2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
T hrax
Cold. So cold. My body aches. It’s a deep, bone-chilling agony that makes even breathing a struggle. Although I try, I can’t command my eyes to open.
Am I dead? Is this what awaits in the afterlife—an eternity of frozen torment? Behind the blackness of my eyelids, I search for Charon, the ferryman, to haul my soul across his infernal river.
Memories flood back, fragmented and chaotic. Setting sail from Ostia near Rome, bound for the far-off shores of Britannia. New arenas awaited us there, new crowds to entertain with our blood and sweat. But fate had other plans.
My stomach twisted as I stared at the big ship called Fortuna . The journey across the sea scared me more than fighting a champion in the arena. I had just joined a group of other gladiators who I’ll join on this journey. They look as though they’ve all trained together. I arrived alone.
A woman blocked our path to the ship. Her golden dress shone in the sun as she raised her arms.
“Travelers!” she shouted over the noise of the busy port. “Seek the blessing of Goddess Fortuna before your journey! ”
Sulla, the man I later learned was our ludus master, made that ugly laugh I grew to hate. “What blessing, woman? We’ve no time for superstitious nonsense.”
The woman smiled like she knew something we didn’t. “Just a simple libation, good sir. To ensure safe passage across treacherous waters.”
“How much?” Sulla asked.
When she named her price, Sulla nodded, which surprised me. Slave masters are seldom generous.
“Very well. A round for my men, then. Can’t have them dying before they make me a profit in Britannia.” He brayed with laughter at his own joke.
The woman pulled out a cup and a jug from her basket. The drink looked strange, catching the light in an odd, swirling manner as she poured.
“What is that?” the red-headed man next to me whispered. All I could do was shrug as I watched Sulla drink.
He made a face and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Drink if you want men, but it tastes like horse piss.”
As she moved down our line, I studied her. Might be the last woman I saw before I died at sea. She was tall and thin, with strange tattoos on her neck. Her dark curly hair was pinned up, but one long braid hung down her back.
When she handed me the cup, our eyes met. They changed color in the sun, like magic. Something in the way she looked at me sent a chill down my back.
“Drink deep,” she said softly, pushing the cup into my hands. “May the gods watch over you. Safe journey from Goddess Fortuna.”
The drink felt cool in my dry throat. Not bad, like Sulla said. Sweet at first, then bitter after. As I swallowed, warmth spread through me, and for the first time since hearing about this trip, the fear in my gut eased a bit.
Halfway to Britannia, storms pounded our ship, driving us far off course. For weeks we fought the elements, each day colder than the last. The men grew restless, hope dwindling as quickly as our supplies.
Then came that final, terrible night. The crack of splintering wood. Icy water rushed in, stealing the air from my lungs. The Fortuna , our cursed vessel, broke apart beneath us.
Varro’s voice cut through the chaos, a lifeline in the storm. “Hold on! Don’t let go, no matter what!”
I remember grabbing onto him, onto others—Cassius? Victor?—trying to keep them afloat. The names slip away like water through my fingers. Though the merciless sea battered us, we tried to cling to each other, fighting to keep our heads above the churning waves.
The cold stole our breath, numbed our limbs, and clouded our thoughts. One by one, the others slipped away into the inky depths despite my attempts to keep them afloat. Their cries haunt me still, fading into the roar of the wind and waves.
In those final moments, a strange calm settled over me. Death was no stranger; I’d faced it countless times in the arena. But this felt different. There was no crowd baying for blood, no opponent to best. Just the vast, heartless sea.
Now, drifting in this twilight state between life and death, I wonder if the Gods had some crueler fate in store. Perhaps this is my punishment—to relive those final moments for eternity, trapped in a prison of ice and memory.
A new awareness breaks through the numbness—my fingertips are tingling, the odd sensation slowly spreading up my arms. It’s almost painful, like thousands of tiny needles pricking my skin. But it’s also… warm?
Confusion wars with suspicion. Is this some new torment ?
With monumental effort, I force my eyes open. Blinding light assaults me, and I squeeze my lids shut with a groan. The sound that escapes my throat is ragged, strange to my ears.
An excited voice pierces the fog in my mind. The words are strange, foreign.
Hands touch me—gentle, probing. I flinch instinctively, body tensing for a blow that doesn’t come.
More voices chatter around me, a confusing din of foreign sounds. After living most of my life around gladiators from all over the Roman Empire, I know a few words in many languages. None of these sound familiar.
Panic rises in my chest. Nothing makes sense. The sounds, the smells, the people, even my own body feels wrong somehow, like it doesn’t belong. I try to sit up but am so weak I can barely lift my head for a moment until it falls backward onto something softer than the straw of my bunk.
Someone steps behind me and holds my head down. Memories, more than I can count, faster than I can control, bombard me, reminding me of so many times in my life when I’ve been held down on a bed. Mustering all my strength, I feebly grasp the wrist pressing against my shoulder.
A woman steps forward, pries my eyelids open—what new tortures must I endure?—and drops something in my eyes. Though her tone is soothing, the liquid burns, making my already blurred vision swim.
As panic rises, I don’t know why it’s Varro’s name I manage to croak out, searching the blurry faces for the last person I spoke to before the sea took me.
A flurry of excited chatter erupts around me. One of the strangers hurries from the room, calling out in that strange tongue.
The door bursts open, and a familiar face swims into focus as the haze over my eyes clears. Varro. But… different. Part of his face is covered with a thin white mask, his hair is shorter, and hi s face is unlined by the constant worry of a slave’s existence. His eyes shine with a light I’ve never seen in them before.
“Thrax. Receperint retro, vetus amicus .” His voice calms my confused mind. Finally, words I understand. Welcome back old friend.
Relief washes over me, but it’s quickly replaced by a tide of questions. Where am I? How am I here? Alive? In this strange room filled with people in masks? What madness have the Gods wrought?
As if reading my thoughts, Varro’s expression softens. “You must be confused.” His voice is gentle. “But trust me, brother, when I say your life is about to change in ways you never could have imagined.”
A blonde woman appears at his side; the warm look in her brown eyes is kind.
“Thrax.” Her voice is soft, like the whisper of a Goddess. “You are safe here. I promise we are all so glad you’re alive.” She doesn’t speak the garbled sounds of the others I hear. With effort, I understand most of her heavily accented Latin.
Perhaps it’s the cold, but I think it’s her words and the tone of her voice that causes my body to shiver. This must be a dream. No one has ever spoken to me with such kindness before.
“This is Laura,” Varro explains, his chest puffing with pride. “My… woman. You can trust her. You’re safe.”
His words should be comforting, but a lifetime of pain and betrayal has taught me to be wary of such promises. Still, as I look into Varro’s eyes, I see something I scarcely dare to name.
Hope.
“Where are we?” I rasp, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to us?”
Varro exchanges a concerned glance with Laura, his tight expression reminding me of the Varro I grew to know on the Fortuna . “It’s a long story, my friend. One that will take some time to tell. But for now, know this—we are safe. We are free. And the world… the world has changed more than you can possibly imagine.”
His words wash over me, too fantastic to fully understand—or believe. But as I lie here, surrounded by strange faces and things, one thought echoes in my mind.
My life has changed forever.