One Nation, Under Jupiter

R. Anthony Mahan

To Robbie

“So much evil can come from religion.”

-Titus Lucretius Carus

“The Year Ahead,” by Diagoras Cinna

First printed in the December 31, 2765 edition of the New Antioch Tribune.

It’s certainly been an interesting year we’ve had. From the growing unrest in Arabia, to Nova Roma’s efforts to bring civilization to Gaul, to the growing question of if we’ll finally send a man to outer space, it seems like not a day passed without something new worth talking about. It’s been a great privilege to be able to use this column to voice my thoughts on the world around me this year, just as it was for all the years before.

        However, in the midst of it all, one fairly recent story is what hit me the most. A few weeks ago, Emperor Piissimus declared the Sons of Horus to be an illegal cult. According to the Emperor, the Sons of Horus, known for their worship of Isis and support for Nova Roma to stop interfering with the Arabian government, are a threat to the pax deorum. The Sons of Horus may be eccentric, to say the least, but the Emperor’s words go further than that. He seems to genuinely believe that if these people are allowed to continue existing within Roman borders, the gods themselves will bring their wrath upon us.

        We have long been told that piety is among the most important virtues for a Roman citizen to have. As children, we are taught the importance of honoring the gods and the state that serves them. We offer them sacrifices, perform their rituals, and observe their holidays. For appeasing the gods, they promise to bring us peace and prosperity. It is through the generosity of the gods, and that alone, we are told, that we live in this incredible country.

        But what is the price of the pax deorum? The Sons of Horus are now an illegal cult. Whether they deserve it or not, their members will suffer as part of our efforts to please the gods. If it could happen to them, how many others has it happened to? This is the question that I’ve resolved to spend the next year answering. I want to interview the pious. I want to speak with the priests, the augurs, the average man who gives an offering to his household god each night. I want to know what you’ve done for the gods, and what they’ve done for you, the good and the bad. If you’re interested in an interview, please contact the Tribune’s editor, Hermogenes Turbidus.

        I’ll be honest, I feel overwhelmed by the quest ahead of me. The duty of a journalist is to search for the truth, a task few have dared to apply to the gods. Many will likely accuse me of trying to violate the state’s blasphemy laws, which I assure you I will stay within. My goal is to simply examine the pax deorum to its fullest extent, seeing all that the gods have done for this country.

        With this announcement out of the way, I begin my journey. I’d like to wish all of the loyal readers of the Tribune a joyous Kalends, and may the year 2766 be as fulfilling for you as it will be for me.

JANUARY 1, 2766

Slowly came to as the Sun rose, rubbing the stinging light out of my eyes. The day that I began my greatest work was off to an unimpressive start. The apartment was a mess, my slave having neglected his duties in favor of last night’s festivities. Trudging through the mountain of clothes strewn all over the floor, I reached for the telephone. The cord was a tangled mess, another apparent victim of Servius’ drunken recklessness. I punched in the number of my editor as best as my half-lucid state could muster.

        “H…heh?” muttered the voice on the other end. “Hello? Who is this?”

        “It’s Diagoras,” I told him.

        “Diagoras? Wha…what time is it?”

        “About seven-twenty.”

        “Seven? Hercules, man, what are you doing calling this early?”

        “Business, of course.” Turbidus groaned on the other end. It was an odd change of pace, me calling him in the morning to ride his ass about getting my latest work released. Usually it’s the other way around. “What’s with the whole sick voice?”

        “It’s the morning after New Year’s…take a guess,” he retorted, a little more coherent now. “Why are you so chipper?”

        “I didn’t drink.” Incoherent noise came out of the phone. Poor Turbidus was having a coughing fit, I’m guessing.

        “You didn’t drink? Really?” he asked. “Why? New Year’s not as special an occasion for you as every single Marsday?”

        “I wanted to stay alert in case there were already people asking about interviews, and if my reliable editor was doing his job and letting me know.” I cleared my throat.

        “Y…yeah, I think a few people might have written in. Give me a bit. I’ll filter ‘em out and give you the details later.”

        “When?”

        “When the hangover goes away! Come on, Diagoras. A day off won’t kill you. I’ll send the info over soon enough.” The phone went dead after that. Turbidus was a strange breed. A few months back, the spent an hour screaming at me over a typo, but as soon as you expect anything of him he crumples like a cheap paper cup. I’m sure he’s a good guy once he leaves his office and get back to the wife, but that’s not when I see him.

        The interviews would need to wait another day, it seemed. The stall was frustrating, but probably for the best. I was guaranteed at least one more day as a free man. There isn’t a single country as devoted to the gods as Nova Roma, and not a single city in this country as devoted as New Antioch. On near every street you can find a whole temple of crazies doing whatever rituals they think they need to stop the ground from opening up underneath them. And I’ll be calling them out on it. Not the kind of thing that the Emperor’s big focus on piety is likely to suffer. It’d take just one suspicious priest, one call to the police, and the whole plan will topple.

        I wandered into the living room, where my loyal slave Servius lay fast asleep on the couch, still recovering from last night’s shameless use of his wine rations, his bald head glistening in the morning sun. He knew full well the importance of this day, and yet there he was, soaked in wine and unconscious instead of preparing.

        “Wake up!” I screamed. Servius promptly popped upright with a startle.

        “Gah…” my slave moaned, rubbing at his eyes. “What is it, master? We got an interview already?”

        “Of course we don’t. I trusted Turbidus to do a job. You know how that goes.” I squatted down on the floor, sifting through the clothes sprawled all over. There had to be something I could wear that didn’t smell like a bar.

        “Then why did you wake me up?” Servius said with a yawn.

        “I swear, Servius. You’ve been the family slave since we were kids. You think you’d know me by now. Today is when I start exposing the priests of the pantheon for the liars they are,” I explained, an undershirt clenched in my hand. “I said I’d start today, and my editor being dumb as a rock isn’t going to stop me. If I can’t interview, I’ll observe. It doesn’t take a genius to find a religious crazy in New Antioch on the Kalends. Help me find some pants.”

        As my slave rolled out of the couch, I hurried back to the bedroom. I nearly forgot the most important tool I’ll need. Opening the drawer next to my bed, I pulled out the leather box and grabbed my good luck charm. She was a white M2664 with a slightly worn handle. I wrapped my fingers around the grip, let her feel like an extension of my hand.

“Are you really going to bring that with you?” asked Servius, wandering into the bedroom.

“Of course. It’s good luck. This is the gun that helped me land my first job, remember?”

“I try not to, sir.”

“Besides, it pays to be careful. When word spreads out of what I’m trying to do, people will come after me. I know it.” Servius looked down at the pistol, his hands clenching, before tossing me a plain shirt and pair of dust-colored pants. “Perfect,” I said. It wasn’t what I usually wore on the job, but I supposed I should try not to stand out. The less I looked like someone trying to snoop around in the temples, the better. No, I was just a normal guy. A normal guy with a gun.

        My slave and I stepped out of the apartment, where New Antioch greeted us in all its wretched glory. Living here made perfect sense for a journalist, they’d always say at the Tribune. My job was to capture the news, and where could you find more news than the capital of Nova Roma? It was a good place to work, sure, but not to live. Next to me, Servius was shivering. Seems he forgot it was January when picking out the clothes.

I never minded the weather too much. The real problem with New Antioch is the people. By Pollux, the people. I don’t know how they can take it. All the temples, all the sacrifices, an Emperor that claims to be half-god, and it looks like I’m the only guy in the city with a problem. I guess when Piissimus wanted to drill “Piety is a virtue” through everyone’s heads, he really drilled it in. Servius and I walked over to the forum, just a block away from our apartment. The usual sights were all there, of course. Endless rows of merchants shouted at us, hocking whatever cheap shit they think they’ll get us to buy. Some worked out of an actual store, others in small booths in the street. As we wandered through the crowds, a swarthy Greek shoved a wristwatch into our faces.

        “Watches for sale!” he yelled at us. “Watches for sale!” We kept walking. Even if I was going to buy any of this garbage, I knew better than to do business with his kind. No, my focus was elsewhere. A crowd was gathering around the center. On the Kalends, there’s only one thing it could be. I pushed my way through, hoping to get a good view. There weren’t many better ways to start my journey than with this.

        In the center of the crowd stood Falsa Sperus, the regina sacrorum, smiling for the entire forum to see. In front of her was the ceremonial altar. A stick of incense was burning on the table. Next to it lay a plate of cakes and a bottle of wine. They looked good, too. Shame nobody was going to have them. We’d missed the first half of the sacrifice already. By the priestess’ side was her husband, Verus, the rex sacrorum. The two were dressed in the traditional garb. Verus had his toga, Falsa her tunic, and the both of them wore the same ceremonial headdresses that their predecessors had been wearing ever since the days of the Republic. Surrounding the couple were two armed Praetorians, wearing thoroughly modern suits and breaking the illusion that we had gone back to antiquity. Of course, the guards took a bit of tradition in their get-ups as well. In case the huge damned rifles in their hands weren’t enough, each of them had a sword holstered by their left hip. Not that any of that was necessary, of course. Next to the Emperor, these two were the most respected priests in Nova Roma. They were sacred, and that was protection better than any weapon could ever give you. If you so much as slapped one of them in the face, there’d be a mob coming for your children in an hour.

        “Servius, look!” I pulled my slave closer to the center, making sure his view of the ceremony was as clear as mine. A pair of lesser priests carried a sow onto the altar, ribbons tied around her legs and an elegant silk cloth draped over her back. The pig stood on the altar serenely, oblivious to her fate, as she had to be. Only a pious animal was fit for sacrifice. The gods weren’t interested in a victim that resisted. Verus handed his wife the ceremonial axe. Falsa rose her weapon to the sky in one hand, sprinkling flour over the pig with the other.

        “Oh, great Juno Regina!” the priestess bellowed in the old Latin, a very different dialect from the kind we use nowadays. “Wife of Jupiter, queen of all the gods! Great Janus, who sees the beginning and end of all things! May this offering from the people of Nova Roma please you! May this, the two-thousand, seven hundred sixty-sixth year of the Roman Empire be a prosperous one! May our citizens flourish, our economy grow, and our reach expand! May we triumph over our enemies, both in foreign lands and within our own borders! Oh wise Juno, oh mighty Janus, please accept our offering and hear our prayer!”

        “You might want to look away now,” I whispered to Servius. Falsa pulled up the pig’s head, slowly bringing the axe to its throat. Then came the chop. Blood spilled over the altar, staining the nearby cakes. The priestess turned the corpse over on its back, lowering the axe once more into its stomach. Falsa pulled, cleanly tearing open the pig’s belly. Then this beautiful woman, chosen by the gods to symbolize all that was pure in the world, reached inside, pulling out the beast’s entrails, her hands caked with blood. Another man stepped forward. He must have been the haruspex, one of the select few priests blessed with the gift of divination. The priest shifted through the bloody mess until he found the liver. That was the important part. After years of education, opening their eyes to how the world works, every priest knew you needed the liver to predict the future. At least if a bird was unavailable. The haruspex carefully turned the liver over in its hands, examining its color and features. After a while, he held it up to the audience.

“The gods have accepted the offering!” he declared. The crowd erupted into cheers, though all I could think about is if that guy likes his job. I know I would. Sure, you’ve got to touch guts every day, but it seems like a fair trade for having everyone, even the Emperor himself, believe whatever nonsense you tell them. I turned to Servius, his eyes fixed on the spectacle with awe. I’m not sure if he even winced.

“Come on,” I screamed over the crowd, tapping my slave’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here!”

“But they haven’t started the feast yet!” he complained.

“I’ve lost my appetite.” We made our way to one of the less crowded areas of the forum, where temples surrounded us in every direction, each one for a different god. With the sacrifice going on, not many saw the need to pay their respects here today. Sooner or later I’ll probably have to visit all of these, but for now I’d only worry about one.

“Looks like it’s going to be a good year!” said Servius. I turned to look at him. He was giving an uneasy smile, the kind that made it seem like not even he knew what he really said. “You know, since the gods took the sacrifice.” I shook my head and kept walking. A part of me wanted to scold him for being dumb enough to buy into that nonsense, but I knew it was no use. You can’t expect a slave to be as intelligent as his master. I turned my eyes to our destination. It didn’t look too different from the other temples. There was the same marble, the same classical design meant to give the impression the building was a lot older than it actually was. All that made it unique was the pair of statues that adorned its steps, each showing a large rod with a snake wrapped around it. This was the temple of Aesculapius. As we stepped inside, a gaunt priest rushed forward to greet us.

        “Welcome!” he cried, clasping his thin little hands together. “Are you ill?”

        “No, no, we’re just stopping to…er…pay our respects,” I answered.

        “Of course,” said the priest, stepping away with a bow. “A blessed Kalends to you.” The slave and I walked forward until we reached the center. The beginning of the year was sacred to Aesculapius, and this was one of the temple’s busiest days. In the back was an enormous statue of the god of healing, the snake staff in his hand. The sculpture oversaw two long rows of beds, nearly all of them filled with the sick and injured. Slithering along the floor were dozens of snakes, making it difficult for the priests tending to their patients to walk by. One nearby snake was wrapping himself around the leg of a patient’s bed, doing his best imitation of the statue.

        “Pollux, just look at this floor,” I whispered to Servius. “Snakes are holy to Aesculapius, so they believe letting snakes wander around all these sick people will help them get better, even though the rest of the world’s figured out it won’t. Silly, isn’t it?”

        “I heard Aesculapius’ snakes aren’t dangerous, sir,” he whispered back.

        “They’re still animals. Snakes shit too, you know. Somewhere out on that floor, full of people who need a clean environment, there’s shit. I can guarantee it.” Another priest stepped forward, taking extra care not to step on any of the writhing snakes below him. This one was younger than most, mid-twenties, I’d say, and a bit on the plump side. In his hands was a bulldog, panting and grinning like it didn’t have a problem in the world. The priest walked up to one of his patients, a middle-aged Chinaman with a bullet wound in his chest. A hate crime, I assumed. You think we would’ve eased up on the Chinese, after they’ve spent a full century without catching a break. The Mexicans declared independence from them and started getting closer to us, their plans to control Korea failed miserably, and they haven’t been a threat ever since we nuked Nanking back in the war. But the Chinese establishment still criticizes our government and our gods, and in the eyes of the average Roman that’s reason enough to take action.

        The priest lowered the dog down to the patient, getting its head as close to the wound as possible. The dog took a brief moment to sniff the injury, then proceeded to lick. This is another of the fine treatments they have to offer at the Temple of Aesculapius. Putting saliva into an open wound was sure to fix whatever the snake shit didn’t.

        I wanted to shout right there. I wanted to demand they put an end to this farce and direct all these people to proper medical attention. I knew no good would come of it, though. I couldn’t get caught before my journey truly began. I looked up to give one last glance at the statue of Aesculapius, then promptly turned around. The poor Chinese bastard would just have to die.

        “You see why I’m doing this, now?” I asked Servius as we left the temple. My eyes darted around, making quick notes of everyone walking by to be sure no potential eavesdroppers were near. “It doesn’t matter what the Emperor says. Piety’s not a virtue. Piety kills. Piety is what made all the patients in there choose to see those lunatics instead of a real doctor.”

        “Don’t the real doctors have to swear an oath to Aesculapius too?”

        “Then the real doctors are wrong, Servius. We’ve been falling for these silly superstitions for too long. We need to toss it all away and choose reason, and I’m going to do my part to make sure it happens.” I made my way down the stairs, then turned around to see my slave wasn’t following.

        “What’s the matter, afraid of heights?”

        “What if something happens, sir?” he asked me. “You know…this all sounds kind of like…blasphemy.”

        “Nothing’s going to happen,” I assured him. “I’ll be polite during all the interviews. The book will be all about what they say, not me.” After a few more moments of hesitation, Servius made his way down the stairs. If he’s going to be by my side all the time, I won’t be able to hide the truth from him forever, but at least I’ve shut him up for now.

        “Come on,” I ordered him. “I’ve had enough of the world for one day. Let’s head back home and close all the curtains.” I started walking, my slave trailing behind me. As we passed the shops of the forum once more, his head started turning to and fro rapidly.

        “Could we pick up some wine before we leave?” he asked, nudging my shoulder. I smiled and shook my head. Like he didn’t know the answer already.

        “Of course we can.”

JANUARY 2, 2766

A sharp knock rapped on the door repeatedly, startling me out of my bed with a splitting headache. It had to be Turbidus. He can never just knock like a normal person. No, he always had to slam his huge meaty fist again and again until he broke down the door. On the nightstand next to my bed was a nearly empty bottle of Falernian. I swallowed the last of it, then made my way to the closet to find something to wear.

        “Gyeeah!” I screamed as I opened the closet door. Staring back at me was a statue of a tiny old man with the kind of scraggly beard you only see on the gods and bums. If I’m going to have my own household, my mother told me when I first moved out, I’d need my own household god to watch over me. Been saddled with this gift of hers ever since. Even if I did believe in that stuff, my household god looked more interested in murdering me in my sleep than protecting me. Whoever sculpted him must have been a real bastard. I turned the statue around, so his eyes wouldn’t be the first thing I saw every time I opened the closet. Throwing on some clothes, I made my way to the door. Turbidus was still beating on the damn thing like he’d caught it with his wife.

        “Yes?” I asked, pulling the door open. My editor greeted me, a brown folder under his right arm.

        “There you are, Diagoras,” he panted. “I got all the people you asked for.” He handed me the folder, which I started to thumb through. It was hard for me to believe, but Turbidus had actually pulled through.

        “This many names already, huh?” I asked, turning the folder around in my hands. It was fatter than I’d been expecting.

        “Your column attracted a lot of attention. Not all of it good, I might add.” Turbidus wiped his forehead. “I’ve been getting a lot of angry letters.”

        “Any chance you can send me those, too? I’ve been trying to make a scrapbook.” Behind me, I could hear the stirring of Servius coming to. “Oh, hey, did the Tribune say anything about my transportation request? I won’t always be in walking distance of these people.”

        “Yeah, they did,” Turbidus reached into his pocket, tossing me a set of car keys. “It’s waiting for you in the parking lot.”

        “You’re too good to me, you know that?” I placed the keys into my pocket. “And the Tribune agreed to cover my expenses too, right?” I could almost feel Turbidus’ heart stop.

        “E…expenses?” he stammered.

        “Sure, gas, recording equipment…you know, any necessities I might need?”

        “Oh, yeah, I…they’ve agreed they’ll pay for your necessities.” He pointed a finger at me. “And hey, wine is not a necessity.”

        “Clearly, you’ve never been a writer,” I said, absentmindedly opening and closing the folder. “Hey, you know what I might need? One of those fancy computers the government has. I hear they make them small enough to fit on a desk now.”

        “This isn’t a way to get free toys, Diagoras. If the Tribune’s got to go a whole year without printing your column, they won’t be too keen on throwing money at you.”

        “Oh, calm down a little. As soon as this book is out, you and all the boys upstairs will have enough to retire, I promise. Hey, what about one of those new portable telephones they’ve been talking about? Does that count as a nec…”

        “All right, that’s enough. You got your names and your car, go do some interviews. Have a good day!” Turbidus ran off, leaving me alone by the door. Hurrying over to my desk, I pulled open one of the drawers, fumbling through the scattered junk until I found my tape recorder. When was the last time I used this? I pressed the play button. No swearing, no threats to call the police, nothing being thrown…I suppose there was already a fresh cassette in there.

        “Servius!” I called, stretching the recorder out to him. “You know how to use one of these, don’t you?” The slave staggered over, giving the device a close look.

        “Of course I do, sir,” he mumbled. “Why?” I tossed the recorder to him. He raised his hands up to his face in shock, only barely managing to catch it.

        “So when I do an interview I’ll have the exact conversation on record. Why do you think?” I opened the folder again, giving all the names a more thorough look.

        “And you want me to do it, sir? Isn’t the recording your job?”

        “I told you before, I’d just feel safer having someone else with me. And I’d like to have my own hands free if I can help it. Go get my gun out of the bedroom, will you?” Servius ran off, leaving me to thumb through the folder. Some of the names inside surprised me. Plenty of normal everyday guys wanted an interview, of course, but there were also a good deal of priests. Even a few within the government wanted an interview. That might be interesting, if it wasn’t a trap. No, it’s best to start small. Which one of these names is the least likely to get me arrested?

        “Hey Servius!” I yelled towards the bedroom. “Do you remember New Antioch University?” The slave peeked his head out from the door.

        “I remember helping your parents around the house while you were at New Antioch University.”

        “Ah, right. Cinnas never believed a slave should get too smart. Anyway, one of these names...it’s a history professor there, Secundus Fidenas. Says he wrote The Eagle and the Dragon.”

        “He writes books about talking animals?”

        “No, he writes books about the long conflict between Rome and China...you know, I think this guy’s the perfect start. He’s an intellectual. He’s safe. A guy like him wouldn’t be a crazed zealot.”

        Servius and I stepped out of the apartment. Down by the curb we were greeted by a beat-up blue station wagon. Not the most glamorous vehicle for my quest, but it’d have to do.

        “Check the glove compartment for a map,” I told Servius as I buckled myself into the driver’s seat. Soon enough, he managed to pull one out amidst the knick-knacks that cluttered the compartment.

        “Great, great.” I turned the keys in the ignition. “Now tell me how to get to the university. The quicker the route, the better.” Navigating the twisted streets of New Antioch was a task I didn’t relish. To pass the time during the exhausting traffic, I made a game of counting all the degenerates we passed by on the road. A Greek drug dealer. Two Canadian immigrants shouting all kinds of expletives at each other in Hispanic. I think we might have even seen a Senator.

        Professor Fidenas was in the middle of a lecture when we arrived. Servius and I found two vacant seats near the back of the room as we waited for it to end. The man looked like the classic caricature of a professor. He wore a huge pair of spectacles, and what little hair remained on his head was pure white.

        “So you see,” the professor explained to the class, “It was the gods who brought the rise of one Asian empire and the downfall of another. When Roman missionaries first spread their religion to Japan in the twenty-fourth century, the Japanese embraced it. To them, Roman religion was no different from Shintoism, the belief that gods and spirits dwell within all things. And look at Japan now. They have a prosperous economy, their citizens enjoy the same technology and freedom that we do, and their colonies in Australia and Hawaii still thrive.”

        “China, on the other hand…” Secundus began pacing back and forth, looking for the right words. “When the Romans tried to spread the word of the gods to China, they were shunned. China preferred to follow their own godless teachings. They invited the ira deorum, and look at all that’s happened since then. Arabian rioters forced them to forfeit their Persian territory, while native rebellion led to them losing control of Mexica. The land they stole from Russia will be gone soon enough, if the unrest in the region is any indication. They’ve failed to modernize. Once we borrowed technology from China. Now, it’s the other way around. And of course, there’s the tyranny of Zheng Mian Fei and the men who have followed in his footsteps ever since.” I started to frown, my hopes of a safe, rational interview quickly dashed.

        “The people of China chose to reject Jupiter and his brethren, and instead place their faith in a godless government that only wished to control them,” he continued. “And for that, they get what they deserve. Make sure you all read the next chapter in your textbooks.” The students rushed out of the room, leaving us alone with the professor.

        “Start recording now,” I whispered to Servius. We climbed out of our seats and made our way down the stairs.

        “Professor Fidenas?” I asked, extending my hand. “Diagoras Cinna, New Antioch Tribune.” The old man’s eyes lit up.

        “Ah, Mr. Cinna! I didn’t expect you so soon.” He clapped his hands together, then shook my hand. “Not the type to give advance notice, are you?”

        “Oh, by the way, this is my slave, Servius. Hope you don’t mind him tagging along.” Servius stuck out his hand as well. The professor paid no attention to him, sitting down in the closest chair.

        “So, what would you like to ask?” I wish I could’ve been honest with him. What I’d like to ask was how someone as smart as him could be dumb enough to believe there was a giant man with a beard in the sky who threw lightning bolts. That was no good, though. I was probably one bad question away from him attacking me.

        “I was…I’d like to get a historian’s perspective on our religion, if you would.” This was good. Get something he could drone on about. The more talking he did, the less I did.

        “Oh, I’m sure you know all the stories already!” he said with a laugh. “Romulus and Remus, Jupiter visiting Numa, what we learned from the Etruscans and Greeks...you’ve heard it all in school yourself when you were young, haven’t you?”

        “Well, then…why not tell me something not a lot of people know about? Something about...how our religion’s grown over the years, maybe?” The old man put his finger to his nose in thought.

        “Hmm, now that you mention it…there is one story you might like to hear. Did you know we once almost had an atheist Emperor?”

“An atheist Emperor?”

“Yes, it’s true! Thank the gods we didn’t, of course!”

“Right. Well, er...go on, then…” I turned to Servius, making sure he was handling the recorder properly.

        “In the last days of a united Rome, before Diocletian’s short-lived Tetrarchy, the Empire was riddled with strange mystery cults, operating without state approval. Mithras, Isis…you know about most of them already. But there was another one around that time, a dangerous cult known as the Christians.”

        “Never heard of them.”

        “Few have. We know very little about the Christians. The few surviving records of them come from government propaganda. What we do know is that they stemmed from the province of Judea, first led by a lowly criminal sentenced to execution, and that they denied the existence of the pantheon.”

        “Atheists, then?” Something about this was comforting. It was good to know there were always people like me, men of reason able to see past the nonsense of gods. I think I would’ve gotten along well with these Christians.

        “Obviously, the presence of such people in Rome was a threat to the pax deorum. Sure enough, by the eleventh century the Empire had been torn apart by civil war, each ruler in the Tetrarchy fighting to be the sole Emperor. Maxentius, as the son of the Emperor Maximian, was the rightful heir to the title of Augustus of the West, but there was also a jackal of a man named Constantine, a Christian, wishing to take the throne for himself.” Secundus leaned in closer to me, his eyes piercing me with a look that made it clear every word he spoke was done with the utmost gravity.

        “Could you imagine that? A Christian in charge of the government? Our temples would be looted and demolished. Children would be devoured for the Christians’ cannibalistic rituals. With no fear of the gods’ judgment, murder and rape would run rampant through the streets. Why, you could bet Rome would’ve been burnt to the ground within the week!”

        “Yes, of course,” I said, clearing my throat. “Everyone knows you can’t trust an atheist.”

        “Fortunately, Mars smiled upon Maxentius. When Constantine’s army attempted to enter the city in 1065, Maxentius and his fearless troops stood at the Milvian Bridge awaiting him. They rigged the bridge, you see. When Constantine crossed it, the whole thing fell apart, dropping him into the Tiber!” The professor chuckled to himself. “The next day, Maxentius was parading through the streets of Rome with Constantine’s head on a pike. Shortly afterwards, Maxentius met with the other competitors to the throne. The wise Emperor that he was, he appealed to their decency, told them the good of the Empire was more important than their personal squabbles. The three divided the Empire amongst each other. Maxentius took the lands to the West, Licinius took Greece and the rest of the lands to the East, while the loyal Maximinus Daia took Syria and Egypt.”

        “The three Emperors agreed to something else on that day.” The professor stopped, closed his eyes, and smiled. “A Christian, an atheist, had nearly taken the Roman Empire for his own. These degenerates were now clear threats to the survival of the state, and had to be rid of by any means necessary. Soldiers searched every house in the Empire for potential atheists. Their false temples were destroyed, their books burned. At the same time, Maxentius did everything in his power to revive interest in the gods of old. New temples were built. Artists were commissioned to create works honoring them. Even the ancient ban on the Bacchanalia was lifted.”

        “What about the people, though? Whatever happened to the Christians?”

“Well, some of the blasphemers learned the error of their ways and converted peacefully. Others fled for the tolerance of Persia, where they survived a little longer before the Huns took over. As for the ones that remained defiant…” He smiled again. “We’ll never really know. Maxentius wouldn’t make the same mistake as Diocletian. He wouldn’t give the Christians the satisfaction of an audience, turn them into a spectacle to be admired. Whatever fate Rome’s last Christians met, it was done quietly, and behind closed doors.” I stared at the professor blankly. It was my turn to talk now, but what am I supposed to say about something like that?

“So…er…you said they divided the Empire into three?”

“Yes. Sadly, welcoming immigrants with no regard for Roman customs would soon lead to the old Empire’s downfall. The West eventually fell to the Goths, and the East to the Turks. Even to this day, Europe still follows that ghastly bastardization of a faith, mixing the true gods with those of the barbarians. Have you ever seen a temple that showed Jupiter holding the hammer Mjolnir?”

“I don’t really go into…Jupiter’s temples that often,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’ve been so busy lately showing my devotion to the other gods.”

“Yes, well, it isn’t true. Jupiter doesn’t have a hammer. That belongs to one of the Gothic gods…Thor, I think he’s called. The poor Europeans have succumbed to barbarian influence to the point that they’ve forgotten the difference between the true gods and the gods of those who brought the death of the old Empire.”

“I thought all the pantheons were the same, sir,” interrupted Servius, wringing his hands together in anxiety. “You know, same gods but different names.” He immediately shrunk in his seat, ashamed for joining into a conversation between two free men. For the first time, Secundus took notice of him.

“Tolerance has its limits, slave! Any god that wants to bring about the death of our culture is no god of Rome’s. The Christians had a god too. If I had my way, we’d do away with comparing the gods to those that go against our ways. To me, that’s an insult. Jupiter has many names. You can call him Zeus. You can call him Ra. But he’s not Thor, Taranis, Tezcatlipoca, and he’s certainly not Hubal.”

“Hubal?” I repeated. “That’s one of the Arabian gods, isn’t it?”

“Ah, of course, Arabia. You’ll have to forgive me, going on a tangent like that!” the professor said with a smile. “Where was I…two-thirds of Rome had fallen to barbarians, but Maximinus Daia’s old province, in the Middle East…there the empire thrived, just as beautiful as it had been in the days of old. Maxentius’ greatest legacy, one that carried on well after his assassination, was piety. The Romans had forgotten the virtues of piety when he took power, but they would never forget it again. In the Middle East, Rome did whatever was necessary to please the gods, including spreading their names. Priests traveled across the world, gathering converts in Africa and Arabia. There were attempts in China as well, though of course they didn’t go as well.”

“So what happened with Arabia?”

“Things went well at first. The trading town of Mecca was already used to welcoming the myriad gods of those that came to do business, so a few gods more made no difference to them…for the most part, at least. There’s one amusing anecdote about a man named Muhammad. Apparently he wasn’t fond of how things were run in Mecca. When the Romans showed up to bring in even more religion, he took to the streets demanding the Meccans throw all the gods aside and begin an age of reason, focused purely on the material world.” The professor gave a light chuckle. “Could you imagine that? No gods at all? Not even the Christians went that far!”

“Yes, how absurd…”

“Fortunately, Roman soldiers killed the scoundrel before he could start any real trouble.” The professor continued to drone on about life in the Middle Ages, but I found myself unable to focus. I was too busy thinking about Muhammad. The man was a true atheist, just like me, and they killed him for it. I could only imagine the wonderful things Muhammad would’ve done if he’d lived. Soon enough I snapped back down to Earth again, listening to this old crazy blather on.

“Of course, by that point the Arabic unrest in the region had grown into a full-blown revolution. The Roman government in the Middle East was forced to disband,” said the professor. “But their colony in the New World still survived, now an independent nation, and the last remnant of the Roman Empire.”

“I see…” I shook my head, trying to focus again on the man in front of me. “So…you’re clearly a gifted historian. Has that affected your religious views at all? You know, seeing all the different cults and how they’ve changed over time?” The jolly old man’s face quickly shifted to a frown.

“I do hope you’re not trying to accuse me of being unfaithful.” The man who was laughing about the deaths of innocent people just a few minutes ago was now speaking to me with all the sternness his voice could muster.

“Of course not. I just want to know what history has…you know, done for your religious views.”

“It’s affirmed them, of course! Anyone who knows as much on the subject will tell you the same. Tell me this, why has Roman religion managed to survive for so long, in spite of all the blasphemers who wanted to bring it down? It’s the will of the gods. Not only that, but every nation that’s accepted them, even if it is one of those bastard immigrant versions, has prospered. Long before Rome, the Egyptians and Greeks followed them under different names, and they flourished. Rome has gone strong for over two thousand years. Look at Japan. Look at Hispania. Look at Ghana, even if things have been going downhill for them ever since that damned Kee Kanuntee started spreading those lies about evolution. The only place in the world that doesn’t accept the gods in some form is China, and look at the state they’re in! What more evidence of the gods could one need?”

“Let me tell you this, though,” the old man pointed his wrinkled, bony finger at me. “The gods may not be mad at us now, but they’re a hair away from it. I still remember when those weasels in the Senate said evolution wasn’t blasphemy. A few days later, someone shot up a temple!”

“Shootings at the temple of Ignistelum aren’t exactly a rare occurrence.”

“But that one, child, that one was special. That was Jupiter’s way of letting us know he wasn’t happy. The Emperor needs to stand strong against the blasphemers that want to ruin our country from the inside. It happened when we let in the Goths, and it can happen again. You give them an inch, and before too long there’ll be a big hole in the ground where New Antioch used to be!” I motioned to Servius to stop the tape, took a deep breath, then extended my hand again.

“Well, thank you very much for your time, Professor Fidenas.”

“You’re quite welcome,” he said, reverting to the cheerful tone he had before. “Oh, one more thing!” He ran to his desk, pulling a copy of The Eagle and the Dragon from one of the drawers.

“If you want to know more on the subject,” he said, placing the book in my hands. “Not a lot of people out there actually volunteer to listen to my lectures!”

“They don’t know what they’re missing,” I replied, turning the book over to look at the back. “Thanks a lot.” I dashed out of the room, Servius trailing behind me.

“So…what did you think of that?” I asked Servius as we made our way out of the campus. On the way we passed the occasional student, some of them shooting odd glances at the two of us.

“It was interesting. That guy seemed really smart.” My slave placed the tape recorder back in my hands. I pocketed the device, making sure not to press a single button. We stayed silent until we reached the car.

“Is what he said true, sir?” Servius asked, buckling in his seatbelt.

“I don’t know a whole lot about history myself, but I’m sure it was mostly right.”

“Not that. About how the gods will get mad if there are blasphemers.” I took a deep breath through my nostrils and closed my eyes. I turned on the ignition, then waited until we were out on the road before I spoke again.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Servius, but you’ve got to keep it to yourself. That’s an order. You understand that?” He nodded slowly.

“There are no gods.” Servius stared at me blankly, as if all he heard me say was gibberish. “The gods aren’t going to be angry at me, or anyone else, because they don’t exist. I’m worried about plenty of things, but the gods aren’t one of them. Why do you think I’m trying to show people all the stupid shit they do for the gods?”

“...What, sir?” asked the slave, still giving me that dumbfounded stare of his. “I mean...it’s one thing to not like the priests, sir…but hating the gods?” We reached a traffic light, locking the two of us in the road.

“I don’t hate the gods. Why hate what’s not real? No, what I hate is that people waste their lives swallowing this bullshit. My parents made sure you got the same education I did, at least before I went to college. You should know better than this.” The light turned green, forcing my attention back on the road again.

