For Disclaimers and Author notes: See Part 1

Chapter VII. Ignigenesis

Night was new and trembling around them. The storm shrouded the city in black, pulsing clouds, swollen with moisture. Sunset happened as though from behind a curtain; the colors leeching through in plaintive hues of faded rust. Treacherous was the light, hiding in strange corners and skulking away when it was needed most.

A dark weight pressed itself upon the city, draping over the seven hills. In the high vaults of clouds the thunder flowed. Forks of lightning flared in the distance, bleeding in gouts of pale light. Yet still there was no release, still the rain held off. With menacing footsteps, the storm moved through the streets, tracing claws along the tenements, clacking upon the windows, rattling the hinges and chimes. Paper and other loose trash drifted over the river, lost in the currents of moaning air.

The streets around the Forum were awash in fleeing debris, swept clean by the charged air. A dog jogged skittishly across the cobbles, tail between its legs as it approached the hunched form of its owner. The last merchants packed up with a nervous efficiency, moving briskly, staying silent in the oppressive darkness. Praetorians patrolled in small groups, guiding people along to their homes in time for the approaching curfew--their jaws locked tight. When thunder broke, everyone looked to the sky with wide, unblinking eyes, pausing with a nebulous expectation--then continued on their way.

Gabrielle watched it all from her hiding spot upon a low rooftop of a store just off the Forum. While the weather had little effect upon her nerves, the warrior felt the storm's influence over her body--her skin frequently tingling, as though in a quiet anticipation. She raised her eyes to the ink-black belly of clouds overhead, catching a flicker of lightning somewhere in the wide heavens.

Taking a final, quick scan of the streets, Gabrielle brought her eyes back to the rooftop. Mira lay on her back, eyes closed and probably sleeping. Mira looked so much younger when she was asleep. A lock of the girl's hair danced in the breeze, floating like the trill of an errant note of music. Like Lila's… The warrior sighed turning her attention back to the evening.

Absent from the roof for the moment, was Narses. The thief had 'entered' the store after its owners had closed to see if he could find some food. All the while, heavy clouds prowled overhead.

After fleeing Vlix's apartment, they had quickly abandoned their mounts and soon disappeared into the back streets of Rome. Narses led them to a tavern somewhere beyond the northeastern slope of the Viminal hill, where they spent the few remaining hours before dusk in uneasy silence. As twilight fell, they left the bar behind, moving as well as they could through the thoroughfares, and eventually-when Praetorian patrols increased with the approaching curfew-took to the rooftops.

Passing this way over the streets, skimming as they were, Gabrielle felt something almost take hold, a gentle thread of it entwining the softer parts of her, easing her steps. As she concentrated upon the feeling, it disappeared. Even now, hours later, she felt its absence, bore the weariness of its flight. The warrior bit her lip as she leaned back against a wall.

You can't always be pulled apart this way-scattered in so many directions, stretched too thin.

Hearts, souls, voices will never quiet their demands upon me, this I know. And there is only so much left to give, even if I wanted to grant it all. It serves nothing.

Even the simplest of things bear a weight; a bird's song, the smell of food, laughter. There comes a time when the wind stings the eyes too easily, the chill settles too deeply into flesh-the heart no longer veils what it desires and simply aches in the silence of any moment.

And again I find myself thinking of that final sleep, that trickle into still perfection. Only the thought of you out there-as unreal, unrealized and formless as any hope that has rattled wretched against the cage of my ribs-only the thought of you lifts me now, bears my feet, steadies my hands.

The wind picked up in a fierce and constant gust, collecting the dust and gathering it in a cloud that bloomed formless and wild over the Forum. The warrior watched as people struggled bent in two against the grit and bluster. Mira approached with her hand over her nose and mouth. "This just gets uglier and uglier, huh?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Doesn't change anything."

The girl appeared uneasy. "Look, maybe it's the storm but I have a really bad feeling about all of this."

"Oh?"

"I don't trust Narses, no matter how nice he's being," Mira said. "And we should have moved on the library right from the start; we could have cased it out better first instead of going in blind like this."

Gabrielle turned to the girl. "I've been to the library already, remember?" she said reassuringly. "And I have a plan." Mira scrunched up her face and looked away. The warrior smiled. "Don't you want to hear about it?" She sing-songed: "There's a really important sidekick component…"

"Good," Mira said turning, mood brightening. "Just like old times, huh?"

"Yeah." Looking back out over the Forum, Gabrielle smiled wistfully. Old times… The wind had slowed allowing the dust to settle once again upon the city. The warrior sighed.

Mira watched her friend. With a sigh of her own, she straightened and shook her head. "Look, I know you've got a lot on your mind but I wanted to tell you that you can't get rid of me that easily."

The warrior turned to the girl. "What?"

Mira nodded. "You're my family now-my home-and we have to stick together, and stand by each other no matter what."

Gabrielle remained still, allowing that to sink in. She put her hand to the girl's cheek. "And protect each other."

Mira paused for a moment, softening at her friend's touch. "I can take care of myself. I wish you would see that." She looked to Gabrielle with a sensitive caution. "Didn't you have the same problem with…uh…before?"

"There were things I didn't know I needed protection from." The warrior became somber, serious. "Things I never want you to experience."

"But-"

"Things that you're too innocent to understand," Gabrielle cut her off. "And I'd like it to stay that way." She aimed her green eyes into Mira's, making the girl look away. She sighed. Finally, hoping to lighten things, the warrior smiled. "Is that so wrong?"

The girl shrugged. "I guess not."

Gabrielle softened. "Come here." She opened her arms. Although surprised by the show of affection, Mira still responded quickly to the strong embrace. The warrior kissed the girl on the head. "You have a wonderful soul," Gabrielle whispered.

They stayed that way for a long moment then continued to watch as the night moved nervously about them. Narses lighted up from a ladder below and onto the roof, a bag in his hands. "A meager dinner but a dinner nonetheless."

They ate quickly and without any sort of joy, spending the next few minutes in silence.

A horn sounded from the library, swelling brassy upon the air. Another joined somewhere to the west, followed by another and another at all directions and deep into the city. Over it all, thunder rolled in the sky, shaking the buildings, causing dogs to bark and howl.

Gabrielle nodded. "Curfew is beginning." The warrior looked up into the tossing and billowing storm clouds above her head. She turned to her friends. "Wait until the first patrol passes," she said calmly. "Then we move."

**********

The Emperor stood, as he often did, upon a balcony at the Domus Aurea, waiting.

He hated waiting.

When tardiness did occur, it was punished accordingly. Messengers were the most efficient they had ever been in the Empire because of the Emperor's distaste for waiting. Official ceremonies, while fine at the outset because of their inherent punctuality, became a problem as the Emperor found himself waiting for the end, which almost always was long in coming. Then there was travel by sea, which he didn't want to think about, for the very thought of its laborious lag and drag was a chore.

This night it seemed he waited on many things. The air around the city, suspended above like a throbbing crown, only added to his impatience. The wild dogs in the street, the grit-toothed wind, the coughing brazier stinking of heated bronze beside him, all made his stomach coil and cord in discomfort with the mass of waiting. Nero could, of course, appreciate the chaos and rising tide of dread the coming storm was inducing across Rome and among its denizens-but, again, it was the waiting that grew tiresome for him.

A steady breeze, thick with the liquor of rain pushed his silks aside, playing across his flesh, exciting him with its electric caress. He wished Octavia were around, but she was still preparing for the evening's 'festivities.' Nero grinned at that. At least some things might be worth waiting for-but only for a little while…

The Emperor looked out from his balcony. In the valley below, soldiers and Vigiles continued to work, coating trees and buildings in a glistening oil. He remained excited as he watched.

Prophecy, indeed…

The words of the Sibylline divination still played about in his mind:

Sifting lands reveal powers once lost,
Bearing Rome's destiny upon floods of flame;
Olympus' rebirth is nigh
In the gaze of the pulsing Eye,
Casting the enemies of the Empire into darkness-
Where only the dead can save them.

Floods of flame… The thought made Nero tingle.

He looked out toward the north. Somewhere out there armies gathered, eyes fixed upon the city, the Domus, him. Like the storm, they threatened as an abstract. The fools look to the wrong place, he laughed to himself. It is Terrance; it is the mountain and the 'pulsing Eye' they should all concern their little minds with. But they wouldn't, he knew and he laughed.

Prophecy, destiny-to Nero there was no difference; both were equally ridiculous notions. Prophecy was what got Augustus-and countless other rulers-into trouble. Its riddles and wide interpretations were usually the fastest way to bring a noble house into ruin. Just ask ole Oedipus what he thinks about prophecy when you run into him in Tartarus…

And destiny? One need only to look to his uncle Julius to learn the harsh lesson of putting one's trust in its fickle hands. The problem with destiny is everyone, from a Pharaoh to a farm-boy, has one and you can never be sure just how good yours is going to be until the end. Unpleasantly surprised wasn't a good look on most people and one thing Nero hated almost as much as waiting, was being surprised-especially unpleasantly so.

The Emperor had always been taught, by his favorite teacher at least, that life was essentially meaningless, that humans were all simple pawns of the gods and should live just and good lives in the places and positions they were born. This suited Nero just fine. Having immersed himself in history and studying the world's greatest tyrants and conquerors, the young Nero had planned on becoming the most ruthless of them all. Wasn't this the way one who was born to his station should live good and justly?

Oh, perhaps his latest scheme was over-stepping things a little, but then again, his favorite teacher wasn't always right. After all, look where he ended up-and what would soon become of him.

The winds howled through the trees, bringing the smell of rain across the hills of Rome. Nero became listless and turned back into the Domus, entering the Hall of Mirrors. He appraised himself, eyes darting over his reflection, but soon became bored. With a sigh, he left. Entering the wide-open space of his inner garden, he hoped its birds and trees might distract him at least for a short while.

A servant stood, surprised by his entrance. She paused, glancing over the Emperor's semi-nude form, easily apparent beneath his robes. She blushed, smiling with a degree of curiosity and wonder. Nero returned the smile, twisting it cruelly. The girl-young, honey-haired, coltish in body-kept her eyes, her smile on the Emperor as she moved through the enclosed garden, gazing down along his entire length just before she disappeared into a small, enclosed copse of trees.

Nero looked outside one last time then walked toward the copse. No sense in waiting for Octavia, he thought with a smile.

**********

"…One might also think of time as a great, circular ocean with each instant, every drop in that endless body of water-a tiny sphere of time. And like a droplet is a tiny, perfect ocean, each moment contains all time. Every second is available to us at any time; every day is one day. Immortality is closer than we believe…

Death is not to be feared…"

Eve sighed.

She traced her finger, with an absent sensuality, along the edge of the parchment, staring at it in a pensive haze. This is how Time would feel if I could touch it…and I am sliding back and forth along It...

It was becoming too dark to read. Far to the west, the last of the sunset fell behind the rolling menace of the coming storm. For a brief instant light and darkness existed at the same place and time, overlapping high in the air.

Eve watched as the storm pushed over the sun and continued its descent on the city. A breeze washed in through the window, crossing the floor, rifling the scroll on the desk in front of her. She blinked down at the words, blending now into each other, the blank spaces-darkness and light. The scroll rolled upon itself as she moved to find a lamp. Entombed in darkness for so long, it appeared to protest her lighting of the oil lamp.

She felt odd just then, as though she had to introduce herself to the parchment, or somehow prove her identity to it. To slowly and gently unravel it and reassure it that it was she the words were written for.

Written by someone I never knew…someone who barely knew I existed…

She moved her face away from the lamp as the flame came to life.

I suppose I would be suspicious of me, too…

More thunder and wind from outside, the sky continued to fill with black clouds as night came. The flame choked and flickered; Eve sheltered it with her hand as she sat in front of the scroll once again.

Always the brave protector…

It was true she had an odd compulsion to protect the flame. Beyond its use as a source of light to read by, Eve felt the flame was alive and like everything alive, must be preserved, championed, fiercely protected.

By whom?

By me? Eli's Successor?

The Bitch of Rome?

The daughter of the Warrior Princess?

I'd like to see that…

The flame steadied within the shelter of her palms, growing bright and tall, warming the skin of her face. Her vision blurred in the spill of its pulse, in the pearly heat of its glow-twisting into hues of rose, of orange, of red…

It was night; she was on a bridge somewhere. A Roman soldier surprised her, sword in hand, threatening. Analea screamed in the distance. Without emotion, the soldier drove the sword into Eve's body. A small cry escaped her, a shiver of air pushed free of her lungs. The blade was lost within her, blurring her pain with the chill of steel.

She felt the life drain from her, faster than she could imagine, as she was thrown off the bridge toward the rushing water below...

Sinking slowly into the rivers soft indigo folds, a small, resigned smile daubed the corners of her lips…

Thunder cackled, arcing like madness across the hollows over the city, the mansion. Eve rubbed her eyes.

The vision from the catacombs again; stronger this time, vivid, more real…

Standing, she drew the robe about her and moved to the window. Trees, nearby buildings, a wagon below the window-all wore the dusk as a shaded premonition of the day's demise.

Afraid…

She sighed.

The road to Ephesus was rough, arid, unforgiving, though to Livia it always meant fulfillment of certain simple pleasures. The Legat in the area had a distaste for heretics and criminals that went above and beyond his duty to the Empire and as such, dealt out crucifixions on an alarmingly regular basis. On her rides through the area, she would be sure to slow her horse to an easy trot in order to enjoy the miles of hanging bodies, the groaning, the trickle of slow agony.

She had read a report that stated the official had condemned over three hundred members of a sect known as the Elians to be nailed to the cross. Livia had heard of them, some prophet worshipping cult that rose out of the east and turned up sulky-faced across the Empire. She wanted to see how they died, knowing she wouldn't be surprised.

How a person died said a lot. In her experience, she had witnessed countless deaths, but there only appeared to be two modes in which one passed to the other side-ready or not. Most who had felt the chill of her steel had been unprepared, frightened. Although, she truly believed that those who made death their business-warriors-would be the select few capable of being ready for their end and unafraid. To Livia, peace and pacifism were convenient excuses to hide a fear of death, used to prolong life for as long as possible while never truly living it. She had expected to see that customary fear painted upon the faces of the Elians she rode past that day.

