A vague awareness of something tugging at the edge of my memory—something about me—about Theocoles—though I had no idea what it could be.
While my fellow Romans were absorbed with the arena, eager to see the mighty Theocoles, the Pillar of Doom, meet his end, I turned toward Messalina, looking for guidance, hoping she might be able to tell me why I was no longer dependent on air.
But Messalina was gone. And as I stared hard at the space where she stood, the fog cleared, and I was sprung from my trance.
12
I slipped away from Dacian, pushed past the Roman nobles standing before me, and leaped as high as I could. Immune to the sound of Dacian’s frantic voice calling out from behind me, I gripped the sides of my gown, bunched it up in my hands, and hurtled right over the edge of the box. Landing on the shoulders of a startled, and not so happy toga-clad man, I evaded his angry, outstretched hands, and found my way to the ground. Winding my way to the center of the arena where I glanced between a headless Theocoles lying prone on the sand, and the completely intact, somewhat filmier version that stood alongside him, staring down at his former body in a mixture of loss and confusion.
“Theocoles.” I tugged hard on his hand, knowing I had to move fast. I had no idea where Messalina might’ve gone, but I could only assume she wouldn’t stay gone for too long. “Theocoles, please, you’ve got to listen to me. You’ve got to realize that you’re dead. It’s over. The battle was lost and there is no going back. And while I’m truly sorry for what happened to you, while I’m truly sorry that you had to go in such a totally gruesome, violent way, it’s time for you to put all of that behind you and move on. There’s a better place for you—a much better place, where you truly belong. And if you’ll just allow me to—”
He turned toward me, his deep topaz eyes staring hard into mine, as though he really did see me, as though he really did hear me—and while my face beamed with victory, I decided to save the celebration for later. First, I had to see this thing through.
“Who is that?” he asked, his voice like a whisper as he gazed down at his poor mangled body.
“It’s you,” I told him, my voice equally soft, sympathetic, knowing firsthand just how shocking it can be to see such a thing, to make the transition between life and death. “That’s what happened to your body. And while I’m truly sorry for that, as you can see, the most essential part of you continues to exist. It’s not over for you, Theocoles, not even close.”
He moved toward his corpse, kneeling beside it as I did the same. Though unlike him, I did my best not to look at it, and I definitely didn’t touch it like he did—it was way too gruesome to even consider. I may have been enthralled with all the blood and gore when I was Aurelia, but returned to myself, I was not only grossed out, but deeply ashamed by the way I’d gotten so easily sucked in—the way I’d so eagerly shouted “
Live!” and “Kill!” along with the rest of them. I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen again.
I mean, seriously, it was pretty much the kind of thing you see in horror movies—the kind of movies that, when I was alive anyway, I was forbidden to watch. My parents assuring me that I was too young, that I’d be haunted by nightmares, and yet, since the moment I became a Soul Catcher I’d been forced to witness all manner of grisly, gory gruesomeness—the kind of stuff that pushed my gag reflex beyond all reasonable limits.
That’s it, I thought. As soon as this business with Theocoles is over, I’m scheduling a nice, long talk with the Council about more age-appropriate assignments!
Though it was only a second later when I remembered how I found myself there—I was the one who practically begged for more difficult Soul Catches.
“Be careful what you wish for,” my mom used to say. And when I gazed down at the disgusting, headless body before me I knew it was true.
Theocoles turned away from his corpse and gazed after his opponent. Watching as Urbicus was practically dragged from the arena, left in such a sorry state I couldn’t help but think he was moments away from meeting his own afterlife.
“And what becomes of him?” Theocoles mumbled, almost as though speaking to himself.
I glanced between the two of them, shrugging as I said, “He’ll succumb to his own death eventually. And from the looks of it, I’d guess sooner rather than later. In the end, no matter how hard we may try to avoid it, all of us go. The body is temporary, but the soul never dies.”
I sat back in surprise, realizing that for probably the first time ever, my words didn’t contain even a trace of the grudge I once used to hold over my own early demise. I was just stating the facts as I knew them, without any of my usual animosity. I’d finally reached the point where I no longer took my death personally.
“Where are the roses?” he asked, brows merging in confusion as he glanced from the crowd to the sand that, instead of the flowers he was used to, was scattered with chunks of skin and blood, and gawd knows what else. “They always throw roses. The crowd loves me and that’s how they show their love for me. They shower me with rose petals, thousands and thousands of red rose petals that I collect in my hands and crush into my palms, so that I can carry the scent back into the barracks with me and relive the memory.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I guess they forgot.” Wondering if I should try to manifest some rose petals real quick so I could spread them about and make him feel better, then quickly decided against it.
It was better not to coddle him. Better for him to face the facts, no matter how brutal. Facing the truth was an important part of the process. It would help him move on, something he desperately needed to do—sooner rather than later if I had any say in it.
“They have turned against me.” His eyes grew wide, frantic, as the reality of his situation sank in. “I have lost their adoration—their favor!” He gazed around wildly as though searching for a way to remedy it. “I am their champion—their Pillar of Doom—how dare they forget that?”
His voice cracked as he jumped to his feet. Retrieving his helmet he waved it at the crowd in an effort to get their attention, before he jammed it back onto his head.
“I will win them back! I will regain their favor! If it is the last thing I do, I will hear the roar of their approval—I will bask in the thunder of their applause once again!”
Oh boy.
I got to my feet and stood alongside him, saying, “Uh, Theocoles, seriously, you really need to rethink this.” I reached toward him, my hand grasping, reaching, only to watch in astonishment as he moved right past me, kicked a cloud of sand right into my face as he reached for his sword, and slumped into a crouching position.
“Okay, you know what?” I scowled, clearing my face and dress of disgusting, bloody, squishy chunks of I-don’t-want-to-know-what. “That’s enough! I mean it. I don’t care who you think you are—I don’t care if you’re the champion of this arena—I don’t care if you’re the champion of the whole entire world—you cannot spit at me! You cannot kick chunked-up sand in my face! Really, I am so not joking. I don’t care what time you come from, I don’t care that you’re used to living like a barbarian, it is absolutely, positively, not okay to disregard me like that! Do you hear me?” I placed my hands on my hips, and waited for a reply. Directing the question at him once again when I shouted, “I said: Do. You. Hear. Me?”
His eyes met mine, and in that moment I knew I’d connected. I knew I’d finally broken through to him.
Theocoles had heard me.