“Do you honestly believe lightning is Jupiter getting pissed off? Do you really think Sol carries the Sun away in his magical flying chariot every night and brings it back every morning? And you know, we’ve got satellites up in space. We’ve got pictures of the top of Mount Olympus, even if the Emperor doesn’t want you seeing them. No gods there. That might’ve flown two thousand years ago, but anyone that still believes in the gods today has got to be a fucking moron.” Servius just looked down, a sour look in his face.

“So what happens when you die, then?”

“Nothing. No Styx, no Dis, no Elysium, no Tartarus. Just nothing.”

“Then what’s there to live for?” He can’t win this game. If he was smarter than me, he wouldn’t be my slave.

“Anything! You should do whatever you want with your life! Get married, become a scientist, climb a mountain...if it doesn’t hurt anyone, why should I care? But what you shouldn’t do is throw your whole life away doing whatever some stupid asshole tells you to. My job is to make sure people realize that. That’s what I’m doing with my life.” I decided to make a detour, turning away from the apartment.

“Anyway, that’s enough of that. Let me know if you see any good restaurants around here.”

JANUARY 5, 2766

“I see. Well, would next Monday work? It would? Great, see you then.” I hung up the phone, circling another name on the list. On top of my nightstand were three new folders, stuffed to the brim with people asking about an interview.

        In the other room I could hear Servius watching something on television, while I’m working my ass off. Like I didn’t have to put up with enough of this during the Saturnalia. Still, some tasks you can’t trust even the best of slaves with. Going through these folders was something I needed to do on my own. Would I have to interview all of these people, I wondered? I put down my pen. Had to take my mind off things for a little bit. I walked into the other room, where Servius was lying on the couch, making his way through the day’s wine rations and grinning the way only a drunk could.

        “What are you watching?” I asked him, still clutching onto the folder.

        “Just a movie,” he answered, only half paying attention to me. “I don’t know, something about the war.” I pushed Servius aside, making room for myself on the couch. On the television a group of soldiers were sitting in a tent.

        “But sir, it’s hopeless!” said one of the troops. “The Chinese and the British have got us surrounded! At this rate they’ll have all of Europe! They’ll have everything!”

        “No, son. Not everything,” said the legate in the center. The hero of the movie, I assume. He stands up, the camera slowly zooming in until his lantern jaw’s taking up half the screen. “They can take our land and our lives, but there’s one thing no barbarian will ever have: the favor of the gods. That’s for us, and only us. If those slant-eyed bastards think they can go against the greatest country on Earth and get away with it, oh, they’ve got another thing coming. We’re going to go out there, and we’re going to fight, dammit! And if we don’t show the Chinese what happens when you mess with Rome, you can bet the gods will!” The soldiers erupted into a mess of cheering.

        “How can you watch this garbage?” I asked, turning to Servius.

        “It’s inspiring,” he replied, his eyes still glued to the TV.

        “Some cheap government-funded propaganda about how we need to kill all the foreigners is inspiring, really? Tell me why.”

        “They’re just doing what they’re told, you know? Maybe they don’t always agree with what the guy in charge says, but they still always do their job as best as they can.” I changed the channel to the nearest cartoon, drained the horror out of the room.

        “You need to stop watching so much TV. It’s bad for you.” I tried to relax, focus on the talking animals on the screen, only for images of war to interrupt my thoughts. “Try telling the people at Nanking when the bomb dropped that the guy in the plane was just doing his job. You shouldn’t listen to a lunatic, whether he’s in charge or not.”

        The phone started ringing. Looks like Turbidus decided to chew me out later than usual today. I left Servius to his insipid shows and headed for the bedroom.

        “I’m working on it, all right?” I shouted as I picked up the phone. “I’ve got an interview scheduled for Monday. Please, get off of my ass!”

        “I’m sorry?” asked a woman’s voice on the other end.

        “Mom?” I said nervously. “Er…sorry about that. Thought you were...somebody else.”

        “Hello there, Diagoras!” said my mother. “How are you?”

        “Oh, I’m just fine. Been taking on…eh… a big project. You might have heard about it.”

        “Oh yes, about the gods. I think it’s wonderful!”

        “Really. You do?”

        “Well, of course! This is the perfect thing to raise awareness for. People need to start realizing all the gods have done for us. We don’t want people losing sight of what’s important, now do we? I’m so proud of my little boy, doing his part to help his country!” Typical Cinna, pious and patriotic to a fault. If anyone should know the problems that religion can bring, it’s my family. I wanted to remind her of what happened and set her straight, but now wasn’t the time to be digging up old memories.

        “Yeah…yeah, right, that’s what I’m doing,” I said, my free hand clenching around the phone cord. “Going through all these interviews won’t be easy, though. I’ve got to be honest, I’m a little nervous.”

        “Well if things ever get rough, you know your Lar is always there.” I looked to the closet door, imagining the hideous statue hiding behind it. “Do you remember the prayers, Diagoras? Do you know how to ask them for help?”

        “Yes, I know the prayers, and I’ll be sure to do that, yeah.”

        “Has Servius been doing well?” she asked.

        “Of course, he’s been great. Aside from the fact that he’s not working much. You know, I wonder how much he’d go for. I bet I could trade him in for a better slave.”

        “Now, don’t you say that! Servius is part of the family! Oh…” Her voice started turning wistful. “I can still remember when the two of you were just little kids playing together. You were just like brothers!”

        “Yeah, except you only made one of the brothers ever mow the lawn.” I took a deep breath. “Anyway, I…uh…I’m actually expecting a business call soon, so I really need to go.”

        “All right. You be careful, Diagoras. I love you.”

        “Great. Love you too, Mom. Bye.” I hung up the phone. She may not get what I’m doing now, but she would eventually. So would my father. I can’t imagine how they’d feel once this mess was done, especially if the Emperor starts noticing me. Their son, an atheist. A criminal. Maybe even a corpse. Then again, maybe they won’t be too upset. Maybe whatever happens, they’ll decide I deserved it for dishonoring the gods, then go on with their lives. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened. Servius stepped into the room, not saying a word. He started rummaging through my closet.

“What are you looking for? The vacuum cleaner?” Servius lifted the household god out from the closet, then stepped out of the room. “Servius?” I asked. “Where are you taking that?” He kept walking, not saying a word.

        “Hey! I asked you a question!” I started to follow him. “What are you doing with…” He opened the door and walked outside. At the foot of the apartment was another statue. This one was a woman. Her hair was a disheveled mess, and she was wearing a killer’s smile.

        “Who is that?” I asked, pointing at the statue. “She getting married to the Lar?”

        “Mania, sir,” he answered plainly. “Goddess of the dead.”

        “And where did Mania come from?”

        “I keep her stored with all the other statues,” Servius explained as he headed for the kitchen. “Except the Lar. I forgot you had that one.” My slave opened the oven, pulled out a tray of cakes, and carefully placed them all onto a plate.

        “Oh, wait a minute, this is…what was it…is it Compitalia already?” Servius never forgot a holiday, but Compitalia was the most important to him. For people without statues that look like they’re out to kill you, the household gods are sacred. Doubly so, if you’re a slave. The old stories say the household gods are constantly working in our service. Practically slaves themselves, really.

        Servius went into his room, then quickly returned. In one hand he held a little doll, the kind that the people of the house offered on Compitalia. In the other was a plain ball of wool, the traditional offering of the slaves. Servius hung the ball over the door, then ran back inside, extending the doll to me.

        “Only a free man can hang up the doll, sir,” Servius said, shaking the figure in his hand.

        “I…I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that,” I said to him, holding up my hand. My slave’s eager face quickly turned into a frown.

        “Why not?” he demanded.

        “I think you know why not already. You can do it yourself, though. I don’t mind.” Servius turned his head, looking back at the statues and cakes, then back towards me.

        “The gods will be angry if you don’t do it, you know.”

        “If the gods are out there, I’m pretty sure they’ll be angry at me no matter what. I mean, come on, just look at that guy’s face!” I pointed at the household god with a chuckle. Servius, still frowning, dropped the doll onto the counter and hurried back outside.

        “Oh, great Lares!” he prayed, bowing down to the idols. “We commend you for the blessings you’ve given unto this household. May you continue to serve us, to protect us, and to forgive us when we have wronged you.” He shot me a knowing glance. “Please accept our humble offering, and continue to let our household prosper.” Servius stepped back into the apartment, leaving the display outside.

“You really going to be upset with me?” I asked as he came through the door. “I’m not stopping you from doing your thing, I just don’t want to be forced into it.” Without another word, the slave retreated into his room.

        Slowly, I opened the front door and peeked outside. The two hideous statues were still there. The thieves of New Antioch wouldn’t dare to touch another man’s household gods. After all, that sort of thing is downright immoral. More importantly, the cakes were still there, untouched. Surprise surprise, the statues didn’t eat them.

        I looked behind my back. Servius was still in his room. I doubt I’d hear the end of it if he saw me. Being careful to not make a sound, I picked up one of the cakes off the tray, then bit into it, letting the cake wash all over my tongue. Servius can bake a damn good honey cake. I don’t know how he manages to get them so sweet and fluffy. This batch is a little more on the bland side than usual, though. Could’ve used some cream.

        I picked up the whole plate and carried it back to my room. The gods could stay outside, though. I know nobody was going to take them away if I left them out there, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hope so.

JANUARY 7, 2766

A nearby woodpecker tapped away at a tree. To my left, an owl lay fast asleep inside a knothole. In the midst of the serenity stood a statue of Apollo, the god of prophecy. I took a deep breath and imagined myself in a forest, the kind that covered this whole land before the Romans settled it. The honk of a car horn blared not too far off, breaking the illusion as soon as it comes.

        I was standing on the grounds of the College of Augurs, where the priests tasked with reading the future from the movements of birds are trained in the practice of divination. The building’s classical architecture teased me, pleading me to come inside and view the charlatanry in action. Nobody outside the priesthood is allowed in the building, leaving me forced to merely wander the land around it. I don’t know how the augurs were able to make their own little aviary in the middle of New Antioch, but here I am, standing on an oasis of honest nature surrounded by a city choking on its own fumes.

        Walking alongside me was Corvus Avitus, his long hair blowing in the wind. He didn’t look like what most people imagine when they think of a priest. Corvus had only completed his augury training a few weeks before I began my journey. Trailing behind us was Servius, tape recorder in his hand. The slave didn’t say a word, instead staring at the back of the augur’s head with an odd sense of admiration.

        “Rome would be nothing without her augurs,” said Corvus. A few feet away, an eagle perched on a branch, eyeing us curiously. “We’ve been truly blessed, being able to receive the gods’ messages for the Empire. We know which battles will be won, we know the future of Rome and her people, and we can instruct them accordingly.”

        “It must be nice,” I said, stepping aside for a goose walking my way. “When you think about it, you’re one of the most powerful people in Nova Roma.” Corvus turned to face me.

        “Excuse me?”

        “Everyone listens to what you have to say. Everyone. You’re even above the Emperor, when you think about it.” Almost immediately, Corvus burst into raucous laughter.

        “Anyone above the Emperor…oh, Pollux!” He stopped walking to catch his breath. “No, we augurs are but simple servants.” He turned around, smiling to Servius. “We hold no power of our own, save the gift of divination. Our job is simply to read and interpret the signs of the gods.” He stuck out his arms, gesturing at the birds surrounding us. It’s quite the system we’ve got. The people listen to the military, who listen to the Senate, who listen to the Emperor, who listens to the augurs, who listen to birds. Our government is run by birds.

        “So you can’t just say whatever you want, then?”

        “Of course not. That would go against everything the College stands for.” He flashed his smug little smile at me. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. It’s not easy for those ignorant in augury to comprehend the science. This isn't something just anyone can do. No, it’s the sort of thing that takes years of training. Learning the meanings behind every bird, every flight pattern, every spot where they might decide to land…augury is not a career for fools. Only the most dedicated of scholars can ever achieve it.”

        “Can I see a book, then?” I asked, struggling to make my voice as patient as I could. Corvus looked at me, stupefied.

        “I’m sorry?”

        “You said it takes a lot of studying to become an augur. Can I see one of the books you use?” Servius meekly took a few steps back. Corvus shook his head, unfazed.

        “We can’t reveal the secrets of the priesthood to anybody. Imagine what would happen if that kind of information got loose. If the Chinese could speak to the gods, the bombs would start dropping any day!”

        “I don’t think the Chinese would really care, since they don’t think augury is real. The Chinese think the idea of telling the future with birds is archaic nonsense only an idiot could fall for. Just saying their views, of course.”

        “Well, that would explain why the Chinese are in the state they’re in. We have augurs, they don’t. Which one of us is better off? So I think the Chinese…” he stopped walking, turning his head to stare directly at me. “…had better watch what they say.”

        “It’s not hard to figure out why the Chinese say things like that, though. When the details behind the process aren’t disclosed and we just have to take your word for it, people have good reason to be suspicious. If they’re those dirty godless Chinese, I mean.” Corvus gave me a frown. The priest closed his eyes, making no sound save the slow beat of breath from his nostrils.

        “Mr. Cinna,” he said, smoothing his hair with one hand. “Although I’m new to this position, I’m still a priest of considerable rank. It was quite generous of me to lend my time towards this interview, and so I hope it’s being conducted with good intentions in mind.”

        “Oh, I’m nothing but well-intentioned, sir. I just want to learn about augury. After all, anything essential to the survival of the state is worth knowing about, isn’t it?” I turned around to see Servius nodding, anxiously biting his lip. “But if that’s an uncomfortable subject, would you like to tell me a little about yourself?” The smile returned to Corvus’ face.

        “Well...I’m probably not as interesting as you think. I grew up pretty normal. I was raised by proper parents, making sure to instill proper Roman values in me. Honesty, piety, manliness…things kids today never seem to understand. Did you hear there’s talk in the Senate of lowering the age to join the Galli?”

        “Well, it would bring in more priests, wouldn't it?”

        “More of those kinds of priests,” he said with a scowl. “Why we still support those freaks is a mystery to me.”

        “If you don’t like it, why not just tell them to stop?”

        “I told you already, the augur’s duty is to read the signs, not speak on their own.” Corvus shook his head. “Anyway, I was just a child when the Senate made their evolution ruling. In science class that year, they decided they’d ‘teach us both sides.’ Told us about evolution alongside how the creator god brought about the elements, with Prometheus making man soon after. Can you imagine that? Having the truth about how we got here being told right alongside a pack of lies, leaving the children to decide which is which? It’s just cruel.”

        “No argument there.”

        “Even at that young age, I knew I was witnessing the beginning of our nation’s decline. If we turn our back on the values that made our Empire great, we will have nothing. That was when I realized my calling. I needed to become a priest. I had an obligation to do everything I could to keep Nova Roma on the path of virtue. And now…well, here I am, an augur.”

        “Well, congratulations,” I told him.

        “Do you know how New Antioch was founded?” Corvus looked up at the flock of pigeons flying above his head. “The same way Seleucus founded the old one all those years ago. When the Romans first landed in the New World, an augur gave an eagle a piece of meat, then followed it as it flew off. When they saw the eagle land, they knew that was where the gods wanted them to settle.”

        “Maybe the eagle should have gone someplace warmer.” I tightened up my jacket.

        “But you see the point, don’t you? When the augurs said ‘Build here,’ they did. And look at that spot now.” He pointed at the buildings towering above us in the distance. “New Antioch is the most splendid city in all the world, and the jewel of our great country.”

        “And the old Antioch’s overrun with Arabs.”

        “The gods took away one great city to give us another. You can look at mistakes all day if you’d like, Diagoras, but there’s no ignoring the facts. Rome has been going strong for 2,700 years now, and it’s listening to the gods’ earthly representatives that helped that happen.” The priest’s eyelids relaxed, giving the same goofy smile a teenage boy has staring at his first crush. “I still can’t believe it, you know. Part of me feels like I still don’t deserve being part of such a rich tradition. Fortune has been kind to me, letting me be one of the proud few able to read the signs of the gods.”

        We walked past the statue of Apollo. A pigeon flew down, perched on the god’s perfectly-combed hair. The bird lifted its tail feathers and let loose. Pigeon shit trickled down Apollo’s face, almost like he was crying.

        “What’s that mean?” I said, pointing at the statue. Corvus chuckled as the pigeon flew off.

        “The gods only speak through certain birds,” he said calmly. “And pigeons aren’t one of them.”

        “Well, let’s say it was one of those birds. What would it mean then?” Corvus looked back at the statue thoughtfully. Servius had run off, cleaning the statue with his sleeve.

        “Well, for one of the gods’ birds to desecrate a holy image…it would clearly be a bad omen. A warning that one should stop the course of action they’re planning.”

        “Like if the government was planning a war.”

        “Or if one person was planning something else that’d upset the gods. But it wasn’t one of the right birds, so I suppose nobody needs to change any plans, do they?” The priest smiled, then kept walking on. “I hope this interview’s been helpful to you, Diagoras. Maybe you’ve learned something about all the augurs have done.”

        “Yeah…yeah, same to you.” I pointed Servius towards the car. “Before I go, though, I’ve got one last question.”

        “Proceed,” said the augur curtly.

        “If the gods talk to you, do they ever tell you anything about your own future? Nothing for the government, just on a personal level.”

        “There is no personal level for me, Mr. Cinna. I’ve dedicated my life to the service of the state. I exist solely to provide for the Roman Empire, to keep civilization intact, and I don’t regret that in the slightest.”

        “It’s good to not have regrets, isn’t it? Well, thank you for your time, Corvus. If the Tribune ever wants me to interview a duck or anything, you’re my guy, right?”

        “I think a parrot might be a better choice,” he said with a smile. With those parting words, I returned to the car. Servius handed me the recorder, then opened the bottle of wine he kept underneath the seat.

        “How was I?” I asked, pulling out of the parking lot. The familiar scenery of the city soon surrounded me once more. Servius sighed.

        “You need to be more careful, sir.” he told me. “You can't...it's not right to jump on people like that. You were questioning the gods to an augur’s face. You’re lucky he was so nice, or he would’ve reported you right there.”

        “Hmm. Guess I could try to do more interviews outside the priesthood.”

        “Please control yourself from now on, sir,” the slave pleaded. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”

        “Sure, yeah, I’ll control myself. I just got…you know…all this religion stuff’s a touchy subject for me.”

        “I know it is, but that doesn't mean you can yell at the whole world.” The slave looked down at the floor. “...Sir.”

        “Not the whole world. Just the ones that allowed it to happen. Drink your wine.” Servius took a sip from the bottle. “Hey, pretend you don’t know me. You heard the interview, let the words speak for themselves. Does it make you think that augurs are frauds?” Servius took another swig of the wine, this time much heavier, before speaking.

        “I don’t think they are, sir.”

         “Pointless. Absolutely pointless,” I muttered, shaking my head. “The Emperor himself could admit the gods were all a big lie tomorrow morning, and you would still be buying into it, wouldn’t you?” I drove on, the rest of the ride back home carried out in silence.

JANUARY 16, 2766

With his blonde hair and unnaturally pale skin, it’s plain to tell Gottlieb Donnersohn is an immigrant. Inside his home, though, I’m the one who felt like an outsider. Gothic decorum hung upon the wooden walls, giving the impression I was deep in barbarian country. Gottlieb’s pride for his Germanic heritage pervades nearly every aspect of his life, including matters of the gods.

        Even the man’s appearance has taken heavy influence from his ancestors. With his intimidating build and enormous, ragged beard, he wouldn’t look out of place among the horde of Goths that brought about the death of the old Rome so long ago. You wouldn’t expect a man in his sixties to look so fearsome. My right hand was hovering close to my pistol, out of instinct.

        The strange white foreigner took a glass, bringing it to a barrel sitting in his kitchen. A curious golden liquid bearing an uncomfortable resemblance to piss started pouring out. Once the glass was full, the top frothing with a fine layer of foam, he offered it to me.

        “What is it?” I asked, hesitantly grabbing the mug.

        “Beer,” he answered in his goofy thick accent. I looked down at the barbarian’s excuse for wine with a grimace, then looked back up. I smiled at Gottlieb, raised the glass, and took a sip.

        I imagine the majority of those reading this have never tried the foreign delicacy known as beer before, and I suggest you keep it that way. It’s horribly bitter, like someone took a dry wine, stripped it of its flavor, and watered it down as much as they could. Even long after I swallowed it, the foul taste lingered in my mouth. I passed the glass to Servius.

        “Don’t like it?” Gottlieb asked, shooting me a questionable look.

        “Oh, no, it’s fine,” I assured him. “I just shouldn’t drink while I’m working. It’s not professional, you know. Anyway…” I motioned to Servius, who had already finished half of the beer. He started recording, then continued to drink. “I was wondering if you could give me an immigrant’s perspective on Roman religion.”

        “Aye, that's an easy one,” he said, crossing his arms. “They hate our culture. That’s why they force everyone to go along with theirs. I knew all about the gods back in Germania. Thor, Odin, Tyr…I honored the Aesir like any good believer should. Gave offerings at the sacred oaks and everything. Then came Ragnarok.”

        “Ragna-what?” I asked.

        “Long ago, prophets warned of Ragnarok, the war where the gods would die and the world would come to an end, consumed by fire.” His eyes sunk. “I saw Ragnarok, as just a little boy. I saw the gods’ shrines destroyed, men being killed by their brothers.”

        “You’re talking about the war in Europe, aren’t you?” We Romans mostly focus on the Chinese front of the war, but what had happened in Europe was a story in itself. The Chinese were tricky bastards back then, getting Europe’s Norsemen to adopt their socialist ways. Soon those that followed the true gods and government were fighting back, Olympus against Asgard.

        “Afterwards, you couldn’t even say you believed in the Aesir!” Gottlieb slammed his fist against the nearest table. “They wanted to send us all to Russia, far away from them. The gods died that day.”

“But the world didn’t end during the war.”

“Try telling that to Nanking.” Gottlieb looked at the statue of Odin to his right. The Allfather was giving me a death glare with his one good eye. In his hands was Mercury’s caduceus, snapped in two, one of the snakes crushed beneath Odin’s feet. “My parents decided if we must leave home, we wouldn’t freeze to death too. So we ended up here, in Nova Roma.”

        “I was just a child when we arrived in New Antioch,” he continued. “I didn’t really understand how different things were in this country. The other kids stared at me in school. They’d never seen a white person before, I guess. I saved the real problems for my parents. It wasn’t like what happened back home in Germania. Here we were still free to worship the gods, they told me. We must simply use different names. Thor is now Jupiter. Tyr is now Mars. Odin is now Mercury.”

        “I take it you don’t approve?”

        “Cultural usurpation. Simple as that. The Emperor has no respect for our heritage and gods. It is not enough to merely take them away, they must reclaim them, saddle them with fake names.” He shook his head, somehow managing a smile. “When I got older, I began reading your legends. Especially the ones about Mercury. I was horrified at what I learned. Odin the Allfather, the ruler of the Aesir, was now a mere messenger boy.”

        “The Romans have a lot of respect for Mercury, though.”

        “I know they do!” Gottlieb screamed, jumping out of his chair. “You know why? Because Mercury. Is not. Odin! I’ve read the legends. Mercury’s a trickster god, they say. He couldn’t fool me. The rest of your gods are full of shit, but Mercury’s very real. We know him by another name, and it’s not Odin. It’s Loki!” Gottlieb started to hyperventilate before returning to his seat.

        “It was Loki who brought about Ragnarok, the prophets said! It was Loki’s children who would kill the gods! And that was just what happened. My gods were killed by men who followed Mercury.”

        “Um, excuse me…” said Servius sheepishly. “I’m sorry, but do you think I could have another one of these?” He held out the empty mug, smiling as politely as he could at a man having a meltdown. Gottlieb scowled at him, then took a deep breath.

        “Aye, lad,” he said calmly, snatching the glass out of my slave’s hands. “You two just wait a second.” As he retreated to the kitchen, I observed the statue of Odin again, felt the contempt that went into sculpting that snapped caduceus. Every inch of this living room that didn’t display pride for his culture was showing contempt for mine. I was in the home of probably the only man in Nova Roma that despised the gods more than I do.

        Gottlieb returned soon enough, bringing two mugs of beer with him. Servius eagerly grabbed one of them, with Gottlieb keeping the other for himself. He sat down in his chair, and took a heavy swig of his beer, leaving his moustache completely soaked by the residue.

        “Do you…have any water around here?” I asked.

        “Course I do! What else am I supposed to brew the beer with?” he retorted. “Why?”

        “No reason.” Gottlieb took another drink, staring at me the whole time.

        “I suppose you’ll be reporting me now,” he growled. “I finally told a shitskin what I really think of your gods. Go on, then. I’ve lost my freedom a long time ago. Prison makes no difference to me.” Servius turned to me, the mug obscuring his face.

        “I’m not in the position to be reporting blasphemers, Mr. Donnersohn,” I said. “I’m one too.” Gottlieb kept staring at me with those creepy eyes of his, figuring out what to make of my words. Then, his lips curled into a smile.

        “I’m not alone, then?” he asked, almost laughing.

        “No, you’re not. That’s why I’m doing all this. I figure that if I show what all this shit about the gods have done to people, then maybe we can all drop it.” Gottlieb leaped forward and hugged me, lifting me into the air. I smiled as best as I could, trying to ignore that the man was close to breaking my back.

        “I saw Ragnarok, you know!” he said with a hearty laugh, lowering me back to the ground. “I saw the world end, but I never saw the last part of the prophecy. The one where the world begins anew. You’re the one who’ll finish what Heimdall started, I bet. You’re the one who’ll kill Loki!”

        “Uh...sure, we could go with that, if you want.” Gottlieb ran upstairs. I could faintly hear his footsteps stomping above me.

        “What’s going on?” asked Servius, swallowing what remained of his beer. Soon enough, Gottlieb came back down and extended his hand towards me, a necklace dangling from one of his thick fingers. At the bottom was a curious symbol, a cross with each arm bent.

        “What’s that supposed to be?” I asked.

        “It’s a swastika,” Gottlieb answered, lowering the necklace onto me. “A symbol of Thor. It’ll bring you luck.” I picked up the necklace, bringing its queer symbol closer to my face.

        “Thank you, Gottlieb, but I don’t think I should be taking…”

        “It’s fine. You need it more than I do. You’re going up against Loki, after all.”

        “Well, if you insist, then.” I straightened the necklace into a more comfortable position. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Donnersohn. You’ll take what I told you a secret, I trust?”

        “On my honor.” With that, Servius and I departed.

        “Are you really going to wear that?” my slave asked as we entered the car, pointing at my necklace.

        “Sure. Who knows, it might be useful.” I lifted the necklace up to my eyes again. “People might not be so quick to jump on me as an atheist if I had a religious symbol of my own. Wearing the swastika would keep people from getting offended.” With another interview at an end, I began the drive back home.

        “Hey, do you think there are any stores around here that sell beer?” Servius asked.

        “Shut up.”

JANUARY 24, 2766

“Hello, thank you for calling the State Department of Pontiffs,” droned the receptionist on the other line. “How may we help you today?”

        “Hi, I’m from the New Antioch Tribune. I was wondering if it’d be possible to arrange an interview with...Verus Sperus,” I said, struggling not to laugh at the name. “Verus Sperus or his wife?”

        “Verus and Falsa are very busy, sir, but I’m sure we could figure something out for you. May I have your name, please?” Probably looking for a way to shut me out right here. Knowing how the Emperor is when it comes to blasphemers, I’m probably on some kind of special hit list. Fortunately, any journalist worth his salt is a master of quick thinking.

        “…I forgot.”

        “Well, as soon as you remember your name, please feel free to call again. Have a good day.” The phone hung up, my plans to arrange a high-profile interview quickly dashed. Servius was in front of the television again, downing a bottle of my Falernian.

        “You shouldn’t be drinking in the morning, you know.”

        “I need to be in good condition before I get to work, sir,” Servius said, taking another sip straight from the bottle. “It’s for health reasons!”

        “What are you watching, anyway?” I looked at the TV. A bunch of talking heads were prattling on about Arabia for the third week in a row. “The news? I don’t think you’ll like this show, Servius. It hasn’t got a laugh track.”

        “The Emperor’s supposed to be making a speech soon,” the slave explained. “I bet if we hurry to the forum we could even see him make it live.”

        “I’ll just stick with the TV,” I said, getting into a comfortable position on the couch. “If I was there in the crowd some of his bullshit could fall onto my face.” A podium appeared on the screen, surrounded by the usual armed Praetorians. Soon, Emperor Piissimus stepped forward, smiling and waving to the unseen crowd. His face wore that look of artificial youth all the politicians have, making you forget you’re looking at a man in his fifties. He was wearing the same traditional purple suit he always has when he’s out in public.

        “Thank you, thank you all,” the Emperor said to the applauding crowd. “My fellow Romans, as I’m sure you’re all aware, the unrest in the Orient has been growing. The same men who owe their culture to Rome have now declared that they hate us, our government, and our gods. At the same time, our intelligence experts have indicated an increase in military activity in the region, possibly supported by the Chinese.” The Emperor leaned in closer to the podium, giving the camera a firm look.

        “Nova Roma does not take to threats lightly. The world should know that by now. In an effort to maintain peace within the region, we will be dispatching military units to the Arabian Peninsula, beginning on the Agonium Martiale. For the time being, these measures are strictly to keep the riots down and make sure no civilians are hurt. We all pray that the situation won’t escalate, but if it should, know that it’s the infidels in the Middle East to blame for it, not us.”

        “Turn this shit off, and that’s an order,” I told Servius. He walked to the television and turned a knob, mercifully getting the Emperor out of my face. I leaned back in the couch, crossing my arms. Servius returned to the seat, leaning forward to look at me.

        “Do you think there’ll be a war?” he asked.

        “Of course there’s going to be a war. If there wasn’t, the Emperor would need to do some actual work to get people’s approval. Bread and fucking circuses, man.” I started slouched further into the couch. “I bet they’ll open the Temple of Janus soon. I always wanted to see what was inside there.”

        “Do you think we should sign up?” Servius asked. I turned my head, staring flatly at my slave.

        “We’ve got more important things to do. And even if we didn’t, I’d rather not get shot in the middle of the desert just to line Piissimus’ pockets. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Everyone who’s got the oil doesn’t want to play along, and it’s a lot safer to go killing people far away than the Mexicans over to the West. So the Emperor stirs things up, says what he’s doing is all about peace and piety and all those other nice Roman ideals. And people believe him. You believe him.” The room fell silent, the two of us lingering in the aftermath of my words.

        “What if I interviewed him?” I asked Servius.

        “Who, sir?”

        “The Emperor, who else? If I want to expose what the gods are all about, who’d be better to talk to than our demigod of a high priest, huh?”

        “He wouldn’t do it, sir.”

“True, he wouldn’t,” I mumbled, getting up from the sofa. “He'd know better than to agree to an interview. I’d need to catch him unawares. In public. Can’t do anything to a person out in the open, especially when all he’s done is ask you a question…” I snapped my fingers, pointing at my slave. “Servius, I’ve got a job for you. Start asking around and finding when and where the Emperor has any public appearances planned. I don’t care how far off it is from now, just find them and tell me.”

        “I don’t like where this is going, sir. If you seriously try pursuing the Emperor, you know he’ll just…”

        “Which of us is the slave here?” Servius rolled his eyes and went off. Soon afterwards, a loud knock came at the door. I opened the door to see Turbidus, leaning on the wall with one arm.

“Hello there, Diagoras,” he said, much calmer than I usually saw him. “Are you up to anything today?”

“I’ve been busting my ass trying to arrange some more interviews, but actual work? No. Why?” Turbidus took a deep breath through his nose, not once breaking that fake little smile of his.

“Would you like to grab something to eat? I’ll even let you pick the place.”

“All right, but it’ll take more than a nice date if you want to fuck me.” Turbidus walked towards the street without a response.

Before too long, we arrived at one of those nice little brunch places, grabbing a table at the patio. Turbidus was already halfway through his coffee. While I waited for the food to arrive, I looked up at the sky. It was that perfect shade of blue you’re only able to see during a time of day when I’d rather be inside, a tiny patch of beautiful scenery above the drab buildings of New Antioch.

“So…how’s the wife?” I asked, finally touching my own cup of coffee. In my other hand, I was idly fingering my swastika.

“She’s fine, she’s always fine,” Turbidus answered. “A little upset that I’ve been spending so much time at the office lately, but that makes it all the more worthwhile when I’m finally able to see her again, you know?” He took another sip. “You know, how old are you now, Diagoras? Thirty-something? You should probably start looking for a nice girl yourself.”

“I’ve got ambition, Turbidus. I’ve got a dream to work for. That’s something better than any woman.”

“Right…” said Turbidus, lowering his cup. “Ambition. You see, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about today.”

“Honey cake?” asked an old Asian waiter, carrying a tray of food.

“Right here,” I said with a wave. The waiter placed the cake in front of me. The Chinaman gave Turbidus his eggs, then departed.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Turbidus continued, beginning to cut his food. “I appreciate you sending over the interviews you’ve done so far. Thing is, the guys at the Tribune have been talking. It’s only been a month, and you’ve already insulted an augur and sympathized with an atheist. We’re starting to wonder if this stuff will be, you know…safe to print.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Yes, actually, it is. If you don’t care about your own safety, fine, but if the censors have an issue with this book, everyone involved with it will have their asses on the line.”

“How do we know they’ll have a problem with it? We don’t know what rules the censors use when they decide to ban something.”

“No, but insulting the gods is a bit of a given.” I looked down at my cake, weakly nudging at it with my fork, letting cream cover the back of the tines.

“What if I managed to talk to a censor? You know, ask if it was OK?” Turbidus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“They’d probably arrest you right there,” he said.

“No, no, they’d prefer it, wouldn’t they? You know, I’m asking for permission before I carry on with this…objectionable material, and if they say no, I drop it. There’s nothing illegal about that, is there?” Turbidus gave a heavy sigh.

“All right, fine.” Turbidus took another bite of his eggs. “If you can bring me some written approval from the Censorship Board, I’ll give you another folder of names and let you keep going. And if you can’t, this all comes to an end, and you go back to writing columns. And I mean safe columns, not like this stuff you're doing now. Got it?”

“Got it,” I confirmed. The two of us sat in silence, eating our breakfast, ignoring the impossible task I’d just agreed to. Soon enough the Chinaman came forward again, taking away our plates and leaving us with the check.

“I’ve got this,” Turbidus said, reaching for the bill. “You can just toss in a few coins for the tip, if you want.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Turbidus shot me a funny look.

“You’re good? What’s that mean?”

“It means I’m good. I’m not tipping.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not? I don’t have to do it, and I don’t want to. The real question is why you should be paying even more on top of what you already are.”

“The waiter’s going to be pissed at you, you know,” said Turbidus, weakly shaking his head.

“Let him. What are the odds I’ll run into the guy again?”

Afterwards I was back at my apartment. I’d scarcely stepped through the door when Servius came towards me, a paper covered with crude notes in his hand.

“Hey there,” he said woozily, the scent of wine in his breath. “So, it seems the Emperor’s appearing at a special ceremony for Parentalia. He’s also making a trip to Mexica next week, if you’re willing to travel that fa…”

“Put those aside for later,” I ordered. “I’ve got a more pressing job for you. I need a meeting with the censors, stat. And bring me some wine.”