As she approached along the dry road she listened. What always made scenes such as this unique were the sounds. Crucifixion, while suitably horrible, was such a non-violent form of dispatch that, unlike murder or war, surrounding nature remained undisturbed for the most part. Below the usual moans and cries lay the chirping of birds, the rustles of leaves and grass. It added a chilling, though no less invigorating undertone to the scene.

That day, as she rode, in her mind was some tune, half-remembered from her childhood, one she often found herself humming when relaxed. The horse walked steadily along under its own guidance. Soon, she listened for the sounds as she entered the shade of the valley. She stopped.

Instead of a chorus of agony, she heard singing. Perhaps she misheard. Riding ahead she came upon the Elians, battered, dying, but singing. She turned the horse again and again. They continued to sing their pathetic songs, even above her shouts. Livia's eyes widened. Each of the cult members' fading gazes was free from fear.

Her breathing quickened. Every Elian who met her eyes seemed to find something inside of her, as well. She screamed, drawing her blade.

Soon, there was silence save for her own ragged breathing. The cloud of dust began to settle. Wiping her blade, Livia galloped away on a hard ride for Ephesus. Eventually, the sound of chirping birds returned…

The winds whipped through the trees below the window, wild and whirling, the branches groaning and creaking in the chaos of disturbed air. Something shrouded in white seemed to be moving through the garden with a steady grace out of place among the uncertain atmosphere. Eve squinted into the fading and twisted light to make out the form.

Analea…

Soon, Eve descended the high staircase leading down onto the grounds that leaned across the southern slope of the hill. She moved silently over the cobbled path, as much curious as concerned about her friend's activities. What was she thinking prancing around in this?

"Analea!"

The young woman stopped, trying to pinpoint the voice. Eve caught up to her and shook her head. "What are you doing out here?"

"I love the air before a thunderstorm." She gave an almost-embarrassed shrug.

"That may be." The acolyte looked up into the swirling heavens. "But this is no ordinary storm."

Analea brushed a strand of hair that whipped across her vision. She smiled warmly at Eve. "I am not afraid."

Eve blinked at the woman, holding her robes in place against the wind. "I am… for you. I-" She gestured to the sky. "It's not safe."

"I know." Analea held out her hands, gesturing for Eve's. A smile, perhaps mischievous in nature, played across her face. Hesitating, Eve finally reached out and placed her hands in the other woman's, their fingers entwining comfortably. Analea grinned. "Not hard, was it?"

"No."

Through the shadowed copse, breezes hissed and branches clacked together. Analea squeezed Eve's hands, looking into her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Unconsciously, Eve pulled her hands away but stopped herself. She looked off into the trees. "I-it's this weather, it plays with my moods, I guess."

"The weather makes for uncertain emotions," Analea concurred. "But that is not the truth in your case." She grinned at Eve. "Is it?"

Eve sighed, ashamed and a little overwhelmed at the woman's ability to read her. Or am I that obvious? She nodded. "It's the scroll-Eli's scroll." Her eyes widened. "And…and everything… It's…"

"Too much." Analea nodded, finishing the thought.

"No." Eve turned away. "And yes…" She inhaled deeply. "There are passages within it that are…disturbing, that coincide with my visions…"

"I would be afraid of such things." The woman softly squeezed Eve's fingers. "I don't know how you can bear them."

Eve averted her gaze. "I'm not so sure I can…"

"Nonsense." Analea looked at the acolyte. "Who among us has more faith in the Way of Eli? In our path?"

"Analea I…" She paused, trying to break free. "It's hard to explain…"

Analea pulled her as she began to walk toward the edge of the copse, toward the stables. "Looking upon everyone's faces will make your path clear to you once again."

Eve was reluctant, but had to concede that seeing the others would kindle her sense of responsibility if nothing else. They moved through the shivering trees and finally out into the open where the winds pushed hard against them. Thunder crashed overhead and Eve's hair was blown about her face, making it difficult to see. The stables, lights glowing softly within, could be seen ahead.

In a lull between gusts, a sound filled Eve's ears. Low on the tense air it was carried trilling to her as they approached. She stopped, her eyes wide, mouth open.

"What is it?" Analea turned, confused then concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Eve gaped at the stables. Still flowing over the wind, the sounds of the Elians singing around their fires came to her. She shook her head, looking at Analea. "I can't…"

"What?"

"I-I can't." Eve turned, breaking free of the woman's grip. She bolted off, heading back up toward the mansion.

Analea watched her disappear before she turned and walked toward the light, and the sounds of joyous singing.

**********

Large torches and the campfires of Praetorian troops burned in the streets before the library. They cast harsh and dark shadows upon the structure, causing its face to take on a fleetingly sinister quality. The soldiers paced before the flames, some on duty, others camping for the evening in the streets, on the steps at the front of the building.

From a nearby rooftop, Gabrielle watched the Romans in the streets, her face reflecting the glow of the firelights. She scanned the movements, the timing of the troops, her eyes tracing the building's structure. Turning, she met Mira's inquiring gaze. "Three hundred or so, with a small compliment of about thirty doing patrols as far as the checkpoints."

Mira nodded then gestured to the side of the library. "The lower levels seem empty-it might be worth a try."

"The archives." Gabrielle nodded. "That's probably where they moved most of the scrolls."

"This all got set up overnight," Mira mused. "Could be sloppy, could be caught off-guard."

Narses, arms crossed, watched them with obvious contempt. "Shouldn't you be a tad more concrete in your plans?"

"I am." Gabrielle squinted at the Roman. "But it's not a bad idea to keep our options open."

"I see," he replied, still skeptical.

The warrior turned to Mira. "Have you spotted the servants' entrance yet?"

"Yup." The girl pointed toward the back of the building. "There hasn't been a lot of activity."

Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair. She turned to Narses. "You know what to do?"

He nodded. "I give you half a candlemark, then cause a diversion." He rolled his eyes. "It's all so terribly complicated."

Mira shook her head. Gabrielle offered a wry smile. "I'm sure you can handle it." She turned to the girl. "Let's go."

They moved silently toward the back of the roof, careful as they went to crouch low. Soon, they made their way to the street; a quiet, shadowed alley that led to the rear of the library. Gabrielle guided them slowly and deliberately through the dark, navigating the narrows between the old buildings. The girl kept up, her breathing only semi-audible. The warrior took note. Maybe she's doing those exercises I taught her...

They found their way to the small courtyard between the alley and the back of the library. Light poured from several doorways, but movement could be seen from only one-the servants' entrance. Figures passed in front of the portal, moving quickly in and out the light. Occasionally, as they watched, some would exit and leave on one errand or another. Others exited, usually to empty basins or jugs onto the street. It was this last group that Gabrielle paid the most attention to.

Mira shifted impatiently behind the warrior as another couple of servants left the building and disappeared into the night. She looked to her friend. "What about them?"

Gabrielle didn't turn around. "They aren't coming back."

"How can you tell?"

"Shh."

Mira sighed. More servants left the building. The warrior put her hand up silencing the girl before she could ask about them. Mira leaned against the alley wall, crossing her arms. "When do we get to follow my lead for once?"

The warrior looked at her. "When you learn to make better choices."

Mira shook her head. "You mean choices you'd make."

"Right," Gabrielle said with a wink. "Better choices." She turned back to the street and before Mira could respond, motioned toward two servants. "Here we go."

They watched the slave girls carry a load of rubbish toward the heap at the end of the square. The warrior nodded. "Wait until they start heading back."

Mira slid out of the alley and toward the square, her stride falling without sound on the dry cobbles of the street. Gabrielle watched from where she hid. After the servants were done, the girl moved up to them, changing her gait from confident to afraid. She flapped her arms hysterically. "Please," she entreated. "My mother…she's fallen and…and c-can't move. I don't know what's happened to her. Please, help me."

Soon, the two girls were following Mira toward the alley, both fairly concerned and hoping to help. Gabrielle, with some guilt, readied herself in the shadows as they entered. As painlessly as possible, the warrior incapacitated them, even applying extra pressure points to lessen the headache and nausea that were sure to descend upon them hand-in-hand with consciousness.

Mira helped with their limp forms. "Some hero."

"Hey, it's for the greater good," Gabrielle deadpanned. She gestured to the servants. "Now, help me with their clothes."

The girl laughed as they removed the unconscious servant girls' robes. After sizing and throwing the robes over their clothes, they left the alley, moving directly for the entrance to the library.

Mira scrutinized their disguises. "You think we pass for servants?"

Gabrielle shook her head as she attempted to hide the large bulge that was her pack. "Not really. But we only need to for less than a half-candlemark, right?"

The girl swallowed hard and followed Gabrielle. Exchanging one last look before entering, the duo moved into the torch-lit passage beyond.

The hallway they entered was empty and they continued with a slow caution. They passed down several dim marble corridors before descending a staircase into the archives. The halls here were small and lit by simple oil lamps that gave off little light. Gabrielle glanced into the various chambers they passed on their way through. Within were shelves piled high with scrolls and even upon the crude wooden tables many lay unfurled, collecting dust. The warrior paused with a wistful glance…

Alexandria, the library fashioned as if from my dreams. We didn't really have the time to stop, did we? Yet you brought me there. You smiled that smile at me and shrugged.

--Well, I figured you liked scrolls so much…

And of course, through the entire afternoon, surrounded by every scroll, every written thought from every age, all I could focus on, all I desired was you-pacing at the far end of the room, or leafing through a treatise on tactics, or your beloved Thucydides…

Footsteps-soldier's footsteps-could be heard from the far end of the hall, approaching. Gabrielle turned to Mira and gestured to a nearby chamber. They darted inside, moving to hiding spots away from the doors.

The warrior listened carefully as the patrol moved down the hall. Based on their footfalls, Gabrielle determined this was a routine patrol and they weren't searching for anything. She looked to Mira, who seemed understandably concerned. Gabrielle mouthed the words, "Don't worry," to try and calm her.

Eventually the troop of soldiers had passed and their marching faded. Gabrielle relaxed, still blinking off into the hallway. Mira exhaled audibly. "That was close."

"I hope you're not usually this afraid of Romans," a voice said from behind them. "One would begin to question the truth of many of your scrolls, if that were the case."

Gabrielle whipped around, hand on the chakram, to see a middle-aged man-the librarian, Livius-standing at the back of the room. He smiled wryly at them as he held several scrolls in his hands. The warrior watched him carefully, still unsure of the man's intentions.

Mira squinted suspiciously at the librarian. "Who is this guy?"

"A…friend…" Gabrielle was unable to mask her uncertainty and some of her embarrassment. She was prepared to incapacitate the man, but hoped she didn't have to.

Livius seemed to fathom the situation, waving his hand in a grandfatherly sort of gesture. "I have no special affection for the Emperor, never fear." He looked around the dim room. "He is no lover of books or learning, as you can see, what with banishing any intellectual who steps out of line or having Praetorians running through here at all hours, sleeping in the aisles." With a grunt, he put the scrolls down upon the table. "Given his problems as a student, I can't say I'm surprised." He became dreamy-eyed, distracted. "Now Augustus, there was a scholar's Emperor-one would think Claudius, but Augustus, he-"

"Uh, can we move this along here?" Mira scowled in impatience.

"Just a second." The warrior turned to Livius. "The scrolls, from the other day-do you still have them?" There was a strange urgency to her question.

Livius nodded enthusiastically. "And more. I figured you might return and I wanted to surprise you." He noticed Mira cock her eyebrow at that. "It's not everyday one has the Warrior Bard of Potedeia in their library, you know." He returned his attention to Gabrielle. "I remembered that we had more scrolls about Nemesis when I remembered that Janius had used them before you had."

Gabrielle stepped forward. "Janius?"

"The Imperial librarian," Livius supplied. "The Emperor made special request of them."

Gabrielle looked concerned. "Where are they?"

Livius went to one of the shelves and gathered several. He handed them to the warrior. "Here." Before letting go of the last, he smiled at her. "Return them when you can."

"Of course." Gabrielle nodded with a grin. "Thank you."

Mira turned to Livius. "Do you know where the Praetorians might keep the passwords to the checkpoints?"

The librarian shook his head. "No, although their administrators seem to be holed up in the main gallery, if that's any help."

Gabrielle smiled as she prepared to leave. "It just might be. Thanks again."

After a quick check of the hallway, they left Livius behind in his dusty chamber and went on their way. At the stairwell leading back up to the main level, they hid in a small alcove. Mira smirked sarcastically at the warrior. "How's the extra weight?"

Gabrielle turned, gesturing to the scrolls, now carried in her pack. "These are a lot more important than you think."

More important than even I think…

Why bring you back this way? Why bring you back at all?

Nothing but questions and questions and questions with no way, no time to find answers, or to find you…

How do you fit into any of this? How do any of us?

Gabrielle sighed. Squinting ahead, she took a breath and moved silently up the marble stairs. Mira followed the warrior a moment later, just as silently up into the unknown corridor.

**********

There was darkness on the hill. Few torches were lit and shadows were long, reaching and twisting over buildings, sunk into the virtue of the quiet places. Soldiers moved in small patrols through the rising wind and thunder. They passed thoroughfares that brought them near the dormant gates of the Sibylline temple, the gardens of Nero and the road leading up to the Domus Aurea.

She watched them down there, listened to them in the black-breathing, whispering. She could hear the quickened beat of their hearts, the tension in their voices. And there, thin as a tatter, blowing wild in the gusts, She could smell their apprehension and fear.

Her cape snapped in the rising wind high atop the impassive edifice of a victory arch. The arch straddled a thin street that snaked down one of the northwestern rises of the Esquilline hill into Nero's gardens. Below Her, to the east, lit by sputtering braziers stood the Domus, Her target.

Her hair whipped in the wind and She closed Her eyes, letting the storm's tumult caress Her, calm Her. There was trouble in Her guts; She could feel it. The voices, the faces, dredged up to the surface to spill into Her reality.

