LVII

TWO MINUTES. IN THE END, that’s probably all it takes. Two terrifying minutes of me sprinting, stealing the Will from doors and more complex mechanisms designed to keep men out, then bursting into the crowded, nervous hubbub of the Basilica’s main entrance. A hundred Military men and women gathered in anxiously muttering small groups. Fortunately for me, mostly Magnus Septimii and Octavii, assembled for the supposed protection of the men whose blood soaks my clothes.

There were shouts and screams at my nightmarish appearance. The chasing of the few Sextii guards on duty. I have wounds along my right arm from blows that stung, but once would have taken it clean off. A mad scramble, a panicked escape down the marble stairs and into the shadows of the alley. Mere seconds ahead of my pursuers.

And then a hand grabbing me, and the sickening expansion and contraction of the journey between worlds, and the cold silence of exposed night, my panting breath hissing into clouds of steam.

I slap Ostius’s grip away as soon as I’m able. Back off and glare at him with all the poison I can muster. “What in the rotting hells?”

“Keep your voice down.” Ostius’s gesture is something approaching apologetic. “I’ll explain when we’re clear. There’s a trough over there. Clean up as best you can.”

I clench my fists. The sounds of celebration here in Luceum have dwindled but not faded entirely. I have no doubt that there are people around. Sick to my stomach, moving as if in a dream, I do as he says. Strip and scrub off, shivering in the night air. Re-form my arm and armour, then replace my saturated clothing with a clean, well-fitting tunic and cloak that Ostius wordlessly offers.

When we do finally make our way out of the town, we see few people and are not stopped. Diago pads behind us, keeping mostly to the shadows. Either no one notices him this time, or no one is sober enough to remark upon his presence.

“Gods. Whoever owns that hut is going to have some questions when they get home,” chuckles Ostius suddenly as the town walls recede behind us.

I don’t react. Too tired and heartsick to do more than process the words. It’s only when he starts angling farther down the hill, toward the bay, that I stop. Force my thoughts to catch up, to be present. “Where are we going?”

“Docks. It will be a short trip to Domus Telimus from there, and—”

“No.” I stop short. Shake my head. “We go back to the Forum.”

“Why?”

My chest feels as though it will burst. “My friends are there.”

He considers. Looks at me with what seems very close to sympathy. “War is coming, Vis,” he says softly. “You cannot save them all.” He turns, as if that is the end of the matter.

“No. No. I’ve done everything you asked of me tonight.” Mind working furiously now. Exhausted but I can’t stop, can’t lament what I’ve just been part of. Not yet. “But you want something else. You wouldn’t have made sure people saw me leaving, otherwise. So you’re going to give me this.”

He pauses. Thinks. His reluctant smile says I’m right. “What will you tell them?”

“That I got Relucia home but not long after that, there was shouting outside about trouble in the Military compound.” Still mentally foggy but I’m sharp enough to do the calculation. “The timing would be about right. And it will look better this way,” I add. “Much more believable than me being conveniently at home when word gets out.”

Ostius’s lip curls, but he doesn’t disagree. He changes course, heading for a nearby stream. “You think you can handle yourself? You only held that Will for a few minutes, but even I can see you’re still suffering from withdrawal.”

“I’m not intending to fight.”

“You may have to if you want to get out of the Forum alive.” He points to the water. “Wash your alupi’s snout. All traces of blood. And check yourself again.”

“We don’t have time—”

“Arguing will only make it take longer.”

I growl but do as he says, recognising the importance of it. Once we’re done, Ostius inspects us both thoroughly, again showing no apparent fear of Diago as he pulls back his lips to examine his teeth. “Good.”

It’s five minutes of tense hiking back up the hill after that. The chill of the night air helps, restores some of my lacking focus. My mind, slowly, catches up.

“How does ceding still work, if I’m here and my Septimii are in our world?” I ask it suddenly as it occurs to me.

Ostius shrugs. “The worlds are still intertwined. Whatever separates us, it’s not enough to sever the connection.” He eyes me. Sees I’m more cognizant. “I’m sure you’ve realised by now that things are about to become very, very bad in Caten. And I know you’re going to want to help.”

“But you don’t want me to.” I say it flat and angry.

