The Temple of Vesta, Roma Mater
Draped in white wool, her face and head covered by a folded wimple, Thyatis climbed a short flight of pale marble steps. Her head was bent low, unable to bear the glare of the sun. She stopped inside the doorway, clinging to a fluted pillar. Within the central room, a fired burned. The garden surrounding the temple was filled with the quiet noise of bees and crickets. Thyatis swallowed in fear. This place was forbidden. Only the priestesses of Vesta were allowed in this inner sanctum.
The gate to the larger Atrium Vestae had stood open at her approach. The lectors with their bundled rods and axes were absent. A brazier had burned in their empty watch house. Thyatis had called, hearing her voice die among pillared halls. Searching for one of the priestesses, she had ventured into cool, dim chambers, then to this garden tucked behind the building. This is forbidden! I will be buried alive!
She stepped into the inner room, feeling the heat of the fire beat on her face.
Nestled in a deep marble bowl, the flame of Rome burned bright, licking up from the coals. Thyatis knelt, her forehead pressed against the marble lip of the bowl. Her fist ground into the stone, drawing blood. Tears dripping on the tessellated floor made a soft sound.
Meteors plunged out of a sky burning with orange and vermilion light. Vast roiling clouds surged across the heavens, shedding sparks and a black rain of ash. The sea surged, crashing against a shore filled with low-lying buildings. Temples and villas were inundated, their tile roofs cracking under the shattering wave. Foam boiled up, sweeping through the streets. Thousands died, drowned or crushed, their corpses lifted high on the black waters. Beyond the harbor mouth, the wreck of a ship broke apart on the long mole protecting the wharves and docks. A spar tossed in the boiling sea. A figure clung to it, trapped in the rigging, dead, blind face staring up at the burning sky. Beneath the water, a red light gleamed and flickered on the woman's chest. Her dark hair spread in the water like a fan, her face shrouded by steam.
"No! Oh no. Oh no." Thyatis levered herself up from the edge of the bowl. Every horror she had suffered paled, becoming faint and indistinct. This was raw, a jagged wound torn open inside her. Sea-gray eyes wide, she stumbled back, away from the fire hissing in the center of the temple. She fell against a wall, her shoulder cracking one of the wooden panels. "Oh, not her too, not her! Oh, my love!"
Little sister, you must not believe these visions.
Thyatis stiffened, feeling a cold breath on her shoulder. The broken panel revealed a hidden chamber. She turned, rising, left hand groping for a sword. Her fingers found only folds of heavy cloth and a braided girdle. In the opening, a pair of gray eyes blazed, shining in the darkness. A figure of a woman stood in shadow, hidden, wrapped in deftly woven robes, a spear leaning against her shoulder.
"What are you." Thyatis could barely speak.
Your guardian, sister, your patron, a guide in these dark places. Listen, as the Crooked One once listened to me. Closely, for my words are wisdom, winged from the heavens. You must keep hope, child, and tend it in your heart. While you have that hope, you will win. Victory will come, though the seas break and storms swallow the world. You, of all women, must keep hope you will come home again, through torment and illusion and betrayal. Ignore these qualms in your heart.
There is no truth in fear.
"Wait!" The figure grew dim, the brilliant eyes fading. "Does she live? Does Shirin live?"
The figure smiled, though it was more felt than seen. Thyatis turned away, her mind racing. What if Shirin had fled the island, come to Rome? What if she had taken ship, some coaster or merchant lug from Athens? It would beat up the coast, fat sails filled with wind, coming under the shadow of the mountain. Many ships that made for Rome harbored in Misenum overnight… such a ship, Shirin aboard, might have laid to in the wide bay at Neapolis on a warm summer evening. In the night, the mountain would wake, raising tumult in the sea, flinging meteors, a rain of burning ash.
"O you cursed gods, you have taken everything from me! Everything!"
Thyatis fell to the floor, nails digging into the tile, weeping uncontrollably. She had driven her body to its limits the past days, training while light remained in the sky, pressing herself and Ila harder than they had ever been pressed. She had lamed horses, smashed chariots, feverish to master the skills she would need to beat the smirking African on the raceway. At night, when visions tormented her, she drank until her pain was dulled and she could find some rest in the arms of gentle Morpheus. Now that failed too, and she shuddered uncontrollably.
Not everything is taken from you, the gray-eyed voice whispered, faint, as if from a great distance. Not everything. Open your eyes.
Thyatis woke, hot sun beating down upon her back. Puzzled, she rose, arms heavy with armor. She looked around, her face lighting with awe. The heavy gown and robes were gone. She wore high-strapped boots, a tunic of linen clasped at one shoulder, iron bracelets. Her other shoulder and bicep were covered with fitted bronze. A helmet rode on her head, heavy and tight. A sword lay on the ground at her feet and she knelt to pick it up. A hilt of bone ran into a half-moon guard, set with an eight-rayed star. The blade swelled towards the tip, making it point-heavy, but the edge was keen and a thick tang ran down the center line. Her hand fit perfectly.
A temple rose around her, glowing in brilliant hot sunlight. Huge round columns rose up in a stone forest on all sides. Thyatis stood at the intersection of two colonnades. Before her, the columns opened out into a half-circle. Enormous stone lions rose up, flanking a monumental doorway. The great beasts stared down at her, dead eyes rimmed with flaking paint. Long beards curled from their chins. Every surface on that rising doorway was covered with carvings. Plaster clung to the sandstone, holding the remains of bright colors on a white background.
Thyatis gulped, then gripped the sword tightly and advanced. A thin, dry wind blew past her, whirling sand across her path. Everything seemed ancient and abandoned. Distantly, at the edge of the temple complex, she knew an army was waiting. The darkness within the doorway loomed, growing deeper as she approached. All light seemed to fail at the boundary. Broad, flat steps led up, and she ascended with a sinking heart. She stopped in the portal, one foot touching the darkness, her body in the light.
Within, she could see nothing. Great dread seized her. There was something waiting just inside, waiting to tear into her, shedding her life. Her foot moved back into the light. The wind moaned among the pillars, making a ghostly sound.
Thyatis jumped, startled, and then settled her nerves.
She would enter the darkness. The sword raised in her hand, she slid into the gloom like a snake's tongue. For a moment it glowed, passing from light to dark, and she saw a vast statue within, rising up fifty or sixty feet above her head. Empty stone eyes stared down at her from the seated king. Thyatis entered, feeling the heat of the sun fade from her back. It was very dark.
Enter, my son. The voice was enormous, ringing back from the sky like a striking gong.
– |"Aah!" She started awake at a light touch. Thyatis stared around a poorly lit room. Someone was seated at the side of her bed, tiny hands pressing her down. "Oh. Ila, what is it?"
"You cried out." The mouse girl shifted and lamplight showed her face pinched with worry. "You sounded afraid. I thought you were having nightmares again."
"I was…" Thyatis groped for the memory. Titanic voices had been ringing around her, telling her things, important things. Her heart was hammering and a chill sweat dripped from her as if she were a cold jug on a hot day. "I was wearing armor. There was a helm of snakes… Oh, it's all gone now." Thyatis glared at the mouse girl, who sidled away, shamefaced.
"Bad mouse. No cheese for you." Then Thyatis laughed and Ila climbed back onto the bed, grinning. "How do you feel, Ila?"
"Tired!" The girl raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"
"No." Thyatis sat up, brushing back her hair. Something poked her in the eye. Frowning, she opened her hand. A lock of gleaming dark hair lay in it, folded over like a keepsake. Thyatis held it up to the light in wonder. "I'm not tired."