by Kyle West
The crowd was up on its feet, cheering madly, but I was deaf to it all. I ran and went to kneel beside Makara, who was still on the ground.
Almost afraid of the confirmation, of what I would feel if I did it, I placed my hand on her neck. I waited one. Two. Three seconds.
I thought I felt a thump.
I could scarcely believe it, so I kept my hand there.
Another pulse. It was unmistakable.
“She’s alive!” I said.
Everyone rushed around me. Samuel placed my shirt, which was on the ground, back on the wound to stop what blood was left in her from flowing out.
“She won’t last long,” Samuel said. “Not without help.”
He waved to the stands. Instantly, an outcry came from the stands. They wanted Makara to be saved, too.
Trumpets blared, and from one of the gates, out of nowhere, ran two men with a stretcher.
“About goddamn time!” I said. “Where were they before?”
“This was supposed to be an execution,” Julian said. “Only, we killed our executioners.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Will they save Makara?”
Julian didn’t say anything. He didn’t believe she could be saved.
God, if you are really there right now, then please save Makara…
I was willing to cling to anything at that moment, willing to reach out to anyone who might listen to me, God included. I watched as the men loaded Makara onto the stretcher and carried her away. We started to follow, but at that moment, guards filed out of the gates, rushing to keep us back.
“Hey!” I said. “You can’t just take her and not expect us to follow.”
Anna placed a hand on my arm. “We don’t have much choice. We can only hope they’re taking her to get treated somewhere.”
By the tunnel, they lowered the stretcher. One of the men carrying it retrieved a syringe from one of his pockets. He injected Makara with it, right in the chest.
“Oh my God…” I said.
I saw Makara’s eyes open, and saw her legs sprawl out. She really was alive.
Makara was then carried up the tunnel, out of sight.
We waited there a good two minutes before two columns of guards streamed out of the gate, wearing steel plated armor and purple capes. They wore leopard mantles as well, but these were different. They were completely white. From their steel helmets rose tall, purple plumes, and their spears gleamed silvery in the afternoon light. Their bodies were etched from stony muscle, their dark and tanned skin lined with jagged scars from the Empire’s numerous wars.
The soldiers continued to file out, fanning out to encircle us. We remained still.
“The Praetorians,” Julian said.
"Who are they?" I asked.
“When I said the jaguar warriors were the best, I was wrong. The Praetorians are. They are the Emperor’s personal bodyguards.”
The Praetorians fanned out to encircle us, their steps resolute and unyielding. There were twenty four of them total.
“They have come to finish the job,” Julian said.
This was it, then. This was our last moment on Earth. But if they were here to kill us, then why bother to save Makara?
The Praetorians stopped in their tracks, facing in now that their circle was completed. The leader shouted out, his voice booming off the awed crowd. As one, they lowered their spears, the collective sound sending a shock throughout me.
No. There would be no surviving this.
I grabbed Anna’s hand. “We’re not going to make it.”
I saw her shake her head from the corner of my vision. “No.”
“Anna, I just wanted to let you know that…”
The trumpets blared again, their sonorous tones echoing off the stands. The crowd buzzed with excitement. Something had changed.
“I don’t believe it,” Julian said.
“What?” I asked.
Julian shook his head. “The Emperor is coming.”
“The Emperor?” Anna asked. “He’s coming here?”
“We will meet then, at last,” Samuel said.
Then, he came out, flanked by yet more Praetorians. Short and small of frame, Emperor Augustus still walked as if he were the biggest and most powerful man on Earth. Indeed, he probably was. There was nothing spectacular about him, other than his pure white toga with purple trim, with two eagles emblazoned in gold on his chest. His face carried a neutral expression, and had no distinguishing features. He was neither handsome, nor ugly. It was the eyes, however, that carried his entire personality — forceful, bold, and confident. There were wrinkles on his brow and on the edge of his eyes, the only sign of his age other than the few gray hairs intermixed with the dark brown of his head. He was probably in his late fifties. His skin was dark from exposure to the sun. This wasn’t a man who lay around, doing nothing. He was outside, commanding armies, constructing public works, touring his domain. Augustus was a man of action.
He raised a hand and flashed a toothy smile, and the crowd cheered. Then, he strode toward us, his smile fading somewhat, but still lingering. There was a genuine sparkle in his eyes, and though it had no effect on me, I could see how it would endear him to many people. I had to remind himself that he had killed thousands of people in his quest for power.
He stepped into the circle of Praetorians, pausing in front of us all. He carried no weapon. He had no need to. We just stared at him.
Go, Samuel.
“Congratulations on your well-earned victory,” Augustus said.
Samuel hesitated before answering. Was he going to go straight into what we came here for, or was he going to play along? Any sudden move, any disrespect, might get us killed. But was Samuel thinking along the same lines?
“What is going to happen to my sister?”
“She is on her way to the best hospital in the city. She will have my own doctor care for her.”
There was a questioning look in Samuel’s eyes, but he said nothing more.
“Perhaps you are wondering why I have extended such a kindness to you,” Augustus said.
Yes, I thought. We were wondering just that.
