PART 3 - Azygous

CHAPTER VIII. Chiasmus

The forest is perfectly still, except for Her frantic and crippled escape. Somehow, in the midst of it all, She finds this amusing---always in opposition with Her surroundings, with those around Her---so typical, so familiar. There is no time to savor the humor, there never is.

Her ragged clothes are soaked through with blood and sweat, tattered and torn by twig, thorn and stone. She stumbles over a root, cursing Her legs---Her ruined legs---tumbling to the ground like an old woman. Tears fill Her eyes and growls pour from Her like those of a rabid thing. Pushing Herself upright, She launches again into a clumsy and painful sprint.

She can hear the dogs. After all that had happened, before they had set Her loose---She had been surprised that there were dogs in such a strange and far off place. Now those same animals had Her scent, were only minutes behind Her. They would drag Her to the ground---perhaps waiting until their master's arrival before tearing Her to pieces. Perhaps…

There are no more tricks, no more schemes, no more skills---only the cold and simple rules of nature; it is almost liberating. She feels nothing except pain, but that has been true for so long. She is nothing except Her will---and that has been all that She has ever desired. Strange to be in such a brutal situation and yet have it somehow be everything you've always known, always wanted.

She hears the panting and yapping of the dogs; they are closing in. Turning, She tries to ascertain their position---imagines them skimming between the trees, brindled and leering like dusk through the woods. Her ankle twists horribly, tragically and She tumbles into the leaves. Coming to a stop, She sighs and prepares to fight and to die. The speedy padding of the dogs moves closer and closer.

Her ankle may be broken, again. There is someone standing over Her, a woman adorned in red silks---the sun obscures the face, bathing Her eyes with radiance.

A vision...or worse…

The woman's breathing is familiar, controlled---steady in comparison to the tumult and unrest of Her own ragged gasps.

The dogs spill frantically into the clearing and rush toward them…

She opened Her eyes to the warm water and steam of the baths. Sweat beaded over Her tanned shoulders and dripped into the pool that engulfed Her waking body. She exhaled slightly. Her breathing was still excited, labored---it caused slight ripples across the water.

She blinked in confusion as She rested Her head against the marble edge of the pool. The forest, the dogs, Her traitorous legs, the enigmatic woman---they were as real to Her as this chamber; the water She soaked in; the sounds of songbirds filtering in from outside. She flexed the muscles in Her ankles and rotated her feet finding them strong, healthy.

She sighed. There was another element to these "visions" or "dreams"---they pulsed with the emotional connections, familiarity that only memory brings. She raised a leg out of the water and carefully examined it for signs of injury, scars, of past damage. Steam rose from Her dripping skin into the shade of the bathhouse. Nowhere could She recall any of the events She had seen---but She knew without doubt that they were memories.

Her eyes drifted to Meridian resting in its scabbard against a marble encased column. She pursed Her lips in satisfaction and pride. Her memory began there with the sword---and ended here in the bath, She decided. Since these "memories" did not fall within those clear boundaries, they remained phantoms, ghosts---unreal to Her.

Her master entered the bathhouse. He smiled down approvingly.

"Having a little soak, are we?" he said. "Hope I'm not interrupting."

"You never could, Master."

He stopped at the bath's edge and picked up a nearby sea sponge.

"May I?" he asked, indicating that She should lean forward.

He soaked the sponge in the bath, sensuously enjoying the heat of the natural springs. Lifting it above Her, he squeezed, allowing the warm water to pour slowly onto the skin of Her shoulders and neck, letting it trace its own exquisite course down Her exposed body.

"I have another task for you…an important one."

"All my tasks for you are important, Master…"

Ares placed the sponge underwater again.

"This one is more of a test, really," he smirked, menacingly. Once again he squeezed the sponge. "One that I'm sure you'll pass."

"Thank you."

The God of War looked longingly at the smooth nape of Her neck.

"You'd better get ready. Tonight may be…difficult."

She nodded, rising slowly from the bath. With damp footfalls She passed Meridian and left the bathhouse---trying to drive the sounds of rushing leaves and Her own panting breaths from Her ears.

Ares sighed as he watched Her leave. There was a shimmer beside him, and Aphrodite appeared.

"Eeew! Steam is just so nasty on the pores," she exclaimed.

Ares rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

The Goddess of Love crossed her arms. "Are you sure about all of this, Bro?" she asked. "I mean, why do this part at all?"

"Why not?" he asked, squinting at her.

"Why take the risk? Why not wait, like, a century or two---why do this whole master-plan-thingy now?"

"There's no better time than right now." He smiled at her. "Besides, there's no point in playing this game without the risks."

Aphrodite sighed and stepped away from the pool.

"Can't you leave them out of it? Why put them through all of this---after everything?" she asked sadly. "It's not even about them…"

Ares turned defiantly.

"That's right---it isn't about them," he replied coldly. The God of War glared at his sister in the humid, half-light of the chamber.

"Not anymore."

************

Dusk was approaching slowly at the secret valley, lazily draping the sky in soft diaphanous curtains of vermilion and ginger. The songs of birds and insects surrounded the two friends---a fitting accompaniment to the wayward dances of floating pollen buds. Gabrielle closed her eyes hoping nature's peaceful hum would calm her own apprehension.

Xena stuck her tongue out in concentration, surveying the task at hand. "So…uhm…is it okay if I start off…uhm…slowly?"

Gabrielle sighed. "You don't have to do this at all, if you don't want to. I'm sure I can find someone in the next place we stop to do it for me."

"No!" Xena responded forcefully, then, "No. I want to do it…it's just…"

"Just what? That you've never cut someone's hair before?"

"That's not it," the warrior said. "I used to cut Lyceus' and Toris' hair for them."

Gabrielle smiled as she let her fertile imagination do its magic with that image. She tilted her head slightly. "Then what is it, Xena?"

The warrior remained silent and began running a brush through the bard's strawberry hair in slow, preoccupied strokes. A look of extreme curiosity bloomed on Gabrielle's face. Whatever mysterious tidbit her tall, dark friend was keeping from her must be a doozy---Xena had been uncharacteristically distracted since they had sat down to trim the bard's hair. The warrior had also been absently forthcoming about a potentially embarrassing childhood memory---that kind of carelessness usually never occurred!

Xena looked down at the bone handle of her breast dagger, hoping to find the best way to explain her anxiousness.

Gabrielle was enjoying herself far too much to let her friend suffer in silence. "Well?" she asked.

"I…I just don't want to mess it up," Xena said finally. "You have such beautiful hair, I…"

"You…you really think so?" Gabrielle's hand drifted vainly towards her mane, but she was able to restrain it. As for the blush that had painted her skin---she wasn't so successful.

"Well, who wouldn't?" Xena said straightening a bit. "I'm just worried you know…this isn't exactly one of my many skills…" She gestured with the dagger, "A big ole' knife like this one…y'know…you could wind up looking like Joxer or something…"

"Like Joxer?" Gabrielle laughed. "What do you plan on cutting, my hair or my face?"

Xena guffawed, and the bard could swear she felt her friend's apprehension melt away. With a renewed confidence, the warrior gently took a lock of Gabrielle's hair and began trimming it with the dagger. The bard let her eyes drift to the still surface of the pond.

"If the world could see me now," she said with a smile.

Xena never took her eyes off her work, tongue darting out of her mouth again. "Whattaya mean?" she asked.

"Well, I'm letting Xena: Warrior Princess cut my hair---with a knife, no less."

"Just don't tell anyone," Xena whispered in the bard's ear. "My reputation is completely shot as it is."

Gabrielle smiled warmly, letting out a tiny giggle. Peering down briefly before she resumed her work, Xena grinned at her young friend. "You like it here, huh?"

"I love it here, Xena," the bard said with a sigh. "The trees, the grass, the water, the animals---everything's perfect. It's like we're the only people on earth."

Xena grinned, perhaps a little too wolfishly. "That might be fun…uh…funny, I mean…"

Xena stepped in front of Gabrielle and began trimming the bard's bangs. Gabrielle quickly averted her eyes from the tanned flesh of the warrior's neck, shoulders and other attributes---just being this close was…very, VERY distracting. She needed to concentrate elsewhere…

The bard sighed. "Uhm…Xena?"

"Gabrielle?"

"Why have we never come here before?"

The warrior darted her eyes away. "Oh…uhm…I don't know…no time…never in the area…"

"What do you mean? That whole fiasco with the Titans happened around here, and as I recall…we had some spare time after that."

"Hmm…must've slipped my mind then," the warrior offered weakly.

"I'm sure…"

Xena stopped trimming Gabrielle's hair, her blue eyes meeting the bard's. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What happened here, Xena?" Gabrielle smiled confidently. "You were obviously avoiding this place for a reason."

"I wasn't avoiding it…I…" The warrior looked away.

"Then what were you doing?"

"Like I said…it must've slipped my mind," Xena muttered, starting to cut at Gabrielle's hair again.

The bard sighed and decided to hold off on the line of questioning---for now. Whatever had happened here, Xena was being stubborn about sharing it. Maybe after a swim and some dinner, the warrior's lips would prove to be a little looser. Gabrielle found herself flush at the wording of that last thought.

Xena made a few quick cuts with the knife. "There, that's it." The warrior stepped back a little to admire her handiwork. "Well…I think…yeah…I think I did a pretty good job." Xena's wide grin made Gabrielle giggle.

"Pretty proud of yourself, huh?"

"Yup," Xena smirked. "I think you're going to need to go for a swim to wash away all the little bits of hair. Don't want you to get all itchy, right?"

The warrior playfully tickled Gabrielle's ribs, forcing the bard to spring upwards and squeal in delighted surprise.

"Hey! I thought we made a deal!" Gabrielle flushed with excitement. "You don't tickle me and I never mention that whole 'underwear incident'. Whatever that was…"

Xena blushed. "Hey! I explained what happened there…it wasn't my fault…"

Gabrielle nodded. "Mm-hmm…"

The warrior crossed her arms. "Go take your swim," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Just watch your back…"

The bard laughed. "Oh yeah…what are you gonna do?"

"Start dinner, actually," the warrior smirked.

Gabrielle blinked. "Really? You? Uhm…dinner?"

"Sure. Why not me, uhm…dinner?" Xena mimicked the bard.

"No offense, Xena---I love you, but you'd burn water."

They both laughed. The bard wished that she hadn't blushed so much at what she had said. Another part of her wished there was some way to repeat it over and over again. The middle bit, anyway…

"Alright, alright," Xena chuckled. "You go swim and I'll clean the fish and ready the pans for the master chef…" She bowed with a flourish.

Gabrielle grinned and nodded her approval. "Sounds good."

The bard walked to the water's edge. She sat down, quickly unlaced her boots and threw them beside her on the bank. She dangled her bare feet in the warm pond and sighed happily.

With the sun setting in such a slow and dreamy manner, Gabrielle lost herself in a wave of emotions. She found herself extremely excited about this evening's upcoming fireside conversation. Because of their current surroundings and their obvious safety, she felt that Xena would be more relaxed, more open. While their adventures in the real world were more exciting than Gabrielle had ever imagined they could be, it was her own adventures in exploring her friend's psyche that she truly relished.

She stood and unlaced her green shirt, throwing it near her boots. She stripped out of her skirt and undergarments and stepped out into the shallows of the pond. The young woman stood with her back to the campsite, slightly crouched as she splashed water on her arms. In the sun's gaze the entire scene was a crown forged in oranges and reds---with Gabrielle its glowing jewel.

She sighed, her teeth chattering a bit. The past few weeks had seen too much happen---Xena's death, Callisto, Velasca, other issues---issues between the two of them. Gabrielle dove into the shimmering water, coming up near the middle of the pond. They would sort all of it out---Gabrielle knew they would. The bard stood, water raining in starry rivulets from her smooth form. She hoped that she would be able to say everything that was on her mind.

Pushing her dripping hair back out of her face she peered longingly to the shore. Xena was nowhere to be found…

The bright light of morning seemed to press against the shutters of Gabrielle's room, threatening to violently fling them open. She rubbed her eyes. The warrior winced as she rose from her bed, clutching her ribs. She threw a robe on and padded silently out of the room, down the hall to the library. She grabbed her sword and scabbard and left the house.

Gabrielle squinted in the blinding quartz of the approaching noon. She unsheathed her katana and moved into the first stance of her daily drills. The limits of her injuries needed to be tested, and her morning drills were a good way to accomplish that. They were also an excellent method for curing frustrations and less tangible aches the warrior often suffered...

She worked at a fraction of her usual pace, concentrating on technique and precision rather than power and speed. She felt that her ribs weren't severely broken; with some stretching and a fresh dressing they would be as good as they could be for later...

Stretching out in a low stance, Gabrielle monitored her injuries. Everything seemed to be okay, under the circumstances. It had been a long time since anyone had been able to hit her that hard. A long time…

Gabrielle slid back onto her heels in a defensive-position. There were too many players in this game for the warrior's liking, and all of them deadly ones. She worried about Mira.

She smiled as her mind wandered to her friend---the girl had outshined both she and Virgil with her discovery of Eve's whereabouts. The warrior slowly rose into a tall attacking stance. Now, they could rescue Eve; now, they could act; now, they could strike at Rome.

She launched into a vicious downward thrust that proved too much for her still-tender ribs. Lowering herself to one knee, the warrior shook her head, finding it difficult to breathe. Getting too old for this, she sighed to herself---only half-joking.

Gabrielle rose with a determined look. She began again, at a faster pace. Her ribs complained less this time around. Soon, she had worked up a satisfying sweat.

And as always, in the midst of the warrior's work, the womb of now, Gabrielle let the wash of memories claim her without a struggle---falling headlong, a sacrifice cast into the churning waves.

There was only the one memory---the memory of Her---in a ragged and dirty shift pulling weapons from the earth like a god, running slavers through, saving Gabrielle's life, changing her life.

The memory of Her---standing watch, looking sadly down upon a group of women She had saved, perhaps wishing to laugh as they did, bathing carelessly in the languorous river.

The memory---realizing that the heavy list, the slight thump in the coffin was Her body, and that she would never see Her again.

The memory of Her---enslaving, liberating with kisses, touches, in rented rooms, by campfires, caves, gently beneath cool springs, fiercely after battles with lust growling from them, shredding their clothes.

The memory---the awful memory of the last time Gabrielle looked into those blue eyes, upon that beautiful face---fading away into the moody darkness of a crypt in Amphipolis. Stares and words had been the sole tools of expression for so long, they had replaced touching, kissing---possessing. For some time, in the half-light, they could do neither. Eventually, the comforting words, the bravado, Her weariness---sublimated into the final, plaintive gaze they shared.
Gabrielle straightened into the final stance of the set. She wiped her brow, her face---her eyes. Mira approached from the house. She carried a tray with a mug, a pitcher and a bowl of dates on it. The girl tried to nonchalantly appraise the bruises on Gabrielle's neck as she placed the refreshments down. The warrior smiled.
"Gross, huh?"
"What? Oh…they look a little better, actually…"
Gabrielle nodded. "They don't hurt as much…"
She finished wiping herself off. Mira shifted and absently bit at a nail. Gabrielle smiled at her uneasily.
"I'm going to change the dressing on these," she said, indicating her ribs. "After a bath of course." The warrior sniffed at herself mockingly.
"Eat something." Mira indicated the dates.
The warrior began to protest, but thought better of it when the girl shot her a look. "Okay…" She picked up a plump date and popped it between her lips. It was better than she had expected… "There," she spoke around the sugary fruit, spitting the clean pit into the garden with a grin.
The girl crossed her arms, unimpressed. "The milk."
Gabrielle shrugged in resignation. "The milk…" She poured herself a mug and drained it in a few gulps.
"Happy?"
Mira shook her head.
"What now?" the warrior's patience was running thin.
"Mustache…"
"Huh? Mustache? Oh!" Gabrielle wiped the milk from her upper lip and smiled at her friend, who returned the grin warmly. They sat upon the cool marble steps, shaded by a gaunt lemon tree.
"Was that so hard?" Mira asked.
Gabrielle shook her head.