“Quite the opposite. But I want you to do it wearing that mask and that arm. Do that, and I will keep your identity a secret. Which in turn, will keep your friends safe from the consequences of simply knowing you. I will even feed you some information, now and then, when I come by it. We can’t have your side losing the battles to come, after all this.” He sees my confusion, my reluctance. “They are going to do horrible things to the people of that city, Vis. They are going to take the Will from every man, woman, and child they can, and they are going to kill the rest. You know it’s true. And you can help. You can stop some of it. Or, I can reveal who you are, and you can stop none of it. What’s to decide?”

We walk, Diago occasionally pressing against my leg, and I don’t respond for a while. Try to see his purpose through the exhausting miasma of tonight’s events. All of Caten will be hunting the man in that mask. Hunting me. But Ostius clearly doesn’t intend to have me captured or my identity revealed, either. So. A distraction? No. Not a worthwhile one, anyway, if there’s already a gods-damned civil war going on. But he wants attention drawn. He wants the hunt.

I can think of only one other reason for that.

“I’m bait.” But not for anyone in Caten, surely. Vek. “You’re trying to draw out the man who’s going to cause the Cataclysm, aren’t you. You’re trying to draw out Ka.”

With what has transpired tonight, I can put little more emotion than dead resignation into the words.

Ostius pulls me to a stop beneath a lonely, crooked olive tree, and smiles tightly. Draws a chained medallion from his pocket, stone worked into the pyramidal symbol of the Hierarchy—or whatever it actually symbolises, I suppose—and loops it over my head. “As long as you don’t take this off, I’ll be able to protect you.”

He puts one hand on my shoulder and one on Diago’s.

Thrum.

I sway and stagger as empty hillside becomes a carefully manicured walled garden. Ostius releases us and steps away, unaffected. “We are about three streets over from the Forum. Is your alupi joining you?”

I hesitate through the dizziness, though the question’s been uneasy in the back of my mind since we left the town in Luceum. Can I really risk bringing Diago into a crowd of people, after what he just did? As protection against the violence that is sure to be on its way, he would be invaluable. And he seems calm. Under control.

But then, he seemed under control up until the moment he killed everyone in that room.

“Yes.” The decision is heavy from my lips. No time to second-guess myself. Word of the Basilica will be travelling fast. “I’m ready.”

“Not quite. Your arm, Vis.”

I frown, then understand. Reluctantly draw the metal shards back beneath my shirt, settling them into hidden armour. My heart palpitates as I catch sight of my unfamiliar clothes. Not suspicious in and of itself, a more comfortable garb I may easily have decided to change into as soon as I got to Domus Telimus. But will it seem suspicious?

Ostius examines me, then taps three fingers to his heart three times. “Luck, my boy. One day, we’ll laugh about all this.”

Thrum.

I’m left uneasy, nauseous, disoriented. And with no time to recover from any of it.

I run.

The streets are too quiet. Citizens move in packs rather than groups; twice I think I would have been stopped if it were not for my being recognised, if it were not for the alupi loping at my side. My discomfort at his presence is immense but I cannot send him away now. He is less likely to do harm if I am nearby, at least, of that I feel certain.

Despite my tiredness, the knowledge that I’m trying to outrun information lends desperate strength to my legs. Faster. Faster. I’ve come more directly than anyone possibly could in the maze of Caten, but not by much. And I had to wash, to change. There will be a short window before the Magnus Quartii act. A very short window.

They will surely see this as an attack on Military by the rest of the Senate, the only ones capable of such a strike. As the new leaders of Military’s senatorial pyramid, they will feel threatened. And as one of twelve equally powerful new leaders, they will now also be vying for Princeps among themselves. For any who desire the position that means action, swift and decisive.

That means retaliation.

I burst into the Forum past stunned Praetorians, drawing silence and worried eyes from those nearby. I ignore them and race for the group still standing in the shadows atop the stairs. I left them not an hour ago.

Conversation still mutters and roils, uneasy but nothing more, as I forge my way between the tightly clustered groups of senators. Up ahead Indol spots me, frowns, and says something to the others, who turn to watch. Felix looks amused. Emissa and Aequa are frowning, perhaps seeing my expression. I cannot see Eidhin.

I am not halfway up the stairs when I spot the runner shoving his way through the crowd to deliver his message. Then another. Then another, like ants scurrying through grass. More flow in from the sides.