She had come to rest here out of confusion, not for any tactical reason. The God of War had outlined his plans, succinct as always. Why had She faltered, yet again?

The visions… The memories…

Could She not put faith in Her master's vision? Could She not serve as the vessel of Retribution, let it fill Her as easily and as completely as it once had? Ares would answer Her questions in time…

True, Her master had been reluctant, even evasive when it came to addressing the torment of Her visions-and these visions were what had waylaid Her yet again. But his plan, his will was all She had ever known-from the very beginning.

Weren't they?

Her head swayed in the breeze…

The darkness weighs heavy here.

It presses upon the eyes, clouding them as if after a long slumber. I am naked, cold. Steam rises from me as my vision adjusts in the twilight.

I do not know who I am or where this is…

Two figures move in the darkness, shadows half-formed, half-remembered. A man and a woman, a sister and a brother.

-Are they all gone this time, sis?

His voice is familiar to me now, it echoes loudly in the chasms of memory. The woman's voice also, is there, half-formed, half-remembered. The note of sadness in it makes familiarity tenuous, something I cannot be sure of.

-Yes. All of them...

The man steps forward. Rocks, stones, the other grit and stuff of the earth slices my flesh as I slide to my knees. My stomach lurches, I taste blood as I try to stand. He steps forward.

-You…know me?

I raise my head, my eyes to him, his face lit in the shapeless light.

And then I remember.

-Yes, my master.

He turns to his sister, laughing, with chest swelling.

-And I never believed you when you said: 'Love will find a way'…

The goddess sighs with a bowed head. Turning, Ares offers his hand to me.

-You and me, kid, we're gonna make history.

For a moment, there is a trembling, sunk deeply into the ragged tatters of what might be my soul.

Then, I take his hand.

The God of War's laughter echoes here, shattering flat against the gut of the world…

In its scabbard Meridian quaked, giddy now. She opened Her eyes. Below Her, two sentries wandered on their rounds, a bullmastiff leading them on a stiff chain. She watched as they paused, looked around, noticed nothing. Silently She dropped to the ground behind them, freeing the aching blade.

The first strike-a powerful thrust-erupted from one's chest, spraying jets of rose, of scarlet, of violet upon the leaves of nearby trees, the spectral flesh of nearby statues. It sounded like the chatter of rain there. There was no cry of pain, only a stutter, a twitch, then the sad collapse. The other man turned, in shock more than out of any sort of definitive action. His mouth flopped open and closed on its hinges but no sound escaped. He looked to the dog, but it only sat and watched Her, haunches on the ground. He managed to whisper out the canine's kill-word, yet still the dog remained unmoving, at an odd calm.

She nodded to it. Animals respected Retribution at work and suborned themselves to its will. With a grin, She mused that flesh too obeyed those same laws. From beneath the arch, She stepped towards the remaining sentinel, the blade in Her hand trailing shadows and blood in fat droplets over the Roman streets.

**********

From the window, Virgil watched the clouds bloat above the city. Deep within him his muse was tickled-the storm a potent motive for metaphor-and he considered a multitude of similes to describe the black menace that was descending upon Rome. 'The black-ironed heel of the gods pressed firmly to the throat of Rome' seemed evocative, if a little on the nose. Perhaps a lengthy expositive, something reminiscent of Homer himself: '…the storm pressed dark and heavy with the tang of doom, like the weight on a woman's heart whose lover has tarried too long on fields of war, and she imagines the myriad of deaths he has died, deaths of the spear and axe, blood spewing…' Virgil sighed. Who am I kidding? Ultimately, the weighty impression of his insignificance in the face of it all washed all inspiration from him, letting him merely feel the gathering storm, without the comfort, the control of language.

He turned back to the room, moving towards the table, the wine. Gallus raised his head, while Seneca smiled grimly. They had all, the three of them, been lost in thought for some time. The evening had unfolded in that way, spirited conversation divided by long bouts of deep contemplation.

Virgil poured himself a cup of the wine. He swirled it in his hand. "So where did we leave things?"

Thunder echoed over the mansion, rattling the various furniture and pottery. A breeze brought the smell of rain into the room. "It is probably more correct to say: where have things left us?" Seneca leaned back on his couch.

Gallus sighed, getting to his feet. "Throwing our support behind this uprising is inconsequential in the grand scheme. It will happen with or without us," he said, grabbing an apple from the table. "And it will succeed or fail with or without us."

Seneca nodded. "Indeed. We must decide if there is anything to be gained by us, then." The old man nodded. "And if there is anything to be gained by our friends."

"Knowing the finer points of the attack would certainly help with the Elians' escape from the city," Virgil concurred. "With the troops and city in turmoil, things may go smoother."

Gallus swallowed some of the apple. "Or it could complicate matters." He shook his head. "With an attack on the city, escape might prove even more difficult." The senator swept his hand, gesturing with the fruit. "We could lose everything, including our own freedom, as well as that of our friends."

There was silence once again. Virgil drained his cup and poured himself another. Gallus bit into the apple, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned against the table. Seneca stood, brows knit. "It is no easy choice, but we must take risks if we are to gain anything." He smiled at his two friends. "Even if we are arrested and put to death, if it means the escape of our friends-then it is a victory."

"I think we all knew this." Virgil nodded. His face twisted into a self-mocking grin. "Why is it we came here hoping that someone might change our hearts?"

Gallus remained silent, continuing to chew. Seneca smiled at the poet. "You only came here to know you were not alone in any of your feelings. We all share the same doubts, yet the same convictions, as well."

"And to do nothing is not the Roman way." Gallus raised his head proudly. He looked to the old man. "Though, neither is sacrificing your life needlessly. There is no reason for you to be caught up in this-not now."

"Be that as it may, I wish to be caught up in it."

Virgil knelt in front of Seneca. "It's foolish. We could all be captured. You know the Emperor's feelings about you." The poet sadly shook his head. "This time the punishment will not be exile."

"Don't you think I'm aware of that?" The old man sighed in frustration. "How could I ever live with myself knowing you had all been executed and I had survived? No." He shook his head. "I'm with you in this. I'm with you all."

"You're being foolish." It was Virgil's turn to sigh with frustration. "Nero was your pupil, he is not your responsibility-he is not your mess to clean up." The poet smiled plaintively. "You can't erase past mistakes, real or imagined."

"Perhaps not," Seneca said. "But a man tries."

Understanding filled the poet's face. He nodded somberly. "So be it."

"It is agreed then." Gallus moved to his friends. "Tomorrow, Darius sends a runner for our answer. After that, for better or worse, our fate is bound together."

Soon after, Seneca and Gallus retired for the evening leaving Virgil alone in the study. He sat in silence upon a chair as he watched the sky shift and quake above. In his hand he held the pitcher of the Senator's wine. What words the storm did not take from him, the wine stole for itself.

**********

Mira sighed behind the warrior. Gabrielle could hear her biting on a nail, slowly working it between her teeth. I forget she's still a girl… She's been through a lot… grown a lot…but inside…

Gabrielle turned, smiling reassuringly. "Come on, it's clear."

Mira sighed again. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

They moved at a cautious, though steady pace. Patrols of the library were light and infrequent, most likely employed only as the most lax of precautions. Most of its halls were open and spacious, hewn from polished marble and lit by simple iron braziers. Reading rooms and small galleries opened off these large passageways, all deserted. Simple artwork could be found as decoration: a statue of a soldier or wounded enemy here, a painting of a popular tale or fable there.

The library remained silent. Most activity was reserved for the lower levels, for the servants and their tasks. Gabrielle wasn't surprised they had not crossed paths with anyone, friend or foe, and was secretly thankful for it.

Mira became increasingly sullen the closer they got to the main gallery. She continued to bite at her nails. The warrior paused, turning to the girl. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"Yup." Mira removed her finger from her mouth, self-consciously placing it behind her back. She smiled. "You know I've been bugging you for more responsibilities."

Gabrielle looked into the girl's eyes and nodded. I can't believe I was younger than she was when I first… The warrior turned back down the hall. "Let's do this."

Ahead of them the passage led to the balcony that opened up onto the large main gallery, a wide expanse as tall as the entire building. A wooden wall, about the height of two men, formed a perimeter that created a space for the shelves and tables that made up the study area. Two patrols of two paced around the perimeter of the structure, while an additional two guards remained at the entrance. Within the walls, neat rows of shelves and tables were now shadowed, as only sparse torchlight illuminated the cordoned area.

They crouched in the darkness, looking down on this. With a resigned sigh, Mira turned to Gabrielle. "Well, wish me luck." The girl took the pouch of scrolls from her friend and moved toward the stairs.

Mira controlled her breathing as she descended the staircase and moved directly for the two Romans standing tall at the entrance to the gallery. This should be a piece of Brauronia cake… She gave a tiny nod of self-assurance. I've been in way worse spots… With a sigh she continued onward, not sure if that was completely true.

The Praetorians stepped forward as they noticed the girl in the half-light. When they took a closer look and saw her more clearly, they took a less formal posture. "What is it?" the taller one asked. "Our dinner isn't for another hour."

"Just returning these scrolls to their rightful place, at the order of master Livius," Mira answered as meekly as possible. With a shrug of her shoulders, she gestured to the bag she carried.

"At this hour?" The other soldier was irritated. "That Livius is an old kook."

"Give them to me," the taller one said, reaching out his hand. "We'll make sure they're returned."

Mira shook her head. "Begging your pardon, sir, but master Livius insisted I return them myself." She scrunched up her nose. "He says they're important historical documents and should be treated that way."

The other soldier scratched at his chin. "No one is to enter until morning, Brunus."

Brunus nodded, looking back to Mira. "We have orders."

"Please, sir. Master Livius insisted." Mira looked crestfallen, jutting her bottom lip forward in an entirely convincing pout. "I'll be quick…promise… you could come with me if you'd like…"

Brunus seemed to mull this over. The other guard placed a hand on his sword. "I don't know. I don't recognize her."

"Janian," Brunus chuckled in condescension. "Who can tell any of these library wenches apart? Especially in the dark." He turned to Mira and grabbed a torch. "I'll take you. Follow me."

As she followed the guard into the library, Mira glanced back to the balcony. Gabrielle was gone.

The warrior had removed her servants' robes and descended to the gallery floor, evaded the patrols and scaled the wooden wall into the darkness between the rows of cases and shelves. She watched the Praetorian's torchlight, taking in various features of the area and committing them to memory.

Mira seemed to be holding her own. She gestured to Brunus. "Uhm…Livius said to put them on the main administrator's desk…"

"This way."

They moved to a large desk near a hanging torch. Mira placed the bag of scrolls on the desk and smiled sweetly up at the soldier. "Thank you."

Soon they were gone, leaving the gallery dark and empty. After waiting for Mira to leave the guards, Gabrielle crept along the floor, keeping to the many shadows as she approached the administrator's desk. Within seconds, she was at the border of the torchlight surrounding the table. She looked back toward the entrance. The desk was in a virtual blind spot, although there was still a chance the warrior could be spotted if someone were looking in her direction.

With three silent strides, she was at the desk crouching behind it, out of sight. From her place on the ground she could look back up to the balcony. There, hiding behind a pillar, she could see Mira looking back at her. The girl was grinning. Gabrielle shook her head and smiled as she peeked over the desk at the pile of scrolls and parchment strewn across it.

If I were the passwords, what would I look like?

Waxen impressions in various styles and colors sealed the scrolls. At just a glance Gabrielle recognized many; this bundle boasted the arms of the magistrate, military insignias, even a few from certain merchant leagues. There were many from the same senders. Only one stood out, only one was unique and the warrior brought it close to look. The wax seal bore the stamp of the Emperor Nero himself. To be sure of the contents, Gabrielle broke the seal and glanced at the first few lines of writing. She rolled the parchment back up with a grin. It was the passwords.

Good thing for Roman fastidiousness…

Gabrielle knew the scroll's presence on the administrator's desk was merely a formality, as copies were already delivered to the various checkpoints throughout the city. It was only required in the case of disputes or corruption and was never meant to be opened unless needed. She carefully tucked it away, adjusting some of the scrolls in the bag. She looked up at Mira, giving her the thumbs up. The girl sat back against the pillar, settling in to wait out the short time before Narses was to cause his diversion.

Gabrielle calmed her breathing and waited for her chance to leave. The time for the diversion came and went and still she waited. She sighed. Just once I'd like to be pleasantly surprised…

Up on the balcony, Mira shifted nervously. Gabrielle motioned for her to calm down and prepare to move. The warrior was about to leave when the torchlight changed near the entranceway.

"Halt!"

The warrior rolled her eyes. Well, this makes things easier… She spun, drawing the katanna. Brunus ran at her, his sword drawn. In a fluid motion, she parried his swing leading him wide and to the floor as his sandals slipped on the polished marble. Gabrielle turned and ran as the Praetorians collected themselves and gave pursuit. Janian shouted at the top of his lungs for the other guards. Soon they appeared and charged after the warrior as well. Sheathing her blade, Gabrielle flipped up onto the shelves filled with scrolls and ran along the top of them until she could hop onto the wooden barrier, then up to the balcony where she landed beside a wide-eyed Mira.

"Let's go!"

The girl followed as they broke into a sprint down the hallway. A horn blast blared behind them.

"Great," Gabrielle muttered.

"I told you that guy was gonna sell us out." Mira was furious. "Dirty Roman rat."

The warrior leaped over a marble bench. "We need to get to the roof if we stand any chance of getting out of here." She thought about the layout of the library, as she knew it. "There's a large staircase coming up after the next hall."

They made for the passage at a full sprint. As they turned down it, from down a connecting hall, Mira spotted a large contingent of Praetorians charging for them, too many to count.

"Uhm, Gabrielle…"

"Run!"

The two friends raced down the long passage with a lead of at least one hundred yards. Ahead, they could see the chamber with the ornate double staircase opening around another long hall and leading up. Gabrielle slowed her pace, confusing Mira, who eased up as well. "What is it?" she asked.