“Aww, can’t you do it, sir?” he whined. “I’ve been going through all these...all these stupid phone lines for hours now!”

“Come on, Servius, you know we’ve got a system here. I handle the big-picture headaches, you handle the grunt work. Unless you’d rather switch.” Servius sighed, then retreated to his room, off to cut his way through the state’s red tape some more. I plopped down on the couch, turning on the television. Two talking heads were going on about the situation in Arabia, as if they knew a damn thing about it.

“With all due respect to the Emperor, I don’t think this is wise,” said a newswoman pumped full of plastic surgery, desperately trying to fool everyone into thinking she’s fresh out of college. “The Arab has none of our values. They don’t carry the same respect for Roman life that we do. We shouldn’t be endangering the lives of our troops by surrounding them with barbarians. The correct choice of option, I think, is to let the gods sort it out. If the Arabs keep up their riots, it wouldn’t be too long before they destroy themselves from the inside.”

“Or they destroy us,” retorted the man sitting across from her. “I care about the troops’ safety as much as anybody, but we can’t ignore threats from foreigners and expect things to work themselves out. If anything, the Emperor’s being far too kind here, only using our military to maintain peace. What we need to do is send a clear message to the Arabs what happens when you mess with Nova Roma. If they want to see us mad, let’s give them just that. In about a week, the few survivors would be on their knees apologizing for everything they did.”

I shut off the TV. Can’t think with that nonsense blaring. What I need right now is a clear mind, shut out all the noise that wants to get in my way. The road ahead had just gotten a little more difficult. Assessing the situation was in order.

Assuming I can even get an appointment with the censors, what would I say? I’ve always assumed the guys at the censorship office are the sort that simply can’t be bullshitted. I guess when the day comes I’ll have to lie through my teeth and hope for the best.

In the meantime, just carry on as normal. I’ve still got enough interviews lined up to keep me busy until an appointment opens up. And even if they don’t approve and Turbidus decides to pull the whole thing, I’ll figure it out. I’ll finish this book if it kills me. The only way I can be stopped is if the gods themselves decide to intervene.

FEBRUARY 2, 2766

Ever since Ghana’s economy began to decline, New Antioch has seen its fair share of African immigrants, fleeing to Nova Roma in search of a better life. I was now sitting in the home of one of them, sipping a chilled glass of red wine in his hand. My African friend had adapted well to his new homeland. Save for his skin, and a few trinkets of his old life in Ghana scattered around his house, one would assume he was a born Roman. His unsuspecting neighbors know him by a pseudonym, which he has asked me not to disclose. However, he was born as Dinkee Kanuntee, grandson of the great Ghanaian biologist Kee Kanuntee, to whom we owe the theory of evolution.

        “I never saw him too much,” Dinkee began, his thick accent making his flawless Latin feel foreign. “When I was a little boy, my parents took me to visit him…maybe once a month or so. You like some wine?”

        “Yes, please,” I answered. Dinkee gestured to his slave, who hurried forth, pouring a glass for me and Servius. As he gave me my drink, I noticed the young slave looked not too different from Servius himself. He was a little paler and had a full head of hair, but he had that same confused baby face. The two of them could’ve been cousins for all I know.

        “Thank you,” said Servius quietly, taking his own glass of wine.

        “Anyway, as I was saying,” continued Dinkee. “When I did see him, he was nice enough. Always got me presents, asked how I was doing in school…the typical stuff a grandpa does. I never knew how important he really was until well after he’d died.”

        “But there were things that made you suspicious before then, weren’t there?”

        “Yeah, yeah, there were. At the start of every school year, we’d all introduce ourselves to the class. I’d always say my name, and the teacher always asked the same thing. ‘Did you say Kanuntee?’” He asked in a mocking high-pitched voice, his lips curled into an idiotic grin. “Some of the other kids would shoot me funny looks too. I never thought it was because of my grandfather, though. Back then I thought it was just because Kanuntee’s a funny name, even back in Ghana.”

        “Forgive me for asking, but are you, you know…like your grandfather? Religiously, I mean?” I grabbed my necklace, rubbing the swastika out of habit. Dinkee leaned closer, squinting at me uneasily.

        “No, I’m not. I’ve got my gods, thank you,” he pointed at a wooden symbol hanging on his wall. An equal sign surrounded by two curved blades. Looked almost Chinese. “You call him Jupiter, I call him Nyame. It was Nyame who made the animals and man, and it was my grandpa who figured out just how he did it.” He took another sip from his wine, then gestured at his slave for a refill. “All these years later, and I still don’t see what the hang-up is, why I’ve gotta go around with a fake name. We all love the gods in Ghana, but we never got crazy about it like you do here.”

        “Your country’s spent most of history as a major center of trade, hasn’t it?” I asked, trying to recall the bits and pieces I could remember from the book Professor Fidenas lent me. “Maybe Ghana collectively became more concerned with the material world over the spiritual. You know, if that makes sense.” Dinkee was paying no attention to me, his eyes fixed on his slave as he brought him more wine. The poor guy had a nervous look on his face, his glance darting from me, to his master, to an empty corner of the room.

        “Yeah, maybe,” Dinkee said lazily, looking at his newly filled glass of wine. “Of course, now your country’s richer than mine. You’re still as crazy about the gods as ever.” The two of us looked at each other, an awkward silence filling the room. Servius waved the tape recorder in front of my face.

        “Anyway, Mr. Kanuntee, could you tell me how your relation to your grandfather has affected your life? Any, you know…bad experiences? He is a bit of a controversial figure, no offense.”

        “Back home? No. Like I said, we’re not crazy over in Ghana. Even if someone did have a problem with my grandpa, they’re not idiots. They know the difference between him and me.”

        “And what about since you’ve moved here?” Dinkee shook his head, then gave me a curt smile.

        “Why do you think I’ve got the fake name, huh? Nobody knows who I really am, except you and Jono over there.” He pointed at his slave, who was quietly stepping away. “I hear what people say, though. I watch the news, walk down the street listening to what everyone talks about as I pass them by. Saying my dear grandpa was the most evil man who lived, suffering in Tartarus now…vile, you know? Just vile. I know they’d tear me apart if they knew who I was. Praise Nyame you’re finally allowed to even say evolution is real in this crazy country.”

        “If you hate Nova Roma so much, why do you live here?” asked Servius. Dinkee turned to my slave, squinting at him with barely hidden contempt. I steadied my hand towards my pistol. “...Sir?” Servius sheepishly added.

        “I would’ve stayed back in Ghana if the money hadn’t gone away. Once the whole world did business with us. Now all the people want is oil, and we haven’t got enough of that to share. Things have gone downhill ever since. The place isn’t really down the tubes yet, but it’s not the kind of place for an old man to spend his golden years. I had the money to go somewhere better, so I looked at my options. China gets worse every year, assuming they’d even let in a nigger that worships the gods to begin with. Arabia’s got the oil, but not much else. And Hispania’s not so big on calling the gods by a different name.” Dinkee leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “All that left for me was here.”

        “I’m guessing you’re no fan of the Roman government?”

        “I don’t care about the government. What I can’t stand is the people. Back in Ghana, we care about loving one another. We used to, at least. You don’t go spitting on a man who’s done nothing to you. I’m the only one in this damn country who knew Kee Kanuntee. I’m the only one who visited him every month. He never did wrong by me, and he sure never did wrong by anyone else here. If you think he’s wrong, fine, but you don’t take it out on him. When he wrote about evolution, he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, but people talk about him like he killed their baby. That’s why I try to stay in here as much as I can.”

        “What about work, Mr. Kanuntee?” The old man shook his head.

        “Grandpa left the family with more money than I need. As soon as I teach Jono how to read so he can follow a damn shopping list, I’m never getting out of this house.”

        “That’s not too healthy, is it? Shutting yourself off from the world like that.”

        “The world’s full of people that’d shoot me if they knew my real name. Who needs the world? I’ve got enough money to last me until I die and then some. I’ve got enough books up here to keep me from getting bored. I’ve got Jono, I’ve got Nyame, and I’ve got my wine. The only other thing I need is patience. I’m an old man, Diagoras. Way I see it, there’s just a few years left until Nyame’s taking me to see my family again. Old Kee will be there too, and he’ll be there, believe me, not in your Tartarus, and he’ll ask me how I’ve been since the last time I saw him, just like he always does.”

        “So that’s your plan, then?” asked Servius. “Just…waiting to die? Why?”

        “Because I ain’t in a hurry. If I was, I’d be telling people my name. Besides, someone’s got to be feeding Anansi, and Jono hasn’t got the balls to do it.”

        “Who’s Anansi?” I asked. Dinkee’s face grew into a proper smile.

        “Come with me,” he replied, grabbing his cane. “I’ll show you.” The old man hobbled up the stairs of his home, the two of us trailing slowly behind him. Dinkee’s bedroom was the exact opposite of where I last was. Downstairs was a room not too different from the home of any born Roman, with only a scattering of Ghanaian trinkets. In the bedroom, tribal masks stared me down from nearly every wall. On the floor was a brightly-colored hand-woven rug, bearing an elaborate pattern no Roman weaver would dare to depict. On a nearby nightstand sat a statue of a household god, one much less hideous than mine. I tried to keep my eye on the statue, the sole reminder that I hadn’t set foot in Africa.

        “Here’s Anansi,” Dinkee said, gesturing to two terraria at the corner of the room. The one on the left housed hundreds of crickets, crawling and jumping throughout the tank. There was something unsettling about seeing an orgy of so many insects in one place, but the terrarium on the right was the real centerpiece. In there was a colossal tarantula, nearly the size of my hand, its body covered in tufts of orange and black fur.

        “Oh, Pollux,” whimpered Servius, stepping behind me. Dinkee reached from the tank of crickets, grabbing one of the bugs with his bare hands. He then lowered the poor thing into Anansi’s tank. The cricket stood still, seemingly oblivious to being in the den of a monster. The spider was motionless as well, at least at first. I must have spent a whole minute there, just watching the two of them do nothing. Then, the tarantula lunged at its food, so sudden I nearly jumped. Servius took another step backwards. Dinkee just laughed.

        “Anansi is a boys’ name, but I don’t think she minds,” he says, leaning closer to the tank. “They say that once there were no stories in the world. But Anansi the Spider, the real Anansi…oh, he was a clever trickster, he was. Nyame told Anansi he’d give him all the stories if he could bring him the world’s greatest beasts. The little spider did it, and that’s how we know all about the gods.” He reached into the terrarium, lightly stroking the spider with one finger. “Sometimes when I’m going to sleep at night, I can hear the little patter of Anansi’s feet. I like to think she’s whispering some of the old stories to me.”

        “A trickster gave us the stories of the gods, huh?” I looked down at my swastika again. Dinkee lifted the spider out of the tank, letting it slowly crawl up his arm.

        “How can you let that ugly thing touch you?” Servius asked, slowly backing towards the door.

        “She’s not ugly, slave boy!” Dinkee hissed. “Anansi doesn’t care where you’re from or what you believe. She’s never talked bad about another man’s family. She’s never gone to war with another country, or drove one into poverty. It’s you Romans, it’s your kind that are the ugly ones!” The spider was now resting on his shoulder.

        “No, Anansi’s very beautiful. She’s so different from us, and yet she survives just like we do. I don’t know how to walk with eight legs, and I don’t know how to spin a web. Neither do you. But she does. If a man made Anansi, we’d be trying to figure out how she works. But it was Nyame that made her, so everyone decides we’re better off not trying to learn. They call my grandpa an atheist, you know? They say he was trying to spit on the gods. It isn’t true. My grandpa loved Nyame even more than I do. That’s why he studied evolution. You understand the work the gods put into making the world, you can respect them even more.” My slave grabbed my sleeve, gesturing towards the exit with his head.

        “We should probably be going,” I said, turning to my host. “Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Kanuntee. Hopefully your words will be able to open people’s minds.”

        “Yeah, thanks,” said Dinkee absentmindedly, his attention firmly on the tarantula. “I guess you know where the door is.” He was too preoccupied with his spider, so Servius and I saw ourselves out.

        “What a strange person,” Servius said to himself.

        “Our African friend is a real loony, that’s for sure. I guess if you spend as much time dealing with religious crazies as he has, you’ll always end up losing it a little yourself.”

        “Gah!” Servius screamed. On the ground, a spider was crawling near his feet. “What’s with all the spiders today?” I looked down at the creature myself.

        “Why don’t you get the car ready?” I offered, tossing him the keys. “No spiders in there, I think. Go play a cassette you like or something. I’ll catch up.” Servius ran off, leaving me alone with the spider and my thoughts. I’ve talked to two immigrants now, and both times trickster gods have come up. Gottlieb thought the gods of Rome were created by Loki. Dinkee thought Anansi brought us the stories of the gods. The spider on the ground was now approaching me. Servius may have been scared to death by the thing, but I could easily tell it was harmless. When Dinkee sees one of these things, he probably gets reminded of how Anansi brought us all the gods’ stories.

        I crushed the spider, wiped its remains off my shoe and onto the old man’s porch, then made my way to the car.

FEBRUARY 7, 2766

“How do I look?” I asked, adjusting my tie.

        “You look fine,” said Servius. “You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

        “For what? You know nobody in there’s going to listen to what a slave has to say.”

        “Just for, you know…support.”

        “I don’t need support!” I snapped back, trying to ignore that I felt my heart was about to collapse on itself. “I’ve…I’ve got this, all right? I’m a professional. I’m going to walk in, make my case, they’ll approve me, and it’ll all be fine. Now just sit back and drink your wine, OK?”

        I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. The air was that special scent you could only find in the morning. I looked up and saw Lucifer, still shining high in the sky. Would the censors even be open this early?

Outside of the priesthood, nobody in the government has the power of the censors. They’re the ones who decide who’s worthy of citizenship. They decide if a slave can become a free man, or in a few special cases, the other way around. They decide where the money goes. They even decide the proper ceremony for worshipping Rome’s myriad gods. But the big one, for me, at least, is their control over maintaining Roman morality. These guys are the reason why I’ve always got to word my column so carefully.

I stepped into the building, immediately greeted by an uneventful scene. To be sure, the room had the same pristine interior as every government building, but it lacked in decoration. The only true garnish in the room was a miniature statue of Mercury sitting on the counter, the god of communication in a place dedicated to making sure there’s less of it.

Behind the counter sat a middle-aged woman with a thick pair of spectacles, idly thumbing through a book. For all I knew she could’ve been reading a banned book, maybe Confucius or something. Aside from her, the building seemed deserted.

“Hello there,” I said, leaning towards the counter. I looked at my hip, making sure my gun was visible. “Are you open?” The woman closed her book, setting it aside without a word.

“I wouldn’t be here if we weren’t,” she replied condescendingly.

“Great! My name’s Diagoras Cinna, New Antioch Tribune, you might have read my column, and I had an appointment to make sure this book I’m working on would be, you know…censor-approved.”

“Ah yes,” the woman said. “Mr. Cinna. So, tell us a little about this book.”

“…Tell you, you mean. Are you, uh…are you the one in charge here? I was kind of hoping I’d be speaking to someone, you know…high up.” My eyes darted around the room.

“I’ll relay everything you say to them, don’t you worry.” The woman put her elbows on the desk, leaning slightly towards me. “So what’s it about?” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“It’s going to be a collection of interviews with some of New Antioch’s most pious citizens, from priests and augurs to simple everyday believers. You know, a look at how religion’s affected the lives of our citizens. Snapshots of Roman life at its purest. Very patriotic.”

“And what does the book say about the gods? Positive, I assume?”

“Er…not exactly, no. It’s meant to be unbiased. Just a collection of interviews. I suppose it’d be up to the reader to decide. But everyone being interviewed would be saying good things about the gods, of course, so it’d be more positive than negative, I think.”

“I see…” The woman began idly jotting down my words on a nearby notepad. “Well, Mr. Cinna, I’ll definitely tell the censors about it, but I could spare you the trouble of waiting and just tell you the answer is no.” The smile instantly vanished from my face.

“…Why not? The book won’t say anything bad.”

“You said the people who read it could decide for themselves, honey. What you’re implying here is that someone could end up hating the gods after reading this.” I tugged at my collar.

“I mean, theoretically, yes, but…”

“The censors are here to maintain public morality, Mr. Cinna. Piety is one of the most important parts of that. Do you have any idea what would happen if we allowed anything with even a chance of turning people against the gods to go public? Atheists would run rampant, saying we don’t need to try pleasing the gods anymore. Temples would be looted and burned, the few good pious citizens would be crucified, degenerates would commit lewd acts in the street, children would be sacrificed, and after we’ve broken the pax deorum beyond repair, Jupiter would put whatever was left of Nova Roma out of its misery. You wouldn’t want something like that to happen, would you, Mr. Cinna?”

“I…” I forced out a chuckle. “I think you might be exaggerating the consequences of…”

“It’s a yes or no question, Mr. Cinna. Would you want that to happen?”

“…No.”

“I’m glad you understand. You should receive an official notice from us in the mail in about five to six weeks.” The censor returned to her book. It was getting hard to breathe. I just stared at her blankly, shaking my hands in rage. I reached for my gun, closed my eyes, then shook my head. I couldn’t get away with shooting her in a government building.

I left the censors to their evil business and began the slow walk back to the car. Not once did I take my eyes off the ground. My feet moved along slow, almost like clockwork. Servius was already halfway through his bottle of wine when I opened the door, blissfully unaware of everything around him. I briefly entertained the idea of snatching the bottle from him, finishing it off, and driving both of us off the nearest bridge, but shook the thought out of my mind. I couldn’t die yet. There was still work that needed to be done.

“Erm…excuse me, sir?” said Servius. “Do you think I could maybe…eheh…go in there myself? I kind of need to…er…use the bathroom.”

“You gotta pee?” I asked him. Servius nodded. “Great, great, let’s go take you to pee!” I pulled the slave out of the car and took him to the front of the censors’ office.

“Here you are, the perfect spot!” I declared, pushing him towards the wall. “Go on, go pee! Right there!” Servius looked around him.

“Couldn’t I, you know…couldn’t I go inside, sir?”

“There aren’t any bathrooms inside. They just go right wherever they’re standing. As soon as I stepped in the door, all I could see was shit. Oh, you don’t want to go in there. This right here, this is the best place.”

“I…I don’t know, Diagoras. This is…this is the censors’ building.”

“So? You see anyone else around? Look at how early it is. Nobody will know. Now come on, go pee.” I turned my head, admiring the morning sky some more. I could hear Servius unzipping his pants, then grunting in frustration.

“Are you done yet?”

“I…I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”

“Why not? I already told you, we’ll be fine. And besides, they deserve a little piss on their walls anyway.”

“…But you’re here.”

“I’m not looking!”

“But you’re still here, sir. You’ve got to be…you’ve got to be relaxed for this kind of thing. You can’t force it.” I scowled at my slave, shaking my head.

“Useless. Absolutely fucking useless,” I said, dragging him back towards the car.

I made a beeline back to the apartment, frowning the whole drive, then quickly locked myself in my room and drank myself into a stupor. After who knows how long, the phone started to ring. I slowly came to again, my mouth so cottony I could barely tell if my tongue was there.

“H…hello?” I said woozily, picking up the telephone.

“Hey, Diagoras?” It was Turbidus. Just what I needed today. “How’d the meeting with the censors go?” I put the phone on the desk, away from earshot, groaned to myself, then brought the phone back to me.

“It went…it went great,” I answered. “They said it can go through and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Really? And you got that from them in writing?”

“You know how the government is, they’ve always got to…you know…always got to take their time processing this kind of thing. But they told me it’s all OK, and they should have…they should have a note for you by the time the book’s ready to print.”

“You’re sure about all this?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure.”

“All right, then. Thanks, Diagoras. I appreciate you pulling through.” I hung up the phone. I’d probably feel guilty about lying once I’d sobered up. No, actually. Fuck that. Turbidus and all the stooges at the Tribune deserve whatever they get. They had the nerve to try and stop me from finishing this. They’re just like the censors. They deserve each other, and by the time the lie catches up to them it’ll be too late.

Besides, it’s not like I’m doing this for selfish reasons. The gods need to be exposed. Once the book’s released and people realize how badly our country’s been fucked up because of this stupid religion, we can start making steps to improve things. As far as I’m concerned, telling a lie is worth it if it means making the world a better place.

I reached for the nearest bottle of wine and returned to my slumber, confident that the ordeal with the censors was behind me.

FEBRUARY 13, 2766

The feast of Parentalia is always an unusual sight for the New Antioch National Cemetery. For most of the year, the cemetery’s a barren place, reserved only for the best of the dead, and whatever family stops by to mourn them. The National Cemetery marks the permanent home for past Emperors, Senators, priests, war heroes.

        I don’t consider it bragging to say that the Cinna family is among the buried at New Antioch. My grandfather was done in by a sniper back in Nanking. No doubt my father was somewhere among the crowds, stirring himself in a foul mood among the dead. This is why I’m staying by the neglected grave of a forgotten Emperor by the name of Romulus Lindum instead of my grandfather’s.

        On the beginning of Parentalia, the cemetery is the liveliest spot in the city. Throngs of families crowd the area, carrying offerings for their departed ancestors. I’ve brought a loaf of bread and bottle of Falernian myself. After a while one of the Vestals will appear in the center, officially beginning the feast. The Emperor himself might be there too.

        “Who are you hoping to interview here, sir?” asked Servius, his eyes constantly wandering around the scene. So many people had crowded the cemetery that it was near impossible to see them as individuals anymore. They were just an indeterminate blend of life.

        “No interview today. Hold this.” I handed Servius the loaf of bread. “Just observation. There are things you can learn just watching the way people act on holidays that no interview will ever give you.”

        “What’s wrong with Parentalia? I thought you cared about family.”

        “You know I care about family,” I put my hand over my eyes to block out the sunlight as I peered at the crowd. “But I don’t think your family turns into little gods after they die. You really think ever since Grandpa Buculus was shot, he’s been living next to that horrible statue of ours and watching all the times we jacked off back in our school days? How horrible do you have to be to get an afterlife like that?”

        “T...that’s not what Parentalia’s about, sir,” the slave stammered. It’s for honoring the dead.”

        “Honoring the dead’s great, I’m all for that. The middle part of Parentalia where people just do their little sacrifices in private? No complaints. It’s the beginning and end that I’m not a fan of.” A vendor walked past us, hawking potential offerings to the ancestors.

        “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Servius. All this spectacle isn’t going to please a single person in this cemetery. They’re dead, they don’t care. Parentalia’s not about honoring your family, it’s about twisting the concept to go hand in hand with religion so nobody questions it. ‘Oh, you don’t think the gods are real? I never knew you hated your family!’ Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. Help yourself to the bread if you want.”

“Didn’t you bring this bread for a sacrifice?” asked Servius, looking down at the food.

“No, I brought it to blend in. You want something to eat, go right ahead.” I turned my full attention to the crowd.        

Soon a woman emerged onto the stage, and every last one of us fell silent. Her face was half-concealed by a heavy cowl, but underneath there was clearly a youth of intense beauty. She was one of the Vestal Virgins, the priestesses of Vesta who care for the flame said to keep the Roman Empire alive. We revere these women in a way otherwise reserved for the Emperor and the gods themselves. They have the populace’s unwavering trust. If a Vestal said two plus two made five, we’d get to work revising the math books instead of accuse a Vestal of lying. If you so much as slap a Vestal in the face, you get moved straight to the front of death row. Unless she decides to pardon you, in which case you’re free, no questions asked. The Vestal Virgins enjoy privileges available to few other Romans, all at the cost of being forbidden from ever experiencing the touch of a man.

        “Oh, great ancestors of the families of Rome, and the gods whom they loyally serve!” prayed the Vestal, her naked voice miraculously carrying all the way to the outskirts of the silent crowd. “Please accept these humble offerings to your magnificence, and may the generations of the past watch over ours, as well as the countless others to come! May Jupiter allow Nova Roma and her citizens to continue to prosper! May Mars and Neptune protect our valiant soldiers in the conflict in the Middle East! May Mercury allow our nation’s wealth to grow further! May Ceres and Bacchus ensure that no citizen goes hungry and unhappy! And may Vesta’s eternal flame never extinguish! Hear our prayers and accept our gifts, gods and ancestors of Nova Roma, and grant us peace for many more years to come!”

        The priestess left the center, disappearing into the crowd. In her place came Emperor Piissimus, waving at the adoring public as armed Praetorians surrounded him. There’s something very surreal about seeing the Emperor in person. You see him all the time, of course. He’s in the newspaper, he’s on TV, odds are there’s a statue of him somewhere in your town. It’s easy to forget there’s a real person behind the face.

        “Thank you, Vestal Mera,” said the Emperor, before turning his attention to the masses. A nearby cameraman leaned in for a better shot at his face. “It’s truly heartwarming to see so many of my fellow Romans gathered here. There’s no denying that many challenges await our nation on the road ahead. Next month, thousands of brave young men will make a great sacrifice, so that we may uplift and civilize those of an unenlightened land. As Mars’ holy month draws nearer, be sure to keep his faithful servants in your prayers.” He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of silence. In another life he could’ve been doing Seneca on Broadway.

        “Fortunately,” the Emperor continued, “We have this sacred day, the Parentalia, to remind us that we have nothing to fear. We are the sons and daughters of Romulus. Our ancestors took a simple city of brick and transformed it into the greatest empire the world has ever seen. They took the untamed frontier and savage natives of the New World and built a nation just as great over it. Our ancestors have triumphed in battle countless times before, the Gauls, the Persians, the Huns, the Chinese. All of you have incredible DNA, and don’t forget it. The conflict in Arabia will come to an end soon, the pax deorum will stay as strong as ever, and the Roman people will continue to triumph!” The crowd erupted into applause. I took a slight step back.

        “Come on, Servius,” I said, pulling a corkscrew from my pocket. “Let’s get out of here and try to open this thing.”

        “I thought you wanted to see the whole ceremony?”

        “I know the rest of the drill already. Everyone goes to their ancestors’ graves, leaves an offering, maybe says a little prayer. That part’s the same each year.”

        Servius and I made our way through the cemetery, carefully darting around the countless gatherers who came to make their annual sacrifice. Soon we were near the cemetery’s edge, away from the big names that appear in the history books and surrounded by the graves of fallen soldiers, indirect sacrifices for the pleasure of Mars.

        “Diagoras!” a familiar voice shouted. I stopped in my tracks and turned my head. Slightly behind me was the grave of Buculus Cinna, an offering at its feet. My parents were kneeling there, though they sprung to their feet almost as soon as I saw them.

        “There you are, son!” said my father, hurrying over to me. He moved like he was still a man of thirty. “We didn’t know you were here! What’s the matter, got lost?” Servius began stepping forward with a smile, eager to greet the sweet old couple that bought him all those years ago.

        “Eh…yes, yes, that’s exactly what happened!” I answered. “The cemetery’s so big. Didn’t have a clue where I was supposed to go.”

        “Oh, it’s so great to see you again!” said my mother, hugging me. “How has your little project been going?” I glanced towards the parking lot.

        “It’s going fine,” I answered. “Just, you know…been getting interviews done. Servius has been a big help recording everything, hasn’t he?” I turned to my slave, putting a finger to my mouth with one hand and pointing at my parents with the other.

        “Oh, of course, masters!” Servius answered, giving a little bow. “Diagoras even taught me how to work a tape recorder. I’ve been so lucky following him on all these interviews. He’s even hoping to speak to the Emperor!”

        “Ooh!” exclaimed my mother. “My son and the Emperor! Wouldn’t that be lovely? You’d have to get a picture taken!”

        “Don’t get your hopes up, Julia,” added my father. “The Emperor’s a busy man. Especially with all this Arabia business.”

        “Yeah…hey, just out of curiosity, what are your thoughts on all that? Just to get a, you know…a man on the street opinion.”

        “Well, I wish we didn’t have to risk our boys’ lives,” answered my father. “But if it’s for the good of the country, then it’s all right by me.”

        “I see…” I said, turning my head towards my mother. “And how about you, Mom?”

        “Well, I don’t know,” she answered thoughtfully. “I mean, I care about our safety, but I just don’t think the Emperor should be going around messing with other countries.”

        “Even countries that have been insulting the gods?” asked my father, turning to face his wife.

        “Insulting the gods how, Postumus? You know I don’t keep up with the news the same way you do, dear.”

        “In Damascus, there was this great temple to Jupiter. We’re talking an ancient one here. Been around ever since the days of Augustus. When the Arabs started rioting against our way of life…you know what happened, don’t you, son?” He turned back to me.

        “They looted the temple,” I explained, rolling my eyes.

        “Right! Completely ruined it. That beautiful statue of Jupiter they had inside? It’s not there anymore.” My father pursed his lips, like he’d always do when he was angry. “Any infidel that’d harm a temple like that deserves everything our troops can give them and more. I just hope Dis will be able to finish that job for the bastards once they’re dead. The worst punishments in Tartarus are reserved for the treacherous.”

        “You’re talking about the Arabian soldiers, right?” I asked. “I thought all soldiers went to Elysium.”

        “All Roman soldiers go to Elysium!” said my father with a snort.

        “Why? Other countries’ soldiers make sacrifices too, don’t they?”

        “What are you trying to say?” asked my father, leaning forward. The people around us were starting to look.

        “Excuse me, dear?” interrupted my mother, pulling her husband back. “Don’t you think we should be going? We’ve already made our sacrifice…and you boys are about to as well, right?” She looked at me and Servius. I was clutching my bottle of wine like a newborn baby. Now the whole crowd was expecting something of me. I took a deep breath, then smiled.

        “Of course we were,” I responded, gently sliding the corkscrew back into my pocket. “After all, I care about my family. Everyone in it.” I stepped toward my grandfather’s grave, placing the wine next to my parents’ offerings. Servius did the same with the loaf of bread.

        “Oh, grandfather, Buculus Cinna!” I said, raising my arms up into the air. “Thank you for your valiant sacrifice to your country. In honor of my ancestors, I present you with this humble offering. I hope that it will be found pleasing!” The crowd turned around, no longer interested in watching me. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

        “That was lovely, son,” said my mother. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

        “Is Relicta coming to give an offering?” I asked. The smile vanished from my mother’s face as soon as it came.

        “You know that’s not allowed, son.”

        “What, her coming, or me mentioning her?” Servius stood up and tapped me on the shoulder.

        “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “We’re going to be late! Remember our meeting with the Tribune at 2?”

        “What mee…” my vision turned to my frowning parents. “Oh, right, of course, the meeting! I’m sorry, I’ve got to get going. Work and all that. It was great seeing both of you again, though.” Servius and I bolted towards the parking lot as quickly as we could. Once we were safely out of the crowd’s reach, I turned around.

        “A blessed Parentalia to all of you!” I shouted.

        The drive back home was dead silent, save the steady hum of the engine. I stared at the road ahead, a sour look on my face throughout. Servius was gazing out the window, trying to get whatever amusement he could out of the sights of this city. It must have been half an hour before either of us spoke.

        “Falernian,” I mumbled, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. “That was a bottle of Falernian. We didn’t even get a taste.”

        “It’s not worth getting upset about, sir,” replied Servius. “Lots of people brought wine.”

        “No, lots of people brought shitty two-denarius convenience store wine. I can promise you, that was the only bottle of Falernian in the whole cemetery.” We hit traffic, leaving the two of us stuck in the road. I turned to look at my slave.

        “I mean, why do you think that is, huh? Why are the sacrifices always so…bad? When the gods answer our prayers, we toss them coins in gratitude, but it’s always the cheapest, dirtiest coin we’ve got. The one that’s easiest to part with.”

        “It’s not about the gift, sir, it’s about the giving,” answered Servius, still with his back turned to me.

        “That’s convenient, isn’t it? The same guys who’d kill all your kids if you bragged too much aren’t even the tiniest bit upset if they end up with socks for their birthday.” The traffic cleared up, forcing my attention back on the road. “I know the real answer. It’s because, deep down, everyone knows it’s all fake. They don’t want it to be, of course, so they lie to themselves, play along with all the ritual and sacrifice, but they never really give it their all. If the Emperor told you the gods wanted you to chop off your dick, would you do it?”

        “The Galli do it, don’t they?”

        “The Galli are freaks, Servius. But I’m not asking them, I’m asking you. Would you?” Servius kept looking out the window, not saying a word.

        “That’s what I thought.” The drive continued in awkward silence for a few more minutes, both of us just taking in the scenery, content with our own thoughts. Soon enough, we hit traffic again.

        “They didn’t invite Relicta,” I finally said. “They’re willing to go through all that spectacle for the dead people in the family, but they still won’t help the ones who are still alive.”

        “Are you doing all of this for Relicta, sir?” Servius asked, finally giving me a look at his face.

        “Don’t tell me you’re not upset either. You were as close to her as I was. When we were kids you even joked about wanting to marry her. You remember that?”

        “I don't think...you know, it's not right what happened to her, sir, but I don’t think it’s right to hate the whole faith because of it.”

        “Why not? They’re the reason she ended up in that mess.”

        “I don’t think it was the only reason, sir. She did agree to…” I pulled the car over and shifted it into park, Servius leaning to his side as the vehicle jerked.

        “Think real hard before you finish that sentence,” I said, staring the slave down. Servius turned his head away from me and slouched into his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible.

        “Good choice,” I said, bringing the car back onto the road. “I think she’s had enough people talking shit about her for a lifetime already, don’t you?” In the distance, I could see the forum of New Antioch. All the temples there were closed for the entire festival of Parentalia, yet the stores were as lit as they’d be any other day. No doubt Parentalia was one of their special business days, with everyone hurrying to buy offerings for the ancestors. I soon found myself turning towards the forum.

        “Uh…sir?” asked Servius. “I thought we were going home?”

        “Just making a little detour. I want to pick up a new bottle of Falernian,” I told him. “And a book.”

FEBRUARY 22, 2766

Anyone who’s visited New Antioch’s Temple of Apollo can testify to the beauty of the building. As the god of light, music, and poetry, Apollo’s priests saw it fit to decorate the temple in a manner fitting for the deity that’s brought so much beauty into the world. Past the temple’s elegant marble exterior, visitors are treated to a palatial scene. The common man who comes to worship can sit in armchairs normally only reserved for the highest men in the state. In the center is a golden statue of Apollo, his signature lyre in hand. Soft music plays through the temple’s speakers, lending the impression that the god himself is playing. The Temple of Apollo is decadent, beautiful, and funded by taxpayers.

        If you tell the priests you want to see the oracle, though, they’ll take you to a room in the back, one that’s practically the opposite of the rest of the temple. The only decorations are a semi-circle of hard wooden benches, and a bowl on a table in the center. Any other objects would go to waste, as the room is granted only the dimmest illumination, coming from weak lights near the floor. It may lack the charm of the rest of the temple, but this is one of the few places, they say, where a man is allowed to communicate directly with the gods.

        “How long do we need to wear these, sir?” asked Servius, tugging at his respirator. He looked almost like a surgeon with it on.

        “The whole time.”

