45

MEMENTO MORI

FARWAY GAIUS McCARTHY ONLY EVER WANTED to see the world, not save one.

His view had shrunk down to a door. The Porta Sanavivaria. Gate of Life. Sunlight shone through the grand exit in triangle shards, too sharp after an hour in the amphitheater’s underworld. Tigers and lions roared in the tunnels behind Far, but the beast on the other side of the door was louder. The crowd screaming at morning’s first fight wasn’t driven by primal survival instinct, and that made them all the more terrifying. They wanted to watch men bleed. For fun.

Far’s opponent seemed indifferent, though it was hard to tell. The man’s helmet covered most of his face, two eyeholes hinting at the human beneath. His right arm looked just as robotic, covered in metal armor. The scars on his bare chest spoke of a brutal life; the muscles beneath put Far’s kettlebell/pull-up routine to shame.

It was the sword Far eyed with the most envy. He felt like a fountain statue with his trident and net—armed for display, nearly as naked. No helmet. No legionnaire shield. Not even hashing shin guards. His rival’s blade wouldn’t have much trouble finding flesh, no matter how fiercely Far fought. He was going to fight. That much was decided. It’d take Gram a while to guide his mother back to the CTM Ab Aeterno, more minutes still for her good-bye to Gaius. Far wanted to cling to every second of life left to him. Maybe that made him selfish or stubborn.

Most likely it made him human.

Far stared at the Gate of Life and wondered if he was always meant to end up here, at his beginning, full circle, stop. Priya’s breath joined his own through the comm, reminding him why he stood at this threshold. Love. A love that was bigger than just them. Their heartbreak now had been his mother’s then, and this was the only way to end it. This was the only way to make things new.

He could hear the first fight’s end through the door, stabbing alongside the sunlight. Not long now. Once the first defeated gladiator knelt for his quietus, once the victor’s sword landed in his neck, once the blood clumped garnet on the earth, once the body was dragged by its heels to the Spoliarium, once the arena was cleared…

The door opened. No number of datastreams could prepare Far for the sheer force of fifty thousand throats rattling the sky, showering back to earth. Sand shuddered beneath his feet—grain by unsteady grain—as he strode to the center of the Colosseum. Ahead, the Porta Libitinaria loomed: second passage, Gate of Death.

His grip on his trident tightened.

Not yet.

“Walk to the imperial box,” Priya reminded him. She wasn’t a Historian, but she didn’t need to be when Empra’s datastream played a few seconds ahead on an adjoining screen. “You’re going to bow to the emperor.”

Bright fabrics framed the imperial box, eagle statues’ golden wing tips stabbing the sun. Emperor Domitian could have been a prop in his chair, for all he moved at the gladiators’ tribute. More men about to die… another day in the life. Officials examined Far’s trident and tested Sir Robot Head’s blade. Both weapons were deemed kill-worthy and returned to their bearers.

“Now you walk back to the center of the arena.” Priya spoke quickly to hide the shake in her voice. “At the sound of the horn, you fight. He’s going to come at your right side first—”

“I love you.” Far could say it, now that there were no ears close enough to hear his non-Latin. He hadn’t said it enough, so he tried to make up for lost words as he took his place. “I love you, Priya Parekh. I will find you in the next life.”

“Far—”

The horn sounded. His enemy charged.

“Jump left!”

Far blocked the blow with his trident, tossing his net. It slid off the gladiator’s helmet, became a good-for-nothing pile of ropes in the dirt. Better for catching fish than feet…

“He’s going to strike,” Priya warned. “Feign right!”

Again, Far was spared. He twisted right, thrusting his weapon as he did. Three shining prongs found a gap in the other fighter’s defenses, metal to flesh. Red, red, red down the gladiator’s scarred side, roar pouring out of his eyeholes. The crowd’s cries turned to thunder as he scrambled back.

“The net! Grab your net before he recovers!”

It was too late. Far’s opponent had steel-coated nerves to match his robot head. Though bleeding bad enough to make bettors wince and clutch their coin purses, the gladiator didn’t even wobble. He held his shield close to his side, raised his blade, and attacked.

Left or right or block?

Priya had no directions this time. History was changed and Empra’s datastream could no longer give Far his much-needed edge. His mind went for the parry, but his reflexes chose to dodge. The result was a half-tail combination of both. His enemy’s blade glanced off the trident, path diverted from Far’s neck to his arm. The hurt was too shocking to feel, at first. Far only knew he was wounded because the storm screams were back, raising every hair on his neck. Lightning soon followed, nerve endings opening up all at once.

His trident arm. Oh Hades, his trident arm. The sword had found his scar and split it right open again. Had there been this much blood the first time? Far couldn’t remember. The Fade had whittled memories of the injury down to Priya’s needle and swift stitches. She’d hummed then, to distract him, a song called “Fix You,” written by one of her favorite bands of yore. Cold—something? Cold, cold. That, too, was slipping…. Far’s red-rain blood dribbled into the sands as he stumbled away.

This was the beginning of his end.

“Far!” When Priya saw the wound through his eyes, she cried, “Don’t you dare stop, Far! Keep fighting!”

“P…” He was never supposed to win. Both of them knew that.

There was a rustling sound. Far spun around, bracing for a blade, but the other fighter had dropped back, side trauma and heavy armor taking their toll. The noise must have come from Priya’s end.

“I love you. I—I have to go.”

What? No…

“Keep fighting,” she said again.

“Priya?”

Dead air ached in his ear. Far felt as if something far more vital than his arm had been cut. How was he supposed to keep fighting now? How was he supposed to die alone? Like this: The other gladiator began circling, slow, stalking steps. His sword was edged with Far’s blood, poised for more. Not that it was hard to find. Half of Far was red as he switched his trident to his good arm, struggling to secure the slick handle.

Not yet.

But soon.

He couldn’t blame Priya for leaving. No amount of love in the world could make a person strong enough to watch this.