The warrior gestured ahead. Praetorians began pouring down the staircase, flooding the chamber and setting up in positions on it and in the hall at its base.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted." The girl sighed as she slowed to a walk. "I guess we surrender, huh?"

"No."

"No?" Although Mira was terrified, part of her (a sick part) wondered what the warrior had planned.

Gabrielle continued a steady stride, bearing straight for the hall, the staircase and the soldiers ahead. Behind them, the troop of forty continued to bear down on them, moving cautiously forward.

With a furrowed brow, Mira followed her friend. "So…uh…what are we gonna do?"

With a calm and even look, Gabrielle drew her sword. "We're going right through them."

**********

The air in the mansion had become variable, uncertain with the night's winds and the motion of the storm. As Eve moved through the halls, she moved through rooms still heavy with the heat of early morning and then on into chambers in the throes of the wind's influence. She passed a vase, broken on the floor, flowers spilled across the marble, petals adrift listlessly on the breeze.

Soon she had made her way to the rooftop balcony, encountering a swell of air as she left the shelter of the home. Eve shut her eyes, letting the wind sweep through her hair, across her face. She felt the air tremble an instant before thunder thrashed over her bowed head. The city flashed into sight as she opened her eyes just before an arc of lightning shattered over it.

In stark shadows, Rome appeared a cowering thing, hunched low and clinging to the faded river. Eve watched the tiny torchlights of Praetorian patrols pass throughout the city, along invisible pathways like fireflies spun in the breeze. She sighed at the ambiguity of the night.

"You know, you never officially asked if you could join me up here." It was Virgil, who had been sitting in silence shadowed by an overhanging arch of vines.

Eve smirked. "I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?"

"I was musing."

"Careful, if you get caught alone, musing in the dark one too many times, someone might go and actually take you seriously."

Virgil swaggered with roguish aplomb as he approached. "I'll always be able to avoid that sort of thing, my dear." He stood, swigging from his wineskin. "What brings you to such an exciting spot?"

"My feet."

"Very funny."

"No I-I'm serious." She became thoughtful. "I wasn't concentrating on going anywhere…just walking wherever my feet took me…"

The poet nodded. "The weather inspires such restlessness."

"Restlessness? No, I…" Eve stared off into the night, as though she had become lost inside her own skin.

Virgil stepped closer. "Is something wrong?"

"It…it's nothing…nothing to be concerned with…"

"I see. Well, that didn't sound convincing." The poet sat on a nearby ledge, scrutinizing his friend. "But far be it from me to call attention to someone who evades their personal woes." He opened his arms wide, dramatically taking in the entire roof. "Let's declare this rooftop a care-free zone."

With a grin, Virgil sprang to his feet and balanced himself on the edge of the roof, drinking more wine. Eve watched him, a smile springing to her face. "Virgil, be careful…" She watched him balanced there, the storm twisting behind him. The smile disintegrated slowly first from her eyes, then her lips.

Virgil looked out at the city. "Try as I might, I can never find it in my heart to hate this place."

"I can't say I have the same problem."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Eve stepped closer to the poet, to the ledge. "I grew up here, you know? I have good memories, happy memories from this place." She shrugged. "It's just that the bad ones outweigh the good."

"Is that entirely true?"

"What?"

Virgil turned to look into her eyes. "What I mean is: do you hate where you were, or who you were?"

"It's a legitimate question." Eve clasped her hands. "I suppose it's one I try to avoid answering on most days."

"Just run away, eh?" The poet stepped down from the ledge. "I've had a lot of experience with that."

"I suppose you can spend a lifetime doing it if you're not careful."

Virgil's gaze became distant, aimed inward. "Yes…yes, you could…" He sat on the ledge, legs dangling over.

Thunder rumbled overhead, groaning in the wake of lightning strikes. They watched the thick clouds twist and turn black and indigo and draped across the high vaults above. Eve sat on the ledge beside Virgil, nodding toward the sky. "This storm circles and circles but never breaks."

The poet drank from the skin. "Perhaps it's lost the nerve for such things…"

"You're silly."

"Maybe," he said, growing serious, brows folding. "But just because something can't escape its nature, doesn't mean it can't grow tired of it, as well."

Eve smiled uncertainly at his words. "A storm that wearies of…storming?"

"I would have used: raging, myself." He winked at her. "But yes, why not? Warlords grow tired of pillaging, yes?"

She smiled. "Some."

"And thieves of stealing?"

"Of course."

Virgil looked away. "And poets of…feeling…"

Eve turned to face him, as if seeing him for the first time. "Virgil…"

"The point is…" He sighed with a cheerful resignation. "Heh… I've forgotten my point. That's typical, isn't it? Right on the cusp of the profound but firmly entrenched in the mediocre…"

Neither spoke for some time, the moments stretched out, measured in the tentative roiling of the growing tempest. Finally, Eve sighed. "Perhaps it's afraid… the storm…"

"Fear?" Virgil's eyes brightened. "Hmm… What is it a storm might fear?"

The acolyte looked to her knotted hands. "Destiny, purpose-becoming what it is meant to be…"

"Ah yes…" He became somber. "Yes…"

Silence again. The storm strained above them. Eve wrung her fingers. "And isn't part of that fear-the unconscious, real part-the understanding that once purpose, destiny is fulfilled there will be only dissipation, death?"

"Yes…" The poet sighed, thinking about this. He took a thoughtful pull of wine, swallowing softly. Pushing a stray forelock of hair from his eyes, he turned to his friend, a small smile on his lips. "And sunrise."

Eve smiled sadly back at him. Remaining in a fragile silence, they continued to watch the storm grow over the city.

**********

"We're what?" Mira's mouth hung open as she walked beside the warrior. She looked ahead and saw the Romans forming up on the staircases, steady, if not entirely sure what the two women might do. The girl glanced over her shoulder. The other force of Praetorians closed in, sealing off any chance of escape.

Gabrielle continued to stare forward, her form, her manner completely calm. "Listen to me," she said quietly. "No matter what happens, I want you to stay as close to me as possible." She handed her the bag of scrolls.

"B-but I'll just get in your way…"

"No." The warrior glanced sideways at Mira. "We stick together, remember?"

Mira smiled sadly. "I remember."

The warrior kept moving toward the soldiers. "I'm going to get you an opening at the top of the stairs and I want you to take it and run." She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the girl. "Understand?"

"I-I'm not leaving you." Mira was shaking. She tried to hide her hands, to still them. "You just said-"

"First things first, find us a way out then come back for me. But Mira-" She turned to the girl again. "If it comes to it; save yourself."

Mira shook her head, hoping her eyes would stop watering. "First things first."

As they took the last few strides into the tall chamber that housed the double staircase, Gabrielle held her sword out, keeping the Romans at a distance for the time being. Many of the soldiers had their swords drawn, while others upon the staircase fixed crossbows on the two friends. Mira tucked herself to Gabrielle's left side. The soldiers bringing up the rear closed in, many having to remain in the hall behind.

The delicately crafted marble staircases wound up to an ornate balcony. Along the wide stairs iron braziers on chains hung, lighting the large hall with a warm glow. Praetorians lined up in twos on every second step, their faces stern, their weapons fixed on Gabrielle and Mira.

A leader moved forward, stepping close to the point of Gabrielle's sword. "I don't have to tell you that escape is impossible." Crossing his arms, he gave a pleading look. "Surrender peacefully. None of us relish killing women and girls."

Gabrielle's gaze never left his. "There's no way we can do that."

There was laughter and insults from the soldiers. Mira shook, her teeth chattering together. All she could see were Roman faces, Roman helmets, and Roman swords, surrounding her-the smell of sweat rank in her nostrils. Her breathing stumbled upon itself, choking her.

"Surely you aren't serious?" The man chuckled, opening his arms. The uproar began to die down. "What can you possibly accomplish here with such stupidity and arrogance? Now I'm asking you again to surrender-" His expression went cold. "And this time I expect a different answer."

"How's this?" In a motion so economic, so fluid and quick that Mira hadn't recognized it as violent at first, Gabrielle passed the katanna through the man's shoulder and upper torso. The girl's first thought was that the warrior had only feinted at the man and hadn't actually hit him.

For a long moment it seemed as though nothing at all occurred. Time stretched out. The leader's face blanched, his eyes going glassy, his mouth hanging open at an awkward angle. Sharp intakes of breath spread and echoed into the high vaulted ceiling, armor rattled, swords unsheathed. Gabrielle reached for her belt, for the chakram.

Then time compressed into the quick flow of moments, flaring and then fading into the next. In a massive spray of blood, the leader's arm and shoulder dropped away from his body. Jets of gore rained on his open-mouthed troops.

"Now!" Gabrielle hurled the chakram in a sharp arc up the left staircase, along the wall where it severed the chain supporting the hanging lamp. As the pot of burning oil fell upon the soldiers on the staircase, the blade continued along to the next chain, with similar results. Praetorians screamed as they went up in flames, some falling from the stairs onto their comrades below.

Mira stuck close by the warrior, keeping her eye on the Romans all around them. Gabrielle took down two with quick slices of the katanna and spun around in time to parry an attack from behind. "Keep moving," she yelled to Mira as she killed two more Romans and moved slowly toward the now-burning stairs.

Blood sprayed everywhere and screams echoed through the chamber. Mira lost track of time. The girl had seen her friend kill before, but never to this degree, with this indiscretion. Gabrielle's posture, her speed and skill, her lack of emotion, it all reminded Mira of Nemesis, when the assassin had come out of the darkness for her. Mira rubbed at her eyes. Her fingers, her clothes-all covered in sprays of blood.

The guards were having trouble, as they could only get a few men into the fray at a time. In addition, it was difficult to draw a bead on the two women without having fellow soldiers get in the line of fire.

Gabrielle caught the returning chakram and used it to parry an attack. She chopped her assailant's head from his body. Still they moved closer to the staircase. With another throw, Gabrielle fired the chakram off a pillar just behind them letting it cause havoc in the crowd of soldiers there. Soon it ricocheted back towards the opposite staircase, freeing braziers and causing more fires and confusion.

They made it to the base of the stairs. Most of the soldiers who had stood upon it were incapacitated or dead, although a contingent had regrouped and were descending through the smoke and flames. Gabrielle fought off some guards and caught the chakram. "Get ready."

Mira coughed. "I-I'm ready…"

The warrior launched the chakram up the stairs at the charging men. "Now!"

They ran up the smoking stairs as sparks and screams erupted in front of them. Men fell at their feet and those left standing were dispatched by the swift strokes of the warrior's blade. She turned to Mira, after slicing through both of a guard's legs. "This is it."

With a chilling war cry, Gabrielle thrust forward at a group of five soldiers who stood fast at the top of the stairs. Her first strike felled two, one careening off of the balcony and falling. She used the chakram to parry when she couldn't with the katanna.

Mira kept moving as best as she could. Behind them, she could see the Romans regrouping, stepping over their dead comrades. There were still so many of them and they just kept coming. Ahead, the hallway at the top of the staircase was empty. She wanted to vomit, but regained herself.

Gabrielle prepared to engage the next large group of men. "Go!" she yelled at the girl.

Mira sprinted up through the smoke, up the last of the stairs and into the hallway beyond. She turned around once before running away. Gabrielle held the Romans at bay, but others approached, racing up the stairs to flank her. The warrior began fighting on both sides at the top of the landing.

Biting her lip, Mira ran down the hall, the sounds of battle echoing behind her.

**********

Infinite now, the sounds of night were carried to Her on the troubled winds. Gently, She settled against the branches, high in a Roman pine overlooking the Domus Aurea and listened, separating each from the uniform wash of din. The creak of a sentry's leather armor as he paced the grounds; the rustle of dry leaves wandering upon the gusts; the clink of a metal chain-all drifted to Her ears. And beneath it all, the building pulse of the coming storm.

She looked down to the palace's balcony, empty, lit by two tall and wide braziers casting a sharp glow across its opulence and off into the nearby trees, the grounds below. The flames burned with hunger, fed by rich oils and the wind; they obscured what lay in the room beyond. Below the terrace, guards paced into the light and then off into darkness.

She leapt from the high branches and floated silently. Her cape swelled with the pollen-scented air, bearing Her softly over the wide gulf. Without a sound She lighted upon the marble of the balcony, between the raging braziers.

Again, She closed Her eyes throwing Her senses out into the night around Her. The guards still maundered on their patrols in the gardens, rustling the ferns that lay at their feet. With a lunge She darted from the light and into the Domus.

The chamber beyond was filled by Her reflection. Thousands of mirrors in hundreds of sizes adorned the asymmetrical features of the huge and empty hall. In the meager light, She had become momentarily dizzy, unable to gain bearings within the space. She stood slowly, letting Her senses feel their way about the hall before she continued on.

At its highest, the room was over a hundred feet and it was at least twice that in width and length. The mirrors cast images upon each other and back into infinity. Her image colored the room, casting it in crimson, casting it in black and silver and pale skin. She looked into Her face, Her eyes, losing Herself for a moment.

A doorway stood at the far end of the room. It had been hard to see at first because of the mirrors and its angle to the balcony. Settling Her breathing, She shook Her head and moved silently, with fixed intention towards it. She listened beyond the portal and heard only the sounds of water flowing.

The doorway opened into another large and expansive chamber, this one filled with trees, with flowers, even with its own babbling stream, passing through a tall window and out into the gardens outside the palace. Birds chirped in the exotic foliage, puffing their jewel-colored feathers, preparing for sleep. A mosaic path led forward to a bridge that arced over the brook.

Someone darted between the trees, disappearing with a laugh.

She passed along the tiles then up onto the bridge, which swelled out up to the edge of the ceiling-reaching window. Guards passed by in the night, oblivious to Her crossing. After the bridge, the mosaic path continued through more trees, winding casually toward a shadowed doorway beyond.

The doorway led into a dark hallway then on into red silk. Bolts of the cloth flowed across Her vision, spread across Her skin, as She entered a new room. As She gained bearings, She could see the fabric was affixed to the ceiling to Her right and to Her left and was blown by the night's wind passing through vents in the wall. The rush of silk disrupted Her vision, Her hearing and She pushed through, eager to be free of it.

