The First Compact: The Karus Saga (The Karus Saga: Book Book 3)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  And now you will pay for your lack of vision, Cyln’Phax said. I will burn you all to ash.

  “Cyln’Phax,” Amarra said in a calm voice that rang with inner strength. Until that moment, Karus had not realized how quiet it had become. “That will be enough, thank you.”

  With a loud clap, Cyln’Phax snapped her jaw shut.

  They dared to attack you, mistress, Cyln’Phax protested. They would have harmed you. They deserve this … and have earned death.

  Karus turned his gaze toward Amarra. She was still crouched by Delvaris’s side. In one hand she held the tribune’s hand and in the other her crystal staff, which had begun throbbing with increasing intensity.

  “I assure you,” Amarra said, without looking up, “I am and was quite safe. There will be no killing. That is the end of the matter.”

  The dragon hissed in reply.

  Amarra bowed her head. A heartbeat later, there was a brilliant flash of light from the staff, nearly blinding. Karus was forced to avert his gaze. Then, abruptly, the light faded and the dimness in the corridor returned.

  Amarra was glowing. There was no other way to describe it. White light seemed to encase her in a sort of bubble, rippling over her skin. It was the purest light Karus had ever seen and it made him feel good, soothed his worries and concerns. The feeling was akin to being comfortably wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold night.

  “You have shown your faith to be true.” Amarra spoke in fluent Latin to Delvaris, as if she’d been born to the language. “For your faith, you have been greatly honored. The High Father … Jupiter … grants you his blessing.”

  The staff flared into brilliance once more. A humming sound filled the air. Dust from the damaged ceiling cascaded downward in a shower. A beam of light shot out from the crystal staff, striking Delvaris’s chest. He convulsed, as if in terrible agony, arching his back almost to the point of breaking. Then he fell still. The beam ceased, and returning to its normal sullen throbbing, the brilliance faded from the staff.

  Everything had become deathly quiet. It was only then that Karus realized the fear had gone, vanished. In its place, an incredible sense of deep peace had descended upon him. All in the corridor had stopped cowering and seemed similarly affected. They had dragged themselves back to their feet. Those too sick to rise from their blankets, if they could, were simply watching. It was so quiet, a hairpin could have been heard dropping.

  Delvaris opened his eyes and he blinked, looking around. He took a deep breath and exhaled mightily, seeming to savor the experience of breathing without difficulty.

  The junior tribune sat up in apparent amazement. He was no longer a wasted mockery of a young man. Delvaris had been completely and fully restored to health. Barring his soiled tunic, he looked perfectly fine.

  “You’ve healed me,” he gasped, his gaze turning back to Amarra. It was as if he could not believe what had just happened. “You have healed me.”

  “No,” Amarra said. “The High Father, whom you know as Jupiter, granted you his blessing. Your faith has been rewarded.”

  “Thank you,” Delvaris said, “thank you.”

  “You would be better served,” Amarra said, standing, “thanking him.”

  “I … I will,” he said, “with all my heart and for the remainder of my days. I shall honor the High Father. I promise.”

  “A miracle,” Flaccus breathed in awe. There were several other similar exclamations from those nearest.

  Amarra stood, turned, and smiled so radiantly at Karus that it warmed his heart. The white light still surrounded her. She stepped up to him and put a hand on his wrist. Karus felt the sense of peacefulness intensify with her touch. It was pure and utter bliss.

  “You will not need that,” Amarra said.

  Karus looked down at the sword in his hand. He knew she was right. He glanced around at the men. They were no longer gazing on Amarra with fear and hate, but what he could only describe as wonder mixed with shock. He sheathed his sword, and as he did, she removed her hand from his wrist.

  The contact was broken and with it the sense of profound peacefulness was lost. It was almost painful, as if something dear to him had been ripped away. He recognized it as the High Father’s touch.

  “Their eyes have been opened,” Amarra said. “As our god commanded, it is time to feed their souls.”