        “The whole time?!” he repeated. “Why?”

        “Because we need sobriety!” I replied. “Who knows what kind of gasses they pump into this room? We need a clear head if we’re to report this properly. Whatever it is that the oracle’s crazy visions come from, I want as little of it as possible.”

        A priestess stepped forward into the light. Tradition mandates that only virgins can be oracles. This one in particular seems like she’s barely legal. Her transparent robe let me see her whole body. Her face was smooth, yet with a slight pout to it, surrounded by a mess of black unkempt hair. She may have been dressed like a whore, but there was something in her face, trying so hard to look mature, to make it clear this whole affair was of the utmost seriousness for her.

        “Are you ready to begin?” she asked, sprinkling an offering of unidentifiable leaves into the ceremonial bowl. I nodded in response, then turned towards Servius. My slave was watching the oracle with an almost perverse fascination, his eyes unblinking as the priestess prepared herself.

        “Make sure you’re recording all this,” I whispered to him.

        “Yes, sir,” Servius said with a roll of his eyes.

        “You should know this is an…unusual request,” said the oracle, revealing the matchbook clutched in her left hand. “Most visitors come to Apollo for a single question, not an interview.”

        “Well, we appreciate…Apollo being willing to go along with it.”

        “Let us begin,” she said. The oracle lit a match, then threw it into the ceremonial bowl, lighting the offering ablaze. She leaned forward, breathing in the fumes. Servius was getting closer to the bowl himself.

        “Sobriety,” I reminded, putting my arm in front of him. The oracle gave a smile of extreme serenity, the kind people only give during those rare moments when for once it feels like everything is good in the world. Then, she leaned her head back, grunting in agony. The priestess fell to the floor, violently convulsing, almost like she was having a seizure.

        “Er…hello?” I asked, rising from my seat and taking baby steps towards the priestess. “Am I…am I speaking to Apollo?” The oracle looked up at me, then slowly struggled back onto her feet. There was a dead look in her eyes. She wasn’t looking at me so much as through me.

        “Yes,” answered the oracle in a deep voice, trying her hardest to sound like a man. “It is I, Apollo, the lord of the sun. Why have you summoned me here?”

        “Hello there…Apollo,” I said with a smirk. “First of all, thanks for the sun. I’m a big fan. Seeing it always brightens my day. I was wondering if you’d be interested in a little interview?”

        “An…interview?” asked the priestess. “What makes a mortal such as yourself worthy of so much of my time? Not even to Emperors have I ever imparted so much wisdom.”

        “Because I’m not interested in prophecy. You don’t have to reveal any secrets of what’s yet to come. We’ll just talk about things that have already happened. Nice and straightforward. You can spare the time for that, can’t you?”

        “Speak your questions,” said the oracle, extending an open palm out towards me. Servius scooted along the bench, moving closer towards me for a better view at the priestess.

        “All right, for starters, I’d like to ask you about Niobe, the Queen of Thebes. Do you remember her?”

        “Vividly,” answered the oracle, scowling.

        “When she bragged that her fourteen children made her a greater mother than your own, you and your sister Diana slaughtered them all, correct? You shot the boys, she shot the girls. Even though the kids themselves hadn’t done anything.”

        “We had delivered fair punishment. Shameless pride is always met with the ultimate humbling. Arachne claimed to be a greater weaver than Minerva, and for that she became a spider. Niobe claimed to be a greater mother than Leto, and for that she was granted unconquerable grief. When I saw her surrounded by the corpses of her family, pleading futile prayers for us to spare at least one, I smiled, knowing she had met justice.” The priestess’ eyes focused back on me, shooting me a chilling stare. “Such is the fate of those who believe they can best the gods.”

        “Sir?” whispered Servius, tugging at my shirt. “I think maybe you should ask something a little bit less…”

        “Shut up, Servius.” I turned my attention back to the oracle. “OK, let’s say Niobe did deserve to be punished. Haven’t you ever felt even slightly bothered that you killed all those innocents just to get back at one guilty person? I mean, when Achilles killed your own son, you killed him. How come you can kill someone else’s children as collateral damage, but somebody else can’t do the same for yours?”

        “To ask of the difference between god and man is foolish. Man’s children will all succumb to death eventually. What shame is there should the gods choose to take them prematurely?”

        “The shame is that people are bowing down and worshipping a god that goes around killing innocent kids.” The oracle took a deep breath. The smile returned to her face, though only briefly.

        “Have you another question?” she asked.

        “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got another question. So, you carry the sun around in your chariot, correct? Each morning you bring it out, and each night you take it away, they say.”

        “Correct,” answered the oracle.

        “But now we know the sun doesn’t go away at all. It’s the Earth that moves. Cuprummin proved that centuries ago.” The priestess smirked.

        “So proud is man, with his foolish beliefs that his mortal mind could hope to unravel the workings of the universe. Cuprummin and all of your other…scientists had never been in the sky. Kanuntee was not there to see the birth of the first man. Why would you value their words over those who had seen it all happen?”

        “Because Ovid never saw any of that either, for starters.” I crossed my arms, looking down at my pistol. “I mean, let’s suppose just for one second that Cuprummin was wrong. I know he wasn’t, mind you, but just suppose. Even if Cuprummin was wrong, that still doesn’t mean you’re right. Just because we don’t know why the sun rises and sets, that wouldn’t automatically make the answer a guy in the sky carrying it away when he’s not shooting kids that did nothing wrong.”

        “What are you trying to say?” asked the oracle with a frown.

        “I’m trying to say that you and the rest of the people that run this temple should be ashamed of yourselves. How many people have come in here looking for advice? How many times have you dealt with someone coming to you asking if they should…I don’t know, quit that job, or go through with the marriage? How many people have driven themselves off a precipice because when the time came to make a big decision, they put their faith into some doped-up teenager in desperate need of acting lessons?” The priestess’ lips began to quiver, almost like she was on the verge of tears. I’d spent so much time talking to “Apollo” I’d practically forgotten the oracle was even there.

        “I am tired of your questions,” said the sibyl, doing her best to hide the hurt from her voice. “If you come without matters of prophecy, you waste the time of me and my servant.” Servius tapped at my shoulder.

        “Sir?” my slave suggested. “We really should get going. If this keeps up…”

        “You want prophecy?” I interrupted. “Fine, riddle me this. What am I going to have for dinner tonight? Because whatever the wise little prophet says, I’m not going to eat it.”

        “Diagoras Cinna!” screeched the oracle, her voice carrying the utmost gravity. She pointed a bony finger at me. “Know what your irreverence will bring! Your actions this year will shape the world for centuries to come! Endless corpses, wrought by your deeds! A new age of darkness! The death of a king!”

        “Yeah, real scary,” I said, weakly clapping my hands together. “You still haven’t answered the dinner question, though.” The oracle leaned her head back, then collapsed to the floor, her entire body shaking in turmoil.        

“Looks like the session’s over, then.” I reached into my pocket for a denarius, tossing the coin at the oracle’s writhing body. “Thanks for the show, doll. Come on, Servius.”

        “Diagoras!” the slave huffed, turning his head to the drooling priestess on the floor. “Are we really going to leave her like this?”

        “As far as I’m concerned, she’s Apollo’s problem now.” I opened the door, the light of the temple’s hall flooding the oracle’s chamber. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the priests will clean her up in time for the next poor idiot she scams. Now come on, I’m starving.”

        I put my forehead to my eyes, doing my best to shield myself from the temple’s light. It was blinding after so much time in the darkness of the oracle’s chamber. I tore the respirator off my face, happily breathing without fear of what I might be taking in. Servius followed behind me, doing the same. To my right I could see worshippers tossing coins to the statue of Apollo, praying for his favor.

        “May the blessings of Apollo be upon you,” said a bowing priest as we made our way out the door. I didn’t even give him a moment’s glance. Outside, rows of cars were packed in the traffic of a New Antioch rush hour. For once, the crowded roads were a welcome sight. All that technology reminded me that the whole world hadn’t gone back to the Iron Age.

        “Endless corpses…” Servius mumbled to himself. “What do you think she meant by that, I wonder?” I turned around, shooting my slave a contemptuous look.

        “You bought all of that? Really?”

        “I was just curious what she meant when she said it, is all.” Servius looked down at the ground, trying his best to avoid making eye contact.

        “She was just trying to scare me,” I explained as we approached our car. “Chances are nobody’s ever called her out on her bullshit before, and she needed to get out of it somehow. So she spins a little prophecy about how people will die if I keep exposing the truth, thinks it’ll make me leave her alone.”

        “I don’t know…maybe she was trying to make a point, sir. If you keep insulting priests like this, they’re going to come for you eventually.” I slid the key into the car door, trying to remember the right way to turn it.

        “Nothing I do is going to bring about endless corpses, Servius.” I pulled open the car door, getting into the driver’s seat. “If anything I’d say it’s the other way around. You ever think about how many people have been killed over religion? How many wars we’ve fought? Why anyone would want to keep a system responsible for so much evil is beyond me. That’s why I’m trying to put a stop to it.” Servius buckled his seatbelt.

        “Now, if I had my own religion…not that I ever would, of course…I’d make sure the rules were good. You know, be nice to each other, don’t kill anyone…obvious shit like that. Make something nobody could possibly twist and use as an excuse to start a war over.” I turned on the ignition, letting the soft hum of the car’s engine overtake me. “Now what are you hungry for? I was thinking seafood, myself.”

MARCH 1, 2766

“Diagoras!” Servius shouted, barging into my room. I fumbled through the covers.

        “What is it?” I asked, rubbing at my eyes. “This had better be important.”

        “It’s the Kalends, sir,” answered my slave. “There’s a parade in the streets.”

        “Sure, you’ve got my permission to go. Have fun,” I said, retreating into the warmth of my covers.

        “They’re sending off the troops! Mars’ season is starting early!” I shot upright, my eyes wide and alert.

        “Where?” I hopped out of bed, searching for something to wear.

        “The forum.” Servius handed me a clean shirt.

        “Grab the tape recorder,” I ordered, pulling my pistol from its case. “Shit, I hope we’re not late.”

        We had only just stepped out of the apartment before a throng of observers made it impossible for us to pass through. Worshippers always gathered outside to pay their respects on the Kalends. Doubly so in March, when they celebrated the birth of Mars. Even then, however, the crowd seemed larger than it had been in years past.

        No cars drove along the roads today. They were reserved for Mars’ dancing priests, the Salii. Twelve young men leaped past us, dressed in the armor of ancient soldiers, complete with sword and shield in their hands. The Salii sang their traditional chant, patriotically shouting verses of Latin so dated it might as well be a foreign language.

        The priests danced past us, their ancient swords and armor giving way to a modern soldier. A fleet of legionaries marched down the road in perfect formation, their rifles proudly resting on their shoulders. This was the Fighting First, the best of the best. This was the legion that cleared the New World of the native savages all those centuries ago, that died hoping to liberate the Mexicans from Chinese control, that drove the Norsemen out of Europe. The rest of the military looks on them with the same awe the common man holds. Their uniforms were a blinding shade of red. The legion was never seen in public without the brilliant crimson of old. Up in the sky it probably looked like blood was flowing through the streets.

        In the back was the legate, Aurelius Taurus, riding on a majestic black horse and looking as healthy and youthful as he had back during the embassy attacks in Ghana. The men he commanded were stone-faced as they marched, but Taurus smiled, warmly greeting the adoring public that came to admire him. The crowd collectively shot their right arms up into the air, shouting “Ave!” at the troops. The legate did the same to them, giving that toothy grin of his and loving every moment of the spectacle.

        “Come on,” I said, nudging Servius’ shoulder. “Let’s head over to the forum.”

        “What, through all this, sir?” Servius pointed at the crowd.

        “Yes, through all that.” I grabbed his arm and dragged him along, the two of us cutting through the sea of spectators.        After what seemed like an hour, we made it to the center of the forum. The market was livelier than ever, yet not a single shop was open. Even the merchants’ endless crusade for money had to be cast aside for the god of war. The worshippers surrounding us carried plates of beef in their hands. A few were already eating.

        “Shit,” I muttered. “Took so long to get here we missed the sacrifice. Are you recording?”

        “Yes, sir,” answered Servius, fumbling with the recorder. As soon as he had it prepared, his eyes widened in awe. “By Hercules…” Verus and Falsa were walking through the crowd, giving their blessings to the citizens they passed by.

        “Did you not receive your share?” asked Verus as he approached me. Beneath the ceremonial hood was an inviting smile, the kind you’d expect greeting your next-door neighbor.

        “No, I, uh…we…”

        “We were late,” finished Servius, stepping beside me to face the couple.

        “Ah, what a shame,” mumbled Verus. “Still, the ceremony’s not over yet. You’ve come just in time for the Emperor’s prayer.”

        “Yeah, that’s great…” I said, slowly regaining my composure. “Uh…listen, I’m Diagoras Cinna, New Antioch Tribune. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

        “Name’s somewhat familiar,” answered the priest. “I might have read your column once or twice.”

        “Y...you do?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. “Well, that’s…I’m really glad to hear that! I was wondering if…if you and your…lovely wife, might be, you know…interested in an interview?”

        “Hmm…” the priest hummed to himself, putting his hand to his chin in thought. “An interview with you would be…interesting…” Falsa stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her husband’s shoulders.

        “Darling,” she whispered. “More people are waiting.” She shot me a quick glare, then turned back to her husband.

        “I’m sorry, Mr. Cinna, duty calls.” Verus and his wife wandered away from us, retreating into the crowd. “Expect a call from the Department soon! Blessings of Mars be upon you!”

        “He seems nice,” Servius said as the couple left.

        “He has to be nice,” I replied, crossing my arms. “It’s part of the job description. I know his kind. As soon as nobody’s around, the façade drops and he starts bitching about how he had to spend so much time talking to a plebeian. I can promise you that.”

        The orchestra started playing the proud national anthem of Nova Roma. The spectators immediately dropped their discussions, bringing their undivided attention to the center of the forum. Emperor Piissimus took the stage with the legate Taurus by his side, both of them eagerly receiving the adoration of the crowd.

        Behind the Emperor and Taurus stood a vexillarius, proudly carrying the flag that probably every last soul in the world can recognize. A red field. A golden laurel crown. The eagle of Jupiter standing within it. And below it all, those four sacred letters, “SPQR.” The crowd extended their right hand upwards in almost perfect union. I started to think about when I was a kid doing this routine every morning in school. Part of me expected everyone to recite the old oath: “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Senate and People of Nova Roma. And to the Empire for which it stands, one nation, under Jupiter, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all her citizens.”

        “I know we usually begin the military season on the Bacchanalia,” the Emperor said to the crowd. A few spectators gave a light chuckle. “But this year, I thought we should start things a little early. I don’t want anyone getting drunk when they could be seeing our boys off. By this time tomorrow, the brave legionaries you see before you today will be in the Orient, bravely protecting our freedom from those who’d want to destroy it. Reports of the unrest in the region have been grim. Ancient temples looted, rioters burning the Aquila in the streets…the Caesars of old would weep at what’s become of the land they once guarded. But I can promise you this much, what’s happened to the old Antioch won’t happen to the new one.” The Emperor gestured at the soldiers standing behind him. “Look at these boys right here. Some of them may be your sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, and I know you’ll be fearing for their safety every day. But they’ve got another family member caring about them too.” The Emperor closed his eyes, taking a moment to collect himself.

        “These troops right here are Romans. They are the descendants of Romulus, the son of Mars. You have the Pontifex Maximus’ word that these boys aren’t just loved by the gods, they’re practically divine themselves. Mars will be watching over these men every moment they spend in that cursed desert, and for every one he can’t bring home, you can bet your life he’ll bring them to Elysium. I’d like to see ‘Hubal’ give the infidels worshipping him that same guarantee.” The crowd erupted into applause.

        “Legate, would you do the honors of leading us in prayer?” the Emperor asked, turning to Taurus. The Emperor stepped backwards, making way for his general. Legate Taurus folded his hands, then hung his head with his eyes closed. The man shamelessly smiling at the adoring crowd not too long ago was now giving them a look of the utmost solemnity.

        “Oh great Mars, god of war, father of Romulus, protector of Rome’s citizens, please hear our prayer. Watch over your loyal servants, our legionaries, during the difficult journey ahead of them. May they triumph over the blasphemous enemies at work in the Orient. May you protect as many as Fate will permit from an untimely death. And may every last one of them, the living and the dead, be granted the celebration and honors they deserve once it’s done.” The crowd fell silent for a moment, an uneasy peace in the company of thousands. Not long after, the orchestra returned to playing the usual patriotic tunes. The troops started marching again, with Legate Taurus leading them.

        “Come on,” I said, tapping Servius on the shoulder. “We’re done here.”

        “Aww, why?” asked my slave, his eyes still on the forum’s stage. “There’s still so much of the ceremony left to go!” I grabbed Servius by the shoulders and turned him around, making sure his eyes were looking directly into mine.

        “I said we’re done here.”

        After so much exposure to the insufferable noise of the spectacle outside, the silence of the apartment was a welcome relief. I had half a mind to collapse right into bed and forget about the rest of the day, though work would prevent that.

        “Recorder,” I said, sticking my hand out towards Servius. My slave quickly obliged. “I guess you’re off-duty until lunchtime.” I made my way towards my desk, my trusty typewriter sitting atop it. “Go watch some cartoons, get wasted…whatever it is you like to do.” Servius retreated towards his room, leaving me to write the day’s observations. I activated the tape recorder, ready to transcribe.

        “Zheli shi women de mengyou...” the recorder said. The gibberish droned on, the Emperor’s speech only faintly audible in the background. I lifted my head, sighing in exhaustion. Looks like the recorder only picked up whatever sounds were nearby, leaving me with a perfect recording of some asshole rambling on about gods-know-what in Chinese instead of anything that actually matters. Fuck it. The occasional paraphrase wouldn’t hurt. My hands ticked away at the keys, recounting the Emperor’s words as best as I could. Need to think of a way to blame Servius for the faulty recording job later.

        With that unpleasantness completed, I reached for the nearby drawer. Inside was the book on home improvement I’d picked up back at the forum last Parentalia. I darted my eyes around the room, making sure there was no sign of Servius, and began to read.

        I heard the sound of a creaking door. In a hurry, I stuffed the book back into the drawer. Servius made his way to the fridge, paying no mind to me as he reached for a bottle of wine.

        “Where’s the corkscrew, sir?” he asked, scratching at the bottle’s top in vain.

        “In the drawer with the silverware, same place it always is,” I answered, pointing. Servius began his struggle with the bottle, hoping for a taste of the sweet nectar inside.

        “So…” I mumbled, half to myself. “What did you think of the ceremony?”

        “I thought it was a nice send-off,” grunted Servius, devoting all his strength to pulling out the cork. “Hopefully they won’t be gone long.”

        “Yeah, same here…it’s interesting stuff, you know, the Emperor’s talk about the troops being divine,” I added, absentmindedly twiddling the pen in my hand. “If the war’s not over by the time this book is done, I could be in even hotter water than I thought.”

        “That’s what you’re upset about?” asked my slave, finally pulling out the cork.

        “Yes, because that’s the part that affects me. Now people will think I’m not just insulting the gods, I’m insulting all those poor brave men fighting to protect Nova Roma. Keeping a low profile’s going to be even more important now. Maybe I shouldn’t go through with interviewing Verus…”

        “Don't you care that some of them are going to die, sir?”

        “Not particularly. I don’t know any of them.” Servius’ eyes widened, like the guy was trying to kill me with his stare.

        “What?” I asked with a smile. “A bunch of Arabs are going to die too. Do you care about them?” Servius took a deep breath, then silently took his first sip of wine. “Exactly. You don’t know them, so you don’t care. Same here. I’m worried about this as much as it concerns me, in that it’s going to make it a lot harder to dodge a public crucifixion. But cheer up. You and me, we’re doing those boys a great service. We’re exposing how fucked up the whole religion is, how we’re fighting wars because of it. You could even say we’re helping out the troops more than any one of the idiots watching the parade.”

        “Do you really think we could stop wars from happening?” Servius asked, taking another swig of the bottle.

        “I doubt we could make things much worse,” I answered, leaning back in my chair. Servius shook his head.

        “If that’s what you think is right, sir.” My slave returned to his room, bottle in hand.

        “Hey!” I shouted. “Don’t get too drunk! You’re making me lunch in an hour!”

MARCH 5, 2766

On any other year, today would mark the feast of the Navigation of Isis, the holiest day of the year for the goddess’ cultists. A boat would travel alongside the cars on New Antioch’s streets, carried by Isis’ followers to honor the Egyptian queen of wisdom. This year, however, the cult of Isis has cancelled the Navigation. The thought of war is still fresh in the nation’s mind, and with it comes a contempt for all things Eastern. As the goddess of Vespasian’s holiday drew near, protesters could be seen outside the temple, decrying the cult as un-Roman. This year, Isis’ priests must settle for offering her prayers in the privacy of their own temple.

        Most of the temples that line New Antioch vie for an aged look, desperately hoping to make its followers believe the building was ripped straight from the Empire’s prime. The architects of the Iseum decided even that was too modern. Isis’ temple is treated with the ancient lavishness of the pharaohs, giving the impression I’ve walked straight into Tutankhamun’s tomb. Hieroglyphs line the building’s stone walls, recounting Egypt’s legends of old. To my left is a picture of an important-looking man, sporting a towering, priestly hat, a well-groomed, regal beard, and the longest penis I’ve ever seen in my life.

        “What…what exactly is that?” I asked, pointing to the hieroglyph. Thronus Paterculus stopped, giving the picture a quick glance. With his shaved head and leopard skin robe, Thronus seemed a little too invested in his role as the priest of an Egyptian god.

        “Ah, that’d be the sun god, Amun-Ra,” the priest explained. “The equivalent of Jupiter. After Ra gave birth to himself, he masturbated. From his ejaculate, all the lesser gods and man were born.” Thronus smiled to himself, staring at the image with an odd sense of reverence.

        “Yes, Ra is mighty,” he continued. “But it is not to him that our allegiance lies. We serve the goddess who learned the true name of Ra, becoming even greater than he in the process.” Thronus led us to the statue of a young woman, surrounded by worshippers leaving offerings of wine. Her face was unusually stoic, making an odd complement to her bare, exposed breasts. On her head was an ancient Egyptian headdress, a stark contrast to her skin, as milky white as the gods of Rome. In her arms she carefully nursed an infant, suckling happily at her teat. “Isis is not like your gods. She doesn’t reserve her ears for the lofty Senators. She is a widow herself, and she cares for the prosperous and downtrodden alike as though they were her own children.”

        “Who’s that baby supposed to be?” asked Servius, pointing at the statue. “It’s a little funny, having a statue of a woman and a baby in a temple.”

        “That, slave, would be Horus, the protector of Egypt,” answered Thronus. “When Osiris was dismembered by the wicked Set, Isis tirelessly searched to reassemble the pieces. Unable to find the penis, she used her magic to fashion one of gold for her late husband. From that, Horus was conceived.” Thronus closes his eyes, treating the death of Osiris with the solemnity he feels it deserves.

        “…So, Thronus,” I began, gesturing to Servius to start recording. “How do you feel about the Navigation being cancelled this year?”

        “It’s a tragedy, but I suppose it’s necessary. There’s been less tolerance for the gods of Egypt ever since the Sons of Horus started making the news.”

        “You’re not affiliated with the Sons of Horus?”

        “By the gods, no!” laughed the priest. “Their hearts are in the right place, I’m sure, but the things they say about the government…well, that kind of talk is dangerous, you know. I fear in the end all they’ll do is make things harder for the other followers of Isis.” He began walking away from the statue, his hand dragging along the wall the whole time, feeling the indentations of the hieroglyphs. “Rumors have started spreading that we may lose our state approval soon. The temples of Hubal have already started to close. Soon the gods of the Orient may be forbidden altogether.”

        “What about the old doctrine that Rome’s gods go by many different names?”

        “There have always been exceptions when it fits the Emperor’s needs,” said Thronus with a melancholy shake of his head. “If a god threatens the state’s well-being, they say, then he can’t be a god of Rome. Consider the cult of Mithras. Once his followers rivaled even those of the Olympians. Then the war with Persia started to escalate, and Galerianus cracked down on the cult. Why, our war with China ended decades ago, but try going out in public and saying that Jupiter and the Jade Emperor are one and the same.”

        “I’ll be honest, you didn’t peg me as the well-read type.”

        “Thoth smiles on the learned…that’s Mercury to you. And Hubal to the Arabians.” Thronus allowed himself a curt smile, returning to the hieroglyph of Ra, jacking it like a teenager that's just figured out how.

        “This isn’t really Ra, you know. The true Ra has the head of a hawk. The law forbids gods that look anything but human. We’re not strangers to compromising our gods to fit the Emperor’s needs.”

        “And what about the needs of normal people? Have you had any trouble with that since this whole war business started?” Thronus turned around, leading us farther back into the temple, allowing an awkward silence to permeate its halls as we passed the statue of Isis. With no conversation to keep my mind occupied, I noticed the leopard head Thronus wore on his back was shooting me a hungry glare through its glass eyes. Soon we were in a dim office, its modern desk and decorations serving for a strange contrast to the torch-lit stone walls.

        “You’re a journalist, Mr. Cinna,” spoke the priest, reaching for a bottle of wine underneath his desk. “So I can only assume you follow the news. You’re aware of the incident in Manhattan a few days past, I trust?”

        “I’m afraid lately I’ve only been following news of national interest.”

        “All news is of national interest, child. The nameless stranger in another province is as much a Roman as you or I, and his deeds and thoughts reflect this nation just as much as anybody else’s.” Thronus left the office, leading us down the temple’s narrow halls once again. “There is a temple to Isis in Manhattan, smaller than ours, but no less loved by the goddess. The very morning after the troops first left for Arabia, the temple’s priests woke to find their lovely walls vandalized.”

        “Like what, did they draw dicks on the wall?”

        “I wouldn’t dare repeat the messages on sacred ground,” replied the priest, still clutching the unopened wine in his hand. “Kind Isis has already been exposed to such slurs once more than she should. I’m sure you can imagine the general message, though. We were following gods of the Orient, said the vandal. We were enemies of Nova Roma, and as such we are unwelcome here.” Thronus gave a weak chuckle, then turned around to face me. In spite of the smile, there was a certain sorrow in his eyes.

        “We aren’t even going to war with Egypt!” he said, his voice beginning to break. “It’s a different region, different gods…our ancestors came here from the Orient, and now the average Roman can’t tell you the first thing about it.”

        “That is unfortunate,” I muttered, casting a quick glance at Servius. “Of course, some people could be upset with your faith for…you know, more justified reasons. What about your belief that magical spells can be used to…”

        “Forgive me, Mr. Cinna, but I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for the game you’d planned out.” Thronus soon returned to the statue of Isis, his pace slowing down with each step. “As I said, Thoth smiles on the learned. I know full well why you intended to speak to me. It would’ve been a fun little sparring match, wouldn’t it?” The priest kneeled in front of the goddess, still clutching the wine in his hands. “Of course, I had scheduled this before…the recent unpleasantness. Look around you.” In spite of the temple’s magnificence, only a scarce number of worshippers filled the room. Most of them were simply dropping off their sacrifice, then leaving.

        “Cancelling the Navigation is merely the beginning. The pressure will only build from here. I can already hear the strangers whispering…he worships Isis, he must hate the Emperor. Better be careful around him. I bet if you come here two years from now, this whole place will be…covered in plaster. A temple to...maybe Juno, I'd wager.” Thronus sniffled, trying his hardest not to tear up.

        “Ra created all things. He was once the mightiest of all the gods. Then Isis learned his true name, becoming even greater than he. Even gods can fall, Mr. Cinna. Whatever problems you have with my faith, I doubt they’ll trouble you much longer.”

        “…Are you going to be all right?” asked Servius, stepping away from my reach and towards Thronus.

        “For as long as the goddess watches me,” answered the priest. “Leave me be now.”

        “I know this might be a bad time, but could we maybe at least…”

        “I’ve said all I wish to say, child,” interrupted Thronus. The priest prostrated himself in front of the statue, exposing the leopard’s fangs to me. “The only reason I haven’t reported you to the authorities as a blasphemer is because I’ll likely be in the same position soon enough. Should you overstay your welcome, I may stop feeling so gracious. I wish to simply give my offering to Isis in peace. Her ship may no longer sail, but this is still her day, and it will be for as long as I draw breath.” Without another word, Servius and I made our way to the temple’s exit. I made sure to keep a slow pace, soaking in the lying images on the wall as much as I could.

        “Oh, great goddess Isis!” prayed Thronus in the distance. “Please accept this humble offering. Watch over the good citizens of Nova Roma, and forgive the misguided that have turned against you for their trespasses…” Priests only screamed prayers the way he did at a public ceremony. The poor bastard must have hoped if he did it loud enough, the whole Empire would hear of Isis’ greatness. They wouldn’t, of course, and the temple would probably have been torched to the ground the next day if they did.

MARCH 15, 2766

Many of the concerned parents that send their children off to Camp Piety are under the impression that the camp is run by the government. After all, their mission is to help Nova Roma’s more confused citizens stay on the path of morality, an agenda in line with the Emperor’s own. While the dozens of Camp Piety locations that dot the country surely run with the state’s silent approval, the organization behind them is privately managed and funded. Camp Piety can be called many things, but above all else I’d call it a testament to the ability of the average Roman. No matter how corrupt the government can become, they’ll never be able to match the ingenuity that a hard-working private citizen can put into cruelty.

        In front of me sat Odia Liberi, the owner of New Antioch’s Camp Piety chapter. With her oversized spectacles and curly hair tied up into a bun, it takes just a quick look at Odia to realize she must be somebody’s mother. On her desk lay the usual paraphernalia you’d expect in an office, assorted files strewn all over with a telephone sitting neatly to her right. On the other side of the desk, however, sits a household god. On the walls hung a series of vintage posters, probably from the days of the old war with China, espousing the virtues of piety and the importance of honoring the gods. Servius scooted his chair the tiniest bit to the left, as if to keep his distance from me.

        “We know what some people have to say about us,” said Odia warmly. “I don’t mind too much, of course. It takes thick skin trying to do good in a world that seems more consumed by evil each day. But I’ll confess, there is one word they use that always hurts when I hear it: ‘Hateful.’ There is nothing hateful about our operations at Camp Piety.” The woman folded her hands, leaning closer to me. “If we truly hated these kids, we would let them continue with their immoral lifestyle and face the punishments that come with it in the hereafter. But we love them, which is why we work so hard to help them back onto the path of virtue.” She smiled to herself, beaming with pride.

        “And by helping them you mean…” It was hard mustering the words. “You mean your alleged cure for atheism?”

        “There’s nothing alleged about it. Despite what some of our more stubborn patients try to tell us, people can change. Nearly all of Camp Piety’s graduates have come out as faithful to the gods as the Emperor himself.”

        “You don’t…you don’t handle adult patients too, do you?” asked Servius. Odia frowned at the question.

        “Unfortunately, if it’s an adult citizen those darn laws require the patient’s consent for us to take them in. Some poor souls are so stuck in their wicked ways of thinking that they don’t even want to be saved! Now, can you believe that? No, I’m afraid most of our patients are here through the approval of their parent or owner.”

        “You, uh…you said your methods actually worked, though,” I said. “If Camp Piety’s really as successful as you claim, what exactly does that entail?” Odia pursed her lips together in excitement.

        “Let me show you,” she said, rising from her chair. “Come on! Time for a tour! Oh, you two are in for a real treat. Not many people get to see something like this.”

        The three of us departed from Odia’s office, navigating the twisted maze of narrow passages that made up the rest of the complex. As we wandered, doors would appear on both sides of the hallway, each of them identical. Same plain tan pattern, same tiny window up on the top. The only change in the scenery that could be seen were the posters decorating the space on the walls between doors. The images may be different, but the themes were very much the same. One proudly displayed a man pointing a shotgun at the camera, the text underneath asking “If the gods don’t matter to him, do you?” Another was more simplistic, showing that famous old painting of Julius Caesar they’ve got hanging in the National Art Museum. “ATHEISM IS TREASON,” the poster read.

        “Signs of atheism usually start manifesting around adolescence,” explained Odia, leading us through the halls without the slightest hesitation at their overbearing layout. “Do you have children, Mr. Cinna?”

        “Nope. Not even married.”

        “Oh, you poor thing!” she sympathized. “Well, when you do have them, you need to watch out for the telltale signs. After you take them to the temple, do they start asking nosy questions? Do they ever seem unsure about the pax deorum? Maybe the other kids at school have been pressuring them to look at blasphemous literature. Some poor parents dismiss this stuff as ‘just a phase,’ something that’ll go away naturally. Of course, if you ignore the problem, let it get worse, you could soon have a genuine case of atheism on your hands. And you know what happens then?” I bit down on my lower lip, resisting the urge to talk.

        “I…” I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what happens then, no.”

        “Well, just for starters you could get in trouble with the law,” explained Odia. “Blasphemy’s an offense on its own, of course, but when you don’t care about what the gods have decreed good, when you don’t think there’s an Elysium or Tartarus waiting for you after death…well, morality goes right out the window, it does! Atheism kills, Mr. Cinna. When those poor misguided children are brought before the court, blasphemy is always the first of many charges they list.”

        We passed another poster, decorated with the image of a dismal gray sea, the small boat in the center serving as the picture’s only color. On the boat was a pale, gaunt man, looking like he walked straight out of one of the old horror movies, clutching an oar in his hands. “YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN THE BOAT MAY COME: DON’T FORGET YOUR FARE!” read the caption.

        “Ah, this here is interesting,” said Odia, tapping at the poster with the back of her hand. “Did you know some atheists actually demand in their wills not to be buried with coins when they die? They think there’s no underworld for them to worry about, so there’s no point to paying Charon to ferry them across the river Styx. You know what comes of them when they do die?”

        “Charon doesn’t take them?” I answered plainly.

        “Oh, he takes them, after they spend a hundred years aimlessly haunting Styx’s shores. Can you even bear to imagine that, Mr. Cinna? An entire century completely alone, consciously wandering through eternal nothingness? And that’s the easy part, of course. Afterwards, Charon will take them across. He’ll smile to himself the whole time, imagining what’s in store for them. As they pass Cerberus, seeing him howl and drool over them, the poor atheists will realize they’re wrong, but it’s too late to repent.” It was hard to tell through her glasses, but I could almost swear Odia’s pupils were dilating. “They’ll meet cruel Phlegyas, starving away in front of an unreachable feast, telling the blasphemers their error in despising the gods. They’ll be placed on their knees before the wise king Rhadamanthus, son of Jupiter himself, as he decides which of Tartarus’ unspeakable torments is best fit for them. And then…” Odia closed her eyes, smiled to  herself, and fell silent.

        “…A…and then?” stuttered Servius, his eyes wide with fear. “W…what happens?”

        “Nobody knows,” Odia answered quietly, shrugging her shoulders. “Few mortals have ever seen Tartarus, and none of them wanted to stay for long. The screams coming from its gates are enough to keep most visitors away. I can tell you this much, though. The very worst Tartarus has to offer is reserved for the Titans and the atheists.” Odia took a deep breath, trying to shake the painful visions away. “That, my friends, is why we do what we do here at Camp Piety. We wouldn’t wish for anyone to suffer such a horrible fate.”

