The Storm of Heaven (50 page)

The Prince paused, arranging his thoughts. "Then there is violent and cataclysmic release. The mountain rages free, spewing fire, molten rock and deadly smoke. The eruption is far, far worse than what it would have been before. The greatest damage is not to the land or to the people, but to the Oath itself. See it as a builder might see it; the dam breaks, causing devastation to the low-lying fields, but the worst effect is upon the arch of the dam itself. I believe, from what I can perceive, that the whole Oath has suffered a terrible disruption. Much of it is shaken or even destroyed."

Maxian stopped his pacing, looking at Gaius with a pensive expression. "I have given the Persians exactly what they wanted. The Western Empire is shaken, even crippled, by the devastation. Worse is the loss in the hidden world. Centuries of protections, of wards, have been torn down. If an enemy comes against the Empire now, all of those old sureties will be gone."

"Oh," Gaius said, remembering another tidbit of news, this from the East. "Oh dear. Such a thing may have already happened."

"It will get worse." The Prince was grim. "You will think me mad after all that I have said and done, but I am sure that I must restore the matrices of the Oath."

Gaius Julius made a face as if he had bitten into a rotten lemon. "Must you? It seems far more pleasant, not having to worry about being annihilated if I think wrongly."

Maxian grinned, though there was little humor in his face. "I have an idea about that. But... where is our other conspirator? I would have expected Alexandros to be with you."

Gaius Julius shrugged, looking a little despondent. "He left. He fell in with some Goths and took off on holiday. To Siscia, of all places, which was dull, damp and dreary, as I remember. I don't imagine it has improved."

"Will he be returning?"

"If we send for him, he will come back. Rome wore on him, I think. Too civilized. Shall I draft a letter?"

"No." Maxian half closed his eyes, then sat for a little while, deep in thought. Gaius Julius, after watching for a moment, rose and began tidying up the papers on his desk. They had really gotten out of control in the past week.
Perhaps I should get a secretary... but who could I trust? There are so many secrets to keep.

"He is well, though rather battered, I think." Maxian opened his eyes, looking at the old Roman with a slightly unfocused expression. "I see his intent, and yours, wily old goat! Vacation indeed!"

"Excuse me?" Gaius Julius felt a distinct and unpleasant chill steal over him. He struggled to hide growing horror. "You can... see him? Where he is?"

"I could look out of his eyes," the Prince said in a nonchalant tone, "if the need took me. I made him, as I did you, from dust. My will sustains him. If I desire it, I can see his mind."

"Oh. I am glad he is well."

The general good humor that had been with Gaius Julius for these last days vanished, leaving him with a sick, churning feeling in his stomach. He gripped the desk for support to keep his knees, unaccountably weak, from buckling under him.

"Have we done ill?" he asked tentatively.

"It doesn't matter. If it keeps our Macedonian busy and out of trouble, let him raise his army. I can see sitting around here with you, plotting and intriguing, would bore him. Besides, he would distract you from important work."

Gaius Julius made a face. The Prince was laughing at him. "Then, what now?"

Maxian rubbed his hands together. The effect of the wine seemed to have dropped from him like a discarded cloak, leaving him filled with energy. "I see you've been busy, planning the funeral games. That is excellent, truly excellent. Tell me, can this friend of yours get me a pass to enter the Flavian at any time, day or night?"

"I suppose..." Gaius looked suspiciously at the Prince. "What for?"

"You'll see." The Prince grinned. "Or rather, you won't see, but I will and that is all that matters."

What joy,
thought Gaius Julius to himself,
I get to try to keep track of his machinations as well, while hoping that he ignores mine and keeps his naughty, prying fingers out of my thoughts!

"Master Tarsus?" The priest woke, blinking, and saw night had fallen. Someone was bending over him in the vestibule, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Excuse me! I did not mean to fall asleep." Tarsus sat up, grimacing at a twinge in his back. It did him no good to sleep on these cold stones. He was not a youngster anymore! The little room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. Then he recognized the man leaning over him.

"Master Hipponax!" Tarsus' bearded face lighted with joy. "I had not thought to find you in the city—they told me at the chapter house you had left."

