The Storm of Heaven (47 page)

The black man drove in, fists blurring in the air. Diana caught one blow on the muscle of her shoulder as she turned. The shock staggered her. Her left hand slapped down, catching the second punch on the inside of the man's wrist, deflecting it. He threw his forehead at her, and she had to wrench back, leaning backwards nearly double. The stench of garlic on his breath made her eyes smart. He jumped back, and Diana sprang backwards onto her hands, her toes brushing the roof as she contorted into a half-twist, and then was standing again, in guard, facing him.

"Well struck!" the boxer cried, shaking out his arms and watching with interest. "Watch her legs, Mithridates, she's got a powerful length of thigh there!"

Mithridates circled to the right, his fists up, leading with his left foot. Diana circled as well, though she remained unfocused, waiting for the boxer to join the fray. He did not. The Numidian was watching her, waiting for her guard to drop. He seemed tentative, so Diana waited until she was again facing both men. The blood fire was running hot in her too, and she began to feel a furious anger welling up. These men had tried to hurt her, hurt her friends. Without knowing it, her face contorted in a ferocious snarl. Mithridates' eyes widened, then he danced in, feinting with his right.

He was very fast, much faster than Attalus, who was choking to death on the floor. Diana jerked away from the feint, then had to spring back violently as he followed with his left. His knuckles grazed her side, then she had to block hard with her forearm as his right fist plowed in, trying to knock her out. Diana screamed
kiiii
at the top of her lungs, then jumped up, snapping her left foot out. The gladiator dodged, but she clipped his chin and he rocked back. Furious, she plowed into him, slamming her right forearm into his face. The man blocked with his fist, but the force of her blow drove his hand into his chest.

She punched him in the diaphragm with her left fist, but he grunted, turning and catching the blow on muscle. He kicked hard at her knee and Diana jumped again, his hobnailed boot slashing under her. She came down, pivoted and snap-kicked the back of his other knee. Bone splintered and he howled in pain. A wild, glad look on her face, she grabbed the back of the leather strap running along his waist. He twisted, grimacing at the horrible pain in his knee, trying to get away. Diana kicked him in the cheek. There was a brittle cracking sound and his eye socket splintered, white bone jutting from his flesh. He howled.

Grunting with effort, she grasped both his shoulder and his belt strap and then threw him over her thigh. Mithridates hit the floor hard, winded.

Diana swayed, then stepped back, catching her balance. Her arms and legs were throbbing with effort and bruises were already wrinkling purple on her forearms. The room seemed blurry. She blinked, trying to clear her vision.

"You are
very
good," the boxer said, sidling towards her, spiked fists raised. "Like one of the heroes of old, standing on the bright sand, victorious." He grinned, though she could barely see him. The blood fire ebbed in her veins and she began to shake. Half sensing his approach, Diana scuttled sideways, then her foot clattered into the chair lying on the floor. Flinching, she jumped back, turning towards the unseen assailant.

The boxer stood up and back, motioning with his hand. One of his confederates, lurking by the stairs, flipped him a length of rope, which swung with a leaded bag. Nonchalantly, he let the rope swing easily around his head.

"Dear lady," he said in a loud voice, "you've got me to deal with next."

Diana snarled, turning towards him. Her left arm rose across her face, right fist pointing to the floor. The sap flicked through the air, driven by the boxer's powerful wrist, and caught her on the temple with a soft
crack
. She toppled over.

The boxer flipped the sap back into his hand, smiling. He raised the bloody bag to his lips. "Faithful, faithful, faithful. Better than any woman. Pick her up, we'll go out the back way."

The boxer surveyed the ruins of the
caupona
, whistling idly to himself. One of his companions rolled Diana in a gray blanket and then hoisted her onto his shoulders. The other ran forward and held open the curtain to the kitchens. As he stepped over the body of the proprietor, the boxer struck an Apollo on the wall, and then tossed the burning spark into a pool of black fluid spreading behind the counter.

