Chapter XXXIII #2
“I know you won’t.” She shrugs in a vague, non-apologetic sort of way.
“Anyway. I told him straight away what my father and I had done. He was furious, but … I still wanted to help however I could, and he’d already shown me too much.
So he got me to sign and imbue another document, admitting to the illegal use of the Aurora Columnae. ”
“He still has it?” When she nods, I wince. “So he’s been using you, too.”
“No. I’m helping him.” Sharp reproof in her voice.
“We made sure there would be nothing to link us, and then I was supposed to pick a position in Military that could get me the sort of access he’s been missing.
I was meant to figure out what they know, and what they were planning to do about it.
That’s why he arranged for a few Septimii to cede to me during the Iudicium.
It’s why he told me about Indol defecting, too—just in case I had to use it against him. We were counting on me being Domitor.”
“Sorry.”
She huffs at my wry tone. “As you should be.”
We start down some gently sloping stairs. The glistening walls remind me of Letens Prison. Our footsteps echo.
“One thing I don’t understand,” I say eventually. “If this threat—this second Cataclysm—is real, why in all rotting hells would he not tell anyone about it?”
She looks across at me with amused affection. “Really? You’ve been in Caten long enough. You tell me.”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. I knew the answer months ago. All I had to do was think about the powerful men and women I was busy getting to know. Imagine the chaos, the arguments. The power struggles cloaked as altruism that would result in nothing ever being achieved.
“Rotting gods-damned Senate,” I mutter.
I’m about to say more when suddenly there’s movement from the darkness ahead.
“Halt.” Red cloak and black eyes in the lantern-light. A cloud of obsidian daggers suddenly glitters in front of our faces. I have a moment of panic. Some part of me cannot help but see the tunnels in Suus. My father and I, stopped by a Praetorian just like this one.
“Quintus Corenius and Sextus Catenicus. We’re expected.” Emissa’s voice is unconcerned.
“Authorisation?”
Emissa produces a folded sheet and hands it to the man, who vanishes into the darkness behind the unmoving daggers.
I examine them warily, little else to focus on.
There are more than a dozen. Not impossible for a single Praetorian, but I’d bet there are at least two more assisting from the shadows.
We wait in tense silence; I want to ask Emissa what’s going on but she seems to have expected all this, so I hold my tongue. A minute passes.
Then I’m shielding myself from abrupt light, lanterns springing to life in unison along the hallway around us and ahead.
The revealed passageway ends in an open doorway about thirty feet away, the two Praetorians guarding it watching us with black eyes and unmoving intensity.
The first man, just in front of them, beckons us.
The hovering cloud of obsidian parts to allow us through, then re-forms and trails us until we step into the room. The small space is nondescript, plain stone walls surrounding a single desk with a lantern, quill and ink, and single sheet of paper waiting on it. Another door sits closed opposite.
“Sign the Silencium, Catenicus, and you may proceed,” says our chaperone, gesturing. The stone door booms shut behind us, and immediately the feel of the room changes. As if the air has suddenly grown dense. My skin crawls.
“Will cage,” murmurs Emissa before I can say anything.
I roll my shoulders at the oppressive, uncomfortable feeling.
The protective mesh of Harmonically imbued metal triangles that now sits constantly around my torso remains firmly in place, unaffected given I’m inside the cage too.
I knew that would theoretically be the case, but I hadn’t expected it to be tested until we reached the Academy.
I hide my relief—nothing illegal to what I’ve created, but it’s not much of an advantage if people know about it—and snatch up the paper.
A quick scan shows familiar, standard language.
If I talk about anything I see here, Military will have the legal right to put me in a Sapper. And so on, and so on.
I sign. I’ve put my name to so many of these things that it barely bothers me now. “Just me?”
“They already have mine.”
The Praetorian examines my signature, then opens the way forward. “You know how this works?”
“I do,” says Emissa before I can respond.