Soon, She was beyond the whipping cloth but the low room continued forward, still adorned in the crimson fabric this time fastened from floor to ceiling. She glanced to the end of the long chamber, noting the darkened doorway at its climax. Torches burned in evenly placed sconces, casting everything in bloody hues.

Lining the walls just below Her eye level were what appeared to be masks of some kind. Narrowing Her eyes, She moved for a closer look. She realized quickly the masks were all renditions of the same person fashioned out of gold. Carefully approaching, She leaned forward to scrutinize the odd adornments. The blood drained from Her face.

Each mask was a perfect representation of the girl, the girl from Her memories. With each mask the girl wore a different expression, expressions She remembered, expressions She had wished to evoke or do everything possible to prevent. Agony, ecstasy, joy, pain, sorrow-each was rendered perfectly as if stolen from the heart in Her chest. She spun. There were dozens, all so familiar to Her.

Her fingers reached out to touch the pale golden skin of a soft smiling one-they trembled. The face looked as though poised to tumble into the sweet descent leading to a kiss. A name passed as a whisper over Her lips…

"Exquisite, aren't they?"

She started, turning toward the voice that had come from the doorway at the end of the room. A man, clothed only in a simple tunic, leered at Her. It was the Emperor Nero; She knew this at once. She straightened, trying to regain Herself. He leaned nonchalantly in the doorway.

"Quite a likeness as well, so I'm told." He gestured at the masks.

Her throat, Her mouth was dry.

Nero glanced toward the mask closest to him, reaching out to caress its cheek. "You can almost see the pulse beneath the skin." He winked. With an odd flourish, he pointed at a mask, one that wore a face painted in tragic pain, deep hurt and just under the surface, a growing rage. Closer inspection showed hints of bruising, of blood and swollen skin. "Now what do you suppose she was feeling here? Betrayal?" He turned to Her with a taunting air. "Was it you who betrayed her?"

She faltered, Her steps trailing off to a halt. The Emperor poked at another mask, this one frozen in the soft throes of ecstasy. "Pretty clear what she's feeling here, hmm?" He giggled. "You old devil, you."

Meridian quivered on Her back. She growled softly and drew it from its scabbard. The blade trembled with a reassuring pulse in Her hands.

"Not an art lover, eh?" the Emperor tittered.

She moved toward the unarmed man, ready to carry out Her master's bidding. In the periphery, She could sense Her reflection upon each and every one of the masks as She passed.

Nero noted this. "You recognize the woman, do you?" he asked, still apparently unfazed by Her rapid approach. He stepped from the doorway, moving to the wall, passing along it. "Yet you do not know yourself." He met Her gaze. "Isn't that right?"

Her charge wavered slightly, but She pushed on, altering to compensate for his movement.

He leaned against the wall, beside an angry, spiteful version of the mask. "All of this must just raise more and more questions, hmm?" Nero's face contorted into mock-sympathy. "How terrible it must be-to have so many memories and so many questions upon questions…" He smiled cruelly. "Yet too, too few answers."

Meridian slumped as Her pace slowed to a disoriented shuffle. Her limbs threatened to shake free of Her body. The very blood in Her veins seemed to leech away. She panted, Her teeth bared.

The Emperor crossed his arms, watching Her as a child might watch the death throes of an insect they have meticulously pulled apart. "What if I could answer some of those questions?"

She blinked at him.

Nero's grin darkened. "What if I could answer all your little questions about-" He paused for effect. "Gabrielle?"

She screamed and lunged for the man. Meridian arced like lightning for the soft and giving flesh of his neck, quivering and hungry in Her grip.

Instead, Her swing met steel. Sparks erupted as a blade appeared from through the wall of silk, stopping the assassin's attack just shy of Nero's body. The Emperor laughed hysterically as he stepped away. The wall appeared to be pushing outward as if coming to life around the focal points of the spiteful mask, the blade. The sound of fabric straining, ripping filled the room.

Meridian was locked in the sword's parry, pushed back into the room as the silk stretched. With a shove, She was disengaged and thrown back as the cloth ripped. A woman stepped through the wounded fabric into the room, blade in hand. The exquisite and terrible gold mask covered her face.

Nero smiled at Her from behind the woman. "Quite the trick, hmm?" he said. "Right up there with walking on water." Here he met Her gaze with a smoldering leer. "Or maybe coming back from the dead."

Everything was red and it throbbed relentlessly. Her vision had become blurry at the sides, Her face slick with tears. She steeled Herself, stepping back and placing Meridian in a defensive position at Her side. The masked woman stepped forward ready for a swift and deadly attack.

**********

Mira heard only the sounds of her own heartbeat and belabored breathing. She ran down a small hallway, lit feebly by a single oil lamp. She hadn't stopped running since…

Gods…

Ahead she could see a brighter hall and slowed to jog. The sound of marching armor could be heard. Mira crouched low in the thick shadows, trying to silence her breaths. A troop of ten soldiers jogged with a dangerous purpose past her. She closed her eyes, knowing where they were going. Soon, they had passed, the sounds of their footsteps fading down the hall toward the distant echo of battle.

With a sigh, Mira wiped at her cheek. It came away sticky and wet. Even in the muddy light, she could see the dark splotches left on her hands. She was covered in blood. The girl retched as quietly as possible when she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

It had been as though Gabrielle had been possessed, had been some unholy thing, like a living weapon, terrible, unstoppable. She had seen Gabrielle fight tens of men before, but never that many or with that sort of horrifying efficiency. During the chaos, the girl had seen the look in the warrior's eyes, a cold and deadly calm. Mira felt sad for her friend, now understanding at least a part of the darkness she carried upon her shoulders. Mira remembered the scrolls she had read, the voice of the bard who wrote them, the joy that had been so apparent. Oh, Gabrielle…

She couldn't imagine killing anyone. Stealing from them made her guilty enough usually, but taking a life was something for which she had no frame of reference. She gave a silent prayer to any gods who would listen that she never did.

The girl got to her feet and, after peeking around the corner, tore off down the hall. Hopefully she could find a way out for them both before anything terrible happened.

The hall was long and opened into several rooms, none leading to anywhere useful. After turning down another passage, Mira came to a large double door that was slightly ajar. Placing her ear against it, she found that it was safe to continue. It opened onto a wide balcony. She could see darkness up ahead, and she could feel wind. Walking to the edge of the balcony she looked down to find a wide courtyard. Thunder and lightning broke overhead. She cursed to herself. The courtyard didn't lead out of the library.

"Mira, up here," a familiar voice, heard just over the howling wind, whispered from above.

Startled, the girl looked up. Narses grinned down at her from the roof one floor above. Mira scowled. "Thanks for the diversion," she said with a caustic sneer.

The thief feigned hurt. "I'm here now."

"I'm sure you'll be a big help this time."

"You made it to this point just fine without me," he said. "I knew you would and since I need you alive to collect my pay, I'm here now." He flashed his teeth. "Besides, I have a rope." The Roman dangled a rope in his right hand.

Mira rubbed her jaw. It was a quick climb to the roof from where she was and there really wasn't a lot of time to argue about it. If the thief wasn't here when they returned, they could still get to the roof.

"Fine," she said.

Almost in a daze, Mira sprinted back along the passages she had taken. With every step the sounds of battle, of steel clashing, of men dying drew near. Smoke hung in ribbons on the air as she got closer. Hold on, Gabrielle…

She rounded the final corner to find the warrior holding off several soldiers in the arch before the staircase, another man slumped, dying at her feet. The bodies of dozens of other Praetorians were scattered in various states of slaughter around Gabrielle's feet. Fire and smoke still poured in from the chamber before as Romans continued to attack.

"Gabrielle!" Mira called out.

The warrior turned to see the girl motion to her and began to back off, using the chakram to halt the regrouping guards. After mortally wounding several more, Gabrielle began to sprint away from the Praetorians. "Mira, run!" she yelled at the girl. "Run!"

Mira led them in a fierce sprint through the halls toward their point of escape. Gabrielle managed to catch up to the girl, her face spattered in blood, her eyes honed and focused. "You found a way out?" she asked.

"Up to the roof, yeah." Mira scowled. "I found Narses, too."

Gabrielle's eyes widened as she looked ahead. "Look out!"

A soldier had jumped out of a room brandishing a spear. Gabrielle hurled the chakram at the weapon, severing it into two pieces that split uselessly from the man's hands. With a quick attack, the warrior slashed the katanna's blade across his chest. Mira and Gabrielle continued along the hallway.

Soon they were approaching the double doors. They passed through and onto the balcony. Mira's heart sank. There was no sign of Narses. "That rat," she cursed.

"Lila, Sarah, over here." Further along the balcony Narses climbed down the rope. "The only thing I could tie the rope to was up there."

Gabrielle smiled at Mira. "If we're dead, he doesn't get paid."

"I guess." Mira was uneasy; she bit at a nail.

They approached the thief. Gabrielle looked over the balcony into the courtyard. "Standard Roman procedure is a quick regrouping before giving pursuit."

Narses nodded as he stepped away from the rope. "We have time, but we should make haste."

Mira tested the rope, still feeling odd for some reason. Probably 'cause we have like, a hundred Romans chasing us…

The warrior looked across the courtyard, squinting into the darkness. "What's across there?"

"The rest of the library." The thief stood next to her, glancing where she did. "Why?"

"I hear flowing water." Gabrielle tilted her head. "A sewer maybe?"

"Wait." Behind them, Mira's eyes widened. She turned to Narses. "You-you called me Mira."

"What?" The thief didn't turn around. "I called you Sarah."

"No. Before." Mira stepped closer. "You called me Mira before. How would you-"

Narses became a blur as he slammed his fist into the side of Gabrielle's skull and toppled her over the edge of the balcony. Mira darted forward, grabbing uselessly for her falling friend. "No!" An instant later a terrible sound of flesh meeting cobbles echoed through courtyard.

Narses shoved her away, slamming her against the nearby wall. "It would be wise to surrender now." The Roman moved toward her, drawing a knife from his jacket. His face warped with a dangerous leer. "Members of the German Guard don't have the same scruples other soldiers do about killing women and children."

**********

She found it hard to tear Her gaze from the reflection-Her reflection-playing across Her opponent's mask. When She could focus, the mask itself, the likeness sank a distracting ache deep in Her breast. The masked woman moved in, her strides causing a rush of air in her wake.

The attack was quick and She barely had time to parry it. Sparks erupted from the clash of swords and they locked blades. Nero watched with admiration.

"Octavia is quite the hostess," he said. "Leading the dance like this."

The blades remained entangled, the two of them matching strength. She was the stronger, but Octavia used her balance effectively to remain equal. They strained against one another.

The mask stared with its spiteful gaze into Her eyes. She could see Her face reflected upon its pale gold skin, could see Her teeth bared, Her growing frustration. She could see pain reflected there, as well. Meridian shifted with a questioning pulse as Her grip faltered…

I can smell the ocean, the scent of brine churning against the rocks.

The tang of freshly churned soil, too, upset by horse's hooves, the body-your body-dragging behind it.

And the stink of Amazon oils, perfumes still thick on your skin, the air.

This mélange I will always remember, it will be etched cold in my memory as the essence, the scent of hatred.

I thought you dead, laying there in the grass, a broken, twisted insect. But the gods grant my wish; when I touched you, lifted you over my head, I felt your stubborn, traitor's pulse. No matter what pain I unleash upon you, none of it is enough to end your suffering.

I'll enjoy trying…

You stopped me, kicked me in the face. My wrath made me sloppy-it always has. Now this will be more fun, more fulfilling.

The look, the pained, betrayed look on your bloody, bruised face brings joy to my heart, and I ignore the parts that try to tell me how wrong this all is.

Then you say the words, those three words I've been waiting for. The three words that will be my legacy to you for the short time you have left…

-I hate you!

Octavia disengaged and returned to the offensive. The woman's flurry of overhand slashes and side swipes threw Her off balance and She brought Meridian up, blocking more out of desperation than skill. Darkness rippled across the blade's surface, as though it were angry at Her lack of resolve, Her loss of focus. The bodyguard feinted with her sword then planted a powerful roundhouse kick to Her exposed abdomen, knocking the air from Her lungs and staggering Her back off balance.

The woman backed off, swiping at the air. Nero applauded, his claps smacking sharply in the small room. "Brava, my dear. Brava." He smirked. Octavia nodded in acknowledgement.

The Emperor turned to Her now, shaking his head sadly and sighing. "You really are distracted by all of this, aren't you?" he said, indicating the masks on the wall, on Octavia's face. "Who is she? Who is this Gabrielle?"

She held Meridian out, a pathetic gesture to hold off an attack. Her hands trembled feebly from the end of shivering arms, shaking shoulders. Nothing She did could stop it. The faces looked back at Her from the walls-smiling, crying, tightened in fear, tumbling with desire. And within Her a corresponding echo reacted to each.

Nero moved closer now, his eyes glinting with danger. "Who was she? Hmm?" He watched Her expression twist, flickering like the erratic flame of a candle. A jubilant grin played across his face. "You don't know for sure, do you?"

Her knees weakened. Nero moved closer still, this time walking in front of Octavia though still off to the side. "I can help, you know?" He met Her gaze. "I can help you find out-and I can help you find Gabrielle."

How did everything come to this? Your face twisted in anger, in hatred-my heart the same way. Lost in this place between worlds. I can't stop it, can't stop you-can't help you.

-I hurt inside! Don't you?

And I do. Of course I do.

How can I not?

Our love, our life together all it has led to is hatred, destruction--to chaos and death.

That is what this is all about, isn't it? Solan, Hope, they aren't dead because of you or I-but because of you and I.

And this twists inside of me like the cruelest edge of a blade…

Somehow, I sing…

Darkness welled within Her and She lashed out at the smug Emperor. Octavia was faster, her blade intercepting the attack. Nero backed off as the two women fought once more. The bodyguard kept her attacks low to the ground, keeping Her off balance and forcing Her to shift around so that She faced the blowing silk of the entranceway.