"You shouldn't get yourself all tired out," the girl said. "We've still got a job to do."

The warrior smiled. "I was just testing out the ribs."

"And?"

"Well, they've been better, but they'll be fine---as long as nobody hits me there…or anywhere near them," Gabrielle grinned.

Mira shook her head. "Be careful, will ya?"

"I will, I will. Stop worrying. I've done this kind of thing hundreds of times." Gabrielle shrugged then winked at the girl. "A couple of times with a stabbed leg, too."

Mira shook her head again. "We all want to rescue Eve, you realize that, right?"

Gabrielle shifted. "Uhm…I know."

"And we will."

"I know."

Mira placed her hand on Gabrielle's shoulder. "Getting hurt---in any way---isn't going to help, though. It's only going to put us all, and Eve, in danger."

Gabrielle met the girl's eyes and nodded with a sigh. "You're right. I guess…I guess this one is really…personal, you know?"

The girl couldn't let this unprecedented act of openness and honesty interfere with her ability to give advice. "I know," she said comfortingly. "That makes it personal for all of us…"

The warrior smiled at Mira. "I'm glad you understand…" she paused, looking for words, "I'm glad you understand what Eve means to me."

Mira nodded and smiled with a wisdom that seemed beyond her years. She left the warrior to eat by herself in the shade. Gabrielle scooped up a couple of dates, popping one into her mouth.

She reclined against the drought-tormented tree. Lazily, she gazed up into its branches. The tired thing was modestly jeweled with yellow fruit. She stretched her arms upwards, running her fingers over the rough bark. Her ribs protested with a weak throb. She sighed, lowering her arms.

Taking the pit from her mouth, Gabrielle rose. She looked out past Virgil's garden, out over the Aventine, towards the haze and fumes of Rome. The sky above the city was still and pale, like a sun-atrophied rag.

A golden-plumed eagle chased a sparrow over the neighboring townhouses. They spun, black and desperate against the pale sky, above the slate rooftops. The raptor's talons spread wide in anticipation of the kill but the tiny bird darted into a clutch of grape vines, narrowly avoiding death---losing its pursuer in the process.

"For how much longer?" the warrior said quietly, as she watched the small, tawny sparrow wash itself in the shrunken pool of a birdbath. She headed inside, out of the light and heat, taking her sword and scabbard with her.

************

Nero watched the soldier's nervous approach with straight-faced glee. The Praetorian officer walked with that particularly Roman stubbornness---a dumb resignation in the face of imminent danger that the Emperor had seen on countless bearers of bad news. Rome had been built on the backs of simple chattel such as this.

The officer was a large man, but he was dwarfed in size by the tall, vaulted heights of the Domus Aurea. Nero's private abode, away from the bureaucratic bustle of the Imperial Palace and the Palatine, was built next to several wealthy senators' homes. The Emperor gritted his teeth. He had been trying for ages to have them all moved, or killed, or whatever, so he could level their homes and make the Domus larger still---and truly golden. Nero splashed angrily at the water.

Octavia stepped out into view from her post and approached the soldier. He grimly handed the bodyguard his scroll and waited as she read. Nero popped his foot out of the water and glanced at his toenails. The soldier and the bodyguard entered the large bathing chamber and approached---their footfalls growing louder upon the marble floor.

Nero smiled at the pair as he scooped a large ladle of water and poured it onto the brazier of heated rocks beside him. Steam quickly obscured the area giving the chamber a dreamlike quality.

"Caesar," Octavia addressed through the haze. "More urgent news."

Nero picked up an apple from a nearby tray and gazed for imperfections upon its surface.

"Well, I should think so," he began, "given how you've interrupted my favorite part of the day."

The soldier shifted uncomfortably. Octavia continued---she knew that Nero was merely having fun at the man's expense.

"The fort on the Quirinal Hill…the troops there…" she seemed shocked.

"Yes?" Nero took a bite from the apple, and gestured with it. "Go on."

"They were destroyed; the fort was burned to the ground."

Nero chewed. The Praetorian blinked nervously. Octavia read the words over again in disbelief.

"The vigiles arrived on the scene in time to control the fire and tend to the wounded…there weren't many left…"

Nero looked calmly to the soldier for an explanation.

"Caesar, it is our belief that…that…"

Octavia spun on the man. "Out with it!"

"It is our belief that the attack was perpetrated by a lone…a lone assailant."

Octavia clenched her fist, crumpling the papyrus.

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

The soldier seemed surprised that the woman hadn't beheaded him for such an improbable hypothesis.

"We are."
Nero began to laugh. Octavia slowly turned to meet the Emperor's gaze through the clouds of steam. He continued to guffaw and indicated that she should dismiss the soldier---unharmed. Raising an eyebrow, she did. The man did his best not to break into a run.
The Emperor took another bite out of his apple and indicated for Octavia to sit at the side of the large bathing pool. She approached, still reeling from the news of the Quirinal.
"There's going to be rioting in the streets."
"I know. It's perfect," the Emperor giggled.
"Caesar?"
"Oh, come on Octavia," he smiled. "And here, I thought you were such a smart little soldier."
"Caesar, with all due respect---there's someone out there…one person, mind you…that has the ability to destroy hundreds of our soldiers at a single pass. Surely you should…"
"Octavia, please---try and see the big picture," Nero grinned condescendingly. "This person or whatever it is will be like any other---buy it or find its weakness and destroy it, it makes no bloody difference to me."
He waved his hand. "What I do care about is the big picture---Rome, the Empire, the Universe. This person has furthered our plans beyond our wildest expectations and we haven't had to bribe or kill anyone."
Octavia blinked.
"It's disappointing, I know, but still satisfying," Nero finished.
The bodyguard dropped her eyes in belated realization. "Of course…" she began.
"That's right," Nero finished for her. "No one in their right mind would ever object to more troops in Rome now---not even the Senate."
Octavia nodded.
The emperor continued. "Also, I can close the Senate, declare martial law and drum up a lot of anti-Republican sentiment, but we can talk about that later. For now, see if you can dig up anything on this killer, hmm?"
The dour woman stood and prepared to leave.
"Octavia?"
"Caesar?"
"Big smile, huh?" Nero gestured at her, motioning with his hands that she should smile. "You have such lovely bone structure and teeth, you need to learn to show them off more."
"I shall try, Caesar."
"Good girl."
Nero sank back against the edge of the bath. He watched the woman leave, his eyes lingering on the tanned skin and well formed muscle of her powerful thighs. He stared greedily up her form, his eyes finally resting upon the boyishly short stubble at the back of her neck and head. A sigh escaped his lips as she disappeared through the door.
The Emperor turned and caught his reflection in a mirror across the chamber. From this distance, it seemed a similar looking man was spying on the Emperor, his eyes falling upon him, sharing in this private moment. Nero stuck his tongue out at himself.
He poured a fresh ladle of water onto the brazier, his reflection disappearing behind the swelling cloud of steam.
************

Mira had left her position near the Temple of Caesar to grab a bite to eat in the marketplace, only to find it teeming with Roman soldiers. Her first instinct had been to hide and observe, but after a stomach-growling hour of reconnaissance, she decided to give up. She wasn't learning anything new just sitting around---besides she didn't "do" hungry anyway.

Mira had tried to watch the events in the market from a partially obscured doorway, situated down a secluded side street. It wasn't working so well, no matter how much she squinted or pushed her neck out. Her gut protested audibly. She cursed under her breath, thrust her head down and stormed from her hiding place into the street.

The market seemed normal save for the soldiers patrolling the street in large numbers. Officers stopped civilians for questioning, even taking away the occasional person. She didn't like the looks of it one bit.

It was very simple for Mira to look suspicious. She had always found it hard to wipe the grit of guilt from her face---even when she hadn't committed some sort of prank or caper or robbery. Maybe she had a guilty sort of gait. She shook her head. Not her gait---her gait was unimpeachable. Mira sighed. Having access to Virgil's library was dulling her edge, eroding her connection to the street---polluting her vernacular! She sighed, rolled her eyes and continued into the crowded square.

The girl wiped her brow. It was way too hot. She pushed through an especially drunken and sweaty crowd of patrons and headed towards a food stall---one of the Roman ones. The cook smiled at her in welcome.

"You got anything that doesn't have that fish sauce on it?" she asked, looking around somewhat suspiciously. She caught herself---then realized that that probably came off as suspicious as well. She grit her teeth.

"I got meat on a stick, how's that sound?"

"Great," Mira grimaced. "Just great."

The man busied himself with food preparation, muttering something under his breath about how fish sauce never hurt anyone, and how it was actually quite good for you once you acquired a taste for it. Mira nonchalantly trained her eyes over the forum, looking for any distinct patterns.

Most of the soldiers were moving in groups of four around the perimeter of the market. Several ivory-robed Praetorians made their way in pairs through the crowds. Mira noted that the makeshift base of operations in the forum was beneath a large triumphal arch in the northwest corner of the square. It was there that several chariots were parked and a large compliment of soldiers could be seen.

"Your food is ready, miss."

Mira absently grabbed the stick and paid the man. Her eyes continued to scan the crowds. She wondered what had prompted such an increased presence. A question best saved for after lunch. She took a bite. Not bad…as meat on a stick went…

A tall man, dressed in white robes adorned with the signature purple sash of the Praetorian Guard, stepped out of the crowd toward her. He smiled warmly at her, but Mira was already looking for an escape. It was the same officer who had read the Elians' arrest proclamation the day before.

"You're not from Rome, are you my dear?"

Mira remained calm; she took another bite out of the barbecued meat. "What makes you say that?"

The soldier stopped right in front of her. "Your clothes, your hair---but mostly your eating habits," he smiled, indicating her meat-on-a-stick. "No fish sauce."

To her credit, Mira calmly took another bite of her food and smiled. "I'm allergic."

"Of course," the man chuckled. "Well…enjoy your meal and your visit."

He moved to leave, then turned back.

"Oh, and stay away from fish sauce," he smirked. "And anything else that might prompt an undesirable…reaction."

Mira stopped chewing. "Uh…yeah…thanks…"

The soldier left, leaving the girl growling under her breath.

Whatever! He doesn't know anything. Does he? There's no way…

She finished her meal and threw herself back into the sweltering masses. Faces, smells, sounds, smells---all bled into one spinning, shoving, groping sensation for her. She headed back toward the temple up on the Palatine Hill.

Mira held her breath as she came across a patrol of four armored legionnaires. The sunlight beaming from their brightly polished armor and weapons seemed to repel the crowd. She caught a glimpse of herself in the surface of a shield and winked. She also caught a glimpse of the Praetorian---he was following her.

So that's how it's going to be, huh?

The streets that wound up the Palatine Hill were significantly less crowded. Mira found it easy to feign nonchalance among the wide and quiet avenues---the Praetorian found it hard to do the same. Jerk sticks out like a centaur at a town dance. She kept walking, looking for an opening, an escape.

Orange, lemon and fig trees lined the way, leaning into the road. Mira snatched an orange from a low hanging branch. She began peeling it and humming to herself. Judging the stone-faced look on a passing woman, she knew the Praetorian was still tailing her. She decided to leave the Palatine and come back later. She flipped a segment of orange between her lips and turned into the crowd of a busy street.

Following the almost mindless shift of the masses, Mira entered the valley to the southeast of the Palatine. The Praetorian lost some ground, but was still within sight when she hazarded a glance over her shoulder. Ahead she could see a cloud of hazy dust hanging over the clustered markets. Mira pushed toward it.

The sound of thundering hooves and loud cheers soon became apparent. Chariot races…nice… Mira smirked and moved toward the excitement. The praetorian followed, still losing ground.

The girl's eyes widened as she took in the sight facing her. The Circus Maximus opened up before her in its colossal majesty. Thousands took to the seats on the hill at its southern edge---others crowded around its flat outskirts, nudging for a better view. Huge chariots pounded around the gritty track.

Forgetting herself, the girl stood on her tiptoes hoping to get a better view. Through the road-worn leather of her boots Mira detected something strange about the ground. She peered down. She was standing on a sewer cover. Squinting, she tried to peer through the holes into the darkness.

A mischievous smile spread slowly and satisfyingly across Mira's face. Guess you really are the Princess of Thieves… Looking back out towards the Palatine, she nodded in concentration and then triumph. She had just solved two problems with one solution.

A glance behind saw the praetorian staring right back. She had to time this just right…

The chariots lined up as a new race began. Everyone, including the slightly distracted praetorian was giving their attentions to the start. Mira reached into her tunic and produced a small pry bar. In a relaxed motion she gently dropped the tool and caught it in the soft leather of the toes of her boots. With a calm step, she placed the bar beneath the cover and placed her weight upon it. A shift had it removed and the hole partially uncovered.

The praetorian remained remotely fixated on both Mira and the race. The riders approached the home stretch. Mira raised her arms and cheered.

Julius of Pompeii had won---again. The Praetorian cursed his gambling streak and the stupid barkeep who had given him the bum tip. He trained his eyes to where the girl had been standing.

There was no sign of her, only the parched and grumbling masses of Rome. The guard cursed again, louder this time.

************

Dusk was progressing swiftly into night, as it did in the early springtime. Gabrielle sat by the fire and poked dejectedly at the flames with a pale piece of driftwood. She was exerting an almost godlike effort to prevent herself from pouting, from sighing---from feeling negative in any way.

Xena had probably just wandered off to find supplemental herbs for the poultices she'd been applying to Argo's injury, the bard decided. That's probably why the warrior had just left without saying anything. Why she hadn't lit the fire, cleaned the fish, started the meal---and had just left without saying anything. Why she hadn't returned in almost two candle-marks, why Gabrielle couldn't find signs of her anywhere in the valley and why she had just left without saying absolutely anything to the bard at all about where she could be going---aargh!!

The fire sputtered and hissed. Someone else in Gabrielle's state of mind might have taken this as even the universe mocking them, but she didn't. She settled on it being the fire alone laughing at her expense. She sighed.

"Laugh it up…"

She poked. She prodded. She adjusted. She poked some more. Settling back on her haunches, Gabrielle abandoned her fire tending and decided to just give in and have a good, no-holds-barred pout. It couldn't hurt really---and she did have a mouth that leant itself to the whole process.

Gabrielle shook her head. She wasn't upset that Xena had left without saying a word to her at all---well, to say that she wasn't upset about it was like saying that water wasn't wet---but at the moment there were other issues. What really bothered her---and this almost made her laugh out loud, but didn't---what really bothered her was that she couldn't protect Xena if the warrior was out of her sight.

Gabrielle chuckled incredulously. You've had some weird notions in your days, but this…

Since her friend's resurrection, the bard had found it increasingly difficult to remain rational and calm when Xena went into battle. Having had the warrior ripped from her once already, Gabrielle found it excruciating to have her friend placed in any sort of peril. Even watching Xena and Argo ford an especially rough stream made the girl's hands sweat. It was strange to be so protective of someone who could so effortlessly protect herself.

It was strange, but easy to explain…

It's not like I can just ask her to…to stop what she does and settle down…

Gabrielle smirked at the last thought. The thought of Xena settling down wasn't amusing so much as it was almost impossible to imagine---she was a Warrior Princess after all. And just whom would she settle down with? The bard sighed, afraid because she was unsure of the answer.