  Amarra turned away and started down the corridor, her dress whispering across the stone. The nearest men drew back, almost as if fearful.

  “The High Father,” Amarra said loudly, “who you know as Jupiter, welcomes all. Return to your roots … honor him, love him as he loves you … worship your god, fill your hearts with faith and you shall know salvation. I call upon you, Romans … return to your god.”

  No one moved. It was almost as if they were afraid to. The silence stretched. It was broken as a legionary coughed, hacking so hard it bent him over double as he lay on his blanket. He recovered and climbed slowly to his feet, before moving through the crowd toward Amarra.

  The sickness had taken a terrible toll upon him. His cheeks were gaunt and he was painfully thin. His tunic hung awkwardly on his bony frame. He appeared so ill, it was a wonder he could walk at all. There was a funny look in his eyes, as if he saw something in her … that others did not.

  He slowly stepped forward and reached a tentative hand out toward her white dress and the light that encased her. Amarra did nothing to stop him. He hesitated, abruptly becoming unsure. She smiled reassuringly and gave an encouraging nod for him to continue.

  As he touched the fabric, the staff flared back to brilliance and a beam of light shot squarely into his chest. He stumbled backward. The beam faded from existence.

  Gone was the emaciated, wasted man.

  Eyes wide, he sucked in a breath and let it out. He looked at his hands and arms, gazing at them in utter astonishment. “I am healed.”

  “Your faith has been rewarded.”

  Amarra set the butt of her staff down hard on the floor. As it cracked the marble, the air rang with the sound of a bell tolling. “Hear me, Romans, the High Father is willing to bless you, to forgive your transgressions, those in the distant past and those committed this night. All he asks in return is faith, love, and devotion. I pose you this question … as he gives unto you, will you willingly give in return?”

  There was a moment of hesitation, then almost en mass, the men pressed forward, each reaching out to touch her dress or the staff itself. The staff’s light once again grew in brilliance. The air seemed to hum, and with every touch, a jet of light shot forth. The light intensified and more of the healing beams shot forth, each fully restoring a man.

  Karus watched it all in amazement as Amarra healed every single man in the corridor who still drew breath. The white light around her had grown intense, to the point where it was almost painful to keep his gaze upon her. But Karus did not look away, not once. He was watching a rare event, a miracle, unfold before his eyes. It was simply awe-inspiring … incredible to witness. He found himself greatly moved.

  Karus and Flaccus just stood side by side and watched. So too did Kol’Cara and, above them, Cyln’Phax. Eventually, Amarra walked back down the hallway to them. Si’Cara, following after her, looked a little disheveled and worse for wear. But despite that, there was a slight smile of satisfaction plastered upon her face.

  Every eye was on Amarra as she passed. She stopped before Karus and Flaccus. She was still encased in a bubble of white light. It was then Karus noticed that Amarra’s hair had turned perfectly white. Gone was the black hair.

  Amarra fixed the centurion with her gaze. “Do you wish to receive the High Father’s blessing also?”

  Flaccus hesitated a moment, then slowly knelt before her and bowed his head. “I do. Though, I feel compelled to admit, I do not feel worthy.”

  “The High Father is a loving god,” Amarra said.

  “Still,” Flaccus said. “I have sinned.”

  “The High Father is a forgiving god. He will
weigh and judge whether you are worthy.”

  “I understand.” Flaccus reached forth a hesitant hand to touch the hem her dress. A beam of light shot forth, striking the centurion’s head. The beam ceased. He gasped, eyes going wide. Flaccus reached down toward his stomach.

  “The pain is gone.” Amarra was gazing down upon him. “You know of what I speak. It has been slowly eating away at you. Month after month, day after day, it has been getting worse.”

  “My stomach,” Flaccus said. “My stomach has been healed?”

  “You have been judged worthy,” Amarra said.

  “It was killing me,” Flaccus said, looking over at Karus. “Ampelius said so … a cancer of the belly.”