Flames leapt up, burning fierce and green, and licked along the smashed amphorae and the wicker shelving. The boxer closed the curtain between the kitchen and the main room of the inn, then walked quickly out the back door. The crackle and spit of the fire was already loud behind him, spreading across the ceiling of the room. He whistled a merry tune.

Amid the ruined furniture, Mithridates struggled to rise, reddish light gleaming wetly on his skin. His ruined leg failed him and he cried out in despair. Smoke was already biting at his throat.

"Hamilcar!" His scream of rage was drowned by the roar of the fire.

Waves slapped against the hull of the
Helios
, foaming across eyes and a sunburst painted above the ship's bronze beak. The
Helios
was a two-decked galley. The Queen waited patiently, her pale, white eyes shaded by a hood. The sea was quiet, limpid and azure.

"Ah, here they are at last."

A single-decked galley with flanks of silver gray sped across the water towards the
Helios
. The Queen watched as the
Herakles
drew alongside. A flute trilled and oarswomen backed oar and the swift galley shuddered to a halt. On its simple deck—no more than a plank walkway down the middle of a rowing gallery—stood a woman in gray and shining white.

"Greetings, sister!" The Queen's voice carried easily over the water. "Good day."

There was no reply. The gray ship drifted closer. The Queen could see that the woman was very old, with fine white hair and a wrinkled yet regal face. Amused, the Queen drew back her hood. She saw the white figure stiffen, but there was still no reply.

"You have forgotten how to welcome a guest," the Queen said. "No matter. I have something of yours. Send over a boat, and we'll load it aboard."

"We want," came the thin voice of the woman, "nothing from you, Queen of Cats. Take yourself and your malice away from our shores."

"You want nothing from me? Then why come forth out of your sanctuary? Ah, but I know—curiosity. You wondered if the old tales were true, if the warnings and admonitions need carry any weight. Well, are your questions answered?"

"We have no questions for you, nor seek any answers. Your welcome was exhausted long ago. Begone!"

With that, the woman in white turned away. Two of her attendants stepped to her side, leading her back to a chair affixed to the deck. The Queen sighed. Now that she was here, seeing the arrogance of the Matron, she wondered why she had come at all. Was there some sentiment left in her after all these centuries? She realized, standing on the deck, feeling the sea wind ruffle her long hair, that she was tired of hiding in the dark. Her kingdom, once so prized, had dwindled to only a handful of outcasts and refugees. Even they were under a pain that she could not lift.

Her hand rose to her mouth, then clenched into a fist.
Enough!

"Matron," she called out sharply, "you may ignore a guest, but I will fulfill my ancient duty. You may call me a traitor and the first of the fallen, but I know the duty of one sister to another. Nothing binds me to this act, yet I will satisfy honor."

On the deck of the
Herakles
, the Matron of the Island looked up. The Queen could see a look of grim surprise on the old woman's face.

"One of my servants discovered the body of a sister. I have brought her here to find that peace in death that eluded her in life. Will you take your lost daughter? Then I will go and leave you in peace."

The two ships rode on the swell in silence for a time, then the Matron roused herself from her chair and motioned that a boat be prepared. The attendants, and the captain of the galley, argued with her in low tones, and the Queen smiled, hearing all that they said. At last, the Matron stepped down into a shallow boat and was rowed across to the
Helios
.

The Cat-Eyed Queen reached down and helped her into the ship. The Matron felt tiny and birdlike in her hands. The old woman's eyes were quick, flitting across well-worn planks and rowing benches.

"Where is this lost daughter of mine?"

The Queen pointed to the funeral bier and the still, pale figure lying there.

"Here she is. She is not very lively, I fear."

The Matron stalked down the deck, staff tapping in counterpoint to her footsteps. She reached the bier and there was a sharp hiss of indrawn breath. Then the old woman reached out a trembling hand and gently touched the pale, pink cheek of the girl.

"She breathes," the Matron sighed.

"But she does not live," the Queen said in melancholy tones. "This is how she was brought to me."

"How did this happen?" The Matron turned abruptly.

"A man killed her," said the Queen, her voice soft. "A man she loved, who loved her in turn."