"What am I going to do?" she said out loud.

"With what?" Xena asked from beside her.

The bard jumped to her feet and yelped. "Xena! WHAT! WHERE? How did…" Her face scrunched up into a scowl and she shook her finger at her friend.

"You…"

"What?" the warrior shrugged, a nonchalantly innocent expression on her face.

"Where on Gaia's green earth did you go?"

"Away for a bit," Xena answered coyly. "Why?"

"Why? WHY?" Gabrielle shook her head. "She wants to know 'why?'…I'll tell you why, Xena…because…I…"

The warrior quickly snapped her arm from behind her back and presented a large bouquet of delicate yellow flowers to the bard.

"I went to get ya these…" Xena smiled, flashing her flawless teeth.

Gabrielle took the bouquet. "…I…I…"

The Eyebrow rose, and Xena crossed her arms. "You're welcome."

The bard shook her head, snapping out of the surprise. "Xena! There are flowers all over this valley! Why did you have to leave just to get me some?"

"Why not?" she responded matter-of-factly, unlacing her boots. "Besides, there aren't any of these yellow ones around here…and those are your favorite…"

"Well…yes…yes they are my favorite…but…I…"

"Glad you like 'em," Xena smirked as she sat down.

"…Well…they are beautiful…" Gabrielle sniffed the flowers---secretly hating herself for being swayed so easily, and by something as sentimental as flowers…Still, who was she to argue?

"You really went through all that trouble for me?"

The warrior leaned back on the ground, stretching her toes. "Gabrielle, considering some of the past trouble I've gone through for you---this was an absolute pleasure."

"Very funny," the bard scowled. She sat down across from the warrior. "Did it ever cross your mind that I might be terribly worried about you?"

"Uhm…no…I guess it didn't…" Xena looked away sheepishly. "Sorry…"

Gabrielle raised her nose in the air. "Well…I suppose these flowers will make some amends, but it may take a little time for me to completely forgive you."

Xena bowed her head, until she realized the bard was smiling at her. She threw a twig. "Funny, kid. Real funny."

"I thought so."

Gabrielle grinned at her friend. The warrior grinned back. Each woman made a point of not breaking the other's gaze. Soon their smiles faded, but they continued to stare deeply into each other's eyes. There were butterflies in Gabrielle's stomach and a warm flush spread in tingling shivers just beneath her skin.

"You…uhm…you didn't answer my question, Xena…" the bard asked distractedly.

"Which question?" The warrior asked.

Gabrielle snapped out of her trance. "Uhm…why have we never come here before?"

Xena blushed, but then steeled herself. She swallowed loudly.

"I guess I was…" her eyes captured Gabrielle's again. "Saving it…"

Gabrielle's face scrunched up in confusion. "Saving it? For what?"

The warrior blinked bashfully and tilted her head. "Umm…"

Suddenly, it dawned on the bard. "Oh…"

Xena timidly nodded. "Yeah…"

A swallow darted over the pond and attacked a shimmering cloud of gnats. The two friends remained silent for what seemed like the better part of eternity, then:

"Xena, I…"

"Gabrielle, I…"

Both laughed self-consciously at their over-lapping outburst.

"You go," Xena said.

"No, you."

"Be my guest."

"Please, I insist."

"Go, will ya."

"Really Xena, I…"

"Gabriellllllllle…"

"Oh, okay." The bard collected her thoughts. "Xena…you died…and…well…even though you had sort of done that before…this time it was…different, you know."

The bard tried to steady her hands, with little success. "It made me realize a lot of things…things that I guess my heart had always known…but my head couldn't figure out. Does that make sense?"

Xena's face was stone. "Go on," she said.

"I guess it all started with how angry I was about it all. You just gave up on everything…on life…on us…" She met the warrior's blue eyes, "On me."

"Gabrielle I…"

"Let me finish…this is hard to say…to put into words…even for me," she smirked then continued, "I started to think about why I was so angry and so hurt and I just couldn't figure it out, until…"

"Until?"

"Until we kissed…"

The warrior's eyes moistened, her hand reached out for Gabrielle's. The bard gently caressed the soft skin of Xena's offered fingers, her wrist.

"That's when I realized…I realized that…I…"

"That you love me…" Xena smiled, self-consciously. "I know…"

Gabrielle was in a strange place. She didn't expect Xena to know the nature of her feelings, didn't know if the warrior felt the same or if she was mocking her. She searched her friend for any sign, any clue. Tears pooled in her green eyes.

"Gabrielle, listen to me…" Xena began, caressing the bard's cheek. "It was when I was a part of you, when we fought Velasca together, that I realized your feelings…and…well…it was embarrassing for me…"

Gabrielle began to recoil from apparent rejection.

"Wait! Not the way you think," Xena quickly tried to comfort her, moving her arm to her friend's trembling shoulder. "It was because…well…here I was, this supposedly fearless and powerful warrior with all this worldly experience…and I was never able to tell you that I had been in love with you for the longest time…and you…you had just realized your true feelings and were ready to tell me…just like that…it was all so easy for you…"

Gabrielle blinked in confusion at the warrior.

"I love you, Gabrielle. I've been in love with you for a long, long time."

"Huh?"

"That's why I brought you here. That's why I've been saving this place. For the day that I would…that I could tell you."

"Really? You…love me too?"

Xena grinned. "Come on, Gabrielle. Isn't it obvious?"

"Uh…NO! Hello? Aloof warrior enigma---you can be really hard to read, y'know?" Gabrielle had to fight not to grin, to cheer, to float up into the sky, scoop all the stars into her right hand and sprinkle them out into new patterns across the blanket of night. "Even for me…"

"Oh…even for you, huh?"

"Yes."

Xena smirked at the bard. "So you fancy yourself some kind of Xena expert I guess?"

"That's right," Gabrielle grinned.

Xena leaned closer, a deliciously mischievous look in her eyes. "What am I thinking now?"

Gabrielle could feel tendrils of heat spinning off from the warrior's skin, could smell her subtle aroma on the night breeze between them. She felt light-headed. The warrior moved closer still, her hand gently touching the girl's shoulder, her neck---burning against her soft cheek. Gabrielle bit her lip to keep from groaning too loud.

"Uhm…I don't know," she panted. "But I'd like to find out…"

Gabrielle was entranced, lost, trembling. Xena gently pulled the bard near, her lips lingering just out of reach.

"I thought you might…"

As their lips touched, not only did all the hairs on Gabrielle's body stand on end, she felt as if her entire soul had as well. She had imagined this moment many times, in many different ways---it was her duty as a bard, she always told herself---but what she actually felt, at the root of it all, she would never be able to put into words or to describe for anyone. That night, in front of the still cackling fire, as she melted under the warrior's touch, Gabrielle realized that she wouldn't have had it any other way…

Gabrielle's eyes fluttered open and she found herself staring up at the gently swaying leaves of the lemon tree. The late afternoon sun peaked through the waving branches. She allowed herself a long, lusty stretch then she carefully lifted herself onto her elbows and squinted toward Virgil's house. There didn't seem to be any sign of the poet or of Mira. Probably preparing for tonight, she thought.

And me? I take a nap… she shook her head.

Favoring her ribs, the warrior sat up on the divan she had used for a bed and began to rub the sleep out of her neck and shoulders. She sighed, not unhappily. There were certain parts of her she couldn't rub the sleep out of…not at the moment anyway… She smiled, wistfully.

Her fingers continued to work the stiffness from her muscles. She shut her eyes. A frown soon settled upon her features as gently as dust. Abandoning the massage, she left her fingers tangled in the hair at the base of her skull. A small, plaintive sound escaped her throat. She bowed her head. The warrior remained this way, with the weak and tepid breeze passing over her.

Eventually she stood up and walked into the house, passing through the library into the peristylium. Virgil had had an olive tree planted in one corner and it had sprouted defiantly from its place in the marble, beside the well. It cast a cool shadow across the open space at the center of the home.

Gabrielle moved toward the well. She removed the cover from the large cistern beneath the spout. Sunlight spilled in sparkles upon the gently rippling surface of the water. The wooden dipper was light in the warrior's hand as she bent over to spoon herself a drink.

In the calming water, Gabrielle could see her reflection. She let her eyes pass objectively over the subtle lines of her face, less objectively over any new ones. Even after a quick bath earlier in the day, her hair was still a fright and her nap had proven unsuccessful in removing the faint circles around her eyes. She frowned, and fine creases beside her lips became more prominent. She violently plunged the dipper into the cool depths of the cistern.

"What did she ever see in you?" Gabrielle said under her breath.

She sensed Virgil's entrance and returned the dipper to its place. The poet walked into the courtyard with a relaxed smile on his face.

"Well, well, nice to see you among the living," he grinned.

"I just don't know when to stay dead, I guess," Gabrielle said. She waited as patiently as possible for Virgil to finish his drink of water.

He wiped his mouth. "My friends have come through for us. They're more than willing to help."

"That's the first bit of good news we've had in some time."

"It is, it is," the poet was lost in thought.

Gabrielle tilted her head. "What is it?"

Virgil met the warrior's gaze with one of substantial dread. "Gabrielle, we can't fail…"

"I know, Virgil."

"No. It's something more," he closed his eyes, struggling to put it into words. "This feels like it's part of something…more…not just Eve getting herself into trouble as usual…it feels like eternity is watching every move we make…"

Gabrielle smiled with mock confidence. "That's everyday of a warrior's life, Virgil."

"Perhaps," the poet nodded, unappeased.

A tiny snake slithered towards a warm rock near the house. Virgil sat in one of the chairs. Gabrielle ran her hand through her hair. She turned to the poet.

"Virgil, I don't think we're going to have a chance to work on your epic for some time."

He smiled. "I know."

"It's sad, really. I was looking forward to it," she said.

"I know."

"I guess…in a way I…needed it…to at least…try again…"

Virgil just looked admiringly at his friend.

"Thanks for recognizing that," she finished.

He nodded. "No rest for the wicked, though," he smiled, regretting what he said immediately.

Gabrielle smiled wistfully. "No rest…"

Mira entered the house and soon joined them in the courtyard. She beamed happily. Gabrielle turned her nose up suddenly, a pungent odor arriving soon after her friend.

"You stink."

"Guess where I've just been," the unfortunately rank girl said.

"The sewer?" Gabrielle joked.

"Yup. It's the best way into that place," Mira ignored her friends' questioning and incredulous looks. "In fact, it takes you right under the prison cells."

"I'm not even going to ask how you wound up in the sewers---not now, at least."

Mira grinned proudly. "I think this is going to work out just fine."

"Oh? Is that your expert opinion?" the warrior raised her eyebrow.

"It is, actually," Mira replied. "I think the plan will go according to…uhm…plan…"

"Glad you think so," Gabrielle chuckled and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. The warrior immediately regretted it, as the smell seemed to become more aggressive when physically provoked.

"One teeny, tiny problem, though: there's, like, a ton of soldiers in the streets and everyone's on edge," she said.

"Tons of soldiers?" Gabrielle became serious. "What do you mean?"

Mira ran a hand through her chestnut hair. "There are soldiers walking around everywhere. I'm not sure why, really. I think there was a fire or fight or both last night."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Great…"

"I don't see how this changes anything," Mira shrugged. "It's not like it was any less dangerous before."

"But now the whole idea is becoming stupid, Mira. Not to mention suicidal."

"But unavoidable, I'm afraid. The execution is tomorrow," said Virgil. "We have to do this tonight."

Gabrielle and Virgil were lost in thought. Mira shook her head and threw her arms up.

"I still don't see the problem here. The soldiers aren't looking for us---well actually I don't know that for sure---but they can't possibly know we're going to break Eve and everyone out of there."

Gabrielle still looked skeptical. Mira crossed her arms, looking more determined.

"That's the element of surprise and someone told me once that that is 'an essential tool of the trade,'" she said with a hint of the warrior's dry tone and a proud smile.

"Well, I suppose that does account for something," Gabrielle nodded.

"Especially if they're amassing in response to some other threat," Virgil agreed. "Roman soldiers are pretty single minded. If we can catch them looking the other way…"

"We just might pull this off," Gabrielle smiled.

Mira puffed out her chest. "See? I told ya."

Virgil turned to Gabrielle and grinned. The warrior crossed her arms and squinted at the girl.

"How'd you get to be so smart?" she asked.

"My grandma?" the girl deadpanned.

Gabrielle shook her head.

"You ungrateful little…you've got a five second start before I send Virgil here after you…FIVE…"

Mira grinned. "Good one…"

"…Four…"

The girl looked at Virgil who stood with a wicked grin on his face.

"Uh…can't we…"

"…Three…two…"

"Ahhhhh!!"

Mira bolted into the house with Virgil soon behind. Their hoops and hollers echoed out to the peristylium. Gabrielle splashed water on her face and headed inside---quick to leave the settling surface of the cistern and the shrill and triumphant cry of an eagle behind her.

************

The villagers had thrown stones. They had brandished pitchforks, carried torches---it was really quite funny, when She thinks about it. She remembers how they had even chosen the wrong type of rocks to hurl at Her---it had amused Her, even at the time.

Now, She is poorly shackled, under-guarded and soon to be sentenced to death. Nothing new, really, She smirks.

Sounds in the hall indicate that the awkward routine of the jailhouse is being upset. Here comes the lynch mob, She rolls Her eyes. The door of Her cell is flung open and the tired, angry, ugly faces of several of the villagers leer at Her. Not a lynching, She decides. A beating…

Probably isn't too much to ask to just let them hit Her a little. She can send Her mind to a separate place; sever it from Her body---free it from pain.

But Her body is not as comfortable with rest, inaction---peace as Her mind is. The beating only pulls Her taut, stretching Her soul to its limit, its apex---arming it with the poison bolt that is Her instinct, Her will to survive, and the darkness that still comes so easily.

She had indulged their need to shackle Her, so they could feel safer. The time for that had passed---She would see to it that after this day, even in the brightest, most private havens of their souls, they would never find anything approaching safety again.

Broken chains become weapons as enemies often become friends. The cell that was meant to hold Her could do the same for anybody when the door was closed behind them. Power was funny that way---so fickle, so fleeting.

They scurry like rats, insects. They become afraid so quickly it is almost not worth it. Almost… She takes Her time with the ones whose faces She likes the least---tries to smash the ugliness back down their throats. Her vision becomes blurred. She doesn't need to see. Flesh yields to steel and to bone---She only proves this truth, is its dark instrument. This is Her work, Her Way.

The cell door opens and suddenly there is a shift in it all. The ugliness, the darkness has parted and a face is before Her---a beautiful and innocent face, a vision of light---of The Light. She wishes She were powerless against the nymph (for surely that is what this beauty must be)---that She could surrender, that She could rest. But for Her, surrender has always existed in one simple form---this is Her work, Her Way.

She lashes out towards the light…

The vision shattered into shards of light and darkness before Her clenched fist. She stepped back and looked at Her bleeding hand. Several pieces of glass were embedded in the knuckles.

Her quarters in the bathhouse faded into sight. A shattered mirror cast fragmented reflections of the room in the burning candlelight. Her eyes passed over the countless tiny images of Herself, the room. It was as though thousands of different worlds were open to Her through some strange portal embedded in the marble wall. She took a long, deep breath.

She had been preparing for the evening's task---Her test. The weapons had been sharpened. Her armor and cape had been readied, and She had only glanced at Herself, Her hair---Her face in the mirror. And then…

The flow of blood had stopped and She cleaned out the cuts on Her knuckles in a copper basin. She wrapped them snugly with a coarse piece of cotton. Her hand slipped easily into the hard leather of Her gauntlet.