The wrath within Her breast continued to churn, spurring Her on the offensive. Quick attacks shifted the momentum of the battle and the tumult behind Her eyes receded. She began to use Her strength as well as Her speed, delivering a series of crushing blows that the bodyguard parried frantically-each one threatening to shatter the bones in the women's arms.

A wicked grin began to form on Her face. With a full spin, She landed a powerful punch in the direct center of the mask, buckling it. It was deformed, ruined, hanging oddly off the bodyguard's face. Octavia backed away for a moment, ripping the mask free and throwing it aside. Her lip was swollen and bleeding.

They locked blades once again. Nero moved closer. "I can help you find out who you were too, you know?" he said. She growled at him and he laughed. "I can. Although-" he paused. "I'm not sure you're going to like what you find out…"

The anger grew and grew, exploding free from Her in a shrill and fierce battle cry. Through the vents in the wall the rumble of thunder could be heard, the wind picked up, tossing the silk about in waves of crimson. She brought Meridian down at them. Octavia parried with a wide swing, pushing the dark blade aside. Then with a quick flourish, the Emperor and his bodyguard disappeared behind the wisps of fabric.

She swung through the cloth; bits of it sliced free and blew away. The bolts of silk fluttered, slowing with the dying breeze.

The room was empty, save for Her-and the mask. It lay twisted, distorted by Her blow, though the likeness was still obvious, still confusing to Her, slipping away…

…slipping away, falling into the flames… You, Hope…

"Gab-" The heat, the shock steals my breath, chokes me so I cannot even finish your name.

Gods, Gabrielle…what have you done?

She stood there trembling. Her shoulders slumped and tendrils of hair fell before Her eyes. Meridian was loose in Her grip. Without warning, Her knees buckled and She dropped to the ground. A sigh broke from Her then and Her free hand slapped against the marble floor, trying to steady Herself. More tears trailed down Her cheeks, more sobs broke from Her.

"No," She spat through clenched teeth.

Her knuckles whitened. With straining muscles She forced Herself to stand, to move. The anger returned, the resolve. The blade came to life once more in Her hand and spurred Her forward.

With bold strides She pushed through the delicate nimbus of blowing silk into the chamber beyond.

**********

Mira remained in the spot she had been standing in when Gabrielle had been knocked over the edge of the balcony, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. As badly as she wanted to look over the railing for her friend, she dared not do so while Narses held her at bay with the wicked looking knife. There was no time to give in to the urge to crumple to the floor and sob uncontrollably. Clenching her teeth, she sneered at Narses. "So, I guess you've been playing us from the beginning."

"Oh child," he laughed. "From even before that. From the moment you left the villa this morning. Your one chance for figuring things out was when that patrol stopped us this afternoon. 'North of the Horselands' was a codeword Praetorians were informed about." The Roman sighed dramatically. "It would have been best if you never learned of my true allegiance." He looked unfavorably at the building. "But seeing as these fools couldn't catch a sleeping turtle that was handed to them. When it appeared as though you might escape, I had to become more…proactive."

Mira had never felt such rage for a person. "Sorry you had to be a rat and a murderer, rather than just a plain old rat."

"While this banter has always been rather entertaining, I would advise full co-operation." Narses motioned to her again with the knife. "Time is of the essence for you, my dear," he spoke softly though still cruelly. "After all, your friend may yet be alive."

Mira hadn't thought of that. The fall was only about thirty feet. She had been too shocked, too scared to remember just how tough the warrior really was. The girl had witnessed it firsthand many times, had heard countless stories. She steadied herself and sneered at the Roman. "What do you want?"

"For a start: those." The Roman took the bag of scrolls from Mira. She spat at him. Narses leered back at her with an unsettling menace. "And information, mostly." He waved it off. "But there will be plenty of time for all that."

Mira didn't like the sound of any of it. She seriously considered throwing herself over the balcony. Narses wouldn't have been able to catch her. She might even land uninjured.

A sound came from the hallway-a heavy, uneven shuffle of feet-interrupting her train of thought. Narses glanced out the door. "You there, Praetorian, are you badly injured?"

A soldier limped through the door, no helmet on his head but a long slash across his chest. "It looks worse than it is," he said hoarsely. "And you are?" he asked.

Narses became irritated by the injured man; a harsh exhalation erupted from him. "This is all you need know." He lifted the sleeve of his shirt revealing his upper bicep upon which was the tattoo Mira had noticed earlier.

The soldier snapped to attention, as best as he could. "Sorry, sir. How can I help?"

Narses grinned at Mira. "Keep an eye on this girl, she's an enemy of the Empire."

The soldier nodded. "I know."

"Wait here until I return," Narses ordered. "The troops need to be redeployed and the mess needs to be cleaned up before I can deal with her." He glared at Mira who fought the chill it sent through her body.

"What about Gabrielle?" Mira blurted out.

"Oh, her." Narses paused, appearing to be bothered. He carefully inspected the edge of his blade then winked at Mira. "I'll get around to making sure she's dead soon enough…"

Mira lunged for the Roman only to have the wounded guard hold her back, shoving her against the balcony. With a toxic grin, Narses left them.

"Get offa me!" Mira wriggled free of the soldier's grip and slumped against the marble. Sighing, she stared down into the dark courtyard. She looked at the guard, trying to figure out if she could overpower him somehow. He is hurt, after all…

He stared back at her. "I knew you were trouble," he said.

"Huh?"

He laughed softly. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

The voice suddenly registered in her memory. It was the guard who had let her into the gallery. "You're Brunus."

"Right." He nodded, smiling bitterly. "I knew you were trouble, but you reminded me of my sister."

Not wanting to, Mira smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He gestured to the wound in his chest. "Look where that got me."

"Uh yeah…sorry about that," Mira said, shifting uncomfortably. "Gabrielle is-" she paused for a moment, then continued, "-she's a good person, really."

"We're all good people." The soldier scowled. "Janian was a good person." His face darkened. "Your friend cut him down like a dog in the street."

Mira sighed in total frustration. She needed to get to the courtyard somehow and soon. "Please…Look, I know you're a good man, Brunus… Please, let me go down to the courtyard and see if my friend is alive…"

"I don't know…"

"You could come with me."

"Oh, like last time?" The soldier sneered in anger. "I don't think so."

Mira slumped again, tears welling in her eyes. She fought them, cursing herself and clenching her fists.

Crying… as usual… Captured…as usual… Stupid little kid…

And now Gabrielle is…

Not yet…

Mira wiped quickly at her eyes, clenching her jaw tightly as she straightened herself. Thunder crept in low rumbles across the sky above the city. Brunus looked over the side of the balustrade into the darkness. Mira watched him, leaning onto her feet.

Distracted… Only chance…

Without thinking, Mira lunged at him grabbing for his throat. They struggled back against the marble, sliding along the edge. While the man was injured, he was still much stronger than she and his grip on her wrists hurt. Mira sank her teeth into the guard's wrist and he yowled in pain, letting go of her.

"Stop it!" he yelled. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then let me go!"

"I can't."

He lunged for her again. Mira grabbed for the man's wound, raking her nails across it. With a cry, he pushed away from her, not compensating for his position and over stepping. For a long moment he teetered off balance, a look of terror, a look of silent appeal to Mira. Then, without a sound, he dropped over the edge and into the darkness. A sickening crack followed shortly after.

Not knowing how long she stood there in silence, Mira first realized she was standing with her hand over mouth when she felt tears running down her wrist. Maybe she had been unable to move out of shock, she just remembered wanting to stay as still, as silent as possible, hoping she might hear something stir in the courtyard. Drawing in her breath sharply, she removed her hand.

Gods…Oh, gods…

The wind howled, blowing Mira's hair about her head. Blinking, she came back to the moment. She moved to the rope Narses had left and managed to uncoil it. Wiping tears away, she fastened it securely to the balcony and lowered herself silently to the courtyard below. Her eyes adjusted and she was able to make out two crumpled shapes. She thought she saw one of them move.

"G-Gabrielle?"

A faint groan. Mira ran to the prone figure. It was the warrior, alive. The girl began to cry. "Gods, are you…are you okay?"

There was a cough-or was that a laugh?-and the warrior stirred. "Yeah…uhn… just…just great…"

Mira nodded. "Can you get to your feet? We have to get out of here, like, now."

Gabrielle groaned as she lifted herself to a sitting position. Mira could see blood trickling down the side of the woman's face. "Your head…"

"It's okay…" The warrior winced, grabbing her side. "My ribs are worse." They stood and began to ready themselves. Gabrielle whispered hoarsely. "Let's go."

"They-they got the scrolls, Gabrielle." Mira bit her lip. "They got the passwords…"

With a grin constructed from the leftover bits of a wince, Gabrielle shook her head. "Not exactly." She lifted a piece of armor revealing two of the scrolls tucked neatly inside.

"How?" The girl's mouth hung open. "When?"

The warrior gave a wink. "I have many skills…"

Mira laughed. "Great, so now how do we get out of here?"

"This way." The warrior led them across the courtyard toward the sound of flowing water. "We're taking the sewers…"

As they walked, Mira found it impossible to ignore the broken looking shadow that was Brunus' body laying behind them in the darkness. Even after the form faded, his face remained in her vision, even when her eyes were closed his voice was in her ears. She was left to wonder, as she followed in Gabrielle's wake, if the look in his eyes as he stumbled over the ledge would ever fade from her memories, or instead remain as some black ache through her insides for the rest of her days.

Thunder echoed above them and Mira softly prayed for the rain before continuing on out of the courtyard.

**********

She passed through the doorway onto the path of tiles. Within the wide expanse of the chamber, the sounds of birds and of the running stream were all that could be heard.

Trees-pines, cypresses and oaks had been transplanted here. Their branches stretched toward the high ceiling. Torches lit the room, suspended in crude iron sconces on the walls casting fleeting shadows of the limbs across the floor. Walking cautiously, She moved along the path. Her feet made no sound.

Ahead, beyond the stretch of trees, on the bridge She had crossed earlier, stood Nero, the smug look still playing across his face. There was no sign of Octavia. She moved for him, Her strides strong and unwavering.

As She passed beneath an oak, a faint rustle could be heard at Her shoulder. She pivoted quickly on Her left foot, having just enough time to bring Meridian forward into a parry against Octavia. The bodyguard had dropped from the tree and sped forward in a fierce attack. The swords rang loudly as the woman struck then passed by and carried on and up into the canopy of trees.

Nero chuckled from the bridge. His voice carried easily through the hall. "You'd better watch that one," he said. "Especially if your mind isn't in this, hmm?"

She began to stride toward him, as determined as before. The Emperor remained untroubled. "And where is your head at, I wonder?" He chuckled, knowingly, the sound ringing hollow over the sound of the water. "As if I have to ask…"

The moment is perfect.

The seabirds in the distance, the sound of the waves below, the approaching sunset…

-A poem? Sappho wrote a poem for me. I don't believe it. You had this planned all along, didn't you?

You shiver with surprise at the present, but your smile is a gift to me.

There's a moment when I look at you and no speech is left in me.
My tongue breaks. Then fire races under my skin and I tremble.
And grow pale for I am dying of such love or so it seems to me…

I watch as you read, the words reflect what I feel, but you are the poem in my heart.

When it is done, you smile warmly, a woman's smile-no longer a girl's. And there is love in it…

-It's beautiful. This is the best birthday present I have ever had…

"I bet you're wondering how I know all of this, hmm?" Nero winked mockingly at Her. She blinked at him, still clouded of action. He smirked. "Sorry, can't tell. It would ruin the big surprise, but…" He paused dramatically. "I can bring her to you, you know?"

Nero smirked at Her. She had stopped, still far from the bridge, on the path below the trees. He nodded at Her. "You want her. You need her. She has the answers, doesn't she?" He grinned. "The answers to everything."

Octavia fell from the trees, charging forward to attack. Their swords met again in sparks, and again the bodyguard continued on and into the trees where she disappeared.

She stood, fingers beginning to tremble.

Nero continued. "She's here in the city--but of course you knew that, yes?" He chuckled. "Had a few run-ins, didn't you?"

Her mouth fell open; lip trembled. There were more tears.

"Oh, yes." The Emperor clasped his hands together in glee. "It was her you saw. Make no mistake."

…The girl's death will be regrettable-a sad necessity, one of many. She runs for her life, even strikes me when I become careless, over confident. But this is my master's temple and his will shall be enforced.

Finally, she stumbles, falls to the ground in a heap. I will make it quick, even painless if my swing is true enough.

There is a buzzing swelling in my ears. Not the visions…not…

Something strikes Meridian, knocking my hand aside. I turn.

-Step away from her.

By her stance, her weapon, I know it is the warrior, the one my master wishes dead. But her face, she is the girl from my visions; she is the face from so many of my memories.

She is-

Nero's voice brought Her back. "As I told you, I can bring her to you," he said. "For a small price, of course-a service, really."

She stepped forward, slower now but gaining momentum.

"It wouldn't be any trouble at all," Nero continued. "Just a little trip to the mountains, a stop in some ruins-you'd be back by the end of the week."

She broke into a run. The bodyguard dropped to the path and slashed at Her legs. The blade found the flesh of Her thigh, carving a shallow gash. Octavia turned to continue the assault, but She was ready now. She stepped into a quick three-strike attack sending the Roman back toward a thick pine. With a spin, She unleashed a kick to the chest that sent the bodyguard hurtling into the trunk of the tree.

Octavia recovered quickly and launched herself into the branches above. She followed, springing easily after the woman. They swung at each other and parried as they climbed to the high boughs. Birds scattered from the trees, flying in distress to the ceiling and finding no escape, swirling around the dome in terror.

She leaped to a branch parallel and higher than that of Her opponent, then brought a two-handed chop down upon her. Octavia brought her blade up to parry, but the force of the blow pushed her off balance. With a quick kick to the stomach, She knocked the woman out of the tree to the ground, where she landed full force on her back.