  Karus had not known. Neither the centurion nor the legion’s surgeon had said anything. Flaccus had likely sworn the man to silence, possibly under threat. And in truth, Karus could understand. He’d rather die doing something useful, working out his service, than being discharged. To die alone and without one’s comrades close at hand was something Karus wished on no one.

  “The cancer is gone,” Amarra said.

  “I will thank the High Father,” Flaccus said.

  “You will return his favor,” Amarra said, “with your service.”

  Flaccus gave a solemn nod. “I will. I swear it to be so.”

  “Now, if you would show me to those others still afflicted, I will offer them the High Father’s blessing.”

  Flaccus stood and glanced over to Karus. “With your permission, sir?”

  “Do it,” Karus said.

  “This way.” Flaccus led her back down the corridor.

  Men freshly healed lined the sides of the corridor. As she passed, with Si’Cara following two steps behind, first one, then all the men took a knee and bowed their heads. Karus had never seen anything like it. Romans bowed to no one, not even the emperor … only the gods.

  A few moments before and they would have willingly torn her limb from limb. Now they showed Amarra great honor, respect, and perhaps even love. The thread Karus had thought severed had been mended. It had taken a miracle, but it had been done. The legion would march on.

  “You have an amazing woman there,” Kol’Cara said, having come up to his side.

  “I do,” Karus said and started after Amarra. “That I do.”

  Chapter Ten

  It took more than four hours for Amarra to work her way through the entirety of the palace district. With the High Father’s power, she healed every man, woman, and child from the legion, the auxiliaries, and the camp followers. Throughout all of it, Si’Cara had remained close by her side. Karus and Flaccus trailed behind them, going from building to building until they found themselves out on the parade ground before the main entrance of the palace.

  Here, tents had been raised for those who were healthy. Flaccus had told him it was hoped the fresh air would keep further men from falling ill. The legion’s surgeon, Ampelius, had recommended it, and Flaccus had thought it a good idea.

  Ampelius was a master at his craft and had saved many a man from death. He, with his small corps of doctors and medics, had always been an integral part of the legion. Now, with Amarra’s miraculous ability to heal the sick and injured with the High Father’s power, Karus wondered if it made them redundant and possibly unneeded.

  Karus glanced skyward. Though still overcast, the darkness had finally given way to some color. The temperature had even begun to grow warm, which seemed to indicate a hot day was in the making. Despite having not slept, Karus found he wasn’t at all tired. In fact, he was energized, as if he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. Flaccus seemed to be in a similar state.

  Just several yards away, surrounded by a crowd of legionaries, Amarra worked, spreading the good word and healing those yet to be afflicted with symptoms. According to her, all had been infected. She had chosen to visit last with those who had yet to fall sick, offering them the High Father’s blessing. So far, none had refused her.

  Most legionaries honored the gods to one degree or another, with many simply paying lip service. In their unique profession, soldiers could not ignore the gods and risk incurring divine disfavor. To do so was unwise, for the gods were known to be vindictive, especially if they were not regularly appeased.

  Karus himself had always been religious. Dutifully, he had regularly offered devotions and sacrifices to Rome’s pantheon of gods, all twelve of them. During the high holidays, he had even attended a service or two. But, for the most part, Karus had kept his beliefs to himself, as he felt it was a deeply personal thing. Forcing religion on someone typically did not work. The northern Celtic tribes were proof of that. Such attempts usually led to hard feelings and trouble.

  He glanced over at Flaccus. Prior to coming to this world, there had always been a zeal of faithful fire residing within Flaccus’s breast. The man’s intense and open belief in the divine set him apart from most others who served. He frequently attended religious services and pressured his men to do so as well.

  And now, in Flaccus’s gaze, Karus saw the deep burning belief had been reinforced. After what had occurred this night, he understood that many of the men would undergo a revival of faith, and an intense one at that. He wondered, not with a little trepidation, what future challenges that would bring. Zealots, driven by fanaticism, could be trouble.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Both men turned to find two legionaries standing at attention. They wore their service tunics and were armed with short swords. Their faces had been intentionally blackened by ash, which had run and been smeared by sweat. They offered Karus a salute.