He nods. “Ten minutes.” We’re ushered through and the stone slides shut behind, hiding the Praetorian from view and sealing us in.
I come to a halt as I take in the next room. Smoke from two fresh torches vanishes through thin slits that must circulate the air down here. They light a room that’s about twenty feet in both width and length. More stone walls, though the stifling feeling of the Will cage has vanished.
The space ahead is empty, except for the angled stone slab in the centre of the room, and the man chained to it. An obsidian blade jutting from his chest.
My blood runs cold.
One of the corpses from the ruins on Solivagus? It’s my first thought, but one I dismiss as I take in the man. Deep lacerations cover his face, cleaned and bloodless though they are. He’s clothed, but where skin shows through it’s scratched as well, torn in places. His eyes are closed.
I recognise him. Don’t place from where, not at first. But then I see his neck. Swathed in bandages.
“Rotting gods.” I take a half step back. I remember him on the ground next to Callidus. Throat torn clean out. “He’s dead, Emissa.” Deep unease in my chest, even if I keep my voice steady.
She walks past me. “You remember what I told you, about why I stabbed you during the Iudicium?”
“Of course,” I say slowly.
She picks up something from beside the slab. A medallion. Thin stone, some kind of symbol engraved on it. A scarab, I think, from the glimpse I get.
She drapes it around the corpse’s neck. Steps back.
For a second, nothing happens.
And then the dead man’s eyes snap open.
I WATCH IN DETACHED HORROR AS PALLID SKIN BEGINS TO pull tight around dry wounds, leaving only thin, raw lines. The Anguis corpse rasps a breath and jerks. Thrashes. Issues a throttled moan of what could only be intense pain.
“Are you alright?” Emissa’s watching me more than the man. I’ve backed away several steps.
“What in the rotting hells?” I whisper it. “No, Emissa. I’m not alright. What is this?”
“This is the Necropolis. The real Necropolis. I told you about iunctii—well, Military found some pre-Cataclysm artifacts that can create them. Bring the dead back to life, and then these swords can force them to do whatever you tell them. To tell you the truth about anything they know.”
I say nothing, just staring at the grotesque form chained in front of me. “So if they really want to know something from someone who’s alive …”
“There’s a reason this place is so secret.”
“Gods’ graves.” I finally rip my gaze from the prisoner to her. Mind racing. An active temptation for Military to abuse Birthright. I wonder how often they resist it. “How did you get me approved to see this?”
“I didn’t. Veridius spoke to my father. Strings were pulled.” Her mouth twists. “The Praetorian wasn’t joking about the time limit, and I’ve been here before, so whatever questions you have—ask them now.”
I stare at her. Swallow numerous dazed objections, and turn back to the prisoner. His breathing has calmed, but he still wheezes awfully. His eyes are wide. Terrified as they stare into mine. “Can he even talk?”
“He can talk.”
Vek. I turn to the man. Some combination of horror and fury roiling as I lock eyes with the corpse of the man who killed my friend. “What is your name?”
“Antonius … Pius.” Wheezing and hoarse. Pained. Dragged unwillingly from his lips.
“Are you Anguis?”
A nod. The movement clear.
I glance at Emissa. “You’re sure he has to tell the truth?” Asking more to pause and steady myself, than to be sure.
“The truth as far as he knows. The truth according to him.”
I take a breath. Queasy, mind racing. At the least, I came here to confirm what the scarred stranger told me during the Iudicium, even if the truth of it seems to have been playing out in Caten’s politics.
And I wanted to see exactly how the Anguis had managed to sow so much doubt using only a single prisoner’s admissions.
Now I know.
“The Anguis abandoned you, didn’t they. At the Iudicium.” It’s what Callidus said. That the man had been angry about being left behind.
A shake of the head. “I got … separated. Accident. Only had the tracking stone for … Catenicus. Knew they wouldn’t leave without … killing him.”
Beside me, Emissa frowns, but I ignore her. “But he wasn’t there.”
“He … was there.” He gasps it. Barely a whisper. “I … made him pay … for Melior.”