        Odia stepped over to a nearby door, gesturing for us to come forward. Peeking through the window, I could see a kid lying strapped into a chair. He couldn’t have been any older than thirteen. His shirtless body was covered in all sorts of strange apparatuses, hooked to an unusual machine leaning against one wall. There was a gag in the child’s mouth, and a projector screen in front of his face.

        “What you’re looking at here might just be the most important part of the conversion process,” Odia explained. “To keep these impure thoughts at bay, we need to instill a negative association with them in the kids’ minds. Every once in a while, the screen will show something related to atheism. A quote, perhaps. Maybe a picture of a famous person. The next one should be just about due…”

        An old black-and-white photograph flashed onto the screen, showing an elderly black man in a sharp suit, hiding a smile underneath his beard. It’s probably the most famous picture of Kee Kanuntee out there. The child started wildly convulsing, shaking his head in agony. The soundproof glass separating us from the room left the poor boy’s screams to my imagination. I put my hand over my pistol, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

        “With a simple electric shock, even an animal can learn to steer away from improper behavior. The same methods apply to human beings as well,” Odia said with a grin. “That’s what he’s thinking right now, you know. When I see atheism, I get shocked. I’d better stay away from atheism!”

        “Yeah…” I mumbled. “That’s really…” I looked through the window again, trying to imagine how long that kid had been there. I turned away from the scene. “Tell me, Mrs. Liberi, have you…has anyone that works here at Camp Piety experienced, you know…” I waved my left hand at the window. “…something like that?”

        “Goodness, no!” Odia laughed. “Why would we need to go through that procedure? We aren’t atheists! That’s far from the only thing we do here, of course. Sometimes more…personal methods are needed. Why, I know the counseling room was around here somewhere…”

        Odia led us into a new room, one much larger than the torture chamber I’d just seen. This one looked almost like a child’s schoolroom. Bright, inspirational posters hung on the room’s yellow walls. “YOU CAN DO IT,” read one. Another showed a photograph of a man climbing a mountain, “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE TO OVERCOME” proudly displayed underneath. On the room’s floor a gathering of youths sat in a semi-circle, not one of them smiling. Most of them were teenagers, pre-teens, maybe. One couldn’t have been more than seven. In the center of them sat a plump man clutching a clipboard in his hands.

        “Hello there, Mrs. Liberi!” said the man. “I wasn’t expecting you in here today.”

        “Oh, just giving this newspaper man here a little tour,” she said sweetly, pointing at me and Servius. “Pay us no mind, Silus, just carry on as usual!”

        “So, children,” the counselor said to his patients. “First of all, a happy Ides of March to all of you. Be sure to say a prayer to Jupiter today, thanking him for all he’s done for you. Have we been reading our Metamorphoses each night? If you’ve been following our daily reading plan, you should be on the story of Phaethon. Now, after he crashed Apollo’s chariot, what happened? Anyone?” The children stayed silent. Some crossed their arms in defiance. One of the younger ones seemed close to the verge of tears.

        “The chariot crashed in Africa!” continued Silus. “The Sun’s heat scorched the land, creating the Sahara Desert, and burnt the skin of the Africans. Back when you were at school, did any of you have a friend that came from Ghana? Huh? Well, anytime you look at him, you’ll see proof of the crash.” The counselor leaned in slightly closer to the children. “You see, kids, you may think it’s hard getting rid of those impure thoughts of yours, but that’s just because you’ve tricked yourself into thinking that way. The truth is, it’s easy to believe again. After all, the gods have left behind their little signs everywhere. If you really want to get out of here and get a big old hug from Mom and Dad, have them say that now nothing’s wrong with you, all you need to do is open your mind and look at a lightning bolt.”

        One of the girls sitting down, must have been around twelve, mumbled something.

        “I’m sorry, did you say something, Clava?” asked Silus, turning to face the girl.

        “I said I don’t need this,” she said, only barely audible. “I’m fine with how I am.”

        “Oh, Clava, sweetie,” said the counselor with a smile. “Of course you think that now. They all do. The cacodemons have got a strong grip on you, child. But you won’t be thinking you’re fine when they’ve got you locked up in Tartarus, will you? We don’t want that to happen to you.”

        “If I thought Tartarus was real I wouldn’t be here,” said the girl. The other kids started looking at her nervously, almost tearing her apart with her eyes.

        “Well, if you really want to go living without the gods, you’d better go all the way, Clava,” said Silus. “Since you don’t think Ceres is real, I guess you don’t need any of the food she creates. Let me know if you change your mind. Now, let’s talk about just what we should say when we’re praying to Jupiter tonight.”

        Odia led us out of the room, beginning the long walk back to her office. As we continued down the halls, I kept my vision straight ahead, focusing on her back and paying no mind to any of the windows.

        “…He wasn’t being serious, was he?” asked Servius. “They’re…they’re going to feed that girl, right?”

        “Of course they’ll feed her, slave,” answered Odia, opening the door to her office. “It’s always frustrating when we end up with a stubborn one, but they never stay like that for long. Young Clava will go a day without eating, maybe two, and then she’ll realize all the gods have done for her. She’ll be fine!” The woman sat behind her desk, returning to the position she was at the start. “So, Mr. Cinna, was there anything else you needed to know about Camp Piety?”

        “Servius,” I said, turning to my slave and taking a deep breath. “I think that we’re just about done here. You want to head over to the car while I wrap things up?”

        “You want to hold onto the recorder, then, sir?” asked Servius.

        “I don’t need it right now. You did a good job today. Now go on, I’ll catch up to you.” Servius squinted at me for a few seconds, then turned off the camera and left the room, leaving me alone with Odia.

        “Well, Mrs. Liberi…” I said through clenched teeth. “I think this whole place is…well, it’s certainly something. You’ve got some interesting ideas here, using pain to convince people what they’re doing is wrong.”

        “Well, I’m glad that you’re able to see things on our…” Not one more word. I stood up and grabbed Odia by the back of her hair, slamming her face into the desk. I lifted her back up, let the pain wear off, get her nerves fresh and alert again, then slammed her a second time, relishing the sound of flesh meeting wood.

        I threw her against the wall, all those lying posters she’d hung up collapsing to the ground. Hyperventilating, I kneed her in the stomach, letting her screams wash over me. Her pain was my relief, my reminder that good still existed in the world. She lifted her arms, vainly hoping to push me away. That’s good. This would get boring without a little struggle. I punched her in the face, then did it a second time. A third. I wasn’t going to be happy until I saw blood. The holy offering began to trickle from her nose soon enough. With that, I let myself off of her body.

        “Y-you…” moaned Odia weakly. “What kind of…man…”

        I grabbed her household god off the desk. I clutched the statue upside-down, my hand wrapped firmly around the god’s head. I’d like to imagine the little bastard was suffocating. I had half a mind to bash the bitch’s skull in using her own protector. No. Couldn’t kill her. I still had too much to do. I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and brought myself down to Earth. The god was still in my hands, and Odia was still bleeding and crying on the floor.

        “This isn’t out of hate,” I said to her. I raised the god up as high as I could, then banged it against the edge of the desk with all my strength. I repeated the process, each bang echoing through the room like a bolt from Jupiter. Soon, the god had been broken in half.

        I dropped the ruined remains of the one Odia trusted for guidance in front of her bleeding body, then saw myself out. I think I saw all that I needed of Camp Piety.

MARCH 17, 2766

The temple of Bacchus was always an unusual sight on the night of the Bacchanalia. The building itself had the same ancient design as all the other temples, covered in worn marble meant to give the false impression the temple had existed since the days this ground was known only to the natives. Yet even from our car, the bright lights and festive music blaring from within could draw the attention of anyone passing by.

        “Can’t we pull in yet, sir?” asked Servius anxiously.

        “For the tenth time, Servius, we need to wait for the penis to park first.” In front of us was the second-most essential part of any Bacchanalia celebration. An enormous wheeled penis drove along the streets of New Antioch, a group of nubile priestesses riding on top of it.

        “Come to the temple of Bacchus!” the women chanted to the world. “Wine, music, merriment! Cast your troubles aside and let the joy of the gods overtake you!” I gave a heavy sigh. Stuck in traffic with the world’s largest pair of balls in my face the whole time.

        “Why do you think they do the whole, you know…the penis thing, sir?” asked Servius.

        “Because this whole thing is run by degenerates. We’re not going to the temple for fun, you know. We need to witness the perversion religion drives people to.”

        “You mean drinking, sir? You love drinking!”

        “When I drink, I don’t lie and pretend I’m doing something important. The Bacchanalia is…it’s something else. These people get absolutely plastered and claim they’re showing their respects to the gods. They could at least be honest about it and say they’re a bunch of unaccomplished self-absorbed drunks, but no, they decide to pretend their lowlife activity is part of some great honor. You know way back in the day, before Maxentius came and made things all crazy pious, the Senate tried to regulate the Bacchanalia? Even back then it was too much for them. And the Greeks…sometimes the Greeks would dismember babies. With their teeth. Think about that.”

        “That’s because they’re Greeks, sir.” I shook my head and smiled.

“Well, guess you’ve got me there.”

        As we arrived inside the temple, we were immediately greeted by the reckless hedonism I’d expected. A fat man, dressed in nothing but sheets, ran past us, howling nonsense as he poured wine over his face. Scantily clad women wandered through the temple’s grounds, handing out sacrificial cakes to everyone who walked by. Most just stuffed them into their face. The scant few that had hung onto their sobriety did as they were meant to, placing the cakes at the temple’s center. There stood the god responsible for this madness.

        There was an eerie femininity to the statue of Bacchus. Had he not been nude, the ridiculous phallus the father of Priapus was expected to wield hanging for all the world to see, one would think it was the image of a goddess. In his right hand he clutched a vine of that holy fruit, the grape. The liberator wants mankind to be as free-spirited as he, argue the priests, and it’s through the grape that he works his magic.

        “Cake?” asked a topless woman walking past us, a heavy tray in her hands. Her voice was almost inaudible beneath the temple’s deafening music.

        “I’m…I’m fine, thanks,” I said with a wave of my hand and an uneasy smile. Servius snatched a cake from the tray, then made his way over to the statue.

        “Oh great Bacchus,” he mumbled quickly, refusing to so much as take a breath between words. “Thank you so much for this blessed day, and your sacred drink, through which we purify the mind and body. May this humble offering be as pleasing to you as all you have done is pleasing to us.”

        “Hey, hey!” I shouted, putting my hand on Servius’ shoulder. “Don’t get too crazy, all right? We’re here to observe, not to get shitfaced. You see anything funny happening, let me know.” Servius’ eyes widened at the order.

        “All right, fine. You can have two glasses, got it? Two.” I held up two fingers.

        “It’s Bacchanalia!” whined the slave.

        “For these idiots, yes. For us, it’s a workday. Two glasses.” Servius wandered off to wherever would serve him, leaving me to my observations. So many shameless cavorters ran around the room, deluded into thinking their drunkenness served a higher purpose. It’d be difficult to pick just one of these perverts from the rest.

        “Red or white, honey?” asked another woman approaching me. The countless glasses she held on her tray were the only thing concealing her bare breasts.

        “Uh…red, thanks,” I said with a nervous smile, grabbing a glass off the tray.

        “If you want anymore, bar’s in the back,” smiled the server. “May the blessings of Bacchus be upon you!” The woman wandered off to spout her nonsense to another guest. I sniffed the glass cautiously. No idea what kind of blend I was holding, but it was definitely much fruitier than I was used to. I could hear the wine fizzing, too. Seemed almost more like soda.

        I let the first sip slide down my throat, shivering in delight. It was a sweet one, to be sure, but nowhere near as overbearing as I feared. Reminded me almost of a kind of candy that Servius and I would scarf down back when we were kids. I should probably ask a priest for the name before I leave.

        I took a deep breath, shutting out the piercing, repetitive music as best as I could, and began pinpointing the scenery. To my left, a couple ate at each other’s faces, the public scene doing nothing to hinder their affection. I couldn’t make out any features in the darkness, but I was sure one of them had longer hair than the other. Might have been a woman. Maybe.

        Behind them was another ceremonial penis. Because I just hadn’t seen enough of the damn things on my way there. I don’t think I’ll ever figure out the deal with Bacchus and dicks. Was there some kind of myth I was missing out on? I took another sip of the wine. Needed a clear head.

        “Hello there, child!” asked a man in robes. A priest, I assumed. “Are you finding the festival to your liking?” In his hand was another bunch of grapes.

        “You like the stuff unprocessed too, huh?” I asked, pointing at the fruit. The man laughed eagerly, flecks of spit falling onto my face. “Easy, easy, wasn’t that funny.”

        “That’s a good one. Yes, I like them unprocessed. But they’re even better afterwards.” He plucked a grape from the vine, offering it to me.

        “That’s great, thanks, yeah…” I mumbled. My head was starting to get heavy. “But I’ve already…you know…” I stuck out the glass. “Know where I could maybe get some more?”

        “In the back, right behind the statue,” pointed the priest. “May the blessings of Bacchus be upon you!” The man ran off, giggling like a child as he walked.

        “Yeah, yeah, great…” I mumbled, looking down into my half-empty glass. “Blessings…blessings of Bacchus to you too, buddy.”

        I stumbled towards the statue, bumping into the crowd along the way. A painted whore stepped in front, blocking my path.

        “Fancy a dance, handsome?” she asked, her mouth curled into a fierce grin. I pushed her aside. Couldn’t let a woman get in the way of a drink. I kept on, moving slower and heavier with each step. There had to be something special about this wine. I didn’t usually get like this after just one glass. I staggered onwards before bumping into someone else.

        “Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am,” I said, looking up at the person’s face. It was the statue of Bacchus. Funny how that works out. He’s got no paint on him, he’s just plain white marble. In the hushed light of his festival, though, the god looked no different from anyone else at the festival.

        “Haha! Oh, I’m real sorry now!” I leaned in closer, wrapping my arm around Bacchus’ leg. “I think…I think you might be all right, you know? Don’t care too much for the others, but you…yeah, I think you’re good by me. I’d better go, you know…I gotta pay my respects.”

        Behind the statue rested a bar, the stools almost completely filled by the gods’ worshippers. Fuck. Would they take me if I just stood?

        “Hey there, Diagoras!” yelled a familiar voice. Servius pointed at the empty stool near him. “I…hehe…I thought you’d come here eventually.”

        “Servius?” I asked, making my way to the seat. “Come on, man. I told…” I clutched at my head, looking for the words. “I told you just two drinks.”

        “Yeah, hehe…yeah, I know. But I…I knew you’d break your own rule before I did.” The slave giggled, giving me a full view of his rosy cheeks.

        “You’re wrong,” I said, sticking out the empty glass towards his face. “This is…this is my first one.”

        “Really, master? You’re like that after just one? Who knew that you were such a girl?”

        “Hey! Hey! Watch it!” I leaned forward, placing a finger onto his lips. “You’re still my...my little slave, you know.”

        “Not here I’m not!” laughed Servius, he pointed at the woman behind the counter. She was older than the other girls working here, though she didn’t let it stop her from dressing the same way. “The bartender, see…she doesn’t care if you’re a slave or not. Only thing she cares is…is Bacchus or…what’s it, what’s it…Osiris!”

        “Bacchus or Osiris?” I asked. Servius slammed his hand on the counter.

        “Osiris!” he shouted. Without a word, the woman grabbed a mug, filling it with a frothy, golden liquid. The drink prepared, she slid it towards the slave.

        “They’ve got beer!” whispered Servius, sticking out the glass for me to see. “You remember beer, don’t you? The Norseman…what was his name…he had us drink some!”

        “Well it’s a good thing they remembered not to leave out the…hehe…the guys with no taste!” I laughed at myself, though Servius was too lost in the beer to pay me any mind. “Hey, lady!” I shouted. “Bacchus! Red, please!” Before too long, I was staring at another glass, just like the first, only larger. I let the holy grape flow through me some more.

        “It’s kinda…hey! Bartender! It’s kinda funny that you let people say Osiris.” The woman turned towards me, her arms crossed and her face showing no emotion. “You know, ‘cause of the…‘cause of the whole war and all.” The bartender shrugged.

        “People shouted ‘Osiris’ last year, and all the years before that. Don’t see why we should change.” She leaned in closer to me. “Politics don’t exist here. We all got plenty of reasons to be miserable. That ain’t what Bacchanalia’s about. Bacchus wants us to be happy.”

        “You’re so smart,” I whispered, taking another sip. A pain struck my crotch. “Uh…hey, hey! Where’s the…you know, the bathroom?” The bartender pointed to her left, then sent her attention back to her other customers.

        I made a mad dash for the men’s room. Knowing the Temple of Bacchus, the place was probably filthy, but I never noticed. All I could see was the urinal. I smiled as Bacchus’ love came out of me as joyously as it entered.

        “Where’s the censors’ office...where you need it, am I right?” asked Servius, walking through the door.

        “What, you gotta go, too?” I asked him, turning around.

        “No, no, I’m…hehe…I’m good. I just thought I should apologize. I’ve been…oh, Pollux…I argued with you back at the Parentalia. I shouldn’t…oh…”

        “Hey, hey, hey, it’s fine…it’s fine…” I zipped up my pants, making my way towards Servius. “That was a while ago, wasn’t it?”

        “But I’m…I shouldn’t argue like that…I’m such a horrible slave.”

        “No, no, that isn’t true.” I rubbed my hand against his cheek. “You’re a great slave, you’re the best slave.”

        “I think…hehe…I think you’d better go wash your hands.”

        “Yeah, I guess I should…I guess I…probably should,” I said with a laugh. “Now go get the fuck out of here.”

        The two of us left the bathroom, the crowd of dancers surrounding us in every direction.

        “Which, uh…which way was that…the bar, master?” asked Servius.

        “I don’t know.” I stared up at the ceiling, summoning the best plan my mind could muster. “Bacchus!” I shouted, my voice almost completely drowned out by the music. “Bacchus!”

        “Osiris!” yelled my slave. Soon some women ran towards us, wine in hand.

        “I’m so lucky to have you,” I whispered, grabbing the wine from the server.

        “Great, great,” mumbled the woman. “The temple only pays me to hand out the wine. May the blessings of Bacchus be upon you.”

        “Yes!” I yelled as the women ran off. “May the blessings of Bacchus be upon you! May his blessings be upon us all!” I lifted the glass above me, downing it in just a few seconds. A smile came across my face. Great days like this don’t come across too often.

        The lady at the bar must have had it right. As long as we’ve got the grape by our side, why do we waste so much time being miserable? Maybe I’ve been going about things all wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t spend all this time getting mad at what people believe, and the Emperor, and what happened to Relicta. I clutched my stomach, my legs moving forward involuntarily. It was getting hard to tell where the ground was.

        “Oh…” I mumbled. “No, I, no…not Relicta…no…”

        “Hey! Hey, sir!” yelled Servius. “You OK?”

        “Relicta...” I mumbled. “Hey, Servius. I ever tell you what a crack shot I am?”

        “I’ve seen it before, buddy. You don’t have to tell me.” I pulled the gun out of its holster, waving it at the statue of Bacchus. My hand was shaking a bit, but that was OK.

        “Bet you an aureus I can shoot the grape at the very bottom of Bacchus’ vine,” I said, nudging at the slave with my elbow.

        “No arms on holy ground!” yelled a voice. I turned my head towards the source, only for someone else to tackle me. I struggled to get back up, only for a second person to hold me down.

        “No! Hey! Hey!” I shouted. “I’m just trying to settle a bet! Lady! Bacchus! Bacchus!” I turned to my right. Another person was restraining Servius. A crowd had started to gather around us, though my ears could only pick up bits and sentences of what they were saying.

        “You think he was planning something?”

        “Thank the gods you stopped him in time.”

        “Why’d a guy want to go ruin all the fun like that?”

        “Someone better get them a cab.”

        “Baaaaaaaaaaaaaacchus!” I mumbled, my words drowned out by all the spectators. I was starting to feel sleepy. The last thing I saw before my vision gave out was the statue’s face, looking down on me.

MARCH 18, 2766

Slowly stirred back into consciousness, my mouth stuffed with cotton and my head throbbing. I put my arm to my eyes, trying to shield myself from the blinding light. As my vision adjusted, I realized I was back in my own room. How did I get back home? Most of last night was a blur. I’d need to look over my notes later. Hopefully they weren’t crammed with drunken gibberish.

        “Servius! Coffee!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. I pulled the cover over my head, hoping to return back to sleep. I tossed and turned, tangling myself into the sheets. The pain in my head be damned, I wanted some more rest. Just as I thought I’d finally started to overcome it, a knock from outside jarred me back into the world.

        “Servius! Door!” I yelled. My obligations fulfilled, I piled a pillow on top of my head. The knocking persisted.

        “Useless,” I mumbled, staggering out of the bed. “Absolutely useless.” I made my way to the front door, dragging my feet as carefully as I could. Pulling the door open, I saw a muscular man in a Praetorian’s uniform staring back at me. It was hard to make out details with me squinting in the face of the sunlight, but he seemed almost twice my size.

        “Diagoras Cinna?” asked the watchman, looking down on me with a stern, almost disgusted look on his face.

        “Eh…yeah,” I answered, rubbing at my eyes. “What do you want?”

        “I’m here to inform you that the governor’s given a verdict on your case.”

        “My…case?” I asked. I tried looking up at the officer, though the cruel face of Sol quickly put an end to that. “What case?”

        “It's the craziest thing. Governors usually don’t exercise their powers to pardon, especially so soon after the crime. Normally you’d be on your way to the factory right about now, but she says you’re free to go.”

        “Oh, well…that’s good, I think.”

        “You know how other people feel about blasphemers, though. I advise you invest in a better lock, Mr. Cinna. If anyone decides to do something to you, chances are they could be free to go too.” The policeman turned around, making his way down the steps out of my apartment.

        “One more thing, Mr. Cinna,” said the Praetorian as he stopped. “Cover yourself up next time you answer the door.”

        I shut the door, making the slow walk back to the comfort of my bed. Whatever that was, I'll worry about it when my head clears up. Why hasn’t Servius made that coffee yet? As soon as I was close enough, I fell straight onto my bed, letting myself sink into its warmth. The phone started ringing.

        “Oh, for Hercules’ sake,” I mumbled. “Servius! Phone!” I put a pillow over my head. The shrill cry continued, permeating throughout the room.

        “Dammit,” I shouted, picking up the phone. “Yes? What is it? I’m trying to sleep.”

        “Diagoras!” screamed the voice on the other end.

        “Hello there, Turbidus,” I groaned. “How’s it going?”

        “Have you seen the front page of the Chicago Crier?” roared Turbidus.

        “Eh…no, no, haven’t seen it. I’ve been busy with lots of…you know, investigative work lately,” I said with a yawn. “What’s it about? Sports?”

        “It’s about the reckless behavior of a certain Tribune journalist. Assaulting a woman who helps kids at Camp Piety. Pulling out his gun in a non-Ignistelum temple. They say he’s not just violent, he’s got a general disrespect for anything pertaining to the gods. Possibly even an atheist.” Turbidus let me sit in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing coming from the phone. “I knew this whole project was a risk, but what the fuck, Diagoras? Really! You want to make an ass out of yourself at home, be my guest, but when you set foot outside, you’re representing the Tribune. We’ve started getting some nasty calls, here at the office. We’re getting all the blame for your shit.”

        “Listen, listen, hey…” I said, shooting upright in my bed. “That article’s taking things out of context. For starters, that Odia lady, she…”

        “I don’t want to hear it, Diagoras! It doesn’t matter. You know what would happen if we continued to employ a known blasphemer? There’d be a censor permanently stationed in the office, peering over every damn word we print to make sure there’s no agenda. And that’s if we’re lucky. Most likely the Praetorians would just torch the building to the ground.” Turbidus took a deep breath, an eerie calmness filling his voice. “We’ve got to do what we can to save face here, Diagoras. I’m sorry.”

        “That’s…that’s fine, I understand,” I answered, the phone slightly trembling in my hands. “I can, you know…I could just keep the project going myself.”

        “I’ll stop by tomorrow with the last batch of names and your severance pay. And to pick up the car.”

        “Wait, wait a minute…how am I supposed to travel where I need without my car?”

        “It’s not your car, and it’s not my problem,” Turbidus answered bluntly. “Frankly, that’s the least of your worries right now. Tell me, why would you be packing heat during the Bacchanalia?”

        “I don’t leave home without it. I can’t be too careful with this project.”

        “I’d call you a moron, but you just might have a point now. The whole country’s going to know you’re a blasphemer soon enough. You’ve got to watch yourself, Diagoras. People will be coming after you.”

        “I hope so. Just imagine all that free publicity.” I could hear a faint scream of frustration coming from the other end.

        “That’s right, Diagoras. Keep treating everything like a big joke. I’ll be back with your stuff tomorrow. And by the way…” Turbidus paused to collect his thoughts. “Good luck with all of this. I really do mean that. I hope it all works out for you. You know, getting the book done, not getting hurt…and after showing up in the news you’d better hope the censors don’t change their mind on you.”

        “Oh, that last one won’t be an issue. The censors said no from the start.”

        “…On second thought, forget the severance pay.” Turbidus hung up, leaving me with just the static hum of the dead phone. I curled up underneath the covers, only for the gentle sound of footsteps to cross my ears.

        “Egh…what was that, sir?” groaned Servius. One hand was permanently clutched to his head.

        “Nothing. Just…a telemarketer,” I answered. Servius rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.

        “What, at the door?” The slave pointed behind him.

        “…I meant a salesman. Yeah, at the door. Just some guys selling shit. Nothing to worry about.” Servius squinted at me, tilting his head forward.

        “Is everything all right, sir? You sound…nervous.”

        “Yeah, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m great. Or at least I will be once I get some rest in.” I tucked myself under the sheets, turning my head away from the slave. “Now go make me some coffee. Oh, and, uh...look up the city’s bus schedules.”

        “…Why would you want to know about the bus, sir?”

        “No special reason. Now get out of here.” Servius left to perform his duties, leaving me alone with the bed. Finally, nobody bothering me for the rest of the day. From this point on, I don’t have a single thing to worry about.

MARCH 24, 2766

The priestesses, as they prefer to be called, of the goddess Cybele are a curious bunch. As pontiffs, they are afforded privileges available to few other citizens in the Empire. The Galli serve as the earthly agents of the Great Mother. It was Cybele who birthed Jupiter, who protected Aeneas from the bloodthirsty Greeks so our great Empire would one day live. Her priestesses demand respect, and publicly, they receive it. Privately, the average Roman has different thoughts for them. Their curious customs and initiation rites into the priesthood are enough to disgust all but the most pious of Romans. The Galli exist both above and below the common man, living as neither one thing nor the other. Their paradoxical status becomes even more apparent on the Day of Blood, when new Galli perform their final task before being welcomed to the priesthood.

        In front of us, Lucia Laquea smoothed a wrinkle from her dress, straightening her thick, black hair. The Gallus looked like she’d jumped out of a magazine ad. Behind her stood a statue of the mother goddess herself, looking down on her followers with a majestic stoicism. By her side stood her faithful consort Attis, almost two heads shorter than her. Though the Galli look on Attis as the lesser of the two, it’s he who they strive to emulate. As the legend goes, when the poor shepherd looked upon Cybele, in all her inhuman beauty, he was driven mad, castrating himself in devotion. The Galli have shown their devotion to the goddess in the same way ever since.

        “Part of me wishes we could change the name,” said the priestess in her falsetto voice. “Calling it ‘the Day of Blood’ sort of scares most people away, you know? It’s not about violence, it’s about love. Without the goddess’ love, Romulus would never have even been born. We all owe her. She should be up with Jupiter and Mars as the highest of the pantheon. She may never have the same devotees as them, and she may never receive as many offerings. But the ones she does get…well, they count a lot more, you know?” She smirked to herself. “Sacrifice is supposed to be about just that, sacrifice. It’s about giving up something most people would call important, to show you love the gods more. All these sacrificial bulls and sacrificial lambs…it defeats the point. If you set something aside specifically to be given up, you didn’t care about it in the first place. We’re not like that. The Galli have sacrificed much to show our allegiance to Cybele. Most would never dare give the way we have.”

        “And by that you mean…castration?” I asked. I absentmindedly looked down at Lucia’s name and picture in my last folder from the Tribune.

        “Those were the ways of the old Galli,” Lucia answered with a wave of her hand. “Surgical techniques have advanced much in recent years. The Day of Blood isn’t as bloody as it once was.”

        “Um…excuse me, sorry,” Servius whispered. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but…eh…are you a boy or a girl?” Lucia slowly turned her head towards Servius, her eyes wide with shock. The priestess took a deep breath through her flaring nostrils before she spoke again.

        “One day, the common man will understand what it means to be a Gallus,” Lucia mumbled with a sigh. “I am a priestess of Cybele, slave. Priestess, not priest. Does this answer your question?” Servius took a few steps back, trying to avoid eye contact with the priestess.

        “So…is there a chance we could see them?” I asked.

        “Excuse me?”

        “You know, the new recruits…what they’re going through?”

        “The initiations are meant for the eyes of only us and the surgeons,” explained Lucia. “The recruits will need time to recover before they can fully assume the priesthood. It’s a personal moment, one that must be done without intrusions from the ignorant.”

        “You’re calling me ignorant?”

        “Not you specifically, no,” answered Lucia, walking towards a nearby chair. “People in general are ignorant. Most have never been touched by Agdistis, and refuse to understand those of us who were.”

        “And by touched by Agdistis, you mean…”

        “A disciple of Tiresias,” interrupted the priestess.

        “Which means…”

        “Bathed in the fountain of Salmacis. That’s not entirely accurate, but it should give…”

        “Could you just explain it? I had to wake up at the crack of dawn and ride a bus full of junkies and muggers just to show up here. I’m sure your references are clever and all, but my mind’s not exactly able to recall scripture at the moment.”

        “Ah, but it’s the scripture that vindicates us, Diagoras.” Lucia grinned, showing off her pearly white teeth. “Our people have lived since time immemorial, and the scripture is testament to that. And yet the same men who follow said scripture call us fools. They can believe in the Minotaur, a creature that lived beyond the simple definitions of man and beast. But a person outside their simple definitions of man and woman…that they call absurd, even when one stands right in front of them.”

        “What if someone doesn’t believe in the Minotaur either?” I asked. Lucia chuckled to herself. Servius shot me a worrying glare.

        “Ah, I was wondering if you’d bring that up ever since I saw you on the news. A public blasphemer…I don’t know how you haven’t been arrested yet, but you’ll need to watch yourself.”

        “I think I’ll be all right,” I said, pulling up my shirt to reveal the gun, safely holstered by my hip. Lucia leaned to the right for a closer look, her face crumpling into a frown.

        “You’re not going to pull that out in front of me, are you?”

        “Not unless I have a reason to.”

        “A better reason than you had during the Bacchanalia, I hope.” Lucia leaned against one of the temple's columns, her hands folded politely by her waist. “Mr. Cinna, I may not approve of your way of thinking, and I doubt you approve of mine, but we’re both lesser beings to everyone else out there. I had hoped that allowing you in here might allow for a more tolerant attitude to spread. Would you like to see another part of the temple? There’s far more to the Galli than most people…”

        “Don’t give me this talk about tolerance,” I interrupted. “I already agreed to go into this silly place, don’t try to make things more painful than they already are.” Lucia looked at me incredulously, almost like she forgot how to breathe.

        “Really, Diagoras? You think a man who prides himself on being enlightened would be able to feel a little more sympathy towards those who are different.” Servius closed his eyes, mumbling inaudible curses under his breath. I think I might have heard a “Please, don’t” somewhere in there.

        “You’re not as different from the other guys out there as you think,” I explained. “I do what I do because I’m sick of religion. I’m sick of the Emperor using it to push his agenda. I’m sick of people using it to ignore science, to persecute minorities…” I took a step closer to the sitting priestess. “And I’m definitely sick of people using religion to justify acts of perversion.”

        “Perversion?” laughed Lucia. “This from a man who assaulted a woman? Explain that, please. We’ve never harmed anyone before.”

        “You ever read Kanuntee?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Evolution favors traits that allow a species to reproduce. You know…males, and females. Any trait that discourages reproduction is a perversion of the natural order.”

        “We’ve been around a long time, Diagoras. The human race is still here. I’d say the natural order’s unharmed, wouldn’t you?”

        “No, it’s not. It’s really not. The Day of Blood’s been getting larger each year. Not only are you living in…the way you do, but you make other people do the same thing, try to lure other people into this disgusting behavior.”

        “Nobody has ever been forced into the Galli,” explained Lucia. That fake high pitch of hers was starting to grate my ears. “The rise in recruits is simply because more of us are willing to show ourselves, not be afraid of who we are. It was once illegal for citizens to be Galli, you know. Fifty years ago, this temple was stuffed with Mexicans. Thank the gods Emperor Pius lifted that ban. I can’t imagine where the other sisters and I would be were it not for the priesthood.”

        “Probably in an office building with a respectable job, a wife and kids, and a dick.” The priestess scowled at me.

        “You really have no idea, do you?” Lucia pushed herself away from the wall, returning towards the statue of Cybele. “You don’t understand what it means to be oppressed.”

        “Don’t give me that,” I said. “You’re the one who doesn’t know oppression. You’re a priest. You could probably kill and get away with it. You know how people think about blasphemers? The whole world tries to pressure us, make us feel like there’s something horrible about who we are. Most kids who tell their parents they’re an atheist get kicked out or sent to Camp Piety. And the suicide rate…Pollux! Nobody’s got it harder than us.”

        “Have you ever felt like you were the wrong person, Mr. Cinna?” Lucia asked, placing her hand by the foot of Cybele. “Have you ever felt trapped in a different body, looked in the mirror and saw someone you weren’t? Had everyone you know insist this other person was who you really were? You can hate the gods all you want, but don’t lash out against their servants. Especially not us. You can’t understand what we’ve been through.”

        “I understand mental illness just fine, buddy.” I took a few steps closer to the statue myself. “All I’ve been doing is talking to guys who think there’s imaginary people living in the sky. If you believe a lie hard enough, that still doesn’t make it true. I’m not going to dignify the gods just because tons of people think they’re real, and I don’t see why I should humor your idea that you’re anything more than a pathicus.” Lucia’s hands clenched around the statue’s base. Another Gallus stepped out from a door in the back.

        “Sister Lucia?” asked the priestess, one hand cupped around her mouth. “One of the initiates was hoping to speak to you.”

        “I’ll be there in just a moment, Sister,” answered Lucia flatly. As soon as the assistant left, Lucia slowly turned around to face me, venom in her eyes.

        “Get out,” she said, pointing at the exit.

        “I’m not finished.”

        “You were finished as soon as you said that word. If you’re not gone by the time I get back, I’m calling the police.” Lucia began walking to the back of the temple, then stopped as soon as she started. “There’s a lot of hate in you, Diagoras. I don’t know what it is that made you the way you are, why you hate the gods and the world so much, but I pray one day you can learn what love is.”

