning this payback of yours?”

  I knew exactly how long. I was considering answering, but before I could, Quintus hit on the answer himself.

  “It’s from back when Varus humiliated you when you were first an advocate, isn’t it? I remember now—he bribed the jury and forced your client into exile? How long have you been carrying this grudge with you?”

  “I don’t remember,” I said, icily. “Six, maybe seven years? And no, Varus did not humiliate me. He simply played his hand exactly like I would have done.”

  “Ahh, but you didn’t. He did. And you were just a young advocate. And it hurt your feelings, didn’t it? It hurt your pride so much that you vowed to get him back—”

  “He forced my client into exile. That boy had been innocent. He was innocent!”

  “Which is why it was so much better that he went into exile rather than stick around waiting for the verdict. You think he was the first innocent man to be exiled in Rome? You think you’re special? Exile over death, any day. How bad can it be for him, living out his days in luxury on some Greek island?”

  “True, he is doing well there. And quite hospitable. You know, we go to see him, or try to at least, whenever we travel to the East. Listen, I get it. Believe me, I do. Varus beat me, fair and square.”

  “Well, you said he did bribe the jury.”

  “That’s to be expected in our line of work. There’s strategy there too. I was just young. He was teaching me, I guess you could say.”

  “So, you’ll take his offer, and call off the rest of the trial then?”

  “Of course not. Tomorrow, I’m going down there to the court, and I will humiliate him.”

  “Wait, what? Why? I thought you—”

  “I’m in too deep now. You wait so many years, to close the circle, to have your revenge… well, it’s like a horse running in the circus. You can’t pull it up just like that. You can’t just stop it in an instant. See now, it’s all around the city that he’s already caved. Tomorrow, when the whole city will be expecting him to concede gracefully, I will stand up and tell the presiding magistrate
that we’re ready to make our closing speech.”

  “To make Varus look like the fool?”

  “He is a fool. Making him just look like one is simply a rather charitable act of cleaning the grime off, to make it easier for people to see what’s really underneath.”

  “Then why do you need Claudius’ men there?”

  “Well, you can be sure that any man that’s willing to part with over a million sesterces can part with a few more of them to bribe the jury with. As a contingency, you know. We have a pretty good idea which ones he’s bribed, and Claudius and his men will make sure that just enough of those ones—his bribed jurors—don’t make it down to the court tomorrow. But not so many that there won’t be a quorum.”

  “It’s like killing a man in battle when he’s thrown down his arms already.”

  “Well, sometimes you need to prod your opponent a bit. Sometimes that’s the only way you can have the battle you want. With honor, but without it being your fault. There’s no glory in settling the matter Quintus. Not with Varus—no matter how many sesterces we end up with. If that were the case, old Crassus with all his millions would have been inscribed in the Pantheon next to Scipio and Apollo, instead of having stained some godforsaken Parthian desert with his blood and disgrace. Now, maybe if Varus humbled himself publicly I would reconsider. You know, that arrogant prick came in with such an attitude.”

  “The Emperor supported him Marcus. And probably Livia too. You would have had the same attitude. He had the support of the Emperor.”

  “He only thought the old man supported him. But there’s a limit to everything, even the old man’s patience. There’s only so much you can bleed a province dry before it becomes impossible for even the Emperor himself to raise any legions there. So we’re going to come out okay on this either way Quintus. But we can make Varus squirm a little bit before we end it, can’t we? The smug son of a bitch needs to wipe that smile off his face.”