Meridian trembled in its scabbard as She fastened it to Her. She seized Her helmet and stared into its polished silver faceplate, blinking at the reflection it cast.

The oubliette, the villagers, the face---more visions disguised as memories, distracting Her from the task at hand---a test within the test. She clenched Her jaw and placed the helmet on Her head, the mask over Her face. The candle went out with a sputter beneath Her hand. She was ready.

Outside the sun was setting over the crash of the ageless sea, transmuting the Tyrrhenum into smelted iron. She inhaled the charged air. She clenched Her fist. She broke into a swift run towards the north, and Rome. Daylight was crushed by night, shrinking away from the world in bruised shades of red and purple.

Darkness conquers Light---that was Her work, Her Way…

************

CHAPTER IX. The Palest Light of All

The worst part about the prison was its parsimony of light.

Perhaps it was the unique effect the light had on the eyes. Fuelled by the cheapest, most impure oils, the braziers cast a glow that failed to illuminate but rather seemed to suffocate objects. The nimbus clung to things, giving them the impression that they were formless and obscure versions of what they truly were---like shadows made of light, huddled and obscure. The eyes were unable to focus, to rest---to trust what they saw. They rolled aching in the sockets. Prisoners held their heads, temples throbbing. The physical reality of the place was now twisting their bodies into maquettes of grief and despair.

Perhaps it was because the light seemed always in the midst of death. They sat filthy and clustered beneath a constant reminder that hope was fleeting and unrealistic really, in such a place---perhaps in life as well. The braziers punished the spirit---they were an affront to everything that light was supposed to be.

While the prisoners could not rely on light, they could now draw some solace from their water and they quenched themselves in body and soul during the day. Eve waited her turn behind two men as they cupped water to their mouths with their hands. She smiled to herself. Stripped to nothing, humans still had tools. A valuable lesson… The men smiled at her as they walked away---drinking as greedily from this sign of hope as they had seconds earlier from their curled palms.

Eve soaked a shred of fabric in the basin. She had torn a piece of the Egyptian linen from her robe and was now using it to carry water to some of the weaker prisoners. It worked well enough.

It had been a restless day for everyone, and even now close to midnight, many shifted in the darkness. The weight of incarceration had finally begun to press upon them, settling like a coat of oily soot. Eve had been unable to sleep as well. She palmed the rag, careful to not spill a drop as she made her way across the cell.

The news hadn't surprised her. Romans liked to take care of their business as quickly as possible---so it was no shock that she and the rest were to be crucified the next morning.

Eve smiled wistfully. Like mother, like daughter…

She made her way back to where the boy was. Joshua stood when he saw her approaching. They exchanged a quick glance, and then she knelt beside the prone form of a woman. Eve placed her palm upon the woman's brow, as much a caress as a way to determine the course of a fever. The woman's eyes fluttered open.

"Drink, Analea," Eve whispered.

Analea parted her shivering lips. With a squeeze, Eve let the water drip into the woman's mouth. When she had finished drinking, she gave Eve a glassy-eyed look of thanks.

"Rest now."

Joshua shifted, turning his body away and rubbing at his eyes. Eve touched his cheek. He looked down at Analea and then pleadingly to Eve. She sighed.

"I don't know if I can, Joshua."

"But…you…the water…"

Eve smiled sadly. "I'm afraid it's taken a lot out of me."

Joshua's shoulders sank.

"I didn't say I wouldn't try," she smiled.

The boy's look brightened somewhat, but remained empathetic and deep. "How do you do it? How do you not give up?"

Eve sighed. There it was, the question. It was never quite the same, but just as rivers flowing from divided and different lands can empty into the same ocean---it inevitably led to the same answer. She knew that by sharing the answer, the Word, she would change their lives---for better or for worse.

Eve kneeled, she took the damp shred and dabbed it across Analea's forehead. "It's simple---and yet…complicated," she smiled.

Joshua furrowed his brow.

"Love, Joshua. Love is the key," Eve said. "Love for everyone and everything. Love for the wicked and cruel as much as for the strong and the brave, the gentle and the weak."

He pondered this. "Doesn't sound that hard..."

"It's the first and most important teaching of Eli---and that is how I can do it and how I can go on. But healing is special," she indicated Analea. "To heal you have to strip away all desire, still your mind and heart---you must become pure love."

Joshua nodded.

"It's not easy," she smiled benevolently.

The boy looked at her. "That is why it is so powerful, I would imagine."

Again, such wisdom… Eve furrowed her brow and nodded. "Yes."

Analea groaned feebly. Joshua looked to her. "Why isn't she getting better?"

Eve sighed. "She drank too much of the tainted water. The water I blessed has limited healing powers."

She knelt beside Analea again. Her mind already ridding itself of needless things, stripping useless thoughts away like tattered garments, throwing aside emotional clutter.

"Now you need to heal her directly," Joshua whispered---a statement.

"Yes…"
The healing litany began, like a long journey, one movement at a time. Stacked upon itself, striding forward, gaining momentum---the words conflating, bleeding into one single power within her. Then spilling like a pulse, a heartbeat flooding out again into the world, the universe, renewed.

Eve placed her hand upon Analea's burning brow. She felt the sickness, black, coiled like a coal-colored thread throughout the woman's body---choking every part of her. She let the words pass over her---breath over a spark.

Then she could feel it, flowing down her arms, through her hands, into the woman's body. The light began to devour the sickness, burning it off. It pushed hungrily through fevered flesh, storming, conquering. Eve was always surprised at the ferocity of Heaven's power, its terrifying strength. It was the force that moved all things, and inexorable in its purest form---the Light of Love. It had taken her some time to quell her fear of it.

Joshua watched Eve intently. Her face betrayed neither success nor failure, although he could feel powerful energies at work. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

Eve felt the light begin to ebb, the fever gaining strength. She held on as best as she could, but knew what the outcome would be. Analea's temperature began to rise again. Eve intensified the meditations.

Suddenly a power swept through her, strengthened her---overtook her. It pulsed strongly down her arms and into the sick woman. The power scoured her with its purity, crushed her with its immensity. She fought hard not to let it claim her---to take her home---it would be so easy.

She could only guide it through Analea's body. The black fever melted away quickly. Almost as soon as it began, it was over. The power dissipated, receded, leaving Eve exhausted. She slumped forward, biting her lip as she covered her face in her hands---a veil of flesh. She sighed. It felt as though a veil, a shell was all that she was now, her grief hollowing her out.

"Are you alright?" Joshua asked, his hands helping her stay upright.

"Just a little drained…I'll be okay…Analea?"

"She's fine…she's awake."

Eve opened her eyes and saw Analea sitting up, looking tired and a little shocked, but well. They smiled at one another.

"You should rest," Joshua said, and then smiled at Eve. "Both of you."

"I will," Eve whispered. She rubbed her eyes, puzzled. It had been apparent that she had not the strength to heal Analea and that something or someone had intervened---had lent its energy. But what? Who?

She sneered at the futility of the act. She had somehow saved Analea only to have her killed upon a cross. Eve sighed, resting against the wall. She looked out into the cell.

A part of her, detached from this, laughed in revelation. She had always thought The Light of Heaven a force she channeled down through herself, but it was no such thing---not when experiencing it as she had. Another laugh---how arrogant she had been! Eve had only ever used the Light present in herself, in everyone, a sliver of the divine---the spark---but this now was the flame that birthed the spark, the fire itself threatening to strip her from herself. The power had not come from within her. It had rained down upon her. It had filled her, warmed her, and spilled forth like lava from a rent in the earth.

Joshua helped Analea settle into her spot on the floor. He smiled peacefully down at her. Eve furrowed her brow. The light pouring down into the cell seemed to reflect rather than cling to objects around them now---peeling away like the dried husk of a cocoon, leaving something tender and unspoiled behind.

************
The moonlight drifted blindly beneath the canopy of cypresses and pines, wending its way like a sleepless child through a darkened home. Gabrielle knelt at the forest's edge and looked out across the pavilion. The temple to Julius Caesar appeared to be free of activity---mute and obscure in the night. The warrior focused her breathing, compensating for the silk mask that covered her face and head.

The way in would be easy. She would take it in three quick bursts---to the garden, to the shadows beside the worker's tents, and into the unfinished window at the west side of the building. Gabrielle had observed only two patrols in the entire candlemark since her arrival---it would be simple for her to synchronize her movements to their infrequent rounds.

Once inside the temple, things became slightly more complicated…

The warrior moved a finger over the edge of her chakram. How she ended up volunteering to create the diversion in all of this, she would never understand. She smiled and shook her head.

It had been Mira's idea, of course, one that the warrior had disagreed with almost immediately. The girl had never been the spearhead of anything this dangerous before. Gabrielle had dismissed the plan without much tact.

"It's a stupid idea, Mira."

The girl's hands had shot to her hips in a defensive posture. "No, it isn't. Think about it: you're a warrior, I'm a…well…I was a thief. Which skills are gonna be more useful when you have to sneak into a place, pick some locks and bust a bunch of people out of prison?"

"It's a prison crawling with Roman soldiers."

"So? If I do my job right, they'll never know I was there."

The two of them stood glaring at each other without a sound. Virgil stepped forward.

"Umm…she may have a point, Gabrielle."

Mira crossed her arms and smirked in triumph. The warrior didn't relent.

"You haven't done anything like this before and I don't think you're ready yet."

Mira stepped forward. "You're the one who isn't ready!"

"I'm not?" Gabrielle had allowed herself a moment of pride-fueled incredulousness.

Virgil leaned forward just as surprised. "She's not?"

The girl nodded. "That's right: she's not. I staked out that place all day. The best way in is through the sewer. That means you have to be able to squeeze into some pretty tight spots. Believe me---I squeezed through 'em personally."

Gabrielle realized where this was going. "And with my broken ribs, I could never do it…"

"That's right," Mira finished.

The warrior smiled as she remembered. Mira's potential was beyond even what the girl herself realized. Still, Gabrielle was worried that this task was beyond her skills---beyond all of theirs.

She also recalled what Virgil had said earlier that day---about eternity.

The guards passed out of sight and Gabrielle darted soundlessly from the tree line. She enjoyed the opportunity for a late night sprint, savoring the breeze that flowed easily through the black of her stealth silks, the gauze of her cowl. Within seconds she had traversed the several hundred-yard clearing between the forest and the quiet garden. She came to rest silently against a peach tree.

The collection of exotic flowers and fruit trees encompassed a relatively small patch of land in the middle of the grand Imperial Pavilion. Typical of all things Roman, even nature's simple beauty was conquered and presented as spoils of war. Gabrielle sighed. Sweet aromas came to her---lilac, jasmine, honeysuckle, cherry and orange blossom---singing with unfurled tongues their perfumed lullabies.

She became still, losing herself---sublimated into the night. Crickets lamented from amphitheatres of grass or dirt. Birds rustled puffed feathers in their sleep, between dreams of the world passing below and the freedom of the heavens. The trees kept a dutiful and stern watch over it all, creaking occasionally, weary and wise with their unfathomable age.

Gabrielle smirked at what a contrast she was, hidden within such a delicate gathering of plant life and nature. The majority of flowers had their petals closed---asleep, but a few were blooming, gaping like cats' eyes in the night. The warrior tried to adjust her vision to discern the colors of the nocturnal plants. She regulated her breathing again. She couldn't recall the last time she had taken the time to admire a flower. She sighed, and then burst quietly from the garden and sprinted toward the cluster of worker's tents.

A quick appraisal showed that her way was clear. She slid softly into the shadows nearby. She closed her eyes and let her ears search the night for signs of nearby life. The workers rested inside their coarse tents, snoring and wheezing but not stirring. Gabrielle readied herself for the next sprint.

Just as she was about to break into a run, a man emerged suddenly and silently from a tent. The warrior froze in the shadows, fingers on her chakram. The worker relieved himself groggily and returned to his bed, unaware. She exhaled as quietly as she could.

She rubbed her brow. She hadn't heard the man. The warrior shook her head. Getting too old for this…

Mira and Virgil had not probed Gabrielle's earlier objections, dismissing them as concerns about the girl's lack of experience. The warrior knew differently. In fact, she despised herself for the reasons.

The way of the warrior left little room for errors---mistakes of the mind, body or soul could easily become deadly ones. Here she was committing all three. Gabrielle cursed inwardly.

She had objected to Mira spearheading the jailbreak simply out of pride, and her own biased opinion that deferring might just be admitting…

I don't have what it takes anymore…

She clenched her fist. Damn, Ares. She couldn't afford to waste time with self-loathing and doubt now. She needed to focus.

How had She done it?

How had She kept it all in check?

Maybe She hadn't…

The window stood open, empty---as enigmatic and uncertain as a mouth about to utter a poem, a curse, or a confession. Gabrielle sprinted straight for it, launching herself through its black jaws. She executed a smooth roll on the hard marble floor inside, landing in a battle stance, her katana ready.

The room was unfinished, empty. A pile of lumber gathered dust in the corner---pine by the smell of it. Gabrielle sheathed her sword and moved to the doorway. The hall outside was quiet and dark. She jogged silently down it.

The warrior paused at a corner, peeking her head around it. A heavily armored guard stood just around the turn, his back to her. He was guarding the entrance to a large chamber that opened up beyond him. Gabrielle readied the muscles throughout her body, particularly the ones near her ribs. Not perfect, but here goes…

She lunged forward and in one motion thrust her foot into the tendons behind the Roman's knee, causing him to buckle to one side while she gripped him tightly around the head. The warrior then anchored herself and allowed the momentum of the soldier's fall to break his own neck as she held his head in place. His helmet had not dropped. She dragged him to a dusty smelling spot nearby. With the body concealed, the warrior moved back down the hall towards the chamber.

The foyer opened into a vaulted expanse several stories tall. The dust that floated throughout the perpetually evolving temple dissipated into this dramatic void. Two winding staircases led up to a plain looking hallway. Another hall on the ground floor led off into vague darkness. Gabrielle heard voices coming from a small passageway directly across from where she was. She sprinted for the doorway on the ground floor.

Gabrielle darted into a shadowed alcove. She needed to figure out what she was going to use as a diversion. Maybe they've got a couple of barrels of Greek fire lying around unattended…

She made her way down the hall, sticking to the shadows as best as she could. The unmistakable sound of marching Roman armor could be heard approaching. Gabrielle thrust herself into a deep doorjamb, her fingers on the handle. Soon three soldiers rounded the corner. She cursed softly behind the mask. Three would be loud---not loud enough to be considered a diversion, though. Just enough to get caught… The warrior quietly turned the doorknob and backed into the room.

She spun as she shut the door behind---a soft chorus of feminine gasps, incredulous peeps and even several surprised giggles erupted from the far side of the room. Gabrielle went pale before she realized what was going on. The room was filled with a scantily clad collection of about a dozen women. Entertainment for the soldiers, she surmised. The warrior breathed a sigh of relief. She indicated that the gaudy-smelling women be quiet with a finger in front of her black cowl. Many of them looked skeptical, but complied nonetheless, continuing what they had been doing before the sudden interruption.

Gabrielle listened at the door. She hoped that the Romans weren't paying their ladies a visit right now. The three soldiers soon passed in the hall and she prepared to continue along. The warrior winked roguishly at one of the younger girls, eliciting a flirtatious giggle, and dashed soundlessly into the hall.

For an unfinished temple, this place is pretty busy… She sprinted through the halls heading for what she assumed was the building's center.