  “Optio Divius”—Flaccus pointed to the man on the left by way of introduction and then the man on the right—“and Legionary Lanza. Both are from my cohort.”

  “I know them,” Karus said to Flaccus. Between the legion, auxiliaries, and the camp followers, it was impossible for Karus to personally know everyone by sight. It was more important that everyone else knew him rather than the other way around. But … he did know these two knuckleheads and almost smiled, for he was fond of them both.

  Divius was a hard service veteran who was on track to make centurion. The man had rugged good looks and was known to be popular with the ladies. He also had a good head on his shoulders and was a respected man. In battle, Divius set the example for others to follow. Even when everything went to shit, he’d shown great courage and a coolness of attitude.

  But, with all that going for him, he’d initially not qualified for promotion. Until the previous year, Divius had been mostly illiterate. To correct that deficiency, he’d diligently saved his pay and purchased an educated slave to teach him what he needed to know. Only those who could read, write, and do their numbers were eligible for promotion. In the end, Divius had learned what he needed and made it, receiving a promotion to optio, much to Flaccus’s pleasure. The next step for him after he gained more experience was the centurionate, and Karus had no doubt Divius would make it.

  Lanza was another good man and a veteran of more than ten years of service. He’d distinguished himself in combat the previous summer against the Celts in a nasty ambush that had nearly seen an entire century wiped out. Lanza had been awarded a phalera for bravery and was another who showed promise.

  Both men were fast friends and almost inseparable. They were known for finding trouble, and not the little kind either. Karus, along with many of the other senior officers, considered both to be blessed by Fortuna, perhaps even the High Father. On more than one occasion, by all rights, both men should have died … and yet somehow, despite the odds, they’d managed to survive.

  Karus scowled slightly and wondered why their faces had been blackened. Then he snapped his fingers with sudden understanding and silently cursed himself.

  “The fires,” Karus said.

  With all that had happened, he’d forgotten about them. In a city that could easily burn, with the legion inside it, he found that was an almost unforgivable sin. Karus became irritated with himself
at the lapse.

  “That’s right, sir,” Flaccus said. “These are the men I sent into the city to investigate the fires.”

  “What did you learn?” Karus asked, forcing the irritation away.

  “The refugees have been fighting amongst themselves, sir,” Divius reported. “We think they found a small warehouse with some food and … well, fought over the contents. It must have been something we overlooked, sir. Leading up to the building, there were bodies all over the place in the street. It appears after the fighting, they got around to extinguishing the fires.”

  “Are you certain the fires are out?” Karus asked, feeling instant relief at the news.

  “We couldn’t get that close, sir,” Lanza said, “but we were able to climb a building that was tall and had a good view. Though it was still dark, all we saw was some smoke … not as much as before, but no visible flame. It certainly seemed like it was out.”

  “Do you agree?” Flaccus asked Divius. “That the fires are out?”

  “I do, sir,” the optio said. “I think they were extinguished when the fighting ended.” Divius paused a moment. “It’s just a guess, but it seemed like the Sersay and Taka’noon ganged up on the Adile.”

  Karus thought back to what he remembered of the band of refugees he had accepted into the city. Amongst them had been the remains of three entire peoples. They, like many others, were fleeing the Horde.

  Xresex had been the headman of the Adile. Logex had represented the Sersay—Ord the Taka’noon. He’d thought he could deal with them, but he now understood how wrong he’d been. It wouldn’t be the last time he would be wrong either. Karus knew at some point in the future he was bound to screw up again. Life in the legions taught you that you couldn’t always have things go your way. No one was infallible.

  Still, all that had followed was solely his fault. For the remainder of his days, he would feel responsible for Dio’s death. He was in charge and it was his job to make the important decisions. That was the rub of it all. Command frequently came with a price. Make the wrong decision and it cost lives, and sometimes not just a few, either.