        “It was nice talking with you, ma’am!” said Servius. Lucia exited without another word, leaving me and the slave alone with the statue. Cybele and Attis. The powerful figure everyone respects, and the dickless lackey.

        “Well…I guess we’re done, then,” I mumbled. “You can shut off the recorder now.” Servius and I turned around, making our way to the outside.

        “Sir? Don’t you think you were being kind of…you know…” Servius said. “She wasn’t doing anything to you.”

        “He was expecting me to respect him,” I scoffed. “A demand like that is enough, I think.” I began tossing over Lucia’s words. The priestess wanted to know my story.

        “Hey, Servius,” I whispered. “Out of curiosity, do you know anything about fixing roofs?”

APRIL 1, 2766

The design of the temple of Venus is no different from those of the other temples Nova Roma has established for the official state cults. Same marble columns, same pristine interior, and at first glance, the same statue of the god in the middle. However, the Imperial sculptors had given special attention to the goddess of sex. Gone is the pure white marble of the other gods. Venus’ body is fiberglass, carefully painted to give the impression of human skin. Her long, immaculate brown hair is real, not a mere stone imitation, and her glass eyes give an inviting stare to all who enter her temple. There’s a practical side to the goddess’ design as well, the light weight of her materials letting her be easily lifted for the feast of Veneralia.

        Four priestesses, each of them looking nearly like the statue themselves, hoisted the goddess from her seat. With a little difficulty, they carried her to a nearby pool, kept in the temple solely for this day. Treating the goddess with the care she deserved, the priestesses lowered her into the bath, the seemingly real goddess giving not even the slightest reaction as she was lifted and placed into the water. The priestesses grabbed their sponges, then lowered their bodies into the bath, allowing the water to soak into the sponges, and at the same time, their robes. It wasn’t too long until their breasts were as clear and exposed as the statue’s.

        Some of the men in the crowd started smiling, a few of them whispering inaudible obscenities to each other. Even Servius was staring at the ceremony, his eyes unblinking. This was the way we celebrated Roman purity, our moral superiority to the rest of the world. I adjusted the collar of my trenchcoat, trying to keep my face as hidden as possible.

        “Oh, great Venus Verticordia!” shouted one of the priestesses, rubbing her dripping sponge over the goddess’ bare breasts. “Changer of hearts, charmer of gods and men, mother of Aeneas and ancestor of Caesar, may our offerings please you on this, your holy Kalends!” The statue was now completely wet, the way the water made her artificial skin shine serving as a quick reminder she wasn’t real.

        “As you have nourished the world in the past, may you continue to nourish our great nation!” continued another one of the scrubbing women. “May Nova Roma’s citizens continue to use your gifts responsibly, passionate when called for, responsible and chaste when not!” The priestess wrung her sponge, letting the water spill back into the bath.

        “May Rome’s citizens nurture their children as you nurture your own!” added a third priestess, her arms wrapped around Venus’ shoulders. “May piety, gravity, and virility spread across the lands, from the smallest homes to the majestic halls of the Emperor’s palace!”

        “And through these virtues,” finished the last priestess, carefully nursing the statue’s elegant hair. “May Nova Roma shine above all the world as brilliantly as once did the city on seven hills! Great Mother Venus, hear our prayer!”

        The priestesses adorned Venus’ head with a crown of myrtle. Their part of the ceremony complete, the women departed, retreating to the back of the temple with their heads bowed. The crowd began forming a line in front of the statue. A couple approached the goddess, the wife in her best temple-going dress. Each of them placed a hand on Venus, the woman on her cheek, the man on her breast.

        “Love goddess Venus,” prayed the man. “Please let our relationship prosper and allow us to have a child.” The couple exited the temple, allowing the next worshipper to come forth. This man was alone, a thick-brimmed hat atop his head. He put his hand on the statue’s breast as well.

        “Great Mother Venus,” he began. “Please watch over my mother, and ease the pain of her ailments. Please help me to bring wealth and happiness to my family. Great Venus, hear my prayer.” The man walked into the temple’s back door, where the priestesses had left.

        “Hey. Looks like visitors are allowed in the back,” I whispered to Servius. “Let’s go take a look.”

        “I wanted to make my prayer to Venus, though!” complained the slave.

        “We’re not here for some stupid prayer, Servius. We came for…” I looked around at the crowd. All these people, loyal to the gods. I rolled my eyes and sighed. “All right, fine. You can make your prayer, but then we’re heading in the back. Understood?” Servius nodded, then wandered over to the back of the line.

        We must have waited there for half an hour. Nothing but watching the same scene play out in front of us again and again. A guy, sometimes the occasional woman, walks up to the statue. They touch her breast, and only the breast. They mumble a little prayer, the usual shit about protecting their family, then wander off. Most of them just leave the temple, though others walk out into the back.

        Just as my patience had started to wear thin, it was our turn in line at last. As we stepped into the bath, I looked down at my soaked feet, the water reaching up to the bottom of my pants. Servius stretched his hand out towards the statue, his arm trembling with anxiety. Eventually, he rested his hand on Venus’ shoulder and closed his eyes, thinking a silent prayer. I turned around, looking at the bored glances of those standing behind me. Should I be praying too? I touched the statue’s breast and bowed my head, trying to look as convincing as I could. For all the sculpture’s realism, it takes only a simple touch of her hard skin to realize just how fake Venus is.

        “You done?” I whispered to Servius. The slave opened his eyes, taking his hand off the statue. “Great, let’s go.” I stepped out of the pool, trying to ignore the discomfort around my wet feet. Servius trailed behind me as I walked towards the back room.

        “So…what did you say, exactly?” I asked, turning behind to look at the slave. “In your prayer, I mean.” Servius smiled to himself.

        “That’s only for Venus to hear, sir.”

        The two of us stepped into the back, only to be greeted by a row of shut doors. A man walked out of one of the unseen rooms, giving me a brief glance before wordlessly departing. Only the faintest of noises could be heard from behind the doors. The whole place was soundproofed, I bet. Hesitantly, I knocked on the door nearest to me. It swung open, revealing one of the priestesses from the ceremony. She looked just as she had before, same outfit, same painted face, yet something about her seemed different. The dignity that a priest usually carried had vanished from her.

        “If both of you want in, it’ll cost you extra,” said the pontiff, leaning one arm against the door. I looked at my slave, then quickly darted my eyes back to her.

        “Uh…hey, Servius,” I whispered. “This temple’s got a lot of cool decorations. You want to go check them out for a little bit?” The slave gave me a flat stare.

        “Yes, sir,” he answered with a sigh, making his way towards the exit. The priestess led me into her room. The dimly lit chamber within wasn’t much for decoration. Just a simple bed with a dresser by its side. On top of it stood a miniature version of the statue of Venus outside, with a large bowl next to it. Within the bowl rested an assortment of coins, coupled with the occasional scrap of paper, their writings incomprehensible in the darkness. The priestess opened the top drawer, pulling out a cigarette and lighter.

        “So…eh…what’s your name?” I asked nervously.

        “Lupa,” answered the priestess, repeatedly flicking the lighter. A flame shot up, giving me a faint glance at her face once again.

        “Lupa. Pretty name…pretty name…” I mumbled, looking around the room nervously. “Listen, I’m sure this is a busy day for you, so I won’t keep you too long. I just wanted to ask a few questions, and then I’ll get out of…”

        “Nuh-uh,” Lupa interrupted. She took a drag from her cigarette before speaking again. “If you just want to talk, you can go to a normal whore. This is for paying your respects to Venus.” I tugged at my collar.

        “I’m…don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re nice and all. I just wanted to hear your thoughts about…”

        “If you’re not here to show your devotion, I’ve got nothing to say to you.” The priestess pointed at the door. “You can do what you want after you’re done, but you’re not coming in here just to waste my time.”

        I did what it took to get an interview. Before too long, the sweat cooled off my body, the brief unpleasantness over. As I put my pants back on, I reached into my pocket, dropping a few denarii into the bowl.

        “There you go, I’ve…shown my devotion,” I said. “Would you answer a few questions now?”

        “Mmm…” hummed the priestess, pulling the covers over her body. “I suppose it’s only fair. What did you want to know?”

        “All right, first question,” I said, reaching for my shirt. “What was with that ‘responsible and chaste’ talk outside? How do you say something like that right before going into prostitution?”

        “Venus’ love comes in many forms,” explained Lupa. “We deliver purity for those who want it, and the dirty stuff for those who don’t.”

        “I see…” I put my trusty swastika necklace back on. “And do the authorities know this kind of stuff goes on back here?”

        “Pretty sure the entire Senate’s walked through here at some point,” answered the priestess. “Why do you ask? We’re not doing anything illegal.”

        “No, I suppose running a brothel inside a temple isn’t illegal.” I straightened my coat. “But it is strange. Isn’t this meant to be a holy place?”

        “You really don’t know anything about Venus, do you? What we do here is a sacred ritual. To sleep with a priestess of Venus is to directly know the love of the goddess herself. Even if someone tries to get it over with a little too quickly…” Lupa crossed her arms, refusing to take her eyes off of me.

        “How old are you anyway, Lupa?” I wrapped my holstered gun around my waist.

        “Nineteen,” she answered.

        “Pollux, only nineteen. Do your parents know about what you do here?”

        “That’s none of your business,” said Lupa, crossing her arms indignantly. “Why do you want to know so much about me, anyway? I don’t even know your name.”

        “Fair is fair, I guess,” I said with a sigh. “My name’s Diagoras.” The priestess’ eyes widened.

        “Diagoras?” Lupa got up from the bed, oblivious to her nakedness, and began rummaging through the bowl. “Diagoras…Diagoras…that name’s kept popping up in the prayers people have been writing. Here’s one…” She pulled a slip of paper from the bowl, squinting as she attempted to read it in the faint light. “Gods, punish Diagoras for his blasphemy. Let illness plague his house, let him suffer eternal thirst. May boils cover his body and a river bleed from his dick until he begs for death’s release. Lots of people have been writing stuff like that.” I mustered a smile, trying to remain as calm as possible.

        “Must be another Diagoras,” I said nonchalantly.

        “Not a lot of people give their kids Greek names.” Lupa placed the prayer back into the bowl. “You’re the first Diagoras I’ve ever met.” My heartbeat started to pick up.

        “Well, uh...sorry, but I really should get going. Lots of other things to do today.” I slowly stepped backwards, towards the door. “Thanks so much again for your time!”

        I hurried to the temple’s main room. Servius was sitting on the floor, absentmindedly watching the other visitors make their prayers to the statue. An old Chinaman was at the front of the line now, staring at the goddess silently with his hands behind his back.

        “Servius!” I grabbed my slave’s shoulder. “Come on, we need to go. Now.”

        “What’s the hurry, Di…” I put my hand over his mouth.

        “No names, just go.” I led the slave out of the temple, anxiously looking at the worshippers behind me as we left. Turbidus wasn’t kidding. Can’t begin to imagine what any of those worshippers would’ve done if they knew I was there. Maybe I should try to lay low. Not for too long, though. A week or so would do the trick, I bet. People have short attention spans. Soon the news would find some other spectacle to distract them with, and there won't be any bile left for me. The blasphemies of Diagoras will be no more than an ugly, fading memory.

APRIL 11, 2766

“This is as far as they’ll let me go,” said the bus driver as he swung the doors open. “I’m afraid you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.” I made my way towards the exit, clutching a plastic bag in my right hand as my left brushed along the empty seats.

        “Thank you,” I mumbled to the driver as I stepped out. As soon as I’d left, the bus drove off, leaving me alone in the dismal swamplands. Just to be sure it was still there, I put my hand on my holster. A caulk gun was resting where I normally kept my trusty pistol. I felt almost naked, leaving the apartment without it.

        The gun wasn’t the only tool I left back at home. Hopefully Servius wouldn’t know I’d gone here without him. Chances are he noticed I was gone, shrugged it off, and got lost in his wine rations. Just in case, I’d left behind a note saying I was at a job interview. I should probably look into doing one of those for real soon. The nest egg I’d saved up from the Tribune wouldn’t last forever.

        Mosquitoes had started to buzz around me, their irritating hum piercing my ears as they flew past. I swung my arm around my head, hoping to shoo them away. Just focus on the scenery, I told myself. The swamp was something of a surreal sight, when I thought about it. Just a quick drive away from the largest city in Nova Roma lays desolate nature, almost untouched by civilization. I’d even call it beautiful, if it weren’t for what the place is used for.

        Before too long, I came across my destination. Surrounded by all the forests stood a dilapidated shack, just barely able to still stand. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. The entrance creaked open, treating me to the sight of the woman inside.

        “Diagoras!” exclaimed Relicta warmly. “How have you been?” The rags my sister was forced to dress in had done little to hinder her beauty. Even in this dump, cut off from the world, it took just a quick look at her regal face to remind me she was once one of the most respected people in the Empire.

        I don’t know if Relicta wanted to enter the priesthood herself. Even if she did, what kid sticks to the goal they had when they were six? I’d have become a dinosaur if that was the case. It didn’t matter to my parents, though. Ever the patriots, when the government said they were looking for a new Vestal, they put their little girl first in line. After she swore her oath, she was the pride of my parents. They’d invite other families over for dinner just to brag. Their daughter was one of the Vestal Virgins. A Cinna was responsible for tending the flame of Vesta, keeping the Empire alive. Part of me hated her a little back then. Kids love getting attention, and when your sibling’s accomplished that much, it doesn’t really matter what kind of report card you turn in.

        Of course, all that pride came to an end when Relicta and a man were caught together. The exact details elude me. I’m still not even sure if it was consensual or not. The only one that knows the full story was Relicta herself, and I’d never had the stomach to ask her about it. The details didn’t matter to the authorities, though. A Vestal had broken her vow of celibacy, risking the safety of the country in the process. For that, she was exiled here. I still remember the things people would say on the street. I couldn’t have been any older than eleven at the time.

        “The bitch got off easy!” strangers would mutter about my sister. “In the old days we’d have locked her underground with a few days’ food and let nature finish the job!” Nobody should have to hear that kind of stuff. Definitely not a child. My sister, one of the sweetest people you could ever meet, being mocked by strangers who’d never met her. All because she was in the way of their agenda, because she went against the rules of Nova Roma’s good, pious citizens.

        “Would you like to have a seat?” Relicta asked, pulling out a dusty chair. “I could offer you something to drink too, if you wanted…”

        “Funny. I was going to do the same.” I opened the bag, pulling out the bottle of Falernian. Relicta’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

        “Is this for me?” she asked, putting her hands to her mouth.

        “There’s some canned food in there too. It’s not much, but I thought you might have been getting a little tired of fish and swamp water.” Something fell on the top of my head. I looked up, only for a drop of water to land on my nose, trickling down my face.

        “Is this the leak you were telling me about last time?” I asked. Relicta nodded in response. “Hand me that chair real quick, would you?” Standing on the chair, I pulled out the caulk gun, carefully applying a bead of sealant to the hole.

        “Oh, Diagoras,” said Relicta. “You don’t have to do all of this just for me.”

        “I’m sorry I can’t do enough for you.” I stared at the sealed leak for a few seconds, half anticipating water to fall through anyway. “Hopefully that’ll do the trick. I’m no professional at this kind of thing.” I stepped back down on the ground, looking at my surroundings again. A thin layer of dust coated nearly the whole shack. To my right stood a fireplace, a weak flame burning through the twigs.

        “Cooking something?” I asked, pointing at the fire.

        “Oh no, that’s…I was just cold,” answered Relicta with a smile. “That’s all.”

        “I wish I could fix this whole place,” I mumbled to myself. I rubbed a finger against the wall, rubbing at the dust with my thumb. “Or at least get someone else that could. When’s the last time anyone besides me showed up here?”

        “...I don’t even remember,” answered Relicta, with a hint of shame.

        “What about Mom and Dad?” Relicta looked down at the ground. “Seriously? Dad told me he’s come here before.”

        “They’re busy people, Diagoras. They spend a lot of time…”

        “That’s a load of sh…I mean, that can’t be it. I’m busy too, but here I am. It isn’t right, you know. You devoted your life to helping people, and they send you away like this, insult you, pretend you don’t exist.”

        “It’s fine, Diagoras, it’s fine,” shushed Relicta, placing her arm on my shoulder. “Sit down, take a deep breath…look at me. This isn’t so bad, is it? I’ve been taking care of myself, haven’t I?” She stepped right in front of me, face to face, then smiled.

        “It still isn’t right.” I crossed my arms.

        “Let’s not think about it. What about you, dear? What have you been up to?”

        “Me? Uh…” My eyes darted to the fireplace, still burning. “I’ve been just…I’ve been doing a project where I, you know…go around, interviewing priests.”

        “Interviewing priests, huh?” Relicta grinned. “And you didn’t think about me?”

        “I couldn’t interview you. I’m doing this because…”

        “Why not?” My sister stood up, an almost indignant look in her eyes. “I was a Vestal. I’m no different from any other priest. Go on, interview me.”

        “Fine, fine,” I said with a sigh. I glanced at the fire again. “Do you…do you still believe? You know, in all this stuff, after all you went through?” Relicta closed her eyes and smiled.

        “I’ve devoted my life to the service of Vesta,” she answered. “And my life’s not over yet. Every morning I wake up, see the Sun’s come up another day, and know that back at the temple, my sisters are still keeping the flame burning.”

        “I see…” I twiddled my fingers against my lap. “And what about, you know…how do you feel about people that don’t believe?” My sister’s face immediately turned into a frown.

        “Why do you ask that?”

        “It’s just a question. No special reason. Although I…” The fire started calling to me again. “I’ve been getting suspicious about Servius. He’s started asking some nosy questions. Like how come we never see Apollo’s chariot in the sky.”

        “Servius?” repeated Relicta. “But he’s always been so good…well, you tell him the Sun’s just so bright it’s hard to see Apollo right next to it.”

        “But even if…Servius didn’t believe in the gods, that wouldn’t make him a bad person or anything, right?”

        “Well of course he’s not a bad person, Diagoras. Just misguided. You’ve got to make sure you help him stay on the right path, though.”

        “One more question, just, you know…out of curiosity. I don’t know what’s been going through Servius’ head, but I think the reason he might be so upset about the gods is because of, you know…what’s happened to you.” Relicta took a deep breath, then sat into a chair right across from mine. With her folded hands and upright posture, she somehow managed to keep up the elegance expected of a Vestal.

        “I don’t hate them, do I?” she explained. “What people have done to me doesn’t reflect on Vesta, or Jupiter, or any of the other gods. Just explain that to Servius. The gods care for us, even if some of those acting in their name don’t.” Relicta looked to her side. I followed her vision to see the miniature statue of a household god, every bit as ugly as the one hiding in my closet.

        “It doesn’t bother you keeping that thing out in the open?” I asked.

        “Why would it? The Lar protects this house. He just sent somebody to help fix the leak in the roof.” I hunched my back, sheepishly sinking into my chair.

        “I miss you a lot, Relicta. Servius does too. You don’t have to live like this. We could take you in, dye your hair, give you a fake name…nobody would ever know.”

        “Oh, that’s kind of you, Diagoras.” Relicta rose from her chair, wandering as freely as the narrow confines of the shack would allow. “But I broke my vow. For a Vestal to escape punishment…such an act could easily bring about the ira deorum.”

        “So you won’t do it, then?” I asked softly. “You really won’t? You’re going to spend the rest of your life miserable because you think that’s what the gods want?”

        “I swore my life to pleasing the gods a long time ago,” Relicta answered, that usual blissful smile on her face. My fists started to clench against my will. I pursed my lips.

        “I should...I'd better get going,” I said with a deep breath. “It’s a long walk back to New Antioch, and it’s best to get it out of the way before it gets dark.”

        “It was good seeing you again.” Relicta stepped forward, hugging me. “You can stop by again whenever you want.”

        “Yeah, yeah…” I said, a glazed look in my eyes. I put my own arms around my sister. “I’ll try. I’m going to be pretty busy, you know, with the whole project.” I let go of her, making my way for the door. “I love you, Relicta.”

        “I love you too, Diagoras,” she said, gently waving her hand like she was the Empress on parade. “Stay safe.”

        I left the shack, greeted to the sight of nature in the raw once again. There was something that made the swamp seem even gloomier than before. Maybe it was the time, the sky a dim orange as Apollo’s invisible chariot carried the Sun away. Maybe it was the fact that I’d be walking this lousy road for another four hours.

        Stay safe, she said to me. And me without my gun. I hadn’t thought this through. I’ll be walking through the streets of New Antioch naked at night. Maybe the darkness would be a good thing. Maybe nobody can make out my face. Nobody will know the blasphemous Diagoras, the guy everyone’s writing curse tablets for, is right there on the street, defenseless.

        It’s amazing how Relicta stays so calm about being trapped there. Maybe she likes it. Living off the land, undisturbed…sounds like the kind of thing a person could get used to. Even if she hated it, she’d never show it. That’s my sister, always has to act perfect. After all, she swore her life to the gods. She became a Vestal because of the gods. She was jeered by the public, exiled and vilified, because of the gods. She went through a damnatio memoriae, had her name struck from the list of all the Vestals, had every newspaper glorifying the priestess they could get a hold of burned, because of the gods. She refuses to be saved, spending the rest of her days in that horrible shack until she dies, alone and unloved, because of the gods.

        I started to run as fast as I could, pushing my legs to the limit, channeling all the rage I was helpless to do anything else with. I had to get rid of it somehow. If I kept it inside it’d kill me. The swamp surrounding me was nothing more than a green blur now. If I’d managed to keep up that speed I probably could have gotten home in fifteen minutes.

        Soon enough, I stopped, my aching legs refusing to move a step further. I bent over, gasping for breath. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer, almost close to bursting. I started to cough and heave at the ground, wanting desperately to vomit right there. After a while I collected myself, the wretched pain in my throat still lingering, and continued the slow walk back home.

APRIL 17, 2766

I discharged my pistol, the recoil shaking my entire body as the sound pierced the room. The bullet went straight through the priest’s shoulder. I smiled to myself. Let’s aim for the head this time. I relaxed my arm, pointing the gun further upwards. That shot cleans through his jaw. I frowned. That’d hurt, but I missed the brain stem entirely. I needed to go for the kill. The heart should do the trick, I told myself. I shifted my aim, closer to the chest this time. I slowed my breath, giving my undivided attention to the shot, then pulled the trigger.

        “Bullseye!” I cheered, pulling the switch to my side. The target rolled towards me. “What did I tell you, Servius?” I took down the piece of paper, removing the earmuffs from my head. “Crack shot. I should try out for the Olympics one of these days!”

        “I know you are, sir,” said my slave dully, as he took off his own earmuffs. “You’ve taken me to these places tons of times.” A thick, meaty hand placed itself on Servius’ shoulder. The blood flowed out of the slave’s face as he turned around, revealing the muscular man laughing behind him. With his intimidating physique and casual, modern attire, Sicarius Columbus looked far from the typical priest. This is only fitting, as the Temple of Ignistelum was far from the typical temple.

        “I had a feeling you’d like it here, Diagoras,” said Sicarius with a smile, his head partially obscuring the butt of the shotgun holstered on his back. “There’s plenty of ranges in the city, but none like this, am I right?”

        “You’ve got some great taste in targets, I’ll give you that much.” I held out the paper to give it a closer look. On it was the drawing of a more traditional priest, dressed in the ancient garb of the pontiffs of old. On his face was that special kind of smile, the one that played friendly yet didn’t try to hide the contempt fuming underneath. It was the face only a priest could pull off, now with a bullet hole through it.

        “Oh yeah, everybody loves the targets,” snorted Sicarius. “We’ve got all kinds of special ones. Muggers, rapists, bitchy exes, Arabs, Chinamen, those lovey-dovey war-hater types…anyone you’d want to shoot.”

        “Why a priest, though?” I held out the target again, admiring my marksmanship. “Seems kind of weird for, you know…a temple.”

        “I think you of all people would know, Diagoras. I saw you on the news.” Sicarius led me and the slave away from the range, back to the temple’s main chamber. The statue of Ignistelum stood proudly in the center. The god’s white marble was in the same classical style as the rest of them, yet the statue was anything but. His suit of armor was distinctly medieval, and he wielded an antique rifle in both hands. “You pulled out your gun, your god-given weapon, in a temple, and they all went crazy. They call you a blasphemer, but what they did right there, freaking out at a gun like that? That’s blasphemy. Whatever happened to syncretism, each god respecting the rest? Ignistelum was forged by Vulcan and granted life by Mars. He’s a god, as true as Jupiter and Neptune and all the rest of them, and they don’t let him in the temples.” Sicarius crossed his arms, making no effort to hide the scowl on his face. “If I was in charge, that kind of blasphemy would be punished quick, I can tell you that much.”

        My eyes followed the tip of Ignistelum’s gun. The barrel is pointing right at some words adorning the rightmost wall. “A sword never kills, it is a tool in the killer’s hand.” Seneca. Classy. On the opposite wall is another phrase, this one in Greek. I can’t read it, but it’s a lot shorter.

        “I’ve got to be honest here,” I said, turning my attention back to the priest. “I was surprised that you’d be willing to do an interview with me. After, you know…what was on the news.”

        “You were armed,” said Sicarius with a shrug. “The woman at Camp Piety wasn’t. Anyone who would shun Ignistelum’s protection willingly places themselves at the mercy of those that accept it. She deserved all she got, and should be grateful you spared her.”

        “Well, it’s nice to meet someone who understands,” I murmured.

        “That 2664 of yours is a sweet number.” The priest pointed at the holster by my hip. “Of course, I’m partial to the bigger ones myself.” He pulled out the shotgun from behind his back, pointing the barrel at Servius.

        “Gotcha!” he said with a laugh, before pointing the weapon at the ground. “Just kidding, I know better than that.” Servius scooted behind me, softly whimpering. “Crete 90, 20 gauge,” continued Sicarius. “Always sleep easy at night thanks to it. You can forget the Lares, Ignistelum’s the only god I need protecting my household.”

        “Speaking of which…” I cleared my throat. “I was hoping we could begin with the actual interview now. If that’s fine with you, of course.”

        “Why, in a hurry to get out of here?” I glanced back up at the statue of Ignistelum. His gun was pointing upwards, but the god himself was looking down at everyone in the temple, his stone eyes meeting mine.

        “I just don’t want to get distracted from my work, Mr. Columbus. You recording, Servius?”

        “Yes, sir,” answered the slave, preparing the recorder. His eyes were fixed down on the device, paying no attention to the temple around him.

        “Wonderful. So, Mr. Columbus…” I folded my hands, giving a curt smile to the priest. “No mention of Ignistelum was ever made prior to the 21st century, around the time of the Roman Orient’s invasion of Illyricum. Does it bother you at all that your god was never mentioned alongside the rest by the likes of Ovid and Homer?”

        “Course it doesn’t,” answered Sicarius, lowering his shotgun back into its holster. “They never mentioned him because he wasn’t born yet. New gods are born all the time. I know my history. The gods saw Rome’s struggle. Turks and Germans to the west, Chinamen to the East. They needed to do something special, ramp up the divine protection. So they gave birth to Ignistelum, and he blessed Rome with his holy weapon.” He looked back at the god’s statue, practically on the verge of tearing up. “What I wouldn’t give to have seen that day. You can picture it, can you? All those barbarians, doing who-knows-what on our old land.” He pointed his thumb at his chest for emphasis. “Then they hear the roar of a thousand footsteps marching all at once. The Romans have returned, each of them with their own personal cannon. The savages try to fight back with their puny swords and arrows, but they’re not fighting for long.” His eyelids sunk, a dreamy smile coming over the priest as he imagined a better world. “The survivors couldn’t believe their eyes. The Romans, Mars’ own children, had impossible weapons. Sticks that shoot fire. There’s only one way a miracle like that could have been in front of them. It had to be the gods.”

        “I thought firearms were invented by the Chinese,” I said. The smile instantly vanished from the priest’s face.

        “And where did you hear that?”

        “The Eagle and the Dragon. It’s a book by Secun…”

        “It’s a book by a brainwashed pinko bastard, is what it is!” Sicarius interrupted. Servius took another step backwards. “Use your head, man. If the god of war decided to bless China…” he grimaced as he said the name. “China, of all places, Rome’s enemy…with the greatest weapon the world has ever known, then that would mean Mars wasn’t protecting Rome’s citizens. Do you think Mars doesn’t protect us, son?”

        “Uh…” I turned to Servius. The slave’s eyes were anxiously darting between my hip and Sicarius’ back. “No, no, of course I…don’t think that.”

        “Glad to hear it!” said Sicarius. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see three strangers entering the temple. “You can’t believe everything you read, you know,” the priest continued. “You never know who’s behind it. There’s all sorts of sickos out there that want to corrupt people, feed them lies until they’re god-hating socialist sons of bitches, just like them.” He patted his holstered gun. “I’d like to see one of them try and pull that shit on me, though. You can’t lie to a bullet.” The three men stepped behind Sicarius as they entered the shooting range. Two of them had holstered pistols, not too different from mine. The other was proudly brandishing a black rifle in both hands.

        “Better take a few steps away from the range,” Sicarius put some distance between himself and the door, scooting the two of us along with him. “Things are about to get pretty noisy.” Servius was biting his lip in anxiety. “What’s wrong with you, slave boy?” Servius closed his eyes. “I asked you a question, slave!” continued the priest. “Say something!”

        “Hey, hey, easy,” I interrupted, putting myself between Servius and Sicarius. “He’s my slave. He’s probably just a little nervous. I don’t think he’s been around so many guns at once, have you, Servius?” The slave nodded his head tersely.

        “Typical ignorance,” muttered Sicarius to himself. “Tell me, can you read, slave?”

        “Y…yes, sir,” answered Servius.

        “Then read this!” He pointed at the Seneca quote hanging above him. “Nobody here wants to hurt you. If you didn’t stay locked up in your scary little fantasy world, you’d know how good for you this place is. Did you know it was the priesthood of Ignistelum that pushed the Senate to allow slaves to carry guns? If it wasn’t for us, how’d you be able to protect yourself from a mugger, or an abusive master?”

        “He doesn’t have an abusive master,” I replied, lifting my shirt over my holster.

        “Easy, there, just talking hypotheticals.” A shot blasted out from the range, then another. Servius grimaced as the booms echoed throughout the temple.

        “Servius, you wanna step outside for a bit? Get some air?” I asked, sticking out my hand. “Give me the recorder.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Servius passed the device on to me.

        “T...thank you, sir,” said the slave before bolting out the door. Sicarius looked on with contempt as he ran off.

        “Now why would you go do a thing like that?” asked the priest. More shots started firing from the range. These were coming faster than the ones before.

        “Because you were scaring him. I don’t need my slave so worked up that he can’t do what he’s told.”

        “If he’s scared, that’s all the more reason to stay here, learn something!” snorted Sicarius. “I can’t for the life of me figure out how people like him are still allowed to walk the street, bunch of blasphemers spitting on Ignistelum. That’s the problem with the Emperor, you see. He’s soft on blasphemy.” The priest crossed his arms and closed his eyes, getting lost in his own thoughts. “You know what the worst thing is about guys like that? How they try to stay ignorant, refuse to figure out a thing or two about the gifts Ignistelum’s given us. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Diagoras? You own a gun.” Another shot fired from the range.

        “Owning a gun is one thing,” I said, clutching onto my recorder. “Worshipping them is another.”

        “The gun gives me food. It protects my home. It rewards those who respect it and punishes those who don’t.” Sicarius looked up at the statue of Ignistelum again. “If there was ever any proof the gods watch over us, it’s the gun. You should be asking yourself why some people out there don’t worship them.” Another shot fired from the range. One of the men beyond the door began yelling unintelligible curses.

        “Shouldn’t that place be soundproofed?” I leaned my head, trying to see past the priest’s imposing figure to get a look at the door.

        “The normal ranges are. We’re a temple, and temples make noise. Some temples sing hymns, some shout prayers. We let Ignistelum do all the talking.” A second voice started shouting, this one deeper than the first. Another shot echoed throughout the temple, followed by the most horrible scream I’d heard in all my life. It was the sound of a man going through pain so intense he was just barely able to comprehend it, allowing anyone in earshot to share the scarcest fraction of his agony.

        “Pollux,” I whispered, removing my gun from its holster. I ran towards the range, only for Sicarius to step between me and the door.

        “Now you hold on there just a moment,” intervened the priest. “Those worshippers back there are involved in a private ceremony. How would you feel if someone barged in, interrupting your personal business? Now come on, what do you say we wrap up that interview?” Sicarius managed his best smile. The screamer in the range kept going, his voice growing steadily weaker. I could almost hear him tearing up.

        “Fuck the interview!” I tried pushing Sicarius aside, though he was determined to stay put. “Someone’s just been shot! He needs help!”

        “Now, unless you open that door and peek inside, which you’re not gonna do…” The priest stomped his foot. “You don’t know that for sure. Maybe one of those fine men just felt like letting a good scream out. And even if somebody was shot, what would you propose we do?”

        “Get the guy to a hospital and stop the…”

        “Stop the faithful worshipper, protected by Ignistelum, defying the will of a god and bringing about the ira deorum. If it weren’t for your piece, Diagoras, I’d say you’re just like one of those finks in the Senate.” An argument kept going behind us in the range. The screaming man had fallen silent. “Tell me something, you ever try saving a pig on the Kalends? We give a little show of devotion to show we still care, and the gods let us keep on living. No harm done. It’s the same deal here.” Sicarius grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around, facing me towards the direction of the door. I uneasily turned around to look at the priest one more time, flashing me a wicked grin. I made a break for the door, though Sicarius made sure I could hear his parting words before I left.

        “Every god needs a sacrifice once in a while!”

APRIL 21, 2766

“Kings o’er their flocks, the scepter wield! E’en kings beneath Jove’s scepter bow!” sang the woman on stage. “Victor in giant battlefield, he moves all nature with his brow!” Everyone else in the forum, even Servius, bowed their head to the national anthem. I wonder if anyone paid any mind to me simply standing there. To the average Roman, Parilia was a day of supreme reverence, of honoring the man who founded our country and the gods that protect it, of celebrating our heritage, of games and feasts in the street. To me it’s nothing but our already unhealthy nationalism taken to a ludicrous extreme. I had half a mind to stay in bed and leave the ceremony to my imagination, but duty drew me here. Duty and free food.

        I bit into my loaf of bread, the dry, unvarnished bite floating in my mouth before I could muster the will to swallow it. Awful stuff, but it was edible. I supposed the government was good for the rations, if nothing else. The less money I spent on food, the longer I could keep the apartment.

        “What joy, for fatherland to die! Death’s darts e’en flying feet o’ertake!” rang the singer. Pollux, is she going to sing the whole thing? At sports games they usually just stick to the first verse. “Nor spare a recreant chivalry, a back that cowers, or loins that quake!” Servius’ head was bowed along with everyone else’s, his hands folded by his waist. I shook my head and finished off the last of my bread, washing it down with a swig of Burranica. I grimaced as I swallowed the sickly drink. I’d like to know the name of the moron who decided we had to mix milk and wine on Parilia. I might as well be drinking cough syrup. Now there’s an idea.