Meridian quaked in hunger as She dropped from the boughs, holding the blade in a downward stab for the center of Her prey's chest. Her cape snapped behind Her. Octavia rolled at the last moment and the blade sank into the soft ground. The bodyguard ran for the bridge and She followed.

Nero and his bodyguard had moved to the tall window that reached for the ceiling high above. He leaned against the railing with darkness behind him, as Octavia stood before him, sword at the ready. The Emperor smiled as she approached. "You haven't given me an answer yet," he said. "It's an easy task, as I have said. You'd return soon and she'd be waiting."

She ran at them. Octavia readied herself and their swords clashed with a terrible ring. The bodyguard locked their blades, shifting her weight.

"It would be no trouble at all. It's something you're made for." Nero laughed maniacally. "Or re-made for, to be more specific, yes?"

She fought for the advantage, watching the edge of Her blade shift in darkness…

…The darkness weighs heavy here, pressing in through the eyes, as if after a long slumber. I am naked, cold. Steam rises from me as my vision adjusts in the twilight.

I do not know who I am, or where this is…

There is a word I wish to say, a name-somehow I know if I do, things will be made clear…

-G-Gabrielle?

Two figures move in the darkness, shadows half-remembered-a man and a woman, a sister and a brother…

-I thought I told you to nix the memories, sis.

-That one isn't so easy…you knew that…

I try the name again, for comfort if nothing else…

And then I remember.

I need to stand, to get out of here, somehow. This is wrong, it is all so wrong…

-Uh, sis, step in any time here, huh?

And all is darkness again…

She screamed, batting Octavia's blade away, pushing the woman toward the window. Nero moved out of the way as the bodyguard slammed into the railing, her head striking the thick window glass. Collapsing in a daze, she struggled to pull herself to her feet.

She fell upon the woman, slicing down for her neck in a fatal arc. Octavia fell out of the way and Meridian sliced through the thick marble, shattering a large chunk free. The bodyguard was pelted with debris from the railing as she shot to her feet to counter attack. They exchanged a flurry of blows, spinning about one another.

Soon, She was able to secure the advantage once more. Her attacks fell upon the woman with a ferocity that could not be matched. It would only be a matter of time.

Octavia leaped up to the railing and backed along it, away from Her. She slashed with Meridian for the woman's feet, but she jumped over the swing. Out of frustration, She spun, arcing Her cape at the woman. Octavia leaped forward off of the railing and away as the deadly end of the cloak struck the window.

The window erupted into a pouring wall of thick shards falling toward the grounds outside, onto the bridge, onto Her. Fragments large and small struck Her, slashed Her, drew blood and She fell back. The winds entered the room pushing Her cloak, the branches of the trees. The birds, finally free, pushed by Her in a wild and colorful caravan.

"My birds!" Nero exclaimed ambivalently.

Blood clotted on Her exposed skin. Her eyes were wild, Her mouth open. The glass fell as if time had slowed, flowing in shimmering torrents like a waterfall…

…the waterfall… Solan is behind the waterfall…

You turn to me, smiling.

-He's why we're here. It's the way out. It's gotta be. He's here to lead us home. Come on.

You run ahead, stepping up and through the falling water.

So easy…

Before I even try, I know something is not right-that there is something I am forgetting.

I stop.

-I can't…

Octavia leaped at Her with a quick strike, knocking Her off the bridge and into the brook. She swallowed water; it was cold and painful in Her lungs. With a groan, She got to Her hands and knees, got to air. Coughing, She tried to see where She was. A blow to Her back pushed Her under again and a weight fell on Her then. Octavia had straddled Her back and drove Her into the stones at the bottom of the stream.

Beneath the rushing shallows, She felt Her limbs grow weak as She began to drown.

**********

Even in the sewers, thunder could be heard crashing in the world above.

Due to the drought, the runoff from the library was at a minimum. Water levels were low, although it still flowed loudly along the trench at the center of the tunnel. As a result, it seemed more offensive than one might assume normal. Odors of decay and rot filled their nostrils. The walls were coated in fungus and algae choked the trough along the center. Rats could be seen, darting into holes with a squeak as they tried to escape the crashing above.

Gabrielle recovered enough to walk without a limp now, guided them in silence along one side. She squinted ahead in the sparse light. Far down the tunnel, at the next torch, there was a ladder leading up. She pointed. "That probably leads to the street-maybe near the Forum." The warrior squinted. "Might be far enough away." Not paying attention to her footing, Gabrielle slipped on a slick cobble, jarring herself severely. Her ribs throbbed with a steady pain, each intake of breath like needles in her lungs. I've really got to stop hurting those… The warrior coughed in order to mask the groan of pain that escaped from her. She looked to see if the girl had noticed.

Mira walked beside her, a bleak and withdrawn look upon her face. Gabrielle put her hand on the girl's back, rubbing it in comfort. "Hey, the hard part's done." She grinned. "I thought you liked the escaping and running for our lives part."

The girl approximated a smile. "I…I do."

They continued along in silence for several paces, thunder ringing in the distance. The torch grew closer in the flowing darkness. Mira sighed. "Killing doesn't become easier…for you, does it?"

The warrior's face darkened. Finally, she shook her head. "Knowing when it's necessary does."

Mira thought about that. "Isn't there always a way to avoid it?"

They arrived in the radius of torchlight, at the base of the tunnel up and out to the street. Gabrielle paused and looked at the girl for a moment. "We couldn't be captured back there, Mira. At least one of us had to escape-too much was at stake." She shook her head. "While it's always regrettable, sometimes killing is unavoidable."

"You could have died." Mira had tears in her eyes.

"Hey." Gabrielle hugged the girl to her, favoring her ribs. "I knew I could get past the Romans-I had to." She whispered. "I wasn't going to leave you this time."

Mira bit her lip. "Gabrielle…I…"

"Don't worry ab-"

"I killed someone."

Wind could be heard dragging refuse across the top of the sewer grate above their heads. Gabrielle's mouth was agape. "What?"

Mira looked away. "I killed someone… a guard… Brunus… that was his name…"

"No Mira, you couldn't…" The warrior held the girl by the shoulders. "It was self-defense?" Mira just stared at her. "An accident, right?"

"Does it matter?" With a mournful sigh, Mira lowered her head and began to tremble in the torchlight.

Gabrielle steeled herself and pulled her friend to her in an embrace. "It'll be okay, I promise." She cupped the girl's face in her hands. "We need to get out of here, okay?"

The girl inhaled deeply and nodded. "Okay…" She swallowed hard.

Nodding grimly to her friend, Gabrielle started to climb the ladder to streets above. The warrior grunted in pain as her ribs ached terribly with each rung. Finally reaching the top, she paused at the grate and listened. Distant voices could be heard, faint and to the left of their position. Over it all, the growing roar of the wind, the crashing of thunder, and now, through the holes in the steel, the flash of lightning. The warrior sniffed through the grate. "The storm should hit within an hour."

They climbed out to the street, cautious and quick. After a swift turn of her head, Gabrielle placed them just off the Forum, southwest of the library. The sewer grate had opened up in a covered alley between two low shops on a quiet backstreet. The warrior relaxed momentarily. Not a bad time for our luck to change to good, she thought.

Refuse blew and tumbled through the streets, swirling on the gritty air. The two friends squinted against the bluster as they crept through the narrow lanes, cutting toward the north. They made their way in this manner for half a candlemark, until they had almost cut around to the northwestern edge of the Forum at the base of the Capitoline hill.

In the distance, high, shrill on the air a horn sounded. Soon after, a second followed, holding its note. Other sounds of alarm went up.

"Is that for us?" Mira asked, her eyes wide.

"Follow me." Gabrielle led them up to a rooftop. Lightning arced over their heads and the rushing boom of thunder shook their bodies as they climbed. The warrior looked out across the nearby expanse of the Forum. The alarms continued to blare and men began to race away to the east. Praetorians, members of the Urban Cohorts-even the Vigiles appeared to be mobilizing and on the move. Shouts went up as citizens, startled awake by the constant alarms left their homes to see what the commotion was.

"Gods! Look!" Gabrielle pointed to the east.

A halo of terrible orange light began to swell, its reflection growing wide across the underbelly of the storm. The unmistakable smell of smoldering wood grew pungent on the winds. Rome was burning.

"The city…the buildings are so dry…" Mira's thought trailed off as a flash of light winked in the eastern hills just beyond the Forum and a second later a boom that was not thunder sounded. A fireball lifted into the sky causing a wave of gasps and screams from the denizens of the city below them.

Gabrielle turned to Mira. "We need to get you back to the mansion."

"What about you?"

The warrior was already leaving the rooftop and descending to the street. When they hit the street, Gabrielle led them back along some of the paths they had traveled earlier. "There was a stable back this way…"

Animal smells surrounded them as they approached a ramshackle building that served as a stable to two old horses. Gabrielle ducked inside, leading a tired, but noble-looking mare out to the street. She smiled. "She isn't the greatest, but she'll get you to the mansion."

"You didn't answer my question." Mira shook her head. "What about you?"

The warrior narrowed her eyes. "People are dying out there Mira."

"I can help."

Gabrielle put her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Yes, by getting to safety." She looked down. "You've been through enough tonight already."

"But-"

"Mira." Gabrielle met the girl's eyes. "There's no time."

Mira nodded in dark resignation and obvious exhaustion. The warrior embraced her then led her to the horse. The girl turned. "Be careful."

"You too."

Thunder and lightning erupted around them, as Mira climbed onto the horse's back. The two friends shared a look then Gabrielle climbed to the rooftops, disappearing into the uncertain night overhead.

**********

Darkness and cold water surround us.

You shiver in my arms. Gods, you are dying. Not tonight, but by tomorrow night-unless I do something. How can I leave you here? Or anywhere?

Here you will just fade and out there… I can smell the cannibals' fires...

You mumble something, as formless as the ripples of water I can feel emanating from our movements. I put my cheek near your lips. Your breathing comforts me. You speak again…

-Hope?

-Did you say something?

-My baby. My baby. Is that you?

Gods, you sound so young. As young as you were when…

It is so hard to speak. It's hard to breathe even. Words, air caught in my throat, lungs.

I can only answer you.

-Yeah, it's me.

-I love you. I would never hurt you. You know that, don't you?

Oh, my sweetest Gabrielle… I'm so, so sorry…

-I know.

-You're my child. You have to go. She'll hurt you. She'll take you away from me.

What have I done?

I touch your cheek. It is cold, so cold.

-You have to rest. You don't have to go anywhere.

-You don't understand…

I hold you to me, hoping to give you some kind of warmth, some kind of solace. It is the least I can do for all you given me, all you have sacrificed… And here in this dark place, I will protect you-and for once, get it right.

I whisper to you.

-I do understand. I understand everything…

There was water rushing in Her ears, a body holding Her beneath the surface. Her chest ached, lungs shrunken and strained. She was drowning.

Her muscles were weak but Her limbs responded as She tried to lift Herself to Her feet with the woman on Her back. With mounting strength, She got to Her knees, Her face rising above the surface of the water.

Gasping, She filled Her lungs with air, coughing the last of the water from them and taking a defensive stance. Octavia tried to leap from Her back, but She was able to grab the woman and hold Her fast. Getting to Her feet, She lifted the wriggling bodyguard over Her head and turned. With a menacing laugh, She hurled the woman against the side of the bridge, where she slammed hard into the rock and slid limply into the water.

"Incredible." Nero applauded from the bridge. The wind howled through the broken window behind him as he stepped onto the bank to Her left. Lightning flashed through a parting of the trees.

She looked about for Meridian. It lay dormant on the bank nearby. In three strides She had the blade and was moving to strike the Emperor down.

Octavia exploded from beneath the surface of the river, kicking Her in the side and staggering them both off balance. The bodyguard got to her feet and unsheathed her sword in time to parry Meridian. They circled each other. Thunder boomed in the night above them all.

"It's such a wonder," Nero began. "Who are you? Who are you is the question you keep asking, isn't it?" The Emperor smiled menacingly. "Wrong question."

Octavia crouched for a quick slash below the waist, but She was able to parry.

Nero continued. "Oh, but I suppose I would be afraid to ask the real question myself, too." He moved closer to the two women. "You know the one, yes?" As an exchange of blows ended in another locking of their blades, he watched Her. "Who were you?"

She yelled and spun, thrusting for the Emperor only to be parried by Octavia. Soon, She had the bodyguard backing up the bank and back toward the door to the Hall of Mirrors. Nero moved with them, remaining out of the combat. Octavia was having trouble against the brutal fury of the attacks and she stumbled several times as they continued to move away from the river and to the door.

Nero ran by them, determined to enter the hall first. "Who were you? Yes, that is the question." He yelled back at Her from beyond the door. "The answer to that just makes all of this so, so wrong, doesn't it?"

With a final forward attack, She pushed through into the Hall of Mirrors just as an explosion of light filled Her eyes. Nero had stoked the several large braziers flooding the room with light and wild reflections upon the thousands of mirrors.

The Emperor laughed. "The answer to that makes all of this a dirty reflection, doesn't it?"

All around was the reflection of Her face, brightly lit. Thousands of visions of Her, refracted into infinity. It overwhelmed Her, Her breathing quickening, Her head spinning. And if She focused on only one…

She fell to Her knees and screamed…

I hate mirrors…

As a girl I avoided the mirrors in mother's room, I never wanted to believe that my reflection was truly me. I was afraid that it was someone else and that they would attack me somehow. Even when I started to finally accept that who I saw in the silver was me, I imagined that it was some other version of me, a dream self, a double. That thought scared me even more…

Here in the dreamscape, the kingdom of Morpheus, I learn that all my fears are true… Standing before me is my shadow, my dark reflection…

It speaks with my voice…

-You can't go through life trying to deny that I'm the real you. We were so happy all those years. Don't you remember?

I shake my head.

-That wasn't me. That was never who I really was.

It doesn't believe me, but I realize that it never will-and that this is the point. In the half-light its face twists with sinister glee.

-Oh. Well, let me ask you this. Back then, didn't it feel right? Everything we did felt right. It felt-good.