She rounded a corner, still needing a diversion. But what?

Gabrielle halted in front of a huge doorway. Beyond was a large chamber, half-lit by braziers. She couldn't detect any guards beyond. She walked into the enormous room.

Scaffolds rose up the towering walls of much of the 400-foot wide chamber---many surrounding large marble encased pillars that spun upwards into the darkness. A large obsidian altar adorned the raised dais at one end of the room, an ornate balcony looking out over it. The ceiling was partially shrouded in shadow, and partially by hanging scaffolds. They obscured the giant relief of a man's face. The warrior continued to look around the room.

Gabrielle then stepped forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. At the other end of the chamber, across from the dais, stood an incomplete colossal statue of Julius Caesar, staring regally into the darkness.

************

"Well, here goes."

Mira jimmied the heavy sewer cover open with her pry bar. She placed it carefully to the side. Taking a final look at the plaza around the silent Circus Maximus, she dropped into the darkness.

The fetid stink of the sewer filled her nose and it became a brutal struggle to hold back a retch. She shook her head. I'm seeing way too much of Rome for my tastes…

Her eyes adjusted to the pale light cast by intermittent torches. The brick tunnel descended gradually to the northeast. Mira focused and then moved quietly into the sewer.

The passageway was circular, and roughly 30 feet in diameter. She stepped along a raised walkway that overlooked the seep of the sewage trench. The sound of flowing water echoed in her ears. She continued slowly along for about ten minutes.

It was distressing to Mira how quickly a person could become accustomed to ungodly stench. She no longer wore a sneer of disgust on her face---let alone the slightly hunched posture of imminent nausea she had for the first little bit. It reminded her of the time she was sent by her grandma to help out on Uncle Joris' chicken farm. She shivered at the recollection. Mira still couldn't stomach poultry---or at least avoided it whenever possible. She sighed in resignation.

Up ahead, the drainage tunnel connected with a larger, main sewer line. Even over the rush of water, Mira could hear voices---men singing, actually. Mira recognized the tune; it was an old Greek folk song. She crept forward, keeping nestled within the abundance of shadows.

The large, round chamber was about 150 feet in diameter. The water from the tunnel fell into what was essentially a large underground river, 20 feet beneath Mira. She could see tunnels similar to the one she hid within, throughout the large sewer. There were two men standing in a boat, listlessly drifting upon the river. They spoke loudly to one another as they poked at the murky water with long poles.

"I can't even guess what that was…"

"It's just a bit of garbage," the other said admonishingly. "Y'know, Democles, you should have mentioned that you had a woman's stomach before you took this job."

"Very funny," Democles shouted sarcastically. "I only took this job 'cause you said we'd make some good coin doing it. Remember?"

"How was I supposed to know that 'a strong knowledge of sailing required' meant anything resembling this?"

"BAH!" Democles waved at his companion dismissively.

"Bah, yourself."

Mira rolled her eyes. How long were these jokers going to be here? They continued to poke at the water in silence. One of them jumped nervously and began jabbing frantically into the sewage.

"Ya see! Now that wasn't just a bit of garbage, Alymachus!"

"Aw, c'mon!" Alymachus helped poke into the water.

"Damn! I hate this place," Democles spat.

His friend patted him on the shoulder. "We're a long way from home, huh?"

He nodded. "From my family. This place is full of freaks. It's burning up. Everything they eat has that fish sauce on it. I float around in a sewer shoveling shit all day. I smell horrible. I feel horrible. And the kicker is: it's not like they pay me all that much money. Most of it goes to living in this gods' forsaken place. I need a break…"

Mira scowled, shaking her head. "Go…take a break…get outta here, already…"

Alymachus nodded. "Okay…let's take a break. We should go check out that new tunnel they're working on…"

They began to drift off down the river. Mira began to climb down to the lip on the sewer's edge. That had been a serious waste of time. She had half-expected Gabrielle's diversion to get underway while she was skulking around in the dark and stinky.

Mira had to enter a smaller tunnel to find a place to leap across the putrid river. She made her way back into the large chamber and began to climb up a slimy wall. The girl had to move a lot faster than she would have liked---time was wasting.

Losing her footing several times on the viscous brickwork, she finally lifted herself up into a side chamber. Sewer water flowed past her and out into the river of sludge. She jogged down the side of the passage, into the vague and pungent darkness.

Arriving at a small crossroads, she took a breath. She shook the kinks out of her joints and walked slowly up the ascending left passage. She counted her painstakingly equal steps.

When she had counted up to 183, she stopped. Above her was a sewer opening and light could be seen feebly spilling downward. Within the opening, there were the rungs of a ladder and Mira began to hoist herself upwards toward the torchlight.

At the top of the climb was a grated sewer cover. About two feet above it lay another larger grate, beyond which lay the prison beneath Caesar's temple. Mira carefully pulled out the pry bar and began removing the cover. Soon she had it pushed aside and she carefully slipped herself into the drainage trough between the upper grating and the tunnel she had just climbed up.

I'd like to see someone with broken ribs do this…she smirked to herself, as she slithered on her belly through an inch of sludge. What had been the warrior's problem, anyway? True, Gabrielle was always reluctant to give up the reins, but this time had seemed different somehow. There should've been no argument, no resistance from the little control freak. Mira couldn't figure it out. It wasn't just Eve's imprisonment either---it seemed to lurk deeper within the woman. Maybe it had something to do with those dreams she keeps having…

Soon Mira was in complete darkness, squeezed between the two levels. She continued to inch forward, counting her movements---desperately maintaining her concentration and suppressing the desire to start screaming and crying uncontrollably. Small things, crawly things rushed past her in the black constriction of the gutter. She bit her tongue and counted.

Ahead of her a light began to materialize. At first she thought she had hallucinated it, but soon realized that she was approaching her destination---the ditch beneath the cells. She crawled faster, the light growing stronger in intensity.

A shrill mechanical sound began, as of wheels turning and chains grinding. Mira froze as the light was suddenly cut off from her by what appeared to be some kind of door sliding shut. She punched its metal surface futilely as she realized the sheer magnitude of her entrapment.

Tears poured from her eyes and she almost put her face down into the muck. She took a deep breath. Okay, I can get out of this…just got to think…

The pipe suddenly resonated with another more menacing and dreadful noise. Mira's heart sank as she realized what it was. It was the sound of the pipeline being flushed with gallons of rushing water.

************

Gabrielle decided that the sculptor of the statue had never met Julius Caesar. While capturing the ruler's likeness admirably, they had failed to bring out the true essence of the man. The lip wasn't curled in that self-impressed little smirk he used to wear; the eyes were lacking that terrifying coldness, or the irrational ambition. Caesar's face wasn't provoking the response it used to from the warrior---she merely wanted to knock the statue over, not visit any sort of insane violence upon it.

She tried to figure out the best way to do it. The statue was unfinished and appeared to still need some help in standing upright. Supports were being constructed, most of the weight being carried by temporary wooden and steel reinforced scaffolding.

Gabrielle ran her thumb along the chakram's edge. One well placed throw and this whole thing would fall flat on its face. She grinned impishly.

The smell of burning incense floated through the air. Gabrielle sighed, turning around. The altar was covered with offerings of fruit and meat. Votive candles burned. Gifts of animal skins, leatherwork and jewelry crowned Caesar's trove.

Gabrielle shook her head. As she became older, people made less and less sense to the warrior. Especially Romans… The people had assassinated Caesar because he had thought himself a god. Now a few decades later, they erected a temple and offered devotions and sacrifices as though he had been right.

This type of capriciousness wasn't an exclusively Roman trait. She had observed the fickle waywardness of humanity all of her life, and all over the world. The warrior in her saw it as a weakness, an undoing---civilization's ultimate downfall.

The bard within her wasn't sure. Maybe the ability to change and seek out different options was the beginnings of the revolution that could actually change the world for the better---the revolution that would allow love to conquer all.

That seemed to be what Eli and then Eve had always believed---and she had too, for a time. Maybe she still did…

She looked up into the huge eyes of Caesar's gargantuan statue. She sighed. Then again…

It seemed that only the worst qualities conquered death---that had any permanence. She had survived enough battlefields to know that, had seen enough tyrants, had lost enough---had watched pieces of herself shrivel, grow cold, disappear. To beat death one had to become like it: hard, cold, merciless. She sighed.

Gabrielle tilted her head and began to search for the weak points in the support structure. Wouldn't take much of a throw, really… The bard inside smiled at the symbolism behind the whole thing. It was the perfect diversion---and not a bad way to work out some very personal demons.

She straightened suddenly. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was being watched from above---from somewhere in the hanging scaffolding. Gabrielle took a cautious step backwards, flexing her muscles to readiness.

Maybe that woman…from the night before?

Something drifted menacingly to the floor behind her---as if upon giant wings. The warrior turned.

The first thing Gabrielle noticed was the woman's cape---an ethereal scarlet, as though dyed with blood and ash, coming to rest behind her. She was tall and equipped with simple, though masterfully crafted armor breastplate, grieves and gauntlets---all hewn from purest silver. Her ringed mail skirt ended short, leaving her strong legs bare, with hard leather sandals covering her feet. Upon her head she wore a striking helm and hiding most of her features was a plain silver faceplate.

In a soft, almost loving motion, the tall woman drew an ominous looking blade from behind her. The warrior blinked, adjusting her cowl---wondering if this were a dream. She wasn't sure, but the sword's aspect seemed mutable, or perhaps it was the fleeting firelight of the temple.

Only the woman's full lips were visible to the warrior, were truly real. They appeared to be ready to move, to talk.

Gabrielle spoke before the woman could utter a word.

"I know who you are."

She drew her katanna.

************
Keeping her head above water was becoming increasingly difficult. To be fair, there was not much to work with, and the crawlspace was already half full. Something frantic splashed desperately past her in the pitch black.

This didn't happen the last time I was here…

Mira's fear was a tourniquet wrapped around her torso, squeezing breath from her lungs. Panic bled into the fringes of everything, blinding her more profoundly than the flooding darkness. She didn't know for how long she had been clawing hysterically at the top of the chamber.

She had to think clearly. Thoughts and feelings threatened to shut her down, to stop her from acting and just embrace the sweet bliss of white panic. She was soaked but knew she was crying. Water occasionally poured into her mouth and she fought not to vomit. She kept wanting to apologize to everyone she had ever known---for what reason, she didn't know. She remembered being afraid one moonless night in the rolling hills of Britannia and Gabrielle placing a hand on her shoulder---the impressions of the warrior's face, pouring from the dying firelight had made her realize what having a mother might feel like. She had never thanked her friend. Mira desperately continued to scratch at the sides of the pipe.

There was a possibility that the pipe wouldn't fill completely with water---but she couldn't take the chance. She started to calm herself. Mira moved toward the recently closed portal, hoping to find a way to pop it open.

Another metallic slam echoed through the pipe. Mira breathed a sigh of relief as it appeared that the water was beginning to slow its flood. She took a deep breath and prepared to renew her mission. I think I'll just keep this one to myself…

Suddenly there was a lurch and a powerful jet of water sprayed through the pipe. It was flooding even quicker now, flowing in a constant stream.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Mira found that the spray was pushing her back down the pipe, and she had to claw at the sides just to keep from being blown away. This became increasingly difficult, as she had to turn to face the ceiling to continue getting oxygen from the small air pocket left at the top of the rapidly filling cylinder. As she raked her fingernails along the lead of the pipe, she could feel the pocket shrinking.

Then she was being carried rapidly through the churning rush of water. The current wrenched her forward and she prepared to be smashed into the end of the pipe, or drowned somewhere under the city. Nice one, Mira…

All at once she was sucked downward and spit out an opening she didn't remember existing before. There was no time ponder this, as she was falling through the air into darkness. She threw her hands out blindly and was rewarded---a rung of a service ladder smacked her hand. She was able to grab its lower twin and end her descent. The gallons of water plummeted around her, battering her. It required all of her strength to keep herself affixed to the ladder like a burr.

Then the deluge ended. Soaked and rancid smelling, Mira raised her head upward. She could make out the drainage hatch that had opened into this chamber; it hung pale in the darkness about 20 feet above her. She began to climb the ladder wearily.

Another sound of metal grating upon metal echoed in the darkness. Mira rolled her eyes. What now? She squinted up. The exit was disappearing---the hatch flipping closed slowly.

"Aw, no way!"

Quickly looking around, Mira noticed ladder rungs leading up on the other side of the pipe. She launched herself upward and across, landing upon the opposite side. Then back across and higher still. The hatch continued to close. Just as Mira prepared to make the final spring to safety, she slipped slightly and misfired the jump. She desperately stretched out her fingers and managed to grip the closing hatch. With a quick vault, she swung herself into the pipe above.

It was a full minute before Mira felt safe enough to release an official sigh of relief. She lay on her belly in the freshly flushed crawlspace. With a shake of her head, she crawled forward toward her goal.

As she suspected, the recently closed-off section of the pipe was open again. The light of the cellblock's drainage ditch trickled down into the pipe. She slithered toward it. She had seen enough of Rome's technological mastery for one day… More like one lifetime…

Soon she was directly in the light. She rolled onto her back, and stared up through the grate. An empty chamber opened up above, and a steady drip could be heard. She pulled out some tools and began removing the iron grill.

Within a minute, Mira was in the room above. The stench of the drainage ditch was less intense than the rest of the sewer had been. As a result, her own putrescence became more pronounced.

"Man, I stink…"

She looked around her. An iron door was the only way in or out of the chamber. So one would think… Mira looked up. A large, rusted pipe disappeared into the ceiling above. Water dripped and occasionally trickled from it. From her first visit to this part of the temple, she had figured out that the pipe was the drain for the water source in the prison cell. By putting her ear to the pipe she had heard voices, and within minutes, had figured out that the voices were those of the Elians.

Now all I have to do is to figure out how to get them down here…

She lit a small piece of tinder, pulled herself into the cylinder and crawled along at a tentative pace. The pipe soon twisted upward and she was forced to make the difficult climb. Thankfully, it wasn't long before the pipe became horizontal again. Within seconds, she came to the end of the line---the drainage grate beneath the cells. Mira peeked through it.

She could just make out several people standing, sitting, and walking around what appeared to be a completely sealed chamber. She listened carefully and was quickly able to pick out several of the voices she had heard earlier in the day.

She peered at the grate. Large bolts formed a circle around its edge. Mira rubbed her chin.

"This should be simple enough…"

She began to work on the tightly wound bolts, remaining as quiet as possible. Within a quarter of a candlemark she had them loosened. She peered up into the cell again.

"Hey!" she whispered through it, feeling a little silly afterward.

There was no answer.

"HEY!" she spoke louder this time.

Voices sounded confused and concerned from above.

"I've come to rescue you…"

"Really?" There was shuffling.

"Yes, really. I need to know how many of you are up there."

"Umm…there are 53 of us."

"Hmmm…"

This could work… There were several voices talking up there. Then a calm female voice called downwards, and Mira looked up into a familiar face.

"Hello…who is in there?"

"Oh…uh…hi, Eve. It's me. Mira."

"Mira?" the woman laughed. "How'd you…"

"No time, Eve…I'm going to remove the wash basin and then I'm going to need you to start moving through this pipe one-by-one. Quickly."

There was no answer, only sounds of shifting and movement---Eve looked away distractedly.

"Eve? Did you hear what I said?"

"I'm afraid we can't do that Mira…"

"What? Why not?"

Mira thought she heard a steady grinding noise. The prisoners in the cell were very still. Eve's voice trickled down to her in soft drops.