I stare for several seconds. Heart lurching. “The boy you …” Breath short. “The boy you tortured. Didn’t he tell you that he wasn’t Catenicus?”
“No. Admitted he … was.”
Oh, gods. Callidus. Gods-damned, courageous idiot.
To my side, Emissa’s expression twists in horror as she understands. Understands what happened and understands who this is as she puts a supporting hand on my arm. Eyes soft and sad. She didn’t know.
My vision swims and I turn away, just breathing, until I’m sure I can keep the welling tears from coalescing.
“How did you sneak onto Solivagus?” My voice shakes a little. It’s the anger, now, more than grief and more than the shock of speaking to a dead man. But I need to move on from that line of questioning. It will lead only to pain. And this isn’t an opportunity that will come again.
“Got close on a … ship. Big one. Will powered. Strange looking, modified. Obelisk instead … of a mast.” He groans and coughs, the rattling rasp echoing through the room. “They flew us over the … Seawall on platforms.”
I paste on a frown for Emissa’s sake, though it’s not too far from my guesses given the pieces I already had.
The Navisalus. Relucia and her contact discussing using a ship as an anchoring point.
I have no idea how the Seawall itself works, but from our dissection of Transvect mechanics under Praeceptor Scitus, I know that what Antonius is describing is possible.
It’s how his comrades managed to escape, too, I imagine.
“What was the name of the ship?”
“Painted over.”
“Where did you leave from?”
“Thuaidh Island.”
I grunt. In the Sea of Quus, northern coast of Tensia. Uninhabited. “How did the Anguis get the resources to make something like this happen?”
His lip curls. Teeth blackened with flecks of dried blood. “Caten. Senators.” Some latent glee, even through the pain. “Your people.”
I’m silent. Visibly tense, reacting with carefully crafted shock and anger to the answer I knew he would give. Then, “What? No. You’re lying.”
“He’s not,” Emissa says quietly.
I let my fists clench and unclench. Pretend for Emissa’s benefit to a slowly dawning, confused fury. “Who, then? Which senators?” I growl.
He shakes his head. “Only … know we had help. Things I overheard. Rumours. We joked about it. The Hierarchy … killing its own.” He laughs. A choking, awful sound.
I don’t have to fake my anger at his reaction, this time.
I ask a few more rapid questions after that, the ones Emissa would expect of me, though I already know the result.
Can he identify any other Anguis? He says he was newly recruited and that none of them knew one another’s true identities.
Does he know of any Anguis hideouts? He gives the location of three, which I can only assume Military has long since raided.
Did he see or overhear anything else that might be useful?
He gives a series of observations that I assume have already been followed up.
Probably leading initially to small victories that lend credence to his words, but after that, nowhere.
This was perfectly executed by the Anguis. No way to suggest that he’s trying to misinform. Enough information to leave no doubt about senatorial involvement, but not enough to point the finger at any one person or group.
“Almost time,” murmurs Emissa suddenly.
Antonius hears and something in him changes. His broken, scarred body tensing, trembling. Eyes roaming the room desperately before coming back to rest on me.
“Please,” he whispers. “Please.”
Behind us I hear motion at the door. A grinding as it starts to slide away.
I don’t look away from him. Meet his gaze.
The horror of this place, what is being done here, washing over me.
The anguish of knowing that even in his last moments, Callidus protected me when I could not do the same for him.
I’ve held it at bay these past ten minutes, but only just. Only just.
The metal shards sit just beneath my shirt. I could end this travesty before anyone could do anything about it. And I want justice for my friend.
“Are you suffering?” I ask Antonius quietly.
He nods. Tears in his eyes. “Yes.” Barely audible. Rasping. Rattling.
“Vis,” warns Emissa.
I ignore her. Walk up to him. He trembles at my approach. I lean in close, my mouth at his ear, so that only he can hear.
“Good.”
His plaintive, weeping moans follow us into the darkness.