Hipponax sat down, his round face smiling in a tired way. He was a little man, with only a fringe of hair left on his head. Like Tarsus, he was dressed in the pale blue overcloak of the Order of Asklepius.

"Oh no," Hipponax said in a wry voice. "There's too much to do in the city. The high priest and all of his... friends... went off to his estates on Crete until this business with the Emperor's mood improves."

"Ah," Tarsus said, remembering the temple here was devoted to politics and currying favor in the Imperial court rather than actual healing. The simple-looking Hipponax was one of the few actually treating the ill. "You've been ministering, then."

Hipponax made a wry face. "I have! There are nearly a million people in the city, old friend. They have an endless litany of complaints. Far more than one simple priest not overly blessed with the gift can handle. But I try."

"What are you doing here? Have you come to see Prince Theodore?"

Hipponax shook his head, the faintest hint of anger showing in his eyes. "No, I've no desire to see men of war. I was invited by the
Caesar
, so that he might bend my ear for an hour or so. And a dolorous hour it was!"

Tarsus gritted his teeth. If he had stayed awake, he might have gained entrance to the Prince's chambers in Hipponax's company.

"What's wrong?" Hipponax took Tarsus' hand in concern. "Ay! You're waiting to see the Prince! I'm sorry, I didn't see you until I was coming out."

"No matter!" Tarsus said stiffly. "Do you think that he would see me now?"

Hipponax shook his head sadly, his voice low but cutting in tone. "A gaggle of patricians came in as I was leaving, and they were sitting to dinner. I doubt he'll find time for you tonight! If my interview is any judge, he will be a long time filling their ears with venom and bile directed at the Empress. His idea of plotting is remarkably blunt. Tell me, have you eaten? There is a fine inn not too far away—we could break bread, sip some wine!"

Tarsus felt his stomach grumble awake at the thought of a lamb shank and fresh bread. "I shouldn't," he said, looking out the door of the waiting room. The guards continued to ignore them. "But I fear this is fruitless. Let us find this inn of yours!"

Hipponax beamed, for he was very fond of good food and wine. Tarsus picked up his straw traveling hat and slung a stained woolen cloak over his shoulders. At least he was getting fit again with all this tramping about.

"How curious!" Hipponax cut a slice of garlicked sea bass, garnished with scallions and pepper paste, and skewered it neatly on an eating tine. The glistening, perfectly cooked fish disappeared into his mouth. He smiled beatifically, savoring the taste. "Your student claimed to have revivified the dead and imbued them with thought and spirit?"

Tarsus nodded glumly, picking at the spiced lamb on his trencher. As Hipponax had promised, the innkeeper provided an exceptional table. The bread could not be flakier, with a firm yet pliant crust. The lamb was divine, with a succulent aroma and swimming in rich gravy. But, as their conversation turned to Tarsus' mission, his appetite vanished. A sense of impending disaster gripped him, filling his thoughts with wild visions and phantasms. He saw the city burning, choked with the dead and prowled by abominations.

"Yes, he was certain, mad as it sounds. And his subjects! Gods above and below, I cannot think of a more dangerous pair to set loose upon the Empire. Can you imagine the trouble they could cause?"

Hipponax nodded, cleaning off his plate with a hunk of bread. "They are both notorious... I wonder... could that be why he was able to summon them up as living men?"

Grimacing, Tarsus shook his head. "The passage of the
ka
into the underworld is no mystery. We debated that when
we
were students. The only way that a spirit returns—the only passage that the gods allow—is by rebirth in a new body, cleansed of all memory. Then the soul grows and learns again. Only the ancient heroes ever brought back the dead whole to the land of the living, and then,
then
by descending into Hades itself to lead them forth."

Hipponax dabbed at his lips with a cloth. "We've argued that point too. It's allegorical that the heroes
led
the dead back from Hades. Obviously their physical bodies were cremated or rotted in the tomb. Some means must have existed to let their spirits return and inhabit a new body. Perhaps your student found this mechanism."

