Chapter 84

This world shouldn’t exist.

Where was I? Familiar, yet not. An unplace. A void, but brimming with such immense power. Every hair on my arms was bristling. An ethereal energy threatened to crackle at any second, as if my fingertips were about to touch winter-frosted bare metal.

The air, crisp and cool, chilling lips, throat, and lungs with each hard-fought breath. Each inhale brought smells so incredibly sharp they hurt. The most fragrant flowers. A sweetness beyond the thickest syrups. Metallic hints. Stone damp with water, flowing unseen and unheard.

Naked, my body was gripped with ceaseless shivers, and my teeth chattered. Vision dulled, I was left with only a pulsing haze filled with brilliant hues of every color. Slow, very slow, shakes of my head failed to clear the mushiness, but a few details resolved.

Far above, swooped tall crystalline arches, trooping into a distance shrouded in multi-colored nothingness. Under bare feet stretched the same slippery crystal, cold enough to drive a bone-chilling ache high into my legs.

Heavy and out-of-place among such delicate perfection, my footfalls were shaky and dragged on the glossy floor. Iron grips held both arms, but any attempt to glimpse my jailers resulted in a blaze so bright my brain ached; the thundering discomfort forced me to turn away.

Suddenly, the air grew heavier. Light stripped asunder, letting darkness swirl. Amid thick cobwebs and flashes of forgotten importance, my mind struggled. From the closest walls, slender wisps began to seep. The legs of a thousand tiny spiders skittered along synapses, tugging memories from dusty corners.

The more recent ones, those offering clues to my location, refused to solidify. Only haze, and gauzy at that.

Instead, other images grew so vivid, smells sharpened, and sounds, in the highest fidelity, echoed. These were far older, gathered over thousands of years. They sluiced to the forefront like a muddied surf tossing flotsam against a rock-strewn coast.

Grit filled my mouth, encrusted my eyelids, and clung to dripping sweat. The sun became a boiling mass high overhead. Every muscle ached from overuse.

“Get your Theban pig-fucker ass back into line!”

Greek. My first language. While screaming toward a grime-streaked, wide-eyed face, I shoved a spear from one of the fallen into his hand. All around us, the roar and clang of battle intensified. Dust, already kicked up by our march, now billowed in great clouds, clawing at that unforgiving ball of fire in the sky, as many more decidedly unfriendly sandals pounded down the surrounding slopes.

“The left, Iakovos!” His gaze flicked past me. “They can’t hold.”

“Let me worry about the damn left!”

A hard shove on the cloth where a cuirass should’ve been sent him back toward the swirling madness on the nearest slope. He nodded over his shoulder at me.

“Yes, polemarch!”

No, didn’t bother correcting him. If he wanted to promote me, needed to believe somebody else cared, then so be it. Head still ringing from an earlier blow that had sent my helm spinning off into the haze, I grasped the damp, leather-wrapped hilt of a leaf-bladed sword. Strings of gore swayed from its blade. After a quick nudge of my teeth, loosened by the same blow, I launched a gob of spit and dirt toward the ground.

From high overhead, a descending cloud made me duck, though the gesture was foolish; thuds intermixed with distant muffled cries and sharper ones from closer silhouettes. One arrow struck the top of my shoulder before careening off into the melee. Even as my hand rose to massage the impact, a shadow resolved in the dust. In its hands, a spear. My mouth mirrored the arid foothills, growing desiccated as the glinting point sped closer.