I slow. Watch it unfold as I press on, despite myself. Word moves like a wave, sweeping the Forum. People’s faces draining of colour. Murmuring turning to angry muttering as groups begin distancing themselves from one another. People shifting so that they stand back-to-back. Bracing. No eye I can see has colour in it, anymore.

“What’s going on?” Emissa says it calmly, but I can see her rising unease as she takes in the scene below.

“Something happened in the Military compound. I don’t know what, but it sounds bad.” I hesitate. “Some sort of attack.”

“Rotting gods.” Everyone grasps the enormity of what I’m saying immediately, but it’s Indol responding, his face white. “Are the senators on their way back?”

The crowd noise is getting louder. Angrier. Shouts. Recriminations. Confusion.

“Probably. And we don’t want to be here when they do.” I cast a desperate glance around, but can’t spot Tertius Ericius. Or Livia. Not that my warning would do them much good now, anyway. They have to know something is wrong. “All of us have to get out and get somewhere safe.”

“He’s right.” Felix, somewhat to my shock, is the first to act. He gives me a grim nod. “I’m going to find my parents.” He dashes down the stairs. Indol slaps me on the shoulder and follows him. Oblivious to the fact I watched his father die minutes ago. I feel like throwing up. Still, I have too much practice at keeping the truth from my face. He sees nothing as he departs.

The shouting is getting louder. Worse. The word “murder” begins repeating in the cries. Echoing in different voices, becoming more furious, more frenetic. Fingers point, even as others try to calm the situation.

Then there is a scream. I see a Magnus Tertius and several Magnus Quartii from Religion suddenly drop to their knees, faces pale. An instant later, some from Governance do the same.

“They’re killing the Magnus Octavii.” Emissa breathes it as I come to the same conclusion. She and Aequa are the only ones who haven’t moved.

Vek. Military’s Magnus Quartii are smarter than I gave them credit for. Another Quartus drops as I watch. Panic is rising. People are streaming for the exits, but those who remain are starting to shove one another. A tide of angry people colliding. “Where did Eidhin go?”

“Home. He should be alright,” Aequa says absently, her voice sounding far away as the accusations that Military are attacking now start. I see one of Religion’s Dimidii trying to speak reason, but an enraged Quartus abruptly slams his hand onto one of the stone benches that line the Forum. With a ripping, cracking sound, it breaks free.

He swings, and a Sextus from Military has his head caved in.

A stunned, horrified moment. Impossible for Catenans to contemplate. Birthright broken.

Then more benches are rising. Stones being torn from buildings. Thunderous fracturing and dust that reminds me of the naumachia. Shrieking screams of terror as people crush against one another in the laneways trying to flee.

“No,” whispers Aequa. Her voice shakes and she suddenly grips my hand so tightly it hurts. “Vis. Gods, no. Not again.”

Stone shatters into men too strong for it to hurt as Tertii and Dimidii imbue themselves against attack, then begin responding with their bare hands. Blood sprays and infuses the air with a despondently familiar metallic tang. Everywhere is a clash, everywhere a new and horrific violence. I’m frozen. Can’t stop staring.

“You two.” Emissa tugs on our sleeves, and both Aequa and I turn glazed eyes to her. She sees our clasped hands, but she sees why, too. Sees the collective trauma in our eyes. She takes a breath, then cups my face in her hand. Gentle. “Vis. Come on. That wolf of yours can get us out.”

It’s enough. I nod. Tug Aequa into motion.

And so we follow Emissa into the madness. Ducking through fight after fight. Stepping over bodies, some that groan, some that are broken and still. She was right; Diago’s growling presence deters most attacks and the one time it doesn’t, his teeth do. Fortunate; we’ve all self-imbued but only Aequa, as a Quintus, would have any real chance here among the Hierarchy’s gathered elite.

We reach the small, dark alley Emissa has been guiding us toward. Blessedly empty. I risk a glance back. Less furious motion now. People tiring. The Forum is destroyed. The beauty of the surrounding buildings vanished beneath blood and grit, chunk after chunk used as weapons. I cannot tell who won. I think perhaps there are more Governance and Religion senators standing. But it may be that there were simply more of them to begin with.

Ostius’s medallion sits cold against my chest.

“It’s not your fault, Vis,” whispers Aequa as she pulls me into the shadows. “No shame in running.”

And as the three of us stumble away through the dust and fear, Caten falls into chaos.