The Secret History
The sun was a fiery ball in a cloudless blue sky, and the woman stumble-staggering her way across the sandy expanse of land tripped on a stone and went sprawling into the dirt, scraping the skin off her legs and drawing blood. She lay there for a long few minutes before rolling over onto her back, licking her dry lips with a drier tongue.
"Get up." She was saying it to herself, but her muscles refused to work. She had no energy left. It had been days since she fled the villa, and although she could no longer hear the horses or feel the vibrations of their hoofbeats through the earth, she knew they couldn't be far behind. "Get up. Get up!"
There was a stitch in her side. She had sand in her hair and sand mixed in with the blood that had dried on her hands. The sun was near the end of its journey across the heavens, which meant it was going to get cold soon. The axe she'd stolen from the house was half-buried in the loose-packed earth. Marius' axe. Atia rolled onto her side and looked at it, watching the way the sun's dying rays turned the metal a dark red.
Was this what all her work had led her to, to die of exposure like an animal in this desolate waste? Hadn't she done the rituals and drawn the symbols and made the sacrifices? Where was Leviathan with Its open arms now that she had fulfilled her service?
She would never forget the look in Gauis' eyes for the rest of her life, no matter how brief that might turn out to be. Stupid old man, considering her to be little more than chattel, the spoils of war. Atia rolled over some more, lifted her weight up onto her forearms. The effort almost made her lose consciousness, and her vision spun dizzily as her lungs struggled to get enough oxygen into them.
"Get up." Her new mantra, because if she didn't get up, if she didn't keep moving, they'd crucify her. Marius would drive the nails in with his own hands. He'd always hated her, the jealous hatred of someone who'd been usurped. And he'd known her for what she was, a viper his father was holding to his breast. No matter. The stupid old man was dead, drowned in his own blood, and she was on her way to meet her new bridegroom.
Leviathan. Even the name gave her hope. She was worthy, had made herself worthy. But she must get up.
Atia dragged herself to feet that ached and bled, leaving crimson spatters on the sand. She picked up the axe by its haft in an unconscious gesture. She'd used it to murder Gaius, used the son's weapon to strike down the father in a spray of blood, then hacked out a chunk of flesh and muscle from his thigh to devour it in ritual fashion. Consuming the flesh of her enemy to make herself strong. In truth, it was likely that cannibalizing the corpse was the greatest outrage. Dining on the house slaves was one thing, but to eat part of a member of the Senate, no matter how insignificant? Punishable by the most torturous death possible.
The redhead labored on, her pace alternately slowing down and speeding up as fatigue and hunger took their toll. She would not let them kill her. Leviathan had decreed that she would live, live forever in Its service. She would not die here like a dog.
The sun had just disappeared beyond the horizon when she reached the bottom of a hill, and as the shadows got thicker she saw the dim outline of a large, flat stone at the highest point. She'd begun to hallucinate by then, and when she fell this time she was convinced that Marius and his soldiers were right behind her, Gaius' ghost spurring them on to nail her up on a cross beside the road.
"You'll not have me." Starving, maddened, Atia clawed her way to a standing position and swung the axe in an arc so sharp that it almost sent her tumbling to the earth again. Swinging at air as she scraped together the last vestiges of her strength. The stone. It must be the stone that was the sign. She must get to it, reach it so that she could finally meet her true husband. If she could no longer walk, she would crawl.
And crawl she did, her legs giving out halfway up the hill and refusing to take her any farther. In the blackness of night, Atia scuttled like a sand crab, abandoning the axe because it was slowing her down. By the time ahe reached the pinnacle of the hill, she could no longer get a full breath. Her palms flattened against the cold surface of the rock, her arms barely supporting her weight. The redhead placed her brow to the stone, a gesutre of reverence, of supplication.
"Husband." Her voice was a croak. "My life for you." She crawled up onto the stone, lay there as if she were dead. Perhaps she was dead, had died days ago and just wasn't aware of it yet. This quest might well be the only thing keeping her soul moored to her body. "My life for you, my soul for you, a thousand deaths in your name."
The stars were going dark, their light winking out as if they were candles being extinguished. Atia lay on her rock staring into the heavens, and she realized after a minute that a black cloud was boiling in out of the west. Her shallow breathing caught in her chest, and a lunatic ecstasy sounded in her ravaged voice when she spoke. "Husband..."
The cloud pulsed as if in recognition, continuing to eat up the distance between them, and a cold wind blew across her face. The breeze smelled of rot, of rot, decay, and burning flesh. Corruption. Destruction. Atia was panting, dragging a tongue as dry as sand over her parched lips. This was to be her reward, what she had been promised. A horrified desire tore through her, and she clenched both her fists and her teeth as she steeled herself for what was about to take place.
"Beloved Atia..." Her imagination, certainly, that she heard her name, the ravings of a woman gone mad long before. But then again...perhaps not. Leviathan knew Its own, after all, those marked for Its purpose. And Atia had been nothing if not dedicated.
The wailing scream that sounded in the next instant went on and on, pealing through the suddenly starless night like the yowls of a wild animal being skinned alive and then set ablaze, and the foul wind grew stronger and colder as sand whipped around the stone that had inadvertently become a sacrificial altar. The maelstrom became so furious that the rock was hidden from view, scouring particles of grit flying in all directions. And still the scream went on.
The cloud eventually moved on, and the stars peeked out of the more natural darkness, twinkling down on the inert figure still lying on the rock. Atia's chest hitched once, then a second time, as if a great bubble of air had become trapped within her rib cage. When she finally sat up, she coughed explosively, and black blood leaked out of the corners of her mouth and spattered onto her tunic. The back of her hand wiped across her lips.
Not tired now, oh my, not at all. And there was so very much to be done. But first...she had to collect her axe.