"The soldiers have arrived…"

************
The two women locked eyes in the dim light of the temple. Nemesis strode toward the smaller woman with menacing purpose, her sword held in an attacking position. She swung with a lightning fast strike that Gabrielle barely had time to avoid. The warrior back-flipped out of the arc of the attack, leaving only air for the blade to slice through.

The leap carried Gabrielle toward one of the large marble pillars, which she expertly bounced from with a powerful thrust of her legs. She aimed a fierce kick at her opponent's helmeted head. The caped assassin blocked the attack with her sword arm, and unleashed a brutal, open-palmed punch straight for the warrior's ribs.

Gabrielle barely had time to protect her injuries, twisting her shoulder into the painful strike---spinning around in mid-air from the force of the blow. She landed on her feet and slashed down with the katana. Nemesis parried strongly, the clash of the two blades causing sparks to erupt with a flash of light.

Neither woman disengaged, each testing the other through the thin connection of their weapons. Nemesis was stronger than the warrior, but with effort Gabrielle was able to use her low center of balance to keep their swords locked. The caped woman's blade seemed to pulse as though it were alive, throwing off Gabrielle's reactions slightly. Sweat beaded under her silk mask. Her muscles strained against the larger woman's inhuman strength.

Gabrielle's gaze went to her opponent's eyes. While often criticized for this---the sword the more important focus---the warrior had always been able to learn much about her adversaries through their eyes. She had won countless duels in this manner. Locked in their desperate standoff, it was difficult for Gabrielle to find the assassin's eyes set deep in the woman's helmet. She only caught glimpses of herself, reflected cruelly upon the metal.

All at once, Nemesis broke contact and backed off. The caped woman moved confidently around the warrior, circling like a panther. She took a couple of mock swings, cutting the air with the dark sword. Gabrielle remained in a defensive stance, stepping cautiously.

This is not good, the warrior thought. She began to worry about being discovered by the Romans. It was bad enough she was engaged in a life and death struggle with Nemesis, having to deal with a roomful of legionnaires would only make things worse. More importantly, the whole plan, the Elians, Eve---Mira was relying on her. She needed to cause the diversion---and now.

Without warning, Nemesis attacked again, this time low to the ground. Gabrielle parried, raising her opponent into a quick redirected attack, which she also parried. The warrior then unleashed a swift combination of counterstrikes that put the larger woman on the defensive. Soon they were locked into a seemingly endless flurry of attacks and parries---their blades connecting so often and so quickly they emitted a single, unwavering tone that resonated throughout the chamber.

Gabrielle began backing herself away from the assassin, moving toward one of the marble pillars. Part of her marveled at the unparalleled skill of her adversary---she had seen nothing like it in many years.

In twelve years, to be exact…

The warrior sensed the pillar directly behind and shifted her attack slightly, hoping to go on the offensive. Nemesis easily redirected Gabrielle's swings against her, shifting the smaller woman off balance. The assassin unleashed a wide swing threatening to cleave the warrior at the waist. Gabrielle barely rolled out of the way in time---the dark blade humming over her and sinking halfway through the marble pillar, as easily as if it were flesh.

Gabrielle rolled to her feet and took a blind stab at the caped woman. Nemesis had anticipated the attack and kicked the warrior hard in the thigh, following it with a close-fisted backhand to the jaw---knocking the smaller woman to the ground.

Even though her ears rang, her head spun and her stomach lurched, Gabrielle was still able to taste the blood pouring into her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. Nemesis moved towards her, sword ready.

Pushing the dizziness away, Gabrielle attempted a desperate leg sweep. Nemesis cleanly leaped over the warrior's leg, her cape billowing with a snap. She trained her blade on the spinning woman. Gabrielle used the momentum of her sweep to spin herself into a series of cartwheels. The assassin thrust into the ground too late.

Gabrielle jumped up onto some nearby scaffolding; hoping she could get a bead on the statue and get a shot off with her chakram. She climbed higher. Nemesis was close behind the warrior, stepping onto the first level of the structure.

From where she was, Gabrielle couldn't be sure she could make the shot. There was too much in the way, and she couldn't make out all of her targets. She climbed higher still, knowing that soon she would have to face the inevitable---the dark blade and the darker soul that wielded it.

************
"Aw…come on…where is it? Come on! Come on!"

Mira had crawled speedily back down the pipe, opened the large iron door and was frantically searching the musty hallway beyond for something, anything to stop or even delay what was going on upstairs. She didn't have much time, either. If she didn't hurry this entire rescue would be completely pointless.

"There you are!"

While she wasn't sure what exactly she had discovered, Mira could surmise that whatever lay behind the iron wall panel had something to do with the large prison cell directly above. She went to work on its covering, moving with blinding speed that, if she had the time, would have even impressed her.

The open panel revealed a complex gear and pulley mechanism. Mira rubbed her chin---an unconscious habit she had developed whenever she was being crafty. Her guess was that all of this stuff was part of the cell's security door.

All of a sudden there was a low and loud rumble from upstairs. Then, a second later there was a ground shivering crash. Mira slapped her forehead. The diversion!

The girl took a quick and careful look at everything in front of her. She was just going to have to go with her instincts. Thrusting her hands in, Mira shifted some of the gears and the mechanism sprang to life. It grated swiftly for a moment and then slammed to a stop.

"Well…that seemed to work," Mira said, not entirely convinced.

She ran back through the iron door and scrambled up the pipe. When she got to the grating under the cell, she quickly removed the loosened bolts and sprang through the opening into the room---ready for battle. She blinked with curiosity at the scene she happened upon.

The door to the cell was shut and sealed. Two Roman guards lay unconscious on the floor with a group of the Elians standing around them. Eve was softly speaking to them in reassuring tones.

"…And that is what is known as 'the Greater Good,'" she finished. The Elians nodded in understanding.

"Uh…hi, Eve…I'm…uh…here to rescue you guys…" Mira waved awkwardly.

Eve smiled. "And I'd say you've done an excellent job, too. After that large commotion, most of the soldiers left. That's when the door locked shut and we…disabled these two."

Mira stood proudly. "Uh…that's exactly what I had planned," she lied.

Eve grinned, then turned to the Elians. "Once again, we have been delivered from darkness by the light…" She winked at the girl. "And Mira, of course."

Mira laughed. Just then she spied Joshua. He was trying to get her attention. The little goof! She had more important things to worry about right now than saying hi, or whatever.

"Follow me," she said heroically.

They made their way one at a time through the pipe and down into the sewers. Mira stood around impatiently, waiting for them all to emerge. There were so many Elians and not a natural sewer rat among them.

Making their way back through the various tight squeezes and crawl spaces was harrowing and exhausting work. Mira led the large group diligently through the stench and darkness. Soon they were following her down the long and winding tunnel to what Mira hoped was the Circus Maximus and freedom. Eve and Joshua were right behind. The boy moved up beside her.

"I'm impressed," he grinned.

Mira managed a distant look at him and then stared ahead again. She was pretty sure she didn't blush, or at least, not in a shade that would be in any way detectable in this light.

"Yeah, well…it was no big deal, really," she shrugged.

"I'm sure," Joshua smirked. "Still…thanks."

"It's not too far now." Mira glanced sideways at the boy. "Are…are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah I'm fine." He smiled. "Prison agrees with me…I…uh…I just don't agree with it."

Mira rolled her eyes.

"Bad joke, I know," he shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt you to smile, though."

"Actually, there's something wrong with my face, so it actually does hurt me to smile," she said.

"Oh! I'm…god…I'm so sorry…"

Mira couldn't contain herself any longer and spit out a laugh. "Gotcha."

Joshua shook his head and grinned from ear to ear. "Very crafty. Very sly."

"Comes with the territory."

"I see."

They came to the opening that led up to the street. Mira pointed up at the portal.

"This is it," the girl smiled.

Mira climbed up the malodorous tube and crawled into the street. Hopefully there weren't going to be any more surprises…

She spotted a torch being waved frantically at her from behind a building across the street. Mira motioned for the others to quickly follow her across the road and to the light. The torch led them behind a building into a gully that wound clumsily toward the Tiberus. Virgil stood holding the torch, ankle-deep in mud. As they arrived, the poet smiled a greeting.

"Right on time, Mira. Well done."

"Thanks," she smiled. Then frowned as she looked around.

Virgil noticed and grinned. "Everything is just over the rise. You'll see." He stepped happily over to the emerging Elians, sneaking up behind one. "And hello, EVE!" He grabbed her and lifted her into the air, much to the shock of the already stressed Elians. She laughed as he spun her around into a hug.

"Hello, Virgil." She glanced around the ditch. "I see your taste in haunts hasn't changed."

He chuckled. "Neither has your idea of a good time."

Mira crossed her arms. "Uh…hi people…escaping HERE."

"Right," Virgil nodded. "This way."

Mira, Eve and Virgil crested out of the gully. Mira quickly got her bearings. They were standing behind a row of low buildings in a lot sparsely covered by dusty smelling scrub. The city rose around them as they were to the southwest of the Palatine. She glanced around and stopped upon what she realized was their transport.

"Nice, Virgil…"

Grazing in the dry grass were about 12 skinny donkeys and the poet's own team hitched to his wagon.

"Real nice."

"Hey…it's the best I could do!" Virgil crossed his arms in mild irritation. "Besides…there's nothing more reliable than a donkey!"

Eve shrugged at Mira. "Never trust a man to do a woman's job." She turned and went to gather everyone.

The girl rubbed her eyes. "This is gonna suck…"

************

Gabrielle sprang up onto another level of scaffolding with Nemesis still on her heels. She fired the chakram down at her relentless foe. With a simple gesture, the assassin brought her blade up to parry the attack. Ringing shrilly, the chakram separated into its two halves and arced outward---soon swinging back on return trajectories. Nemesis closed on the warrior. She batted aside the two sections with little effort and they spun away, linking somewhere high over the temple floor and heading back toward Gabrielle. Nemesis continued to draw near.

Gabrielle turned on the penultimate level of scaffolding, just as her enemy leaped to attack. The warrior parried a wicked overhead chop, but her knees soon buckled as Nemesis began to force her to the ground. She looked into the masked face of her opponent, unable to see the shaded eyes. The woman's lips had barely changed from a determined straight line.

Gabrielle's ears began to ring, or at least she thought they did---then she remembered the chakram on its return course. She fell away from its path. Nemesis turned in surprise and blindly brought her blade up to parry. The chakram deflected sharply into the scaffolding, passing through the structure with enough force to damage the supports and continue toward the ground below. The large series of platforms lurched ominously then pitched sharply, tossing the adversaries off their feet and from the structure.

The warrior threw out her hand desperately to save herself, miraculously gripping a steel beam that held her weight. She rolled her eyes. Really getting too old for this…

Nemesis had gripped a nearby support and the two women hung nearly sixty feet above the temple floor. The assassin swung her sword with a free hand. Gabrielle parried, the force of the blow causing her to veer back violently. The larger woman swung again. Gabrielle tucked herself into a tight ball allowing the attack to pass below, her ribs searing painfully from the strain of the contortion.

With a powerful chop, Nemesis attacked the scaffold near Gabrielle. It lurched, jarring the warrior dangerously back and forth. Using the sway, the smaller woman pitched herself up toward her enemy. She vaulted off of the assassin's shoulders into the air, closing the gap between herself and the labyrinthine scaffolding that covered the ceiling. Landing gracefully, she sheathed her katana and pulled herself into the hanging maze.

She climbed quickly through the beams. There was no way she could win this by strength and skill alone. She squeezed silently into a small wooden nook that was used to store worker's tools. Her breathing was slightly labored.

Nemesis leaped effortlessly onto the suspended scaffolding. Sheathing her blade, she quickly slithered up into the structure, moving with the fluid grace of a holy predator. Her breathing remained controlled, still.

From where she hid, Gabrielle could faintly see the great eye of the giant face that stared down from the ceiling above her. She shook her head and tried to control her heaving breaths. Her ribs ached dully.

Ares wanted them to fail. He hadn't plagued Eve and the Elians for years now, why the sudden interest? Gabrielle licked her lips in thought; blood seeped into her mouth almost as a reminder of the God of War's taint permeating the whole affair.

Without warning there was a loud clang and the scaffolding shook ominously. It happened again. Gabrielle peaked out into the structure.

Perched on a lower beam, Nemesis struck the metal supports repeatedly with the flat of her blade. The reverberations shuddered through the framework. They rattled Gabrielle's teeth, bones---ribs. She clenched her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Okay…enough!"

Gabrielle swung herself from her hiding spot toward an iron support above Nemesis. Catching the bar with her legs, she gripped with her thighs and swung under the beam, hanging upside down---drawing her katana and attacking in one fluid movement. Nemesis half-swung, half-parried into the warrior's fierce attack, sparks showering the two of them.

They exchanged a frenzied flurry of attacks in this manner---the assassin balanced upon a beam, the warrior hanging from a higher one. Nemesis swung viciously at Gabrielle's thighs, striking the scaffold instead. The sword severed the metal and the smaller woman fell, her katana slipping from her fingers.

Gabrielle had plummeted from dangerous heights so many times that she was almost jaded by it. While lasting fractions of a second, the warrior experienced it all in unhurried, calm instants. The katanna spun futilely downward. She watched it smash against a beam and spin off toward the floor far below. She twisted slightly in the air. As Nemesis turned, her cape spun after her. Gabrielle reached out into the air, her fingers stretching.

She caught the assassin's cape, swinging up with the momentum of her plummet. She aimed a kick towards the larger woman, hitting her soundly in a vulnerable spot between breastplate and skirt.

Still holding on, Gabrielle attacked from behind with a three-blow combination to the throat. The last hit caused her foe to gasp in pain. The warrior readied a stronger assault.

All at once Nemesis hit the warrior with a swift and powerful elbow to the ribs. The warrior felt herself hollowed out by the pain and white light filling the void, becoming her sole focus. She screamed, her vision blurring---it felt like someone else had done it for her, out of courtesy or odd sympathy. She felt herself begin to fall.

Somewhere between consciousness and darkness, the warrior thrust two of her fingers into the muscles of the assassin's unprotected thigh. The large woman's knee buckled and she too dropped from the scaffold. The two foes became entangled within the crimson folds of Nemesis' cape, crashing painfully through several of the metal beams.

Gabrielle waited until the last possible second to twist away from the floor, letting her opponent take the brunt of the fall. A thunderous crash marked their collision with the marble. The warrior struck soundly, even though she tucked herself into a roll. She blacked out momentarily with a long expiration of breath.

She sat upright with a start, causing her ribs to burn in pain. Oh, this is not good at all… With extreme effort she lifted herself to her knees, to her feet. She staggered, her head spinning violently.

Nemesis stirred, rising slowly but strongly. She got to her feet, listing slightly in front of Caesar's statue. She walked toward her fallen blade.

Gabrielle fell to one knee, scraping it painfully. Her hand slammed into the floor to support her weight---it touched cold steel. The chakram was beneath her palm, glowing in the half-light.

I guess it's now or never…

She threw the chakram, straight and true. The pain of her hurl caused her vision to tunnel, her head to spin. The blade sailed toward the statue's supports. Gabrielle fell to one knee again.

Nemesis had picked up her blade, it smoldered at her touch. The assassin stepped ominously toward the doubled-over warrior. Gabrielle looked around for her fallen katana. It lay twenty feet from her. Much too far…

The chakram impacted and rebounded noisily behind the statue, destroying the supports and sending them tumbling to the floor in splinters. The statue lurched, but remained standing.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. Worth a try, I suppose…The chakram headed back towards her.