        “When Caesar’s self in peaceful town, the weary veteran’s home has made, you bid him lay his helmet down and rest in your Pierian shade!” I raised my bottle for another sip of wine. A strange spot on my hand caught my eye. I raised the hand to my face, getting a closer look at the bump. I gently prodded it with my other hand. Didn’t hurt. A wart, maybe? Wasn’t important, I decided. Had to put my attention back on the ceremony.

        “Jove rules in Heaven, his thunder shows! Henceforth Augustus earth shall own, her present god, now Briton foes and Persians bow before his throne!” Unseen by the bowing crowd, workers started to gather behind the singer, preparing a magnificent pile of timber doused in lighter fluid. It was a little weird, having them prepare it while the anthem was still going on. Then again, at the rate things are going I doubt the song would end anytime soon. Part of me hoped once they got the fire going, they’d throw the singer into it. Nobody would forget that Parilia anytime soon, I bet.

        “What has not cankering Time made worse? Viler than grandsires, sires beget ourselves, yet baser, soon to curse the world with offspring baser yet!” The crowd erupted into applause. The grinning singer took a bow. Soon she left, leaving the stage for Verus and Falsa, the latter with a plate of frosted cakes in her hands. Odd. Usually it’s the Emperor giving the address on Parilia. It was probably for the best, though. I don’t want to be near the Emperor. The governor may have let me go free for my blasphemy, but I doubt Piissimus would be so generous. Would he even know I was here? Would he be able to pick me out in the middle of a crowd? I bet he could. He definitely knows my name, I can promise that much. Pollux, I’m a wreck. I can’t leave the house anymore without thinking someone’s after me. I took another swig of the wine.

        “Don’t take it all, sir,” complained Servius, finally back in the real world.

        “Eh…sorry, sorry.” I handed the bottle to my slave. Barely a second passed before Servius was happily downing the stuff himself. “Knock yourself out. It’s that milky shit anyway. Wonder if they’re giving any normal wine here.”

        “Great Pales!” spoke Verus. “From time immemorial, when mighty Rome was no more than simple farmland, you watched over her shepherds. Two thousand, seven hundred, sixty-six years ago, to the very day, Romulus, son of Mars, looked upon your land and used it to birth the city on seven hills. Just as you protected the shepherds and their flock, you looked over great Romulus, and all his followers.” Falsa raised the cakes above her head. “We pray these offerings please you. We give, that you may give. May the gods look after the followers of Romulus, as they have in all the millennia past. May our brave soldiers risking their lives in the Orient triumph over our enemies. May Nova Roma continue as a shining example for all the world to follow, just as Romulus’ ancient city had done in the past. Great gods, hear our prayer.”

        “Great gods, hear our prayer!” repeated the crowd. Even Servius was mumbling along with it. Verus stepped backwards, letting his wife take the stage. Falsa straightened her dress, never once breaking her elegant smile.

        “Of all Rome’s feasts, it’s the Parilia that moves me the most,” spoke the priestess. “I know up in Olympus, the divine Romulus must be smiling at what his humble city has become over two thousand years later. What began as a simple village transformed from kingdom, to republic, to an Empire whose reach has spread far beyond what the ancients could ever hope to imagine. Romulus, Numa, Tarquin…when they were mortals, those old kings knew so little of the world. They couldn’t dream of their city ever expanding to a new continent in the west, or forging an alliance with Japan.” Falsa stayed quiet for a moment, giving the crowd time to mull over her words. It felt kind of weird, talking about Romulus in this day and age. I’m not sure if he was even a real person. Even if he was, this is a guy who killed his brother and sucked on wolf tits. Does the father of our country have a place in the modern world?

        “There have been troubles in our past as well, of course,” continued Falsa, pursing her lips together. “The murders of Caesar and Maxentius. The Gothic barbarians’ capture of the original city. The Arabian seizure of the Orient, and the lengthy conflict against the atheistic vermin of China. But through it all, Rome has survived, eternally unconquerable.” The priestess wiped at her eye, as if she was crying. “Take a moment, citizens, and pray. Pray not just for Rome, but for the great Legate Taurus, and all the heroes under his command, risking their lives in Arabia.” The whole crowd bowed their head and closed their eyes once again, a few of them faintly mumbling to themselves. Servius did the same.

        “For some of them, this may be the last Parilia they ever experience,” said Falsa. “For those gods among men, however, their sacrifice will not be in vain. Through their blood, Nova Roma will once again show its superiority to the rest of the world. In the end, we will triumph, and the infidels of the Orient will bow and convert. Rome remains eternal, a shining beacon, watched on by the Olympians, for the men of lesser nations to aspire to. So it has been in centuries past, and so it shall be in the centuries to come.” The crowd applauded once more.

Their part in the ceremony finished, the couple left the stage. A young man, scarcely older than twenty-five, came forward in their place, with four sheep trailing behind him. He was dressed in the humble garments of an ancient shepherd, albeit soaked in water. Year after year, he always shows up dripping wet.

A worker struck a match, tossing it onto the pile of wood. Before too long, the display went alight, burning brightly on the stage. The shepherd took a step forward, the four sheep doing the same. I don’t know how they condition those things, but they’ll stick by their shepherd no matter the consequences. The shepherd ran towards the fire, not a trace of fear in his face, then leapt through it. One long second later, he emerged from the other side unharmed. He turned around, looking back at the sheep, now following his path.

“For Jupiter!” shouted the shepherd. The first sheep stepped into the fire, bleating in agony as it slowly burnt alive. The crowd began to cheer wildly, almost drowning out the cries of the dying animal. Almost. I put my fingers to my ears.

“For Mars!” The second sheep, oblivious to the fate of its companion, walked into the inferno as well. The first sheep was still struggling through its pain, trying to reach the other side. No more sounds came from it. The air to scream wasn’t there anymore. “For Vesta!” The third sheep began its journey. The first sheep collapsed, almost at the end. The flames quickly consumed it until it didn’t even look like an animal anymore. It was just another object on the pile to burn. “And for Pales!” The final sheep entered the flames. The crowd emitted an unstoppable surge of praise for the slaughter. I turned around, trying to make my way out of the crowd.

“Sir?” asked Servius, following after me. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled, refusing to turn around to face the slave. “I need to get out of here. Need to go somewhere where nobody’s being burned alive.” I looked down at my hand again. That wart’s getting on my nerves.

Servius and I continued shifting through the crowd. The farther I could get away from all the noise, the better. My brain was a wreck, scarcely able to focus on the scene surrounding me. Before too long, I collided with someone.

“Fuck, fuck,” I mumbled, half to myself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” said a familiar voice. My eyes finally decided to pay attention, letting me see Verus standing right in front of me. “Why, Diagoras. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“Oh, oh!” I stammered, barely able to speak. “Hello there, Verus. Falsa.” I smiled at the priestess, though her own face remained as stoic as ever. “Yes, well, I…uh…I can never miss a Parilia. Servius wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I did, would you, buddy?” I tapped my slave on the shoulder. His mind was still on the fire burning in the distance. As soon as he realized who I was talking to, the slave fell down on one knee.

“Your greatness!” he said, almost like he was begging for something.

“Oh, well, thank you,” replied Verus. “You can stand if you’d like, though.” Servius got back on his feet, trying to look as formal as possible. He put his hands behind his back, concealing the recorder.

“So, uh, Verus…” I bit my lip uneasily. “I know this might be a bad time, but I still haven’t heard back from the Department of Pontiffs about that interview.”

“Oh, those blasted people at the Department…” said Verus. “Sometimes I feel like we pay them just to not get things done. I bet you have people like that down at the Tribune, don’t you?”

“Are you even still working at the Tribune?” asked Falsa, stepping forward to be beside her husband. Verus glanced at the priestess, almost confused at the question.

“No,” I answered plainly. “No, I’m not with the Tribune anymore.” Verus gave me a dumbfounded gaze.

“Really?” asked the priest. “Why did you leave?”

“You’ll have to forgive Verus,” said Falsa. “Sometimes he gets so caught up in his duties he forgets to pay any attention to the rest of the world.” She turned to face her husband. “Dear, this man didn’t leave. He was fired after assaulting a woman at Camp Piety.” The priestess was staring back at me now. “Mr. Cinna, do indulge my curiosity. How is it you’re here and not slaving away in one of the factories?”

“Governor pardoned me.” I placed my hands in my pockets, maintaining the best smile I could. Servius anxiously scooted to the side.

“I see…” said Falsa slowly, dragging the word out as long as she could. The priestess mumbled something under her breath, then wrapped her arms around her husband. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cinna, but the safety of the rex sacrorum is imperative over at the Department. His safety and his reputation.” She looked into Verus’ eyes. “It wouldn’t be very responsible if we left you alone with a violent blasphemer, now, would it?”

“Well…” hummed Verus, half to himself. “Well, no. I guess not when you put it that way, it’s not.”

“I knew you’d understand, darling.” Falsa turned Verus around, setting him off into the other direction. “We really must be going now. More duties await. Farewell, Mr. Cinna.” She took a few steps closer to me. “And I suggest that every day you wake up, still a free man,” she whispered. “You thank the gods for it.” Falsa turned around, disappearing into the crowd along with her husband.

“It was nice meeting you, ma’am!” shouted Servius as she walked off. “Happy Parilia!”

“Really?” I asked, walking towards where the crowd was thinnest. “Nice to meet them?”

“Well, it was, sir.” Servius took another sip of his Burranica. “Most people don’t get to talk to the king and queen of the sacred rites.”

“Yeah, and it looks like now I’m one of those people,” I mumbled. “Guess an interview with Verus is out of the question now.” Soon we were away from the forum, treading the uneasy streets that surrounded our home. I started replaying the whole exchange at the ceremony in my head. There was something about Falsa…her tone of voice, the look on her face…something that made me almost want to scream.

“At least you could still try speaking with the Emperor.” Servius took another sip, then shook the bottle, listening closely to the sloshing of the remaining wine.

“The Emperor…where do you think he was, anyway?” I asked. “Isn’t he the one usually in charge of the Parilia?”

“He’s probably off doing…I don’t know, busy, important Emperor-stuff, sir.”

“Five denarii says those important duties involve cocaine.” Servius scowled at me. “What? It’s just a joke.”

“You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that,” scolded the slave. “What if someone heard you saying that about the Emperor?”

“What are they going to do? Arrest me?” I scoffed. We were practically alone on the streets now. The sound of rejoicing from the forum had been reduced to a faint whisper. “Jokes aren’t illegal. Not yet, anyway.”

“I just don’t want anything happening to you, sir,” said Servius, finishing off his wine. “If other people heard you saying stuff like that, they could…” A piercing scream interrupted him. “What was that?” asked the slave, jumping in shock. I listened closely. The man continued screaming, accompanied by unintelligible curses.

“It’s coming from that alley,” I whispered, pointing at the hall next to our apartment building. “Stay put.” I snuck towards the alley, careful not to make a sound. Soon I had a clear view of the scene. Two men were beating the shit out of a third, wrapped up in a fetal position on the ground.

“This’ll teach you, chink!” yelled one of the men, kicking the victim in the stomach. “You wanna mess with Romans, you’ll be getting a whole lot of this!”

“How many times does it take for you to learn, huh?” asked the second attacker. “We bombed your ass and you still don’t get it?” The victim’s cries were now a faint whimper, barely audible through his arms, wrapped around his face.

“Hey!” I shouted, stepping into view. “What’s going on here?” The two men turned around, staring me down like wild animals. They were both about a head taller than me.

“This silkshitter here was digging through the dumpster,” explained one of the men, pointing at the victim.

“So what?” I asked. “Maybe he’s just homeless.”

“He don’t look homeless to me.” The second man flipped the victim over. It was an elderly Chinaman, blood trickling down his wrinkled, clean-shaven face. He was wearing the kind of suit you always saw Zheng wearing in old photos, the neat little tunic that they didn’t waste on the poor. “A fancy-dressed Chinaman looking at the stuff of some good, honest Romans. And on the Parilia! You don’t think there’s something fishy going on here?”

“Only fishy thing I see is two guys kicking the shit out of an innocent man.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” exclaimed the second attacker, dropping the Chinaman to the ground. “I know you! You’re that Diagoras guy, aren’t you? The blasphemer?” My heart stopped.

“I...I might be,” I answered, struggling to stay nonchalant.

“This is too good!” said the first man. “Getting two pinkos at once.” The strangers started stepping toward me. Without a moment’s hesitation, I reached for my pistol. The men’s eyes widened as I pointed the barrel at them.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I asked with a smirk. “Having all this power over someone you hate, knowing damn well they can’t fight back.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, easy…” pleaded one of the strangers, his hands in the air.

“Yeah, you don’t need to be…”

“Right, now you want to be nice and talk things over,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to explain to the police why I’m stuffing two corpses into that dumpster, so why don’t you get the fuck out of here and pretend this never happened?” Nodding nervously, the men stepped away.

“An atheist walking the streets, pointing a gun at us on the Parilia,” mumbled one of them, just as they reached the alley’s end. “This country’s fucking doomed, it is.”

“I heard that!” I shouted. The strangers picked up their speed, bolting away. I holstered my pistol, making my way towards the Chinaman. “You all right?” I extended my hand. The victim pulled himself back up on his feet, looking at me with a strange sense of awe. “You’ve got to be careful, there’s a lot of bad people in this city. You need anything else?”

“Uh…no Latin!” shouted the Chinaman, his face still stained by blood. “No Latin!”

“Figures. Another damn immigrant that won’t learn the language before he comes here. Well, go get somewhere safe, will you?” I pointed out to the streets. “You’re not always going to be around me to help you, you know.” The Chinaman ran off. Servius stepped into the alley, still clutching the empty wine bottle in his hands.

“What was that all about?” asked the slave, turning around for one last glimpse at the departing stranger.

“Nothing. Just the usual Parilia celebrations.” I brushed the grime of the city onto my shirt. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

MAY 4, 2766

New Antioch is home to over fifty different temples. Pilgrims and tourists, to say nothing of the city’s natives, regularly flock to these holy sites to pay their respects. Even those who have never set foot in the city are aware of the majesty of the city’s greatest temples. We all know of the fabulous temple of Jupiter, its walls adorned with every name the god has gone by over the years, or the eternal flame of Vesta, still being tended to by her faithful Vestals. However, for all the history and beauty behind these buildings, I can’t bring myself to call them the most fascinating temple in New Antioch. That honor is reserved for the temple of Prometheus, a neglected building scarcely larger than a house, and with seldom a worshipper to be found within its walls.

        It’s no mystery why Rome’s faithful prefer the familiar safety of the country’s classical temples over Prometheus’. Part of it is likely due to the priest in charge. Joannes Lacus has a face of unrivaled intensity. Servius and I have already been in the temple for five minutes, and not once has the priest looked away from us, staring with an almost perverse curiosity. With his long, unkempt beard, he seemed almost like a starving beast, waiting for the right moment to tear out my throat.

        No temple, not even one as unconventional as this one, was complete without a statue of its god. Behind Joannes stood Prometheus, chained to a colossal boulder and writhing in agony. By his side was the Caucasian Eagle, its beak tearing into the god’s flesh, devouring his liver.

        “That’s…that’s quite the statue, there,” I said uneasily. Servius cocked his head at the sight of it.

        “Thank you,” replied Joannes rapidly, a certain sense of paranoia to his voice. “Most people don’t get it, you know. The other temples, they show their gods standing all proud and triumphant. Want everyone to bow down to the gods, say the gods are better than them. Prometheus isn’t like that. Prometheus cares about people. That’s why we show his torture. We’ve got to humble him, bring him down to our level.”

        “Prometheus cares about people, you say?”

        “Yeah. Not like the other gods. The other gods are selfish, demanding the whole world praise them, make sacrifices to them. Otherwise we get the ira deorum. What kind of god is that, huh? All that power, and they’ll throw a fit if just one person goes against them.” I smiled, twiddling my swastika between two fingers.

        “They just want to be appreciated for their efforts,” said Servius, pulling his attention away from the statue. “The gods have worked hard providing for us, and they want to be sure people recognize that.”

        “Providing?” repeated Joannes. He emitted a hoarse laugh. “Hehehe, providing for us? Let me tell you how the gods have provided for us, slave.” Servius hunched his back. “When the gods made all the world’s creatures, man was no different from any other animal. To the gods, we were a joke, was all we were. They thought it’d be amusing, making us in their own image, but having us act no different from any other common beast, too dumb to talk, shitting on the ground.” The priest’s breath began to accelerate. Servius and I took a few steps backwards.

        “When the gods sent foolish Epimetheus to give the animals their gifts, they knew full well he’d give nothing to man. We would’ve been surrounded by all kinds of hungry creatures, blessed with teeth and claws while we were helpless to escape!” Joannes stepped closer towards us. I put my hand on my pistol. “That was the gods’ love for us! That was their plan! It took Prometheus, the fallen Titan, to see past the Olympians’ cruelty.” The priest’s breath slowed down. “He looked at the gods’ unloved children, their black joke upon the world, destined to meet the same fate as his own family, and he said ‘No. You are not beasts. You were sculpted in the gods’ image. You will be like them, and you will surpass them.’”

        “Yeah, I know the story,” I interrupted. “Everyone does. And he gives us fire.”

        “And he gives us fire!” exclaimed Joannes, a sense of joy in his voice for the first time. “An invention of the gods, intended solely for their own benefit, and now placed in man’s domain. It wasn’t just fire he gave us, you know. Just as the tiniest spark can launch a roaring flame, Prometheus’ forbidden gift granted us intelligence. The fire ignited our minds, allowed us to think, to invent, to create!” The priest began pacing around the room, flailing his arms almost like he was on fire himself. My slave was trying to inch as close to the door as he could without drawing suspicion.

        “With fire comes cooked food and sharpened spears,” continued the priest with a grin. “With fire comes forged swords, charcoal artwork, friends sitting around the flame telling stories, steam engines, combustion engines, rocketships…”

        “Is he going to hurt us, sir?” whispered Servius.

        “We’ll see,” I replied.

        “Prometheus’ gift put us on the very level of the gods themselves. It wasn’t just Vulcan who could make a weapon, wasn’t just Mercury who could think his way out of a problem. And what was Prometheus’ reward?” Joannes’ nostrils flared, gritting his teeth in anger. “What thanks did he get for the salvation of mankind?!” The priest pointed at the statue, making sure we got a good look at the pain of the chained god. “Imagine the fate Jupiter bestowed upon him, see yourself in that position. Fastened to a boulder, an eagle disemboweling you, devouring your entrails, only for them to regrow the next day for the torture to begin anew. Prometheus underwent an eternity of the most horrific torment imaginable, all to save us. He’s the one we should bow down to, sacrificing our cattle! Jupiter and Mars and the rest of the villains be damned! If I was in charge, every last temple in Nova Roma would be adorned with his suffering!” Joannes panted, his tirade seemingly at an end.

        “I see…” I took a few steps closer to the priest. “Just out of curiosity, is, uh…is this temple state-approved?”

        “Why?” asked Joannes, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not one of the Emperor’s stooges, are you?”

        “Hey, hey!” I stuck my arms out in front of me. “No, no, far from it. I’m just curious.” Joannes eyed me silently for a few seconds, before letting out an unsatisfactory grunt.

        “Yes, we’re state-approved,” answered the priest. His voice had finally started to slow down. “We don’t deny the gods, and Prometheus was well-documented in the legends of old. They don’t have a reason to deny us their approval.”

        “Even though you…eh…” I looked up at the tortured statue again. “You’re kind of…you know…the way you talk about the gods and all, it’s not…eh…” I let out a nervous chuckle.

        “The gods don’t always agree with each other,” dismissed Joannes. “That’s been documented as well. I have as much right to insult the other gods as their priests have to celebrate Prometheus’ suffering.”

        “What about the pax deorum?” asked Servius. “Wouldn’t saying all these things make the gods angry?” Joannes slowly turned his head toward Servius, staring right through him with those horrible, burning eyes.

        “No wonder you’re stuck as a slave,” grumbled Joannes. “Did you even hear a word I said? Peace of the gods…feh!” He began pacing again, almost like he wanted to get far away from us. “I know the gods a lot better than you do, boy. There’s no such thing as peace with their kind. Either they’re making you suffer, or busy getting ready to make you suffer. There’s only one pax deorum around here…” The priest rapped his knuckles against the wall, the knock echoing throughout the halls of the deserted temple. “And it’s got no strings attached. Prometheus doesn’t care about holidays and sacrifices. He’s not so insecure he needs to bring about war and death just because people aren’t singing songs of praise to him. He’s given us the gift of thought, and all the good that’s come with it. That’s the pax deorum, slave. It started thousands of years ago, and it hasn’t stopped since.”

        “Really? Hasn’t stopped since?” I asked. “Bad stuff happens all the time, you know. Pollux, there’s a war going on right now.”

        “Prometheus isn’t to blame if some men choose to misuse his gifts,” Joannes scoffed. “Men can lie and steal and kill if they please, but they’re the ones who choose to do it. Them and only them.”

        “So, let me get this straight here. I use fire to cook a meal, and Prometheus did it, glory to him. I use fire to burn down a house, and that was all me. You don’t see a little…inconsistency there?” Joannes turned his back to me.

        “Why are you doing this?” asked the priest, placing his hands behind his back. “Want to have a good laugh, convince people not to listen to me? Because if you are, your work is cut out for you.” He gestured at the empty temple. “People don’t come here. They’ve got plenty of gods to choose from. Gods happy to insult Prometheus, label him as a villain. If you want to kick a man who can’t fight back, remind him of how alone he is, I suggest you at least be honest about it.” Servius turned his head to me.

        “I…I’m doing this to stop the gods,” I answered. “I believe worshipping them has had a harmful effect on society, and I want to do my part to turn people away from them. I mean, you don’t like the gods either, do you? I’m just like you!” Joannes kept his back turned, refusing to say a word. An awful silence permeated through the hollow temple, waiting to be broken.

        “You are nothing like me, Mr. Cinna,” replied the priest. “If you were, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be at, I don’t know, the Temple of Mars. Instead you’re here, in a temple that barely a soul walks into, picking on what you thought was an easy target.” He took a deep breath, letting silence fill the building once again. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it’s not to fix society. Unless pissing off an old, unloved priest is your idea of making things better.”

        “Hey, hey, no, it isn’t like that!” I said, managing my best smile. “I just wanted to get your opinion on…”

        “I’m not interested in arguing, Mr. Cinna,” interrupted Joannes. “You may insist on harassing people just for not sharing your beliefs, but you’re not the one in charge of the cult of Prometheus, and that isn’t what I do here.” The priest looked up at the statue, his face grimacing at the sight of Prometheus’ agony. “Unless you plan on paying your respects to the god, I suggest you leave.” Servius pulled at my arm, wordlessly pointing at the door. I followed my slave to the exit, not even giving a final glance to the bitter man still staring at the statue.

        “What a strange person,” mumbled Servius, looking up to the sky and letting the sunlight splash onto his face.

        “No argument there,” I replied, glancing at my watch. “Shit, the bus is showing up in seven minutes. Let’s hurry.” I picked up the pace, beginning the walk to the bus stop.

        “A priest that hates the gods…” said Servius, still slightly trailing behind me. “How do you suppose that happens?”

        “Because he was nuts, Servius, though at least he had the decency to be honest about it. Don’t walk so close to the curb.” I pulled the slave closer to the center of the sidewalk. “He spent all his life getting obsessed, I bet. He worshipped the gods, he decided to serve the gods, and soon his little imaginary friends took on a mind of their own. Suddenly he’s thinking about gods fighting gods, gods torturing gods.” I looked down at my swastika necklace. “Same deal with that German guy, all that…Ragnarok shit. It’s just bleak, when you think about it. If the guys who created the universe can’t stop killing each other, what chance do we have?”

        “Your parents always told me the story of Prometheus was true.”

        “Well stop thinking that, for your own good!” I scoffed. “That lunatic priest should serve as a warning. You spend too much time thinking about the gods, eventually you’re going to go crazy.”

MAY 9, 2766

“Diagoras?” asked Servius, knocking at the door. “Sir? Come out! I need you!” I pulled the covers up over my head. Don’t make a sound, Diagoras. Play dead, act like you’re sleeping, he’ll go away soon enough.

        “Diaaaaagoraaaaaas…” sang the slave. The door swung open, allowing Servius to step inside. I shut my eyes, doing my best to stay passive. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

        “Come on, sir!” Servius shook me rapidly. “It’s midnight! It’s the Lemuria. We need you to exorcise the evil spirits!” I sat up, staring at Servius with the nastiest frown I could muster. Exorcising evil spirits. What makes a man believe ghosts are haunting his house? Even if that kind of nonsense was real, I doubt anything as idiotic as the Lemuria ceremony would get rid of them.

        “You know, Servius, I was thinking…” I rubbed at my eyes to get a better view of him. “You don’t want to be a slave forever, do you?” The slave stared at me blankly for a few seconds, still not dropping his little smile.

        “...What do you mean, sir?”

        “I mean, you know…you’ve been in the family for so long, it doesn’t feel right, still having to be our slave after all this time.” The grin on Servius’ face grew as wide as his jaw would allow.

        “Does this mean that…”

        “No, no, hang on…wait…” I raised a hand to the slave. “I can’t free you just yet. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, remember? But maybe, you know...once it’s all done. And if you’ve proved yourself responsible.”

        “I’m plenty responsible, sir. You know that.”

        “Oh, yes, I know you are, definitely. But you’ve only had to deal with a slave’s responsibilities. Being a free man comes with so much more. You’ve got to pay taxes, show up to work, do those little master of the house duties like, oh, you know…holiday stuff.”

        “Like exorcising the evil spirits on the Lemuria?”

        “Yes, yes, like that! You did such a good job on the Compitalia, you remember that, don’t you? Let’s see how you do with Lemuria! It’s good practice. You don’t want your new house after you’ve been freed to be full of evil spirits, do you?”

        “All right, then!” said Servius cheerfully. “I’ll do it!”

        “That’s my boy!” I replied, giving a stupid grin of my own to match his. “Yes, you do it, and I’ll go to sleep.” I tucked myself under the covers once again.

        “Could you watch me, sir?” asked Servius quietly. “You know, to make sure I perform the ceremony right.”

        “You’ll be fine, I know it,” I mumbled. I could still feel the slave’s weight against my mattress.

        “It’d make me feel better if you were there.” I rolled my eyes.

        “I’ll be in the room, listening to you.” I pulled away the covers and rolled out of the bed. “If you’re going to keep me up like this, I might as well watch some TV.”

        “Thank you!” squealed Servius, hurrying towards the door. “I’ll go get the beans!” I sighed to myself, shaking my head. Beans. Of all the things to keep the evil spirits away, why beans? Why at midnight? Stupid day. Stupid, stupid day.

        I made my way towards the living room, turning on the television, then falling onto the couch. I rubbed my cheek against the cushion, trying to get comfortable.

        “Tragedy struck the Temple of Caesar this morning,” read the newswoman on TV. “As pontiffs entered the temple to encounter a scene of vandalism. The statue of Julius Caesar had been decapitated, with a gang sign painted onto the temple’s walls.” An image flashed on the screen, the temple’s pristine white halls tainted by a colossal red eye. “Investigators have traced the crime to the Sons of Horus, the anti-Imperial cult famous for criticizing military activity in Arabia. This evening, the staff of Emperor Piissimus had prepared an official statement regarding the event.” The woman disappeared from the screen, a picture of the smiling Emperor taking her place.

        “Desecrating Caesar is not merely an attack against the gods,” quoted the newswoman. “It’s an insult to me and all the great Emperors I walk in the footsteps of. The Sons of Horus have once again demonstrated their contempt for Roman virtue with this heinous act, and we will see appropriate measures are brought against them.” The anchor returned to the screen, looking directly at the camera. “The whereabouts of Julius Caesar’s head are still unknown.” Servius stepped out of his room, carrying a sack of beans in his left hand. He held his other hand into the air, making the fig sign for the entire house to see. That’s probably the most sensible part of the ceremony, right there. You want the evil spirits to fuck off, so you start by telling them to fuck off.

        “I send these,” said Servius. The slave reached into the sack, pulling out a fistful of beans. Closing his eyes, he tossed them to the ground. “With these beans, I redeem me and mine. How was that?” Servius turned towards me.

        “That was good, real good,” I mumbled, only giving him the barest attention. “Next time only throw a few beans, though. You’ll have to clean them up later, you know.” Servius gave me a nod, then took a few steps forward.

        “I send these,” he repeated, this time pinching two beans between his fingers. “With these beans I redeem me and mine.” He walked some more, then did the whole ritual again. He’s got to do it nine times, gods know why. Would just eight not cut it? We’re living in an apartment, not a large house. I bet four times would be enough for all the evil spirits hiding around here. What if you go over? If we toss beans eighteen times, can we skip the ceremony next year? Why will the damned souls only eat black beans? Why beans at all? What happens if someone who doesn’t like beans dies and becomes a lemur? Wouldn’t giving him beans just make him even angrier? I shook my head, hoping to drive away the crazy thoughts. Trying to apply logic to religion was just a waste of time. I needed sleep.

        “I send these. With these beans I redeem me and mine.” Dig, throw, walk. “I send these, with these beans I redeem me and mine.” There was a funny little rhythm to Servius’ motions. It was getting harder to keep my eyes open and focus on the television. I let the slumber take me.

        An awful clanging snapped me back to reality. Servius was running through the house, holding a pot in each hand, banging them together like he was six years old.

        “Ghosts of my fathers and ancestors, be gone!” shouted the slave, only barely audible above the insufferable noise. “Ghosts of my fathers and ancestors, be gone!” Now he’ll need to do this nine times too. I stared at the television in a vain hope to keep my mind off the noise. I can’t hear a damn thing the news is saying anymore.

        “Ghosts of my fathers and ancestors, be gone!” repeated Servius for the final time. He lowered the pots, almost out of breath from the ceremony. “How was that, sir?” The slave stepped in front of the television, giving me a satisfactory smile.

        “It was…it was great, yeah,” I answered. I rose from my seat, turning off the television. “Maybe, uh…maybe next time you could bang the pots a little, you know…slower. You don’t need to be all clang clang clang.”

        “I wanted to be thorough, sir,” panted the slave. “The louder you are, the better you are at driving the evil spirits away.”

        “Well, Servius, you did such a good job that I don’t think this apartment will ever need to be exorcised again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need some sleep.” I took only a few steps into my room before I collapsed on the bed. I sank into it, letting its warmth overcome me. The phone started to ring, its shrill tone prying my eyes back open.

        “Di immortales!” I cursed, picking up the phone. “Yes? What is it?”

        “Diagoras?” asked a familiar voice on the other end.

        “…Dad? What are you doing up this late?”

        “Performing the Lemuria exorcism, obviously. What are you doing up this late, I should ask? It can’t be the Lemuria, since my boy’s a blasphemer.”

        “Servius took care of that, I’ll have you know,” I replied. “He was real thorough about it too, I can feel all the evil spirits gone and everything, yeah.”

        “Son, you really think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? It’s got to be the man of the house that does it. If just anyone could get rid of the lemures, they would. Ghosts don’t respect slaves. Nobody does. Servius didn’t get rid of a damn thing, especially the evil spirit that’s got a hold of you.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Knowing my father, he’ll be talking for the sake of hearing himself for the next hour. Why can’t I just sleep?

        “That whole thing was in the news, what, a month ago?” I asked.

        “Yeah, and I read about it when it happened. Your poor mother was near in tears, knowing she’s got an atheist on her hands. Me…I just decided to stay quiet, give myself a little time to cool down. Once I could be calm about it, I’d talk to you.” Oh boy, he’s going to be calm. I recognize this bullshit of his. I’m being calm, I’m being nice, I’m just being honest, I’m doing it because I love you. He always thought putting a tiny disclaimer before things gives him a free pass to be as much of an asshole as he’d like. “Doing the whole Lemuria thing had me worried about you, you know. Thinking that my son’s place is full of evil spirits because he’s too damn proud to admit they’re there.”

        “I told you, I’m fine. The apartment’s, you know…not being haunted right now. No ghosts making stuff fly around or anything.”

        “You still don’t get it, do you, boy? You know what Tartarus is, don’t you?”

        “Course I do. The lady at Camp Piety explained it while she was torturing kids. You can’t scare me with that, though. I know full well Tartarus isn’t real.”

        “Won’t believe in Tartarus, will you…” mumbled my father on the other end. “Well, I’ve got something you can believe. Tell me, you still at that newspaper, son?”

        “No, me and the Tribune have…had a bit of a difference.”

        “Course you have. You working somewhere else?”

        “No, but I’m looking.”

        “Save yourself the trouble and give up, because nobody with a brain is ever gonna hire a guy like you after what you’ve done. How are you making rent?”

        “I’m…I’m not,” I admitted. “I know the rules, though. I’m allowed to stay here a few more months before I can figure things out.”

        “You’re not going to figure things out. You’re not going to make rent, and you’re not going to find anyone dumb enough to let an atheist set foot in their house. You’d better enjoy these last few months, son, because it’s the streets for you after that.”

        “It’s good to know I’ve got such a caring father.”

        “And that’s another thing!” the voice retorted. “I want to see you repent. I want you to come to a temple, say a prayer, give a sacrifice, and I want you to mean it. And if you don’t…” The phone went silent, my grip around it tightening in anxiety. “If you don’t…well…I won’t have a choice.”

        “You mean…”

        “I mean unless you turn around and make up for how stupid you’ve been, I don’t want you bothering me and your mother anymore. I’m…I’m giving you a chance, son. Would you apologize, huh?” I looked around the room, trying to find the right answer. Soon my attention was down on my hand. It was starting to itch, right where the wart was.

        “You there, Diagoras?” repeated my father. “Well? What do you say?” I held the phone away, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Struggling to remain as calm as I could, I spoke.

        “Well, at least I’m not the first kid you decided to disown.” My father hung up, leaving the buzzing dial tone of the phone in his place. I hung up as well, retreating to the warmth of the covers. Servius stepped into the room.

        “What was that?” asked the slave with a yawn.

        “Nothing. Get out of here, will you?” I answered, putting a pillow over my head. “And next time you do the Lemuria, say that ‘Ghosts of my fathers’ part a little louder.”

MAY 15, 2766

For just a few hours, the forum of New Antioch was deserted. The people of the city were granted a brief reprieve from the cries of the merchants, begging all who pass by to sample their wares. On the morning of the Ides of May, the salesmen gather at the Temple of Mercury, showing their faith to the god of commerce. The ceremony was almost surreal, seeing all the traders and conmen huddled up in a temple, making barely a sound. I run into these people nearly every day when I head into the forum, but they’re only ever like this on the Mercuralia.

        The Temple of Mercury has the basic layout of all the rest, yet at the same time it doesn’t quite feel like them. At its center was the traditional statue, showing young Mercury running. The usual statuesque pose wasn’t fit for the messenger of the gods. He had to be dynamic, had to show his speed to the world. The walls were adorned with words from the great writers of old: Virgil, Ovid, Horace, Cicero, even Caesar. As the god of communication and writing, Mercury’s priests are quick to remind us that it’s he we should thank for these classics, as opposed to those who made them. But the temple’s most interesting decoration, at least for today, is the small fountain jutted from one of the walls. It’s this meager scene that drives the merchants here on this day. The temple of Mercury is for all of Nova Roma, but the fountain is there just for them.

