Far Edge of Darkness

Memory returned, then, cuttingly. Rufus had drugged her. She turned her head on a soft surface. She lay on a down-filled featherbed that nearly filled the cubicle into which she'd been placed. She closed her hands until her fingers hurt. She couldn't blame Rufus. Not really. He'd tried to apologize, while Xanthus stood over him, enormous knife in hand...

They'd dragged him away afterward and locked her into her cubicle again. She distinctly recalled poking a finger down her throat, but she hadn't been able to throw up enough of the drug. She wondered what Xanthus had done to Rufus.

She tried sitting up. She could see, after a fashion. Dim light poked like dirty soda straws through a series of small holes cut into her prison walls. For a moment, Aelia frowned, trying to grasp the image in her mind... . But it was gone. As always. And the pain in her head threatened again.

She swore softly and explored her prison, instead. Her fingertips encountered smooth-planed wood on all sides, the bottom third lined with some kind of feather-stuffed bolster to keep the occupant from falling against wood, so long as said occupant remained sitting or lying flat on the featherbed. There was no blanket, but that was all right—the heat in here was stifling.

A dim crack revealed the location of a narrow door. Further exploration led her fingertips to the metal fasteners of some sort of locking device. All right. I'm locked in. No surprise, there. Now what? In the closeness of her prison, she could smell her own rank sweat. She stank of fear and helplessness. Aelia leaned against the nearest wall and tried to breathe fresher air through one of the holes.

The stench beyond her prison was worse. She coughed and sagged against the cushioned bolsters. At least they hadn't tied her. They doubtless counted on the drug, the locked door, and the sea itself to keep her secure. You're not going anywhere, kid. That's clear enough. She rubbed her bare arm absently and bit her lower lip. How long before he took possession of her? Aelia shuddered. There had to be some way to escape. There had to be! Bericus' brief "examination" had been humiliating and somewhat painful. What rape would feel like, with Bericus grunting and sweating over her...

Aelia dragged her thoughts away from the upcoming ordeal. She tried to peer out through the one of the holes in the wall, instead, to get an idea of where in the ship she was. She focused gradually on an oddly surreal sight. At some deep level of herself, she was certain she'd never seen anything quite like this, outside of illustrations. Sweating men sat in a long row that stretched away into the gloom. They groaned over long-handled oars to the booming rhythm of a drum she couldn't quite see. That explained the odd, rolling noise she'd heard on waking. They were propelling the ship, with someone beating time.

She peered through a different ventilation hole on the other side, expecting to see the same view—and froze in shock. A scarred, red-haired man lay curled up on a bundle of cloth, right outside her cell. He'd been chained hand and foot...

Rufus!

She hadn't realized she'd said it aloud until he stirred and glanced around.

"Wha—?"

Her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. For a long, terrible moment, she was afraid she would burst into tears. She bit down hard on her lower lip to prevent it. Then she swallowed and whispered, "Rufus! It's me! Aelia."

He stared at her prison wall, then presented his back. Her eyes burned. He was afraid to talk with her. She closed her fists. Well, it is your fault he's here. If he hadn't been caught in her cell, attempting to show her a little parting kindness, Xanthus would never have had a reason to punish him. Rufus' presence could mean only one thing. She shut her eyes, overcome by horror. Rufus must hate her desperately.

She heard him swear under his breath, then, astonishingly, he scooted closer to the hole where she crouched. Without quite turning his face to look at her, he murmured, "I thought you might be on deck, with Xanthus."

She could just make out his face. He didn't look angry. That didn't seem possible. "Oh, Rufus, I'm so sorry..."

"For what?" He swung around to stare.

She started to cry and silently raged at herself for it. Somehow, she received the deep-seated impression she hated snivelly women. He must have heard her, because scarred fingertips poked through the hole to touch her cheek.

"Haaeee, doaant..."

The words weren't Latin, but they made strange sense. She frowned, trying desperately to think why they should, but it was too late. Whatever had briefly slipped out from beneath the darkness in her mind, it was gone now.

"I'm not crying," she lied.

He actually smiled. The motion crinkled the corners of his eyes and tugged on the hideous burn scar. "Good."

"Rufus, I—" She halted, trying to find the right words. "If there's any way I can help..."

The smile vanished. Skin along his temples tightened. "That wouldn't be very wise."

"I'm not afraid to escape. First chance I get. I mean that."

His eyes flashed in the dim light. Then he turned his face away, deliberately baring his scarred throat. "Aelia, that's what they do to slaves who run away. If they're lucky. Lots of poor bastards they kill as an example to the others." He paused. "The brand was supposed to be on my face. I lunged aside at the last instant or it would've been."

"I don't care." Her voice came out low and hard. "I'd rather die, than be raped again and again."

His breath caught. Anger flushed his face. He turned away and swore.

"Don't be stupid. What you're saying is plain crazy. Slaves don't escape their Roman masters, Aelia. Not for long. Too many available patrols and citizens on the watch for runaways. Wouldn't ever work. Just get me killed and... and God knows what he'd do to you. Just... just forget it, please."

"So you're just giving up?"

Eyes flashed like burning emeralds in the dim light. "I've been through what they do to runaways!" He visibly grabbed hold of his temper. "You're so damned delicate, it'd kill you. So just shut up about escape, would you?"

Aelia compressed her lips. All right. I'll drop it for now. But not forever, Rufus Mancus. Nowhere nearly forever.

Charlie was whispering again, head averted. "And... and I don't want them to... I don't want to watch them hurt you, the way they hurt me, knowing there's nothing I can do to stop them. Besides, there are other reasons I can't run."

How long had he been a slave, enduring this?

"What reasons?" she asked quietly.

He was silent so long, she didn't think he would speak again. Then, finally: "There's..." He had to stop. His throat moved sharply. "There's more to it than that. A whole lot more."

His face was ashen, his gaze determinedly avoiding hers. She studied him for a long time. She knew he was no coward. Not stupid enough to fight a hopeless fight, but no coward, either. Maybe he was afraid of spoiling her chances by coming along? No, he'd called her stupid for even thinking it and she supposed he knew a great deal more about it than she did. Aelia finally asked, very softly, "What is it, Rufus? What else is there?"

"If I run..." Again, the long pause, the hard swallow. "Bericus has my daughter."

Oh, God...

He was speaking again, bitterly. "Before I was crippled, I was a 'great' Circus champion. Curses on 'em all... . Popular as winged Mercury himself, for a while. Xanthus... he and Bericus had this idea they would..." Rufus looked away. "They wanted to breed me and sell my sons for huge profits."

It was so simple. And explained so much. She didn't know why she hadn't seen it sooner.

"I didn't catch on quite fast enough," he was saying. "When I tried to refuse..."