Nemesis threw her hand up and caught it. She stood staring intensely at the strange weapon in her grasp---trembling slightly, transfixed. Gabrielle's mouth hung open.

"By the gods…"

They both stared in awe at the metal ring in the taller woman's hand. Tied to it, to each other---spellbound in a circle of mystification. Gabrielle staring at Nemesis in disbelief, the assassin hypnotized by the weapon she gripped tightly. Light seemed to bleed into the chamber only from the chakram---a star to which both women orbited silently.

Breaking the silence and tension with a loud groan, the giant statue of Julius Caesar lurched violently forward. Chunks began to crumble and crash to the floor. With a final roar, the monument spilled forward, breaking into huge, heavy pieces that shook the temple with their plummet.

Gabrielle dove out of the way. Absently, Nemesis moved to the side---but not directly out of harm's way. Pieces of the statue knocked her to the ground, the chakram spilling out of her hands, her helmet flung from her head.

Gabrielle found herself near the sacred katana and scooped it up. Spinning around, she noticed the chakram rolling in her general direction and collected it as well. She squinted through the dust, hoping to find a glimpse of her foe.

The warrior gasped. Nemesis was rising with difficulty to one knee, long black hair hanging in front of her face---a face that was revealed in silhouette for but a second. Gabrielle's stomach spun out of control, the blood leaving her skin.

It can't be…it couldn't be…

Gabrielle's mouth opened but no words escaped, her throat cracked from the grit she inhaled---from everything she felt.

"Get them!"

Soldiers were spilling into the chamber from the various entrances. They began to form a circle around the two women. Their heavy armor dully gleaming in the dusty light of the temple. Gabrielle wiped her eyes and looked around for an opening. She took a quick glance to her right. Nemesis was standing defiantly, the helmet returned to her head---the mask over her face once again.

The Romans advanced with swords ready. Nemesis took a step forward and lashed her cape out to meet them. As the edge of the cape whipped them they screamed in agony, falling to the ground, blood gushing from brutal gashes to their faces.

The attackers wavered at the sight of this, Gabrielle used this brief instant to its fullest. She cut the legs out from under a soldier behind her and spun through the gap that was created. The warrior sprinted toward the altar.

Several soldiers blocked her way, brandishing their shields and swords. She waved the chakram, dramatically preparing for a throw. The Romans instinctively crouched into their armadillo-like defense---shields held outward and above them. Gabrielle put the weapon away and leaped on top of the shields, and then sprang up to the balcony above the altar. She quickly tore through the empty hallway beyond, the sounds of steel upon steel and the screams of dying men fading behind her.

************
"Well, this is a real improvement!" Mira yelled sarcastically at Virgil.

"It's better than the donkeys!"

The poet, Mira, Eve and Joshua were in the wagon, now being pulled by a team of geriatric horses---the only ones Virgil could round up in such a short time. His donkeys and any other transportation had been given to the rest of the Elians and prisoners who were now scattering across the city.

"Can't these things go any faster?" Joshua asked.

"What do you want me to do? Get behind and push?"

"I don't know…give 'em a carrot or something."

Virgil shot a menacing look back at the boy. He noticed two chariots turn speedily down the street behind them.

"We've got company."

Mira turned.

"Great…just great," she said. "I guess I don't have to tell you that they're gaining on us, right?"

The Imperial curfew was making it difficult to just simply fade into the city. Virgil tried to will the old horses to greater feats of speed, to no avail. Soon they would tire, sweat already dripping from their flanks.

Eve watched the chariots bear down on them. She began rooting through the back of the wagon. Under the blankets and hay on the floor she found a shovel. Standing up, she took aim at a fast-approaching catwalk that crossed over the street. With a sure swing, she smashed through the wooden supports knocking the structure down behind them. The first chariot swerved wildly, but managed to avoid the fallen debris. Not as lucky, the second chariot had been blinded by the first and crashed over the jagged wreckage, pieces wrapping in its spokes. With a wild pitch, it slammed hard into a building.

"Nice one, Eve!" Mira yelled. "We've still got one behind us, though."

"Maybe we can duck down that side street," Virgil pointed ahead.

"Go for it!"

Joshua took the shovel from Eve with a smile and aimed at another oncoming catwalk. The pursuing chariot was closing fast. The second soldier threw a javelin that shattered the rear of the wagon. It lurched forward, causing the boy to lose his balance a little. He regained himself and prepared to swing at the walkway.

Just then Virgil began his turn and Joshua's swing went a little wild. After smacking the walkway, he fell on top of Eve in the rear. The catwalk pitched over, almost hitting the wagon. A large tarp draped itself over the entire cart.

"This is not good! This is not GOOD!" Virgil exclaimed.

The cart rocked wildly back and forth as the poet and Mira tried to remove the blinding piece of heavy cloth.

"Don't pull back on the reigns yet! We don't know if we lost 'em!" Mira yelled, as she clawed at the tarp.

"I can't SEE, Mira!"

"I'm working on it!"

"OW!"

"Sorry!"

The wagon thundered along the side street.

Mira finally felt the edge of the cloth.

"Okay, here we go…"

She flung the tarp free of the wagon, letting it fly off the back toward the pursuing chariot. She turned around just in time to see what Virgil had begun to yell about.

Half of the thin street was blocked by a series of tall, workers' scaffolds---there wasn't enough room to go around.

"Oh boy…"

The horses and the cart barreled through the scaffolding, tumbling it to the ground behind and on top of them. The pursuing chariot crashed and flipped through the debris, one of the soldiers smacking into a wall with a bone-crunching thump. Somehow the wagon stayed upright and managed to break free.

"Nice!" Mira patted Virgil on the back.

"Uh…thanks," he smiled crookedly.

They careened out of the side street and raced along a road near the river.

"If we can just get near the Aventine, we'll make it," Virgil said.

"You'd think…" Mira looked bleak and pointed.

Two chariots appeared a couple of blocks ahead. With a blast of a horn, they broke into a gallop directly toward the wagon.

************
Gabrielle skimmed along the rooftops as she headed down the Palatine hill. She could feel the warmth of the tiles through the leather of her boots as she sprinted away from the temple. The wind caressed her now bare face. The homes, the streets, the city---all were silent beneath her and she skimmed over them like a stone across a pond in a child's dream.

There were three archers behind her somewhere in the night. They had been the only Romans able to keep pace with her---and barely, at that. She knew they were having trouble following and wanted it to remain that way.

While she had a good lead, her breathing was becoming more and more ragged. Her ribs were a serious hindrance in a foot race and it would only be a matter of time before she would have to turn and make a stand.

The trick was to keep moving. Her specialty---the never-ending trick of perpetual motion. She had to fight the familiar tug in her chest that made her want to turn around and let the arrows fall where they may. A last stand was every warrior's right to claim---why not here, now? She growled at the thought. Not by a Roman…not again…

An arrow whispered by her shoulder into the night. She altered her course and kept heading down into the city, toward the river. Another bolt flew nearby, the trajectory indicating the same archer. Gabrielle slowed down.

"One more time…"

A third arrow fell through the night toward her. Big mistake… She spun, catching it in her left hand and firing the chakram off behind with her right. The blade disappeared over the city. Gabrielle leaped onto the next roof, catching the returning chakram as she landed. She nodded when she noticed the blood coating its sharp edge.

The archer's shots had appeared to be leading Gabrielle to the southwest. Probably into a trap…she thought. The warrior headed toward the southwest.

The way down the hill was best traversed between two taller buildings. Just beyond them was a lower temple. Archers positioned on the shorter building would have an excellent shot when a target moved through the space between the two towers.

Gabrielle continued her sprint. Wincing in pain, she fired the chakram again. It whirled at the tower on the left, separating---the two halves hurtling toward the temple. She sprinted hard into the narrows between the towers. With a flip she was upon the temple roof, she caught one half of the chakram and with a quick thrust buried her katana in one of the surprised archer's chests. The man's right hand was missing.

The other archer ran at Gabrielle, a knife held in his left hand. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, the second half of the chakram buried in the wrist. She killed him quickly, striking against his undefended side. The warrior clutched her ribs as she stooped to remove the weapon from the man's arm.

The blast of a horn sounded. It was a Roman alarm, nearby as well. She ran to the edge of the roof and surveyed the streets below.

She widened her eyes at the sight. Two Roman chariots moved on an intercept course toward an old, beaten wagon---a wagon carrying Mira, Virgil, a boy and Eve. Gabrielle didn't know whether to laugh or cry or shout for joy. She soon realized all were inappropriate actions as the Romans sped menacingly towards her friends. The warrior had to act fast.

Sprinting along the roof, Gabrielle built up enough speed to launch herself far into the open air. She descended directly into the path of one of the rushing chariots. This is going to hurt…

The warrior landed exactly between the lead chariot's two steeds, gripping their tack with some difficulty. The breath was knocked from her and she bit her lip as her vision blurred---yet still she held on, her feet only inches from the rushing ground.

She shook her head. Lifting herself up, Gabrielle began to veer the horses to the left, towards the second chariot. Both vehicles began to charge out of the way of the oncoming wagon, which rushed by. The warrior heard Mira's voice and smiled.

From the chariot, one of the soldiers prepared to skewer Gabrielle with a serrated javelin. She let go of one of the horses, gripping with both hands on the other. The javelin passed into the flanks of the right horse causing it to screech and buck wildly. The chariot began to swerve dangerously as its speed dropped. Gabrielle flipped herself under the left horse and over the other side onto its back. She fired the chakram at its harness, freeing it from the out-of-control chariot. The warrior raced away as the vehicle flipped and crashed into the doorway of a temple.

During the commotion, the second chariot had turned and was again in pursuit of the haggard wagon. Gabrielle spurred her horse. The chase sped through the streets by the Tiberus startling sleeping river birds into flight across the dome of night.

From a side street, another war-chariot whipped into action. It quickly pulled up alongside Gabrielle. A soldier aimed a crossbow at her. The warrior launched herself from her steed, past the speeding bolt, at the cavalryman. She spun into a powerful kick that connected with the man's chest, sending him crumpling to the floor of the chariot. The driver grabbed at her arms, hoping to keep her from the reigns. The two became locked in an intense struggle.

Ahead, Gabrielle could see the other Romans had begun to launch javelins at the wagon. Freeing her hand from the driver's grip, she grabbed the chakram and let it loose upon the other chariot, blacking out briefly from the pain in her side. Her opponent noted this and punched her in the ribs.

Gabrielle let out a scream of pain that was cut short when the driver's hands wrapped about her throat. She fell to her knees, struggling to break the man's grip. The other soldier picked himself up and removed a dagger from his belt, intent on finishing off the warrior as well.

Then Gabrielle noticed the returning chakram. It was hard not to, as it was heading right for her face. She thrust her fingers desperately into the driver's neck, stopping the flow of blood to his brain. His grip slackened and she quickly lifted herself out of the way, just as the other man moved in to stab her, just as the chakram returned---just as the chakram embedded itself in the man's stomach. He lurched backward, dropping his dagger. The warrior grabbed the reigns and regained control of the chariot, reaching back and removing the chakram from the soldier's gut as he fell off the back of the vehicle into the street.

The chariot sped up. Gabrielle could see the Roman almost on top of her friends---he was preparing to hop onto the wagon. The warrior tried to get as close as possible but was having trouble maneuvering around the other vehicle. With a powerful leap, the cavalryman landed on the wagon, knocking Eve to the floor.

Gabrielle got up on the front of the carriage and balanced carefully. She hopped onto the back of one of the horses then onto the back of a horse on the second chariot---and then with a back flip and battle cry, the warrior vaulted onto the wagon. With a quick foot sweep she knocked the soldier to the floor. Unfortunately, this happened just as Mira swung a shovel that passed through where the man's midsection had once been, and into Gabrielle's chest, knocking the stunned warrior staggering backward. She stumbled against the side of the cart and tumbled over the edge. Flailing her arms out, the warrior clung desperately to the wagon.

"Oh! Gods! Gabrielle! Sorry!" the girl stammered, moving to help her friend back into the shuddering vehicle.

The soldier grabbed Mira by the tunic and prepared to stab her with a cruel-looking dagger. Eve tackled him from behind. The man fell on top of Mira, still trying to kill the girl---who held his arm at bay with both of her hands. Eve struck the soldier in the neck with a strike that made him drop the knife. He swung wildly at the woman just as Mira got in a punch to his ribs. The entwined trio spun wildly, smacking first into Virgil's head, knocking the poet unconscious and then into the just-righted Gabrielle, sending her skidding toward the back of the vehicle. She tripped and slammed face first into the bottom of the wagon. Joshua tackled the man around the midsection and everyone crashed to the floor---on top of the prone warrior. The cart skimmed along, driverless toward a construction site.

Unfortunately, the soldier had suffered the least damage from the melee and stood up first. He pulled a crossbow from his belt and brought it to bear on the dazed and prone friends. Gabrielle shook her head, stopping her dizziness just in time to notice the low hanging beam that was fast approaching the back of the leering soldier's skull. She covered her head.

After the loud thump she got to her feet and grabbed the reigns out of Virgil's slack hands. She maneuvered the chariot out of the construction site and back toward the Aventine. Glancing around she saw the soldier face down and unmoving between her friends. His helmet had a huge dent in it. She looked back to the road.

Mira appeared next to her, grinning wildly. Gabrielle was too tired to offer much more than a thin smile in return.

"Well, I don't know how, but we did it!"

"Yes we did," Gabrielle nodded.

"The rest of 'em are heading to the safe houses, like we planned," Mira continued, looking into the night. "I don't think they were followed."

"Good."

Gabrielle spurred the horses through the city.

"You did a good job, Mira," she said.

The tired-looking girl positively beamed when she heard this. "Really! Uh…thanks."

"Really," the warrior smiled. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Mira smiled and squeezed the warrior's shoulder. She moved into the back to check on everyone.

Gabrielle tried to relax and focus on the road. This was only a momentary lull in their flight---they would be on the run for a while yet. Always running…

The pain in her torso was as much a part of her as her bones, her blood---her exhausted flesh. Somehow she had managed to avoid any permanent or mortal damage, but her ribs were still badly hurt. Her head sank. The adrenaline that had filled her veins with its caustic flood had begun to subside.

The warrior's mind wandered through the night, past the pain and the conflict, the light and the shadows, past the receding fear and customary, though always embarrassing, heat between her legs---past it all to that one moment, to that one silhouette. Her silhouette… Gabrielle wept silently, exhaustedly. The wagon hobbled down the still Roman streets, disappearing into the arid night.

************

CHAPTER X. Dénouement

Nestled in a quiet corner on the plateau of the Capitoline Hill was an old, overgrown and abandoned building. Tiny, inconsequential, unadorned and somewhat dilapidated the building had stood for hundreds of years---existing far back into the supposedly halcyon days of the early Republic. Derelict for some time now, the building had served many functions in its existence.

As recently as a year ago, members of the IV Britannia had billeted on its moldy floor during their stay for a large Imperial triumph. A few raucous nights had brought a heated glow to the temple. The soldiers' garbage, cast-offs and misplaced articles still littered the floor.

During the initial stages of Augustus' reign, the building had been used as a temporary prison for traitors to the Empire. If one searched the building well enough, manacles and chains could be found as evidence of this. Several bloody and expedient executions had been carried out upon the front stairs.

Over a century ago, an Esclepian cult had used the building as a hospital---dispensing aid and care to the injured and the ill. They had been chased out soon after by the Republican legions that were ordered to: "evict the tax evaders."

While most Romans in the area knew of one or several of these past purposes and other more esoteric ones, none knew the building's true beginning---its original purpose.