“You came here criminals, and became slaves. Now, how would you feel to be elevated to the rank of Praetorian within my guard?”
The Praetorians around us gave no sign of surprise, other than a slight widening of the eyes. I was shocked, but did my best to hide my astonishment.
“Why are you offering us this?” Samuel asked.
“In all my days, I have not seen anyone fight the way you have,” Augustus said. “I would be a fool to pass up this opportunity.” He held out a hand. “So, what say you?”
We had to play it cool. If Samuel said no…
Samuel reached out, grabbing the Emperor’s hand. “We would like nothing more than that, Princeps.”
Augustus smiled widely, letting go of Samuel’s hand. “Princeps. You address me by the moniker of the Emperors of old.”
Samuel bowed his head. “You are saving my sister, and you have given us our lives when we deserved nothing more than to die. It would be my honor to serve you, and I am sure I speak for the rest.”
What was Samuel doing? Surely, he couldn’t be serious about this. Even Augustus couldn’t be serious about this. When was Samuel going to get to the reason for our coming here?
“That was the finest fight I have seen in all my days,” Augustus said. “Do all Wastelanders fight with such ferocity? Perhaps I should think twice before sending my army there.”
“The Wasteland is a harsh land,” Samuel said. “And it produces an even harsher people.”
Augustus nodded. “Maybe so.” He thrust his hand to the side, toward one of his guards. “Sword.”
Immediately, a sword flashed out of the Praetorian’s scabbard. Augustus grabbed it.
“Kneel, all of you,” he said.
We looked at each other. Kneeling would leave us exposed. But considering how many guards there were around us, it was th
e only thing left to do.
One by one, we knelt in the dirt. As we did so, the crowd’s cheers escalated. What was going on? Was the Emperor going to execute us himself?
First, he tapped Samuel on either shoulder. “I pronounce you…free.”
He did the same for each of us.
“Rise. I hand you over to Maxillo, Chief Centurion of the Praetorians. He will see to your training.”
Augustus handed the sword back to Maxillo, and began to turn away.
“Emperor,” Samuel said.
Augustus halted, a bit annoyed. It was a breach of protocol. A recently freed slave did not stop the Emperor in his tracks.
Augustus turned, facing Samuel. “Speak, quickly.”
Samuel stared Augustus directly in the eye. “Cornelius Ashton sends his regards.”
Augustus’s face paled as he looked Samuel up and down. Clearly, he had not heard that name in a long, long time. And clearly, he didn’t want to hear that name.
He turned fully around. “Where did you learn that name?”
“My crew and I were sent here by Ashton himself.” Samuel paused. “We found your own crew in Bunker One. Their names were Harland, Drake, and Kris. They attacked us, but we escaped with our lives. They are now all dead. We found the Black Files.”
Augustus eyes widened. “Who are you? Are you from Raider Bluff? Where is Ashton?”
“I will tell you all that, and more. But I need guarantees.”
“You have no guarantees,” Augustus said. “You are surrounded by my Praetorians, and you will tell me what I wish to know, now.”
“Then I hope the knowledge I give you now is enough to dissuade to put down your weapons and point them where it matters — at the monsters in the Great Blight. What we found in the Black Files suggests that there is not much time left, for any of us. We must all come together to fight it, or none of us will be left. That is why we are here. We are messengers.”
“You are saying it can be stopped?”
Samuel nodded. “Dr. Ashton and I are both researchers. We have come up with a plan that we believe will stop the xenovirus. But we can’t do it alone. We will need your help.”
Augustus turned away, nodding slowly. “I sense no lie in your words, Wastelander.” Augustus gestured to Maxillo. “Lead the Wastelanders to my audience chambers. The fights here will continue, but my family and I will retire to the palace.” He looked us up and down. “And clean them up as well.”
Maxillo nodded. Augustus turned back to Samuel. “We will be speaking soon…”
“Samuel.”
Augustus nodded, then turned away from us. He strode out of the arena with a rapid gait, his guards closing in around him.
Maxillo stepped forward. “Set down your weapons, and follow me.”
We did as commanded, and Maxillo turned away, also toward the exit of the stadium. The crowd murmured with confusion. Despite everything bad that had happened, despite what had happened to Makara…
Makara. All we could do was hope that she could be saved. We had thought her dead, in the beginning. Perhaps she would still die. There was nothing we could do, except trust that she was being taken care of. That trust was very hard for me to place.
I shook my head, the tears forcing their way to my eyes again.
“Come on,” Anna said, pushing me lightly on the small of my back. “We’re moving.”
The guards flanked us, making a square box. Inside that box, we were marched out of the Coleseo, where I was so sure we were going to die.
The hardest part had been accomplished. Augustus was now on our side, and we would be able to tell him more inside his palace.
Chapter 18
The Praetorians marched us out of the Coleseo, into the white-tiled Central Square now cast golden from the setting sun. We were in rags, bloodied and bruised, but we were still standing — at least, all of us besides Makara. We went right across Central Square in the middle of the Praetorians’ box formation, the crowd parting and the Coleseo fading with distance. We approached the outer gates of the Imperial Palace.