-But it wasn't.

-Oh, how would you know?

It moves for me, as fast as I am.

-You're weak without me, Xena. But the fire is still there. Join me…

Octavia lunged at Her, threatening to plunge her blade down into the flesh between the collarbones. She raised Meridian in a frail gesture, but managed to parry. She tried to get to Her feet, but the bodyguard kicked Her in the ribs, spilling Her to the ground. She rolled with the attack and got to Her feet once again.

"It's foolish to fight like this," Nero said. "Highly arousing, but foolish nonetheless."

The two women clashed in a flurry of blows that rang throughout the hall. She tried desperately not to focus on any of Her countless reflections.

"Join me, help me complete my plans," Nero pleaded evenly. "You are not a pawn of the gods, of Ares. He lies to you. You know that." He grinned. "He lies to you as he always has."

She feinted a one-handed strike to the left then spun into a vicious backhand to Octavia's jaw. The woman stumbled back spitting blood and teeth. She stepped forward and drove Her boot into the bodyguard's stomach spilling her further back along the floor.

"You have allegiance to no one." The Emperor crossed his arms. "Not counting the allegiance to your little friend, of course. But I've said I'll let you see her when you've done something for me first."

She turned to Nero. "The only thing I will do for you is end your life."

He laughed maliciously. "Who's going to kill me? You?" His face became pure spite. "What would little Gabrielle think of that?"

She moved for him, but again the bodyguard locked up their blades.

"Not much, I would imagine." Nero stepped closer. "Would she?"

You slap my face…

-Say it! Say it!

You slapped me.

-Xena, promise them that you will never attempt to kill Ming T'ien again.

The girl who used to wear that peasant dress, slapped me…

-Promise him! Xena-if you promise them, they will banish you.

Did it make you that angry that I would kill someone to repay a debt to someone else? Is that why you betrayed me?

You try to find my eyes, but I look away.

-Please…we can ride away from this…

With an anguished yell, She disengaged without warning and brought Meridian through Octavia's forearm, severing her right wrist, her hand free from the rest of her arm. It spun uselessly, still clutching the sword, falling to the floor in a wash of blood. The bodyguard howled in pain as crimson erupted from her ruined arm and she crumpled to the ground, rolling into a ball. The Emperor's face was a strange wash of many emotions as he watched her there on the floor. Taking a breath, Nero turned back to Her.

Though She was still shaken from Her visions, She grinned as She moved slowly toward him. In Her hands, Meridian shifted in anticipation. Nero backed up into a corner of a triple mirror. Soon Her reflection filled it, Her face clear, lit by the strong pulse and light of the braziers.

"Before we begin," the Emperor smirked, still confident. "I have a last request."

She remained silent, unmoving. Without changing Her expression, She nodded.

"I ask for the name of the person who is to kill me."

She did not answer, only stared ambivalently.

He laughed. "Surely you have a name. What is it?"

She became distracted by Her reflection, the eyes as it stared back at Her, as it knew Her.

"What is your name?" Nero asked.

And then She saw the girl, the woman-Gabrielle-mouthing Her name. Saying it to Her in anger, in anguish, in love, beneath Her, lost in passion. Always the same face, changing through the years, but always the same face-the face of the other half of Her soul.

The waterfall….

Illusia…

The end of it all, all of the madness… You reach your hand out from behind the waterfall…You've forgiven me…

Have you?

I reach out my hand. Our fingers entwine.

You pull me through to the other side…

And then nothing…

Nothing but the flood of years and all their weight rushing, churning to fill the hollows of her memory…

Nothing but the flash of recognition, of revelation like night cleaved in two by a pale blade of lightning…

And then nothing…

Nothing but her own face, reflected here, now, in the quivering present…

From the trembling depths of her, a scream erupted, horrible, a scream of terrible, aged pain. She moved forward and Nero dove out of the way. With strength born of deep fury, she hurled Meridian point-first into the center of her reflection, shattering the mirror into thousands of shards. She turned and moved toward the balcony. As she left, she kicked over the huge braziers, knocking them into the garden below the balcony. They crashed and spilled upon the ground as she leapt up into the trees and disappeared into the churning night.

The wind continued to howl and blow, scooping the embers of the scattered fire, stoking them, strengthening them, carrying them on the air. They drifted through the garden like swarms of fireflies. On the ground behind the floating cinders fires started, turning tinder-dry wood easily to flame. Soon too, the blowing sparks lighted upon the branches of trees, the roofs of buildings where they found dry surfaces or the welcoming embrace of spilled oil. Across the valley around the Esquilline, blazes began to wink into existence. And the wind began to carry embers beyond, further into the city, toward the Forum.

From the balcony, Nero held Octavia upright. She was falling into shock and needed help. For now, the Emperor watched below, his eyes gleaming with a chaos and violence akin to the fire that began to surround the Domus.

"Oh," he giggled to himself. "This should be good."

**********

If humanity was born from out of the flowing water, as I believe, then surely it is into fire that it all will ultimately sink at the end of things.

For an hour now, the flames have raged, skipping from building to building and igniting the bone-dry structures. The heavy winds pass the embers, infinite as stars, further into the city. Buildings combust, explode, timbers splitting and leaping from inside like bones beneath a wheel. For an hour, Rome has burned and for an hour, I have wandered through the flames.

Cries sing out, disembodied. I see an ox wandering stupid and afraid, the urine spilling from it into the street evaporating in seconds. I help a lost child out of danger, her eye scalded shut. A dog, half its fur singed away, growls at me from the feet of its dead master.

I move further into the inferno. There are bodies everywhere, smoldering. The smell of them, of burnt hair, of rendered flesh is ripe upon me, trapped in my clothes, my throat. Romans twitch and crawl as they burn alive; for these, there is my sword. I tell myself it is mercy I deliver.

Screams, yelling erupt from down a burning alley and I move through the cinders and haze. The heat causes parts of my clothes to smoke and twitch and I have to pat them out. Flames swirl around the walls of the alley, arcing through the air above, dripping and raining onto the path in front of me. The heat pulls all air away, sucking it from my lungs causing my ribs to protest in blinding pain. A window shatters out to my right, some of its glass spraying across me, cutting flesh and lifting me off my feet. It is cooler on the ground and I drag myself on my belly under the heat and flames toward the screams.

I get to my feet and break into a full run for the cries. As I round a corner I see her. A woman, a mother on her knees, wailing at her burning home. I can hear the muted yelps of a terrified child from inside the blaze. She is about to run into the home but I sprint past her. The front door is gone and I leap through a portal of jagged flame.

Inside, the comforts, the familiar trappings have been rendered into mockery by flames. At the center of the room is a table, in the corner a chair, even a potted tree, all have been replaced by effigies of fire. Blue vapors trickle up to the ceiling, pouring across in torrents of rose and vermillion. I crouch low and call out.

A cough, small and weak comes from upstairs. I bolt out of the room. The staircase is still intact, though burning-it will support my weight but for how long? I take the stairs three at a stride, reaching the top quickly. A blast of heat challenges me at the doorway, my breath stolen for a moment. I break for the room at the back of the home, calling out when I am able again. There is an answer, weaker still.

Another doorway-as I move to enter, a rumble then a crash sound, followed by an intense shift, an outpouring of heat and sparks. The skin on my face stings from it and I stumble back, eyes watering.

In the room the ceiling has fallen in, beams spilled inward and burning-the sky black and indifferent above it all. Embers, smoke and flame escape through the rent while wind pours through, exciting the blaze. Beneath the beams, almost out of place among the scene, is a tiny, pale hand.

After a breath, I move around the beam, ready for the inevitable. Miraculously, the child is mostly unharmed, only her arm is pinned. I put my hands on the beam, tentatively at first, then preparing to lift it free.

-Hold still…

My ribs protest but it is easy to ignore them under the circumstances. I raise the solid beam enough that she can slip free and crawl away from it. Before she can become afraid and paralyzed with fear, I grab her, holding her to my chest. Through my armor, I can feel her heart beating as fast as a sparrow's. I run down the hall to the stairs. They are fully swallowed now by the hungry flames, disappearing within their shifting jaws.

I keep moving along the hallway toward the parents' room, there is a window ahead of us, leading to the street below. As I sprint for it, I pass a collapsed part of the building and beneath the debris a charred hand, arms and torso of a man.

Too late…always too late…

We take flight through the window and I hold the girl to me, just as the air holds us to itself but only for the briefest of moments. From this height, I can see that much of the core of Rome is ablaze now, winking orange all around us. Our arc takes us to a safe part of the street, free of fire. The landing knocks the breath from me, but the girl is safe. Her mother takes her, tears in her eyes. Her voice is loud, though tired.

-Thank you…

-I'm sorry…

Speaking makes me cough and the pain in my chest from the smoke, from my ribs brings me to my knees for a moment. I take a breath as the hacking subsides and the now-familiar numbness resumes. Wiping my eyes, I leave the mother and daughter behind me.

Along the street is a staircase that leads further down the hill. Ash and flame spew into the air from below. I approach, looking down on the destruction. A squad of soldiers from the Urban Cohorts escort a group of citizens out of their homes, the parade resembles a prisoner march. I continue toward the stairs, my eye remaining on the scene. Some troops move off toward the as-yet-untouched homes of the citizens, brandishing torches that they take to the buildings. The citizens begin to protest until the remaining soldiers turn on them, beating them to the ground.

I throw myself over the side of the staircase, landing on a roof and into a run. With some difficulty, I throw myself into the air and straight for the center of the Romans. The chakram arrives before I do, knocking the helmet from one of the soldiers as it incapacitates him. It is in my hands again as I arrive in their midst.

For a moment at least, however brief, I manage to be a hero.

The element of surprise allows me the advantage with at least three of their number. Even with my speed somewhat compromised, my timing and luck are there enough that I have them kissing dust with minimal contact.

Then the trouble begins. The fourth's reaction is faster than I expect just as my own is slower. He meets my sweep of the katanna with his own blade. I am slow opening his defense and by the time I have found the kill, two of his comrades have me flanked. Others begin to move into position, as well as reinforcements from among the arsonists. I am surrounded but do not surrender. Old age has only served to strengthen my Macedonian stubbornness.

Perhaps the only luck is they wish to take me alive, although this prolongs the ordeal. I manage to hold off the two flanking soldiers, even to feint one off balance, but more men arrive. I make one final attack with the chakram, missing, throwing wide as a Roman blindsides me with a pommel strike to the back of the neck.

Stupid, slow, old…

The chakram whooshes off, the sound of its flight growing faint as it passes away into the night. At least it got away, I think.

When I hit the ground I notice that the wind has all but stopped and the thunder and lightning have increased in intensity. The skies are about to open, the rain is about to fall. I wonder if any of the Romans, in the midst of their errant destruction, will have the time to enjoy it.

After the first few kicks I don't feel pain, only ever- increasing numbness. If they plan on taking me alive, they may be going about this the wrong way. More lightning, more thunder, the flashes of darkness between are a welcome peace from the jagged faces of the soldiers.

The citizens, the ones I saved, stand and watch or move off to try and save their now burning homes. This is where that customary ambivalence takes hold, that little voice asking: 'Why do you do this to yourself?' Normally I would have an answer, one the young Gabrielle would be proud of; 'Having done good is thanks enough' or something along those lines. It became easy for a while to put it into words, to feel it, but it went away again and it hasn't been there in some time. The truth is, lying here only reinforces the feelings I've been having lately; that certain nostalgia, longing for simplicity, for comfort-for rest.

It's funny that for twelve years, with every reason in the world to die, I managed to find a way to stay breathing, and now, here, I know for certain that you are alive, are in this city-and I go and get myself killed.

I have never been a hero, have I? Heroes pull through, they persevere; and when they die the world is a darker place for their loss. Once upon a time, in simpler, more comfortable days there was always someone there to rescue me. There was always you, swooping in.

Now, there is lightning, there is thunder. The Romans have stopped and two kneel, lifting me from under my arms to my knees. I take a difficult breath, drawing it in to learn the extent of the damage. All seems well enough. I'm not dying yet.

I spit blood into the street and watch the flames, the lightning, reflect in the tiny pool. My ears are buzzing. Perhaps I am more injured than I first imagined. In between echoes of thunder, I hear it, getting louder. It sounds like the rush of the chakram returning-but that is impossible.

Isn't it?

Lightning…

The sound in my ears swells as I am lifted to my feet.

Thunder…

The sound has stopped suddenly. A soldier drops to the ground before me, the chakram embedded neatly in his spine. The men's grip on my arms tightens.

Then over shouts in the burning night I hear it, shrill and terrifying-the war cry.

Lightning…

A shape, swollen and winged descends upon the men, appearing to swallow them, to swallow light in insatiable gulps. Sounds of battle, wet sounds, red sounds fill the space between, the darkness.

Thunder…

Bodies spill across the street, twisted at impossible angles. My captors drop me and I let myself fall to the ground; savoring this feeling, the letting go. Through blood, I smile, my face in the dust.

Lightning…

Thunder…

After the echo has gone, I notice that it is over. There are no more soldiers. Have I been unconscious? I pull myself up, slowly, to my knees again. My head spins and I wait. Then I feel eyes, your eyes upon me and I raise my face to you.

You still wear the cape; the deep crimson wrapped around you. Beneath it you are trembling, I can see that. The helmet is gone and I catch glimpses of you, orangey glowing in the fires' light, your hair smoke-twisted and blowing, but I need to see your eyes, so I stand. Dizziness takes me and I lose balance…

Lightning…

…But there you are, swooping in….

Thunder…

Somehow, I am in your arms again, although you are only holding me up. Then our eyes meet and finally, I know…

Your lip trembles, quakes, spills open.

-G-Gabrielle?

There are tears in my eyes, but my voice is unwavering.

-Xena.

And for a moment, one beautiful moment, there is nothing else.

Lightning…

We fall to our knees in each other's arms.

Thunder…

Finally, above us, the skies open and spill heavy drops of rain across the city.

* * *

-Inferno is Continued in Part 3