Constructed on the then sparsely built-upon Capitoline, the edifice was originally a small temple constructed in honor of Ares, the God of War. Most Romans were also unaware that it was one of the God's favorites. Sparse, simple, functional, he had appreciated the builder's quiet passion and attention to detail.

He still did. Ares looked from the roof of the temple out across the city. He could hear the Roman trumpets sounding the alarm, the soldiers mobilizing, the shouts---the whip cracking down. He grinned widely.

"Oh yeah," he laughed.

"We could be watching all this from anywhere, y'know?" Aphrodite said, rolling her eyes.

"I need to be here, sis. I need the smells, the sounds, the sights---the hands-on."

"I'm sure…"

"What a morning!"

Aphrodite looked less than thrilled. "Is this the part where you gloat about your master plan and how it's all going perfectly…I mean really, Ar'. Snoozers!"

The god of war hadn't heard her. "I mean I knew I was good…but this? PHEW! Pure magic." He smiled at Aphrodite. "Like, every piece just…" he snapped his fingers. "Slid into place… Oh…and there's so much more, sis. So much more…"

Aphrodite sighed. "I kinda figured…"

Rome lay intangible under the murk of night. Aphrodite had never been a fan of the place, especially in darkness. At night, the city rested on its belly like a scorpion in the grass, hidden---watching, waiting. A place of cruel cackles and jaded groans, of majestic temples stained with excrement and filth---set into the earth like a clouded, black stone.

The Goddess of Love squinted across the city. She cast her mind out into the roiling waves of human emotions. Her search stretched over the city like a silken glove, quietly probing until she came upon one heart---the one she favored above all others. Even now, in such a state as it was---damaged, tarnished, unsure; she loved it---perhaps more still.

Aphrodite smiled at that thought. Many would be surprised at how seldom she truly felt the emotion---and always for mortals. Silly, silly goddess…She had inherited her father's shortcomings, it seemed.

The heart trembled to itself---a quiet, pained counterpoint beneath a calm surface. My brave little one… Aphrodite sighed to herself. What are we doing to you? To both of you… She scowled at her brother, who was still prattling on about his greatness.

"This city had better get ready to kneel down and pucker up," he grinned.

"Right…" Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "Look, bro, it's been a slice---but I gotta jet. Got that whole love thing to take care of, 'kay? Toodles!"

She disappeared; thinking as she did of the heart out there lost, lonely---no better than all the rest, save for the favor of a goddess' love. Aphrodite frowned to herself at that.

The Goddess of Love sent a soothing wave to the troubled heart and was gone.

Ares had forgotten that his sister had been around until she had opened her big mouth. He grinned out into the night. The sounds of more alarms filled the air. There was commotion by the river. The God of War laughed.

"Gotta admit, Rome's my kinda town…"

************
Octavia marched calmly toward the Hall of Mirrors. While many found the absurd immensity of the Domus Aurea's halls daunting or even gaudy, the bodyguard found them strangely comforting. Their size was a constant reminder that power was the dominating force in the universe---with power anything became possible. She continued her determined pace. Her footsteps drifted into the expanse, eventually returning as feeble echoes.

The Hall of Mirrors stretched before her, a shimmering testament to Nero's ultimate dominance. A huge, four hundred foot long chamber, covered in the best glass and mirrors the Roman Empire could assemble---all upon the questionable whims of the anemic deviant of an Emperor. Octavia smiled to herself. The lengths people will go to indulge even the most irrational fancies of their rulers, spoke volumes as to the power they commanded. As examples of this, the Hall had no equal. For many reasons…

At night the hall was lit sparsely with only half torches, the light reflecting in scattered shards throughout the enormous chamber. Octavia's reflections were multiplied and mutated in the strewn and broken gloom. She appeared to be on thousands of missions, each with a dark and unenviable task. As comforting as company of any kind would be, it was only she who bore the burden of bad news.

She had refused to let anyone else inform the Emperor of the escape. He had been in such good spirits earlier, the pendulum-like swing of his rage would put all messengers save her at risk.

The bodyguard passed through the baths, the banquet halls, and other chambers before entering the Emperor's wing. She nodded to the two German Guards at the doors and entered. The bloated smell of incense met her.

Passing through several chambers she found Nero sitting at a large table, sharpening a knife intently. A teen boy and girl, dressed in the robes of slaves ate happily from a tray of fruit. The Emperor looked up from his task.

"Ah, Octavia."

"Caesar."

Nero contemplated the bodyguard for a moment. The Emperor put the knife down on the table. He looked to the boy and girl.

"Children," he clapped his hands. "Run along for a moment. Go play in the next room, there's a big bed for you to bounce on."

The youths stuffed several items of fruit into the folds of their clothes and ran into the adjacent chamber. Nero grimaced at his bodyguard.

"You have bad news…"

"Yes, Caesar…"

"I'm not going to have my crucifixions, am I?"

Octavia shifted. "I'm afraid not, Caesar."

Nero stood perfectly still. Then he rubbed his brow incessantly for some time. Octavia blinked at the knife on the table. Finally, he stood with his face raised to the ceiling, eyes closed---he took a deep breath and opened his arms. He exhaled dramatically.

"I'm okay. I'm okay with this," he said calmly. "It's a game, right? They're winning---but the game's not over…is it?"

Octavia shook her head. "No, it isn't, Caesar. As long as they are within the Empire, they are within our grasp."

Nero nodded, eyes still closed.

Octavia watched Nero intently. He composed himself suddenly and smiled at her.

"Well, I think I'm going to retire for the evening, my dear," he said cheerily. "Good night."

Octavia bowed. "Caesar." The bodyguard turned and left, her footsteps fading into the inevitable expanse.

Nero took the knife casually from the table, testing the edge with his thumb.

"All a game," he whispered to himself, and walked calmly toward the bedchamber, where the enthusiastic whispers of the teens could be heard.

************
Gabrielle wondered if she should just get up and open the shutters.

She had been lying on the pallet in her room staring up at the ceiling. Sweat soaked the sheets---her insomnia and restlessness creating a steady heat that rivaled the Roman summer. The fresh dressing on her ribs was a little tight as she shifted slightly.

She growled softly to herself. It was a common occurrence of late for her to be completely exhausted and yet unable to sleep. And more than ever she needed sleep…rest…oblivion…

In the morning the real task would begin. They needed to get the Elians out of the city as soon as possible. The safe houses provided by Virgil's friends in the senate would only be 'safe' for so long. The Praetorians were combing the city even as she lay sleepless in her bed. They could be on their way to the house at this very moment.

Let them come… There wasn't much that could move her. Not even relief, as feeble as it was, from the swelter of her room. Yet still, no sleep.

She thought of Eve and their tearful reunion.

"You cut your hair again," the girl had said smiling as she had turned from looking up at the stars in the peristylium.

"I've been busy," Gabrielle had winked. "Plus it's the style here and you know the saying…"

"I always liked it that way," Eve nodded, and then added carefully, "Everyone did."

They had embraced by the well. Gabrielle stared into the girl's eyes for a while---until she felt the guilt that always accompanied her indulgence. Eve smiled benevolently, consensually at her friend. This time the warrior had a different, troubled look.

"What is it, Gabrielle?"

The warrior had straightened. "Nothing. Tired. It's been a long day," she nodded. "Tomorrow is going to be longer. We need to get you all out of Rome---out of the Empire, if possible."

"The others, yes. I will be staying here."

"Eve…"

"Gabrielle, things have become somewhat…complicated…"

Gabrielle had crossed her arms. "Complicated? How?"

"I still need to figure that out…"

"I don't know, Eve…" The warrior had blinked then shook her head. "Get some rest. We can talk about this more in the morning…"

Gabrielle rolled carefully onto her side. She did not need all of this. There were already so many worries. There were always so many worries…

A crow cawed in the darkness outside. She rolled her eyes. Damn this place.

It was hard to consider everything that had happened that night a victory, but that's what it was. They had accomplished what they had set out to do and no one had been hurt or lost in the process.

Why the sense of dread, warrior?

Gabrielle thought again of the silhouette, lit by the excited light of the temple. The dark hair, the skin, the lips, the skill… She hadn't seen the eyes---that would have been the true test…

What am I thinking?

She put her hands over her face, leaving them there for some time until they fell to her sides, palms up. Eventually, her head sank heavy with sleep into the damp pillow…

Gabrielle woke up with the perfect pink light of morning tiptoeing across the valley. She sighed happily. She nuzzled against the warrior. While the events of the last evening hadn't fully registered in her mind, she was too busy being happy about them to care.

How long had she dreamed of sharing a bedroll like this? How long had she wished she could kiss those lips? Run her tongue along those teeth? And just…

She felt the flush flow through her body with its warm and steady flickers. The warrior's arm gripped her shoulder, pulling her closer. The bard whimpered contentedly.

"Xena?"

"Huh…whazziz?"

"Let go of me… I want to make you breakfast…"

"No…"

"Yes, Xena. Don't you want breakfast?"

"Umm…no…don' wan' breakfas'…"

Gabrielle smiled mischievously. "Not even if it's those pastries with the red stuff inside?"

Xena's left eye popped open as her eyebrow raised. "Hmm?"

The bard looked up at her and grinned. "That's right…"

"What did I do to deserve this?" Xena winked with a wolfish grin.

Gabrielle decided to counter with her own innuendo. "What didn't you do?"

This produced the desired effect as Xena's eyes almost bugged out of her head and a color resembling the filling of the warrior's favorite treat painted her skin.

Gabrielle laughed. "Gotcha!"

"Yup. Nice one. Now go and fix me breakfast," Xena deadpanned.

"Excuse me?" Gabrielle feigned incredulity.

"I said: go and fix me…"

"I heard what you said. I just can't believe you said it. Why Xena, just because we…"

Xena began to tickle the naked bard under the bedroll. Gabrielle screeched and leaped out of the roll and into action.

"We had a deal!" she yelled.

"Yeah, yeah. Never bargain with a warrior princess…" Xena smiled warmly at Gabrielle.

The bard returned the look. They remained that way for some time. The birds chirped their happy little songs in the trees above. The sun slowly and steadily swelled in the sky…

Xena began to break camp as Gabrielle placed breakfast into the fire to cook. The bard sighed.

"I wish we could stay longer."

Xena smiled wistfully. "Me too, Gabrielle. But I said we would meet Autolycus in Corinth tomorrow morning, and I kinda owe him one, y'know?"

Gabrielle walked over to the warrior and wrapped her arms around her neck. Meeting Xena's blue eyes with a smoldering look, she pressed herself against the taller woman.

"We both do…"

As their lips separated, Xena's eyes stayed shut. Gabrielle smiled.

"Are you okay?"

The warrior nodded. "Umm…never better…" They smiled…

After their meal and a swim and drying lazily and lustily in the grass, it was time to leave. Gabrielle sighed as they headed toward the secret entrance.

"Xena…you have to promise that we'll come back here…whenever we need a break…"

The warrior smiled as she led the healed Argo through the pass. "Okay…I promise…"

The bard got a strange look on her face. Xena raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "It's silly."

"Gabriellllllle…"

"I want to stay…I know we can't…but I want to…stay" She looked away. "…Forever…Told you it was silly."

The warrior smiled and put her hand on the bard's shoulder. "It's not silly at all…"

Gabrielle turned around for a last lingering look and sighed…

They hid the entrance and made their way down the hillside, eventually meeting up with the main road. It wasn't until a few dusty hours later that Gabrielle slapped her forehead.

"Gods! The flowers! No!"

Xena halted Argo. "Huh? What about 'em?"

The girl was absolutely distraught. "I…Xena, I'm sorry…I wanted to save them…dry them…keep them…but, I guess I was so excited and everything that I…I forgot them in the valley…"

Xena scrunched up her face. "Keep them, why?"

"To remember…umm…YOU KNOW…" The bard made an awkwardly suggestive face.

Xena looked down from Argo's back, smiling. "It's okay, Gabrielle. Really."

"But…" The bard thought of the bouquet of yellow flowers and started to tear up.

"There will be other flowers, Gabrielle," the warrior smiled. "I promise."

Gabrielle looked up at Xena. She smiled. The warrior extended her hand. The bard took it and was pulled up onto the saddle behind her friend. She leaned her head on Xena's back, wrapping her arms around her waist. Argo carried them this way down the winding road that stretched out ahead of them…

EPILOGUE - Servian Wall

She smiles to Herself in the torchlight of the temple.

There is the sense one feels in a dream---the familiarity of inhabiting this one delicious instant, this one place before. Many times before…

Her surroundings---every scar on the weathered rock walls around her, the heavy smell of the scented oil burning in the iron braziers, the sounds of exotic twilight birds in the jungle outside---all feel familiar to Her, all feel right.

Not normally one for philosophy, She ponders fate---considers destiny.

To most, destiny felt like something linear---something one approached or was pulled toward. A thread stretched out that one followed along to its terminus---its line of division. Right now as it lies before Her, She knows it for what it truly is.

Destiny is endless, it is infinite---it is a circle, with no beginning and no end. One recognized one's purpose, one's destiny, because it is something one experiences endlessly---destiny isn't encased somehow in life, life is wrapped within destiny…

Destiny is two sharpened metal rings set into stone before Her.

What is it that Ares called them? Chakram. It is his gift to Her. And She so truly deserves them…both of them… But the God of War had continuously warned Her not to touch the circle at rest in the white setting...

While She rarely listens to the warnings of the Gods, this one seems worth heeding. Besides, he is keeping Kal busy so she could sneak in here and do this… She smiles down at Herself, reflected in the divine metal of the round blade.

The Dark Chakram---endless, beautiful, deadly. They have so much in common… She catches the symbolism, the irony. She laughs as She lifts it from its setting and loses Herself in its sublime form, its impossible craftsmanship---the perfection of it between Her fingers.

Like finding the other half of my soul…

She extinguishes the torch, inviting the smother of darkness---the circle of the chakram continues to burn in Her vision like the frayed ends of a dream…

Her empty hand was held before Her face.

It was still night. She was walking along the outside of the city's outer wall. Meridian pulsed softly on Her back. She didn't appear to be injured.

The stars provided a subtle light to the countryside around Her. She steadied Herself against the wall.

More visions…

This time, the visions carried truth of a sort. The round blade, the chakram, She had seen it here, now---had held it. Had remembered it… It had changed, appeared different---but remained unmistakable.

Horns echoed far away in the city. Chariots thundered over the cobbled streets. Dogs barked mournfully. Children cowered in their beds.

Her hand fell open---empty.

She broke into a run. Her powerful legs carried Her silently over the earth. The stars smeared in the sky above Her. She ran for several candle marks before slowing to a halt in a sleeping glade.

Animals began to stir in the trees around Her. She stepped softly, staring mutely at the dormant foliage at Her feet. Her head pounded, Her ears rang. She put Her hands to Her temples.

With a scream, She hurled Her helmet against a nearby tree; it rang ominously in the night. Birds flapped into the dark morning sky.

She fell to Her knees, clutching Her head.

Rocking like this, She could feel the world carrying Her toward dawn. Her fists clenched. Her teeth punctured Her lip.

She opened Her eyes and stood up. She shook Her head and went to pick up Her helmet. There was something in Her hands.

In the tumult, She had torn several handfuls of flowers from the earth. They lay sleeping in Her palms. She placed Her helmet upon Her head. Breaking into a steady run, She headed southwest, toward the coast. She had thrown the dozing yellow flowers into the dust behind Her---left to wait for the waking rays of the rising sun.


---FIN---

November 2001---August 2002

---Xena: Warrior Princess: Apocalypse is continued in Book 2: Inferno.