When the contingent of Praetorians stopped before the gate, it opened slowly, revealing a circular, gravel drive, in the middle of which were colorful gardens and trees. The green grass was mowed in neat, diagonal rows. The palace itself was something from Pre-Ragnarok times — made of pink granite, with fluted, Corinthian columns, a vestige of Spanish colonialism.
Guards stood in front of the massive, intricate wooden doors. But we weren’t led to these doors. The Praetorians passed them, instead circling around the back of the palace.
“Where are you taking us?” Samuel asked.
Maxillo turned his head, but continued walking. “You cannot set foot in the palace in your current state. You will be washed and given new clothes first.”
None of us argued as we marched along. I couldn’t stop thinking about Makara. I didn’t want to be here. I’m sure Samuel felt the same, but now that we were on the grounds of the Imperial Palace, we could not take that for granted. This is what we came here for. Makara wouldn’t want it any other way.
The grounds were a stark contrast to the rest of the city. It was spacious, green, and beautiful. The air smelled sweet with flowers and freshly cut grass. It was hard to believe that one man and his family would ever need all this space.
We passed the side of the palace, and I looked back to see rows of gardens, trails, and trees growing and blossoming behind the Emperor’s home. The outer stone porch was tiered, and columns rose to support the overhanging red-tiled awning. Curvaceous steps led downward from the back doors, which were wide open, leading to the front of a long, clear swimming pool, surrounded by gardens and rock formations. From the rocks, waterfalls tumbled into the water made violet from the fading light, sending a fine mist into the evening air. It made me angry to see such luxury when so many suffered just a minute’s walk outside the walls.
Finally, a smaller building behind the palace came into view. It was two stories, built in the same colonial style as the main house. It was probably a guest house.
The Praetorians paused before the door. Maxillo turned, and with a soldier’s posture, came to stand before us.
“Stewards will see to your needs inside,” Maxillo said.
“What about our weapons?” Samuel asked.
“I had a katana,” Anna said. “It is very personal to me.”
“I will ask about your weapons,” Maxillo said. “I’ll start with the Lanisto, Ruben. They are probably still in the Coleseo, but keep in mind I can’t give them to you unless the Emperor permits it.”
Maxillo turned to go, leaving us in the hands of one of the house stewards. I hated the idea of wearing clothes that were not my own. If they were anything like what these Imperials considered fashionable, then it was going to be even worse. I was not too keen on wearing robes that seemed like nothing more than a bed sheet wrapped around me.
Several stewards rushed out of the door, both male and female, obviously told beforehand of our arrival. They led us inside the house.
One of the male stewards pointed me toward a shower on the bottom floor. I stripped down and stepped inside, and the water came out hot and steamy. The runoff that went into the drain seemed more like mud than water. There was soap, and even shampoo from Pre-Ragnarok days — even that I had never used before. Clearly, Augustus was trying to impress us with his wealth. The smell of the soap tingled my nose.
I didn’t take long. I toweled off, wondering where my new set of clothes was. A knock came at the door. I opened it slightly, and the steward, with bowed head, presented me my vestments.
Well, not really vestments. The clothes, miraculously, were much in the same style as I was used to: camo pants, a clean cotton tee (albeit of finer quality than I was used to), complete with boxers and athletic socks.
“Forgive me, but I could not find a pair of boots similar to the ones you came in,” the steward said. “Although, we took the liberty of cleaning them as best
we could. They were rather…dirty.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Thank you.”
I dressed, and returned to the atrium of the guest house. Ten minutes later, everyone had cleaned up and redressed. Samuel was wearing dark pants and a black muscle shirt, revealing his heavily muscled arms and broad chest. Julian wore long, black pants and a white tee. Anna wore lightweight, wear resistant dark gray pants with a tight green shirt with thin shoulder straps.
“Couldn’t they have given me something a bit more conservative?” she asked.
The stewards either pretended not to notice, or just didn’t care, because they ushered us toward the doorway.
“I think you look fine,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
We exited the guest house. Maxillo and his waiting Praetorians escorted us to the marble steps leading to the front doors. The two guards posted there swung the doors open, revealing the entry hall within. We walked inside.
It was hard not to be wowed by the grandeur of August’s home. A massive chandelier overhung the room, sparkling like crystals. Light reflected off the white marble floor overlaid with oriental rugs. Two sets of staircases curved toward the center of the room and the second floor, where a balcony overhung the entry hall. Fine paintings were mounted on the walls — probably stolen from museums to grace Augustus’s own halls.
“This way,” the head steward said, taking us away from the door and farther back into the palace.
We passed under the balcony and through a set of open French doors. We had entered a plush living area, with cozy leather couches and more priceless paintings on the walls, along with a white jaguar fur hanging above a marble fireplace. A chandelier, smaller than the one in the entry hall but no less opulent, hung over the area, but for now was off. A set of doors led out into a garden — open to let in a cool evening breeze laden with the scent of jasmine. A tuxedoed butler stood by the door, holding a silver tray with a bottle Champaign that sat chilled in a bucket of ice.