"She is not dead," the Matron snapped. "She is in perfect health. Where is her spirit?"

"Gone across the dark river," the Queen answered patiently.
Yet,
she thought,
perhaps the skills of the Order have decayed over the long years. What I see, this old, tired woman may not.
"Like all the shades of the dead. This man restored her body, hoping to rectify his mistake. Now the shell walks and breathes but is bereft of the guttering spark which makes us
live
."

"Who is this man?" The Matron was angry now, staring down at the girl. "I will not suffer to see one of us made a plaything or a toy."

"I do not think," the Queen interrupted sharply, "that he intended that she be a
toy
. I have met him, seen them together. He is wracked with guilt. He loved her very much. You should take this body and send it to the sky, as is proper."

The Matron leaned towards the Queen, old eyes bright with interest. "Who is this loving murderer? Tell me, for I wish to pay him back in kind."

"I think," the Queen said, "you should keep to your island. If you seek this boy out, you will find him beyond your power to punish. I have had some traffic with him, to my loss. His is a twisty mind, filled with traps baited by love and friendship."

The Matron angrily ground the ferrule of her staff into the deck. "No
man
harms a sister! The Goddess' arrows will find him, put madness in his eyes and tear out his heart! Tell me his name."

"No," the Queen said. "Would you set dear Artemis against Apollo? Was not the slaughter of Troy enough for you? This is a matter where the gods play! Stay inside, by the hearth, content in the strength of your doors!"

"A
god
did this?"

"Enough like one, I think. Have a care, Matron! The might of the Order has waned since the Drowning. You believe yourself a power, directing servants from this hidden place, but the world is changing, and the strength of your island fastness may soon be tested."

The Matron looked back at the towering walls of Thira. They seemed indomitable.

"You think it a strong place," the Queen said urgently. "But its strength is in being unseen. If you strike against this man, your hiding place will be revealed."

"This is not like you, to show such concern. What is your price?"

The Queen laughed, brilliant dark hair shifting like a cloud around her long neck and pale, white shoulders. She put a hand to her lips, almond-shaped nails glittering in the fading light. "You have books filled with lists of my crimes, Matron. Do you believe them all? There is no
price
for this girl! She is an innocent. I once swore the same oaths that you did: to help my sisters, to deliver them from danger, to work in all ways to serve the Goddess and protect the helpless."

"You? Help the helpless? Prey upon them seems more like it! Your name is black in our annals, bending your head to that
man
and doing his will."

The Queen stepped back, face washed with furious anger. She knew her own history well enough, she did not need reminding by some child! Her hand rose; the air distorted like a broken mirror as power flooded from the sea. The Matron blanched, then squared her shoulders, putting her staff forward.

"Go ahead, outcast. Strike me down. I have lived a long, full,
natural
life. I see no need to exceed my allotted span."

The Queen considered, then she laughed and waved the power away. Wind skipped across the waters at her motion, making the rigging creak and the light shape of the
Herakles
dance on the sea swell. "No. Come, take your sister. I have spent enough time in your pleasant company."

The Matron nodded, then called to the rowers in the boat. "Attend me, there is a body to be moved."

The Cat-Eyed Queen laughed again, this time in merriment.

"Matron, Matron... haven't you listened? There is no need of this burden. Watch."

Turning to the girl on the bier, the Queen leaned close and whispered softly. The girl moved, sitting up, and swung her legs off the funeral bed. With the same motion, she gathered up a robe and stood. The Matron stifled a gasp.

"Child," the Queen said, "go with this woman."

"Enter the boat," the old woman said. The girl walked to the ladder at the side of the ship, then climbed swiftly down, her movements graceful. The two rowers helped her sit, though they were loath to touch her pale skin.

"You see? She is quite biddable."

The Matron did not answer, hurrying to enter the rowboat herself.

The sun set, leaving the sky brilliant with stars and the sea gleaming with silver light. The Queen watched and waited, standing at the railing, until she was sure the sisters had returned safely to the hidden lagoon and the sea caves housing their ships. While she lingered, the Walach boys padded out onto the deck and took their places at the rowing benches.