"No," Tarsus said in despair. "He related the incantation he used—it was one of the forbidden rites. He restored the body of his lover the same way. She became a husk, just as the old books warn. I fear this: malign spirits were nearby when the boy conducted the rites—they inhabited the freshly vivified bodies and are pretending to be these ancient despots."

"You," the little priest said, sitting back with his hands on his round belly, "are of a morbid turn of thought this evening."

"Do you see another possibility?" Tarsus' voice rose irritably.

"No." Hipponax shook his head, eyeing pastries laid on a platter next to their table. "I'll just have one of these." He took a square of thin dough, glazed with crushed nuts and honey. "Well, all philosophy aside, why tell Prince Theodore?"

"This is worse than just raising the dead, Hipponax. The boy has consumed the spirits of the dying as well, denying them their rightful passage into the underworld."

The little round-faced priest choked on his pastry. "What did you say?"

Tarsus nodded, angrily cutting at his lamb. The knife stabbed into tender flesh and red juice oozed out. "I could feel them around him. They made a soft noise wherever he went, moaning and lamenting. He said... you've heard of the great eruption of Mount Vesuvius in Italia?"

Hipponax nodded, his face growing paler.

"Well, the boy was there. He claimed he was responsible. I'm not sure that he realized it, but when all those poor people died, he swallowed up their spirits as they flew free. Gods, Hipponax, you can feel him from a mile away, a churning black cloud of malignity! He distorts the hidden world where he walks, warping patterns and crumbling bright matrices like a thunderhead. Just being in the same room with him is dangerous."

"Oh my." Hipponax put his fingers to his lips. "How... how many did he consume?"

Tarsus shook his head, his face bleak. The arching ceiling of the inn, built in an old underground water cistern, seemed to press down on him. "Thousands. Tens of thousands. A multitude. Their voices were like the wind on a field of grass, countless."

"I see why you wished to see the Prince, then."

"Yes, the high priest sent me to warn the Imperial government. To make them take action against the boy. He must be stopped, killed, somehow, before he consumes more innocents."

Hipponax sighed, all humor gone from his face. He seemed much older and careworn. The anger that had briefly surfaced before returned. "Prince Theodore is useless. Have you heard of the dispute between him and his niece?"

"Some rumors, some outright fabrications, I imagine."

The little priest leaned close, his face tight. "Here is how things stand in this troubled city: thanks to the pernicious nature of our dear high priest in the temple here, Emperor Heraclius lies gripped by dropsy, a foul and debilitating ailment. Some months ago, we were summoned by Prince Theodore to treat his brother, but the high priest—the
fool!
—angered the Emperor with his rash words and we were sent away before I could examine the Emperor."

"Gods, why? What dispute lies between Emperor and temple?"

Hipponax shook his head sadly, round face sour as a lemon. "Here is the truth of the matter—I am surprised that you have not heard of it! Some years ago, the Emperor's wife, Eudocia, died and, after a period of mourning, he married his sister's daughter, Lady Martina. Now, I have met the new empress and she is a bookish and introverted sort of girl, but quite pleasant and respectable. I believe—worse yet—that she and the Emperor truly love each another. However! All of the temples, ours included, condemn this too-close match as an affront to the gods. So, when the high priest entered the Emperor's chamber, he demanded that Heraclius divorce his niece before he could be cured."

Tarsus grunted in dismay. Amongst his order, there was a strict rule that their powers, given by the gods for the benefit of all men, should not be used for political advantage or gain. He knew that the priests in the capital were not above leveraging their position for the betterment of their own purses. Now a man lay sick, perhaps dying, in violation of every sacred oath, for political advantage. Tarsus—who had not been involved in such matters before—felt ill himself.

"The Emperor was not pleased and, even in the extremity of death, banned the high priest, his fellows and all members of our order from his presence." Hipponax chewed on his thumb. "Now he continues to linger, half between death and life. His heirs are too young to take the throne and no regent has been appointed. The Empress and the Prince detest each other. Nothing can be done, no one will take action, while they strive for control of the ministries and the army.

"The Imperial government is paralyzed," Hipponax concluded. "I fear there is no one to help you."

"If that is so," Tarsus said, jutting out his chin, "then I will go to Rome."