        One of the merchants stepped up to the well, a little older than the rest of the line. I chuckled to myself.

        “Is something funny, sir?” asked Servius.

        “I could’ve sworn that guy’s tried selling me some shitty knock-off watches a few times,” I whispered, pointing at the man in the front.

        “Oh, yeah,” replied the slave. “I think I remember him.”

        “We should go up to him right now, when he’s unprepared, go ‘Hey, your watches are fake!’ That’d be a riot, wouldn’t it?” Without another word, the two of us returned to watching the old man. Slowly, he dipped his thumb and two fingers into the fountain, then drew them out, sprinkling the water onto his face.

        “Great Mercury,” he prayed, the water still trickling down his forehead. “Son of Maia, messenger to Jupiter and patron of my trade, allow my business to prosper, for my house to grow plump with riches, and grant me safety while I work.” The man walked away, mumbling unheard additions to the prayer under his breath.

        “Safety while he works,” I whispered, nudging the slave. “That’s his way of saying he hopes nobody calls him out for being a cheat.”

        “I thought Mercury only protects the honest merchants,” Servius replied.

        “If that was true, there’d only be honest merchants, wouldn’t there? No, in the trader’s mind, good and bad alike have his blessing. Sell shoddy goods, jack up the price, outright steal if you want to. You’re being watched over by the gods, and anyone that tries to say anything about it is getting in the way of someone with divine protection.” I crossed my arms, sneering at the line of vendors in front of me. “People will do awful things when they’re convinced the gods are on their side. Now be quiet, here comes someone else.” Another merchant stepped forward, his olive skin and thick beard immediately catching my attention. He dipped into the fountain and splashed the water onto his face, as tradition dictated.

        “Great Hermes,” prayed the merchant. “Please let my business prosper, so that I may continue to provide for my family, let me never go to sleep uncertain of the future ahead, struck with fear of not having enough.” His prayer complete, the salesman departed from the temple.

        “Shit, you hear that?” I whispered. “He said ‘Hermes,’ not ‘Mercury.’ A fucking Greek! Like there wasn’t enough proof this whole thing is an event for swindlers.”

        “Excuse me,” said a stranger. A young priest stepped towards us, giving us a warm smile. “Are the two of you here for the Mercuralia?”

        “Eh…yes, we are,” I answered.

        “You’ll need to stay in line with everybody else, then.”

        “Oh, no, we, uh…we aren’t merchants!” I explained. “No, we’re just here to observe.”

        “I see…” said the pontiff uneasily. “Well, I’m afraid there’s not much to watch, and the worshippers might feel a little uncomfortable having someone look over them.” Servius rolled his eyes, giving himself a head start towards the door. I grabbed the slave by his shirt.

        “No, no, that’s fine,” I told the priest. “But if I can’t watch them, could I talk to you instead?” The smile left the priest’s face. “I just wanted to know a little more about Mercury, you see.”

        “Well…” The pontiff looked down at my neck, squinting at me with uncertainty. “If it doesn’t bother anybody else, I suppose it would be all right.” The priest turned around, heading for the back of the temple. “Follow me.”

        The priest’s office was a curious arrangement, seeming more like a room in a house than in a temple. The walls were adorned with personal mementos, family photos, movie posters, reminding anyone who stepped inside that there was an actual person hiding underneath the title of pontiff. On the desk sat a bust of Mercury, smiling proudly at me beneath his winged helmet.

        “Lepus Argentus,” introduced the priest, sticking out his hand. “How do you do?” I looked down at the offering, then back at the priest’s face. With a brief hesitation, I shook his hand.

        “Diagoras Cinna,” I said. Lepus’ eyelids sunk slightly, the enthusiasm leaving his face.

        “Diagoras the Atheist?” asked Lepus, taking a few steps back to the safety of his desk.

        “Yeah, yeah, that Diagoras. You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the news. Trust me on that. Anything to make you buy a paper, that’s what they’d always say at the Tribune.”

        “But you are an atheist, aren’t you?” asked the priest, sitting behind his desk. Once he was in a comfortable position, he folded his hands and looked up at me with a curt smile. “Don’t try to get past a priest of Mercury. There’s a reason we serve the most cunning of the gods.”

        “You recording?” I asked, turning to Servius. The slave began fumbling with the recorder.

        “Yes, sir,” Servius answered. “You can start now.”

        “Gladly. So, first question.” I picked up the bust of Mercury and turned it around to face Lepus. “Mercury’s the messenger of the gods, right? That title’s always struck me as a little strange. If he’s going around doing the gods’ grunt work, doesn’t that place him below the rest? Of all the gods to worship, why the errand boy?” Lepus shook his head, chuckling to himself.

        “I’m no idiot, Diagoras,” said the priest, failing to keep his smile down. “That’s your plan, right? To make a fool out of me? You’ll have to make your questions a little more subtle than that.”

        “Hey, I just want to know more about the cult of Mercury. From an outsider’s perspective, you know? But if you don’t want to do this, I can go back to staring at the people up front.” Lepus glanced at the door.

        “If you really must know,” said the priest with a sigh. “Mercury isn’t the messenger because he’s beneath the other gods, but because he’s the most capable of the job. His speed allows for hasty travel to the message’s recipient, and his intellect allows him to memorize even the lengthiest of orders.” Lepus picked up the bust, turning it back around to face me.

        “So the gods aren’t all equal, then?” I turned the bust towards the priest again, then stepped away from the desk, leaning against the nearest wall instead. “You couldn’t trust, I don’t know…Minerva with delivering a message?” Lepus picked up the bust and turned it back towards me, a definitive slam as he placed it on the desk.

        “Each god is…more gifted than the others in certain areas, if that is what you mean,” replied the priest. “In their wisdom, the Council of Gods devised a system so none would be as burdened as poor Saturn was during his age. Each god’s powers have its limits, so none can grow too great without treading on another’s territory. Even Jupiter can be drawn back by a stern word from Juno.”

        “How poetic,” I replied. “You have that whole statement planned out in case someone asks you, or did you just make it up on the spot?”

        “I'm just answering your question. Did you have another?” asked Lepus.

        “All right, fine, next question. Mercury’s the god of merchants and commerce, right?”

        “Yes,” answered Servius and Lepus, almost in unison.

        “And he’s a trickster too, isn’t he? I’ve read the stories, you know. As soon as he was born, they say he was stealing Apollo’s cattle.” I stepped away from the wall, back towards Lepus’ desk. I leaned in closer to the priest. “How does a god do something like that and be seen as a figure of virtue? How do you worship a god who protects the honest and the dishonest merchants alike?” Lepus looked down at me again.

        “What’s that?” asked the priest, pointing at my necklace.

        “What, this?” I held the necklace out towards Lepus’ face. “It’s nothing, just a…”

        “A swastika, yes,” finished Lepus. “I’ve seen it before. Every once in a while some strange white man stands outside the temple wearing one, shouting some nonsense about Loki and scaring anyone who passes by. You…” The priest looked at me like I was diseased. “You aren’t…affiliated with him, I hope?”

        “Do you mean Gottlieb?” asked Servius. “He makes this great drink called ‘beer.’ Have you ever had it before?”

        “So you do know him, then?” asked Lepus, not even glancing at the slave.

        “I…” I took a deep breath. “I’ve had to interview him for this project, yes. It’s not like I’m friends with the guy.”

        “Did he give you that necklace?” Lepus pointed at the trinket again.

        “…Yes.”

        “And did he say anything to you about Mercury?” I gave a weak nod. “Well, it was certainly an experience speaking with you, Mr. Cinna, but I’m afraid I must continue attending to the Mercuralia ceremony.” The priest rose from his desk, heading towards the door. “As you’re not a merchant, I suppose your business in this temple is finished.”

        “Now hold on a second, you never answered my question!” I shouted. “Why does Mercury protect dishonest merchants?”

        “Because the gods look after all of us, even those who are going down the wrong path. A fact you should be thankful for, I think.” The priest swung the door open, pointing to the hall outside. “Now, if you would…” I looked through the door, just barely able to see the merchants lined up at the fountain.

        “Come on, Servius,” I said, getting up from my chair. “Looks like our work here is done. Thank you for your time, Lepus.” The priest simply pointed at the door again, refusing to say another word.

        “Unbelievable,” I muttered as I returned to the temple hall. “I get just a few questions in, and he throws us out.”

        “He knew what you were up to, sir,” replied Servius, looking at the line of worshippers as he passed them.

        “All the reason to keep going!” We went through the exit, heading down the staircase that led to the city streets. “He says he’s a smart guy. This was his chance to justify himself, show me that Mercury’s worth worshipping. Instead he buckles, throws me out, and proves me right. Just goes to show you that anyone worshipping Mercury is a…”

        “Stop your evil ways!” shouted a familiar voice. At the foot of the temple, Gottlieb was yelling at anyone who passed by, his beer-stained beard an even bigger wreck than the first time I saw him. “It’s all one of Loki’s disguises, it is! He has many forms, and many names! I saw Ragnarok! You’re all under his…”

        “Gottlieb?” Servius asked, approaching the Goth. Gottlieb’s eyes widened with fear.

        “You…” he muttered. “You…the man from the newspaper…coming from the temple…don’t tell me he…”

        “No, no!” I interrupted. “I was just here to do an interview, try and expose them.” I held the necklace in front of Gottlieb’s face. “See? Friends!” Gottlieb squinted at the necklace for a moment, then smiled.

        “Ah, undercover work, eh?” he chuckled. “Good thinking. Have to be careful, though. Just stepping on Loki’s grounds could corrupt you.”

        “What are you doing here?” asked Servius. Gottlieb lifted up a bottle, hastily swallowing down half of the stuff inside. He put down the bottle and looked back at us, oblivious to the beer trickling down his face.

        “What’s it look like, thrall?” he replied. “I’m doing my part to stop Loki. Can’t do much, but if I can turn just one person away from the path of evil, I think I could rest a little bit easier at night. But what about you, huh? That book coming along well?”

        “There’s, uh…” I scratched the back of my head. “There’s been a few bumps along the way, but it’s still going, yeah.” Gottlieb’s eyes widened in terror.

        “What kind of bumps?” he asked. “Do you need money? I could sell a few things here and there if you’d like me to.”

        “No, no, I…I don’t need any money,” I lied. “It’s a nice offer and everything, but you don’t have to go inconveniencing yourself just for me.”

        “Oh, but I do, son. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you kill Loki. That’s the plan, right? You release the book, people know the truth, and Loki and all his lies come crashing down.” Gottlieb smiled at me, like a little kid waiting for Saturnalia.

        “Well, I mean…that’s the plan, yes. That’s what I’d like to happen.” I took a few steps to the left, trying to put some distance between myself and the German. “But I can’t promise that, you know.”

        “Oh, it’ll happen, I know it,” said Gottlieb confidently. “You’re a lot more important than you think, Diagoras. You and your little book are going to kill Loki, and old Gottlieb can finally keep the nightmares at bay. You can trust me on that.” The Norseman took another swig of beer.

        “Well, thank you for the support,” I replied, managing my best smile. “Servius and I really must get going, though, lots of business on the road ahead, you know.” I wrapped my arm around the slave, pulling him towards me. “But it was very nice seeing you again. Come along, Servius!” We finished our descent down the staircase, rapidly walking away from Gottlieb.

        “May Thor’s courage guide you on your journey!” shouted Gottlieb, waving at us in the distance.

        “Thank you!” shouted Servius. Before I knew it, the slave had turned around, taking a few steps closer to the immigrant. “By the way, you wouldn’t have any more beer, would you?” I grabbed the collar of Servius’ shirt, pulling him back towards me.

        “Shut up.”

MAY 20, 2766

Gaius Scortus was elected to the Senate just four years ago, and yet he has already become one of the most beloved men in politics. The man looked more like a model ripped from a magazine ad than a Senator. His hair is sculpted to perfection, and a simple look at his charismatic smile is enough to make the women of Nova Roma faint. Were you to paint him white, he could pass for another statue of the perfect gods, resting in all the temples. Gaius Scortus would find such a fact perfectly natural. The Senator claims to be the son of Jupiter.

        “Even demigods can have bad days, of course,” says the Senator with a grin, pouring a glass of wine. “Would you like one?”

        “Sure,” I answered.

        “I’ll have one, too!” added Servius, raising his hand with enthusiasm. Gaius handed me a second glass, not once taking his eyes off me.

        “I’ll be honest, when I was a kid, things weren’t easy. Far from it, in fact. My father always had more important business to attend to.”

        “And by your father, you mean Jupiter?” I asked.

        “Well, of course,” answered Gaius flatly. “Who else?”

        “Just trying to be sure, you know. So did…did you ever see your father?”

        “Back then? No. I’ve seen him since then.”

        “Oh, really?” I bit my lip. “Very…very interesting! But anyway, go on.”

        “As I was saying, my father was never around when I was a child. It was just me and my mother, struggling to make ends meet. I never forgot the things she went through, the gods rest her soul, working full-time and being a parent. Even after learning my true nature, I made sure to always be conscious of where I began.”

        “Your first big move as Senator was expanding the government’s corn dole, correct?” Gaius nodded in response.

        “We often claim Nova Roma is the greatest country in the world,” he explained. “If this is true, none of our citizens should ever have to go to bed hungry. A move I’m sure you appreciate.”

        “Just what do you mean by that?” I asked. I took a sip of the wine, only to throw my head back. Maybe it’s been a long time since I last got to taste Falernian, but the Senator’s drinking some strong stuff. I placed the glass on Gaius’ desk. Servius quickly snatched it up for himself.

        “A man in politics has to keep up with the news. I know all about your…recent unpleasantness.” Gaius put his arms behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “I hope you get back on your feet soon, of course, but even if worst comes to worst you won’t starve. I’ll make sure of that.”

        “Well, uh…thank you,” I said through clenched teeth, forcing a smile with all of my strength. Servius was already halfway through my glass of wine. “So, uh…when…when did you first realize you…” I sighed. “When did you first realize you were a demigod?”

        “Well, I must’ve been about…ten, I think,” recalled Gaius. “I always thought it was strange as a kid, seeing everyone else have fathers when I didn’t. One day I asked my mother why. She decided I was old enough to know, and set me straight. Jupiter had impregnated her, and I was the result.” The Senator beamed with pride as he reminisced. “Imagine that, just an ordinary kid figuring that out! Me, son of Jupiter! Brother of Hercules! Of course, with my divinity came the responsibility to put it to good use.” Gaius got up from his seat, walking to the bookshelf behind him.

        “The primary duty of the gods is to bring order to the race of men.” The Senator pulled a copy of the Institutes from the shelf. “It seemed the best way for me to follow that path was to take to the law.” He idly thumbed through the book’s pages for a few seconds, before returning it to the shelf. “I pored through every legal text I could find, no matter how obscure. Ha!” He removed another book. “Like this one. For a while I had this crazy idea that if I studied the laws of a more primitive time and place, it’d help me refine my knowledge of the law today. So I read this dreary thing. It’s by a German attorney from the 23rd century, what was his name…” Gaius paused to look at the spine of the book in his hand. “Martin Luther.” The Senator returned the book to its shelf, making his way back to the desk. “I never did need that book, but you get the idea, don’t you? It took a lot of hard work and sacrifice to get where I am, but soon I was a lawyer, and from there, a Senator. I’ve done all I can to take up my father’s reins and make Nova Roma a better place, help keep the pax deorum in full force. I’m pretty sure he’s proud of me.”

        “And are there any records concerning your parents?” I asked.

        “Excuse me?” replied Gaius, suddenly forced back down to Earth.

        “Is there some kind of record…birth certificates, paternity forms, DNA testing…something making it official that you’re, you know…the son of Jupiter?” Servius finished off his wine, glaring at me through the raised glass.

        “Just because it’s not on paper doesn’t mean it’s not true,” said Gaius.

        “Oh, of course not, but when you claim you’re a demigod, you’re…” I pursed my lips, thinking over my words carefully. “It is the kind of claim where, you know…it definitely helps to have some kind of proof.”

        “What about what I’ve done?” Gaius took a sip from his own wine glass. “Rising from the poor child of a single-parent home to the Senate. It’s not quite the labors of Hercules, but I’d like to think it’s pretty heroic.” He grinned at the thought.

        “That’s…that’s very commendable, don’t get me wrong, but…” I pinched my forehead. “But it still isn’t…it’s not proof, you understand? You’re clearly a smart guy, used to be a lawyer, even. Would all this stuff you’re saying hold up as evidence in court?”

        “And here I thought you wanted to talk about politics!” the Senator chortled. “No, just Diagoras the Atheist up to his usual games, I see.”

        “All right, seriously, Diagoras the Atheist?” I asked. “Is that like some kind of nickname going around or something?”

        “People have been saying it on the news a few times, sir,” said Servius, returning the empty glass to the Senator’s desk.

        “When do you ever watch the news?” I replied.

        “I’m not working all the time, you know, sir. I have to do something when I’m trapped inside the house.”

        “Maybe you could try working more. I know the kitchen’s been…”

        “Please, please, save the yelling at your slave for later,” interrupted Gaius. “I found your case very interesting, Diagoras. No arrest, no court summons…just the governor being too busy to waste time locking you up. You’re a very lucky man, you know. In another time, an open atheist would never be allowed to walk the streets. Someone high up must have really taken a liking to you.”

        “Well, I’m glad I could establish a precedent,” I responded, forcing a smile again.

        “I suppose it’d be silly of me, expecting everyone to believe.” The Senator held up his half-empty glass. “It’s not every day a demigod is born, after all. But denying my divinity isn’t considered blasphemy. Not yet, anyway. They’ll probably save that for after I’m dead. You can choose not to believe in me, just like how lots more people choose to have a little faith.”

        “And those people are your voters, right?” The smile on my face was starting to break. “I mean…do you really not see a problem with that? You’re saying this stuff to prejudice voters into supporting you through these crazy claims instead of anything you actually stand for. I mean…we both know damn well what the average Roman is like. Who wouldn’t want to support a demigod?”

        “You keep asking for proof,” Gaius replied with a smirk. “What makes you so sure I’m not telling the truth, exactly? Where’s your proof of that?”

        “It’s called common sense, connecting the dots.” I leaned in closer to the Senator’s desk. “Your mother was pregnant. She wasn’t in a stable relationship. Nobody knows who did it. She says she was impregnated by Jupiter, just like…”

        “This is the part, right?” interrupted Gaius, his voice carrying a gravity I hadn’t heard before. “I know your little games. This is the part where you want me to burst into tears, forced to admit I was an unwanted Bacchanalia baby, isn’t it?” He leaned in closer to me, scowling the whole time. “You don’t become a Senator with thin skin, Mr. Cinna. I’ve had a lot of practice with this sort of thing. In my day I dealt with my fair share of schoolyard bullies, and I don’t see much difference between you and them.” The Senator pulled back, returning to the comfort of his chair.

        “I rose from having nothing to become one of the most powerful men in Nova Roma,” Gaius continued. “And I’ve been responsible with that power too. I expanded the corn dole. As soon as what’s left of your money dries up, Diagoras, every bite of food you take will be because of me. And you, slave!” The Senator pointed at Servius. “Has your owner ever beaten you before?” I turned to Servius, shaking my head.

        “Um…no,” answered the slave sheepishly. “Not in a long time, no.”

        “I’m working on a bill as we speak to regulate how owners can discipline their slaves. If your master ever lets things go to his head, I’ll make sure you’re all right. I’ve done nothing but work my ass off to make this country a better place. There are some other Senators out there I can’t say the same thing for. If you were half as concerned with what’s wrong with society as you think you are, you would be yelling at one of them. But instead you go after the son of Jupiter. What am I to you, easy pickings? I’ve done nothing but good. If it means getting to make the world a better place, I’d say telling a lie is worth it, wouldn’t you?” I opened my mouth, only to shut it shortly afterwards.

        “Well…thank you for your time, Mr. Scortus,” I said humbly, rising from my chair. “Come on, Servius.”

        “One more thing,” said Gaius. “You’re still angry at me, aren’t you? Well don’t you worry, you can get back at me next election. Just like how everyone else can, if they want to. See, that’s the funny thing. I never forced anyone to believe me. People did that on their own. So go stew at the Emperor and the priests all you want, but before you get mad at the Senate, ask yourself who put us there. Don’t blame me for saying I’m the son of Jupiter, blame your average Roman for being backwards enough to believe it.” The Senator went back to that horrible grin of his. “You two have a nice day.”        

JUNE 1, 2766

“Deep in the dreary den, concealed from day, sacred to Mars, a mighty dragon lay.” The lights went out. Steam flooded the room. Servius clutched my arm, paralyzed in fear.

        “Let go,” I whispered. “I’m trying to pay attention.” I pulled away from the slave, crossing my arms.

        “Bloated with poison to a monstrous size, fire broke in flashes when he glanced his eyes,” the voice on the speakers continued reading, trying his hardest to scare any kids that might be around. A pair of glowing bright yellow eyes appeared in front of us, glaring at the audience. “His towering crest was glorious to behold, his shoulders and his sides were scaled with gold.” The lights returned, if only faintly. The vague outline of an animal could be seen behind the eyes. “Three tongues he brandished when he charged his foes.” The voice was starting to grow more intense. A loud growl came from the scene up front. “His teeth stood jaggy in three dreadful rows!” The room lit up, revealing a vicious roaring dragon. The beast snarled, snapping its jaws at the crowd. Servius ran behind me, cowering in panic.

        “Oh, Pollux, pull yourself together!” I groaned. “Not even the children are freaking out like that.” I pointed at two young boys, watching the dragon with wide amazement. The animatronic dragon roared and chomped at the crowd again, repeating its motions from before. The kids ran off to the next room, their mother trailing shortly behind them.

        “The kids love the dragons,” said Quintus Pernus with a chuckle. The director of the Museum of Faith and Science patted the mechanical beast on its snout. “We’re all about fun here, you know. To the kids, a museum means boring stuff. So we put a dragon in the very first room, try to reel them in. Just like that,” Quintus snapped his fingers. “Now the kids can’t get enough. They think it’s cool, they want to see the rest of the museum. They’re looking at all the displays, and they’re having so much fun, they don’t even realize that they’re learning.”

        “And what exactly are they learning?” I asked. “Servius?” The slave was still staring at the dragon. “Servius!” I snapped.

        “R…recording, sir,” said the slave, readying the device.

        “As I was saying,” I turned back towards the director with a smile. “And what exactly are they learning?”

        “Well, that much is simple,” answered Quintus. His voice carried a sweet tone, like he was just talking with a child. “We’re here to teach kids about science. Real science. Not the lies they tell in schools these days. You wouldn’t believe what’s happening to this country, you know. A bunch of blasphemous teachers go around telling kids, ‘Hey, this story isn’t true, and this one’s not true.’ Soon those kids’ll grow up, thinking they don’t need the gods. Our country’s about to have a whole generation of…of atheists! They’ll ignore the rituals, slip into all kinds of degeneracy. We’ll have people with no sense of modesty, no honor, no idea what it means to stand up and fight for the good of their country. Jupiter would swallow us up in a second if we let that kind of thinking keep going! So you see, we’re not just helping kids’ minds, we’re trying to help their spirits here as well.”

        “And, uh…just what would that entail?” I asked. Quintus’ grin went even wider than it already was.

        “Well, if you just take a look at the rest of the museum, you’ll see that, won’t you?” Quintus turned around, making his way towards the next room. “Follow me!” The two of us trailed behind the director, only to find a room of almost total darkness. The occasional beam of light flashed across the room’s ceiling, though never long enough to get a good look at where we were. The room’s speakers blasted an endless track of horrible discord. Pots banged against the roar of a thunderstorm, itself barely audible above the stampede of a thousand feet. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts in a place like this. I put my hands to my ears, with no avail. Through the room’s faint visibility, I could see Quintus’ lips moving.

        “What?!” I shouted as loud as I could.

        “Play the track!” shouted Quintus. The volume of the agonizing noise went down, still present, but now far more bearable. “Sorry about that,” Quintus said, still smiling to himself.

        “Before there was anything, there was Chaos.” read the narrator from the dragon’s room. “All of existence was just like this room, an ugly mess with no structure or meaning. What you are looking at is a world without a designer.”

        “See, we try to let the kids connect some of the dots themselves,” whispered Quintus. “If anyone tells them they’ve got a world without a designer right now, they can say ‘No, that’s Chaos!’” I nodded silently, doing my best imitation of the director’s smile.

        “Then one of the gods, in their infinite wisdom,” continued the narrator, “brought order to the cosmos. The four elements were separated: Fire for the heavens above, earth and water for the land of mortals, and air to divide the two.” A swirling blue globe appeared on the ceiling above us. “Land and sea were given firm boundaries, and soon…” Green appeared on the circle, forming the familiar continental shapes. “Our dear Earth was born. The gods filled the world with all manner of animals, and one supreme race, sculpted in the gods’ own image, to rule above them all: Man.” A door swung open, its light finally allowing for a sense of direction within the dizzying halls of Chaos.

        “This way, please!” beckoned Quintus, heading into the next room. Soon we were in a bright, warm hall. In front of us was a display of wax figures, frolicking through an artificial meadow. In the center stood Saturn, the Titan proudly displaying his scythe for the visitors to see. On one of Saturn’s sides, a smiling man picked berries from a tree. On the other, a man bent down to drink from a flowing river of milk, surrounded by an ox and Velociraptor doing the same.

        “Now, what we’re looking at right here is the Golden Age of the world,” explained Quintus. “When Saturn and the other Titans were in charge, everything was perfect. The weather was always nice, all the food you ever needed was right in reach, and people and animals were all nice to each other.”

        “And the, uh…one of those animals was…dinosaurs?” I asked, pointing at the raptor on display. Quintus laughed to himself again.

        “See, that’s one of the things we do, try and make the kids think,” he answered, pointing at his head. “That’s one of the first lies most kids are ever told. Dinosaurs lived millions of years ago, and they’re all dead now! But if we look at the scripture, we see all kinds of funny creatures mentioned: the Hydra, the Python, the dragon guarding the Golden Fleece. Those old Greeks had to be talking about things they’d seen, and I can’t think of any other animals that fit the bill, can you? They had to have run into dinosaurs!” I bit my lip down, fighting the urge to scream.

        “This guy looks real,” said Servius, leaning as close to the berry-picking mannequin as he could.

        “We spared no expense here at the museum,” replied Quintus. “As I see it, no price is too high if it means managing to deliver the message and help people. So, you can see here that during the Golden Age everybody was happy. Of course, then Jupiter overthrew Saturn. Prometheus defied him by stealing fire and giving it to man, and Jupiter decided to punish man. So he made woman.” Quintus chuckled to himself again. “This way, please.” Quintus continued walking until we reached the next display. A young woman of incredible beauty was on her knees, her hands wrapped around a large jar. Out of the jar shot a beam of light, sinister laughter coming from within.

        “You probably know this story, I bet,” continued Quintus. “Jupiter told Pandora not to open that jar, but when did women ever follow directions, am I right?” The director laughed to himself, only for his face to quickly turn serious. “When Pandora opened up that jar, all the evil inside it was released into the world. All the murder in the news today, all the rape, the drug use, the lying teachers, the pathici taking it up the ass…it all goes back to the jar.” Quintus pointed at the display again, making sure we both saw the look of horror on Pandora’s face as she realized what she had done.

        “I thought Jupiter was the reason that happened,” I said, leaning in closer to the display.

        “I’m sorry?” asked Quintus.

        “The gods made Pandora, didn’t they? They’re the ones who gave her curiosity. When Jupiter told her not to open the jar, he knew that she would. Isn’t Jupiter the reason we have evil, then?” Quintus frowned. His right hand started clenching, like he needed something to grab on to.

        “It…it was still Pandora who opened it,” he mumbled faintly. “Now, if you’d come this way, please.” The director led us to another display. This one was a large pool of water, with a few coins visible at the bottom. In the center of the tank was a small wooden boat, with figures of a man and woman standing in it, huddled together.

        “With the Golden Age ended, all kinds of evils filled the world. Men became violent and greedy. They built boats and swords, tools of war, you know. People would even try to kill their own families. Worst of all, they made up government to keep everyone in check. Jupiter got so tired of seeing the evils of man, he said ‘No more!’ He decided to flood the Earth, killing everyone in it.” Quintus pointed at the statues in the display. “But not everybody was bad. Deucalion and his wife, Pyrrha, they were good people. Pious people. When Prometheus warned Deucalion of the flood, he built a boat so they’d be safe. You’ve got Deucalion to thank for all of us being here today.” Servius stood up on his tiptoes, trying to put himself on equal standing with the floating display.

        “Yeah, yeah, thanks, Deucalion,” I said, turning to the mannequin myself. “So, after Jupiter killed everyone, he stopped the flood and Deucalion and his wife repopulated the planet, am I right?”

        “You are!” answered Quintus. I really wish he’d give that chipper tone of his a rest.

        “So, uh…that’s a pretty small boat.” I turned to look at the figures again. “What about the animals? If they died in the flood, how’d they come back afterwards? Deucalion didn’t bring any with him, did he?” Quintus gave his usual chuckle at the question.

        “What, put every animal in the world in the same boat?” The director was barely able to contain himself. “Now that’s just…ha! That’s got to be the silliest thing I’ve ever heard! No, I’ll tell you what happened to the animals. This way.” Quintus led us to yet another display. Deucalion and Pyrrha were now on solid ground, smiling at the end of the flood. The two of them each carried a sack of rocks, tossing them behind them as they walked. Behind them was a curious sequence, almost like the drawing people always see on the cover of Kanuntee’s books. On the far left sat a plain pebble. To its right, a larger rock, with slight bumps protruding from it. After that, another rock, its extensions now longer, and its center smaller. The stone gradually took on a more and more human shape, until we reached the end of the diorama, the rock having transformed into a young nude man.

        “Deucalion consulted the oracle Themis,” Quintus explained. “The Titaness told them to throw ‘the bones of their mother.’ That’s the Earth, mind you, Earth is their mother. When they threw the stones behind them, they grew, changed into living things. Soon the human race was reborn. The humans, and the dogs, and the cows, and the dinosaurs…all of them. Some of the rocks even turned into brand new animals, ones that weren’t around before the flood.”

        “So we all came from rocks?” asked Servius, eyeing the end of the display curiously.

        “Rocks and the power of the gods,” corrected Quintus. “The revival of humanity after the flood is just one of the gods’ many miracles that mankind has been privileged to witness.”

        “Along with the flood itself,” I mumbled. “So, real quick, Mr. Pernus, you don’t believe in the theory of evolution, correct?”

        “I don’t believe in anything, Mr. Cinna,” replied Quintus. “I know. I know that the gods’ word are the true history of the universe. The facts all line up with that. I’ve heard every question in the book, people trying to trip me up. Where did all the fossils come from? Those animals died in the flood. Why does the Earth have layers? It’s a leftover from when the ground was just part of the shifting Chaos.”

        “So does evolution fit within the gods’ word?”

        “To a degree.” Quintus pointed at the display again. “If you want to, you could say that Deucalion’s rocks ‘evolved’ into animals and people. Lycaon changed into a wolf, Arachne changed into a spider…even the Cercopes were changed by Jupiter into apes! But apes changing into men…well, Hesiod never said anything like that.” I looked at the display again. I just now noticed the changing rock had the vague outline of a face during part of its transition.

        “So descending from apes makes no sense, but descending from rocks does?”

        “Yes, and you know why? Because the rocks were mentioned in the holy writings. See, you don’t get to pick and choose which parts of the gods’ word you think are true. It’s all or nothing. If you compromise even an inch, you’re setting on the long road to atheism. Oh, this part where humans were created by the gods isn’t true!” His voice took on a mocking tone, becoming even more high-pitched. “No, we all came from monkeys instead! And all the animals weren’t made at the same time! No, all the dinosaurs and trilobites and sea monsters showed up ‘millions of years’ ago! In fact, just forget the part where it says the gods are even real! We don’t need the gods! We can just do whatever we want, kill and steal and refuse to sacrifice and sleep around, because there’s no such thing as a pax deorum! You let a lie get into your head, even for a second, and it won’t be too long before you’re a vicious killer, no regards for morals.”

        “Kee Kanuntee never killed anyone.”

        “Not directly, no,” Quintus replied. “But think of all the people driven to kill because they decided to take his word over the gods’.” Servius was sticking his hand out at the display, grabbing at the hem of Pyrrha’s dress.

        “Well, uh…well tell me this, then,” I said, turning my attention back towards the director. “That whole, you know…this creation business with Chaos…when exactly did that happen?”

        “About four thousand years ago,” answered Quintus.

        “Really.” I said, squinting at the director. “The world is four thousand years old.”

        “It’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it? The prophets who told us the world’s history gave us a genealogy to go with it. Romulus founded Rome almost 2,800 years ago, right? He was the son of Rhea Silvia, the daughter of Numitor, and so on…” Quintus waved his hand at the passing generations. “Eventually you get to Aeneas. He was in the Trojan War, about 450 years before Rome was founded. You can agree on that much, can’t you?”

        “Well, it makes sense so far,” I mumbled with unease.

        “Aeneas was the son of Anchises, the son of Capys, keep on going…eventually we find King Teucer. Now that’s the very first mortal in the family tree! Teucer was the son of a river god, Scamander. River god! Water!” Quintus raised his hands into the air, smiling with glee at his discovery. “Teucer was born during the flood! Protected from Jupiter’s deluge by his divine heritage!”

        “Where did he live, then?” I asked. “If the whole world was flooded when he was born, just how did he survive?”

        “I’m sure Scamander was able to arrange something for his son.”

        “What was he, Aquaman? Could he breathe underwater? Your whole story makes no damned sense. I mean, what about the Egyptians, or the Sumerians? We know they were around more than four thousand years ago.”

        “And how do you know that?” retorted Quintus. “Go on. How?” I sighed.

        “I don’t know. They, they left writings, I guess.”

        “And what makes you so sure those writings are that old? I’ll tell you, you heard it from a man. You’re taking man’s word over the word of the gods, and that’s where all that trouble comes from, remember? You can’t believe just anything you hear.”

        “G…jurg…” I mumbled. “You’re telling me not to believe everything I hear? You’re talking about Ovid like he was writing a fucking history book!” I threw my arms up into the air, then spun around. “Come on, Servius, we’re done here.”

        “But I wanted to see the rest of the museum!” complained the slave.

        “You’ve already seen far more of this place than anyone ever should.” I began the walk back towards the museum’s exit, only to stop in my tracks. I turned around again, pointing my finger towards Quintus. “And you…I don’t know how you’re able to sleep at night. It’s one thing to believe all this…this bullshit yourself, but passing it onto children that don’t know any better? Do you…do you even realize what you’re doing?”

        “I know what I’m doing just fine,” answered the director calmly. “I’m helping people figure out the real truth. It’s all the Kanunteeists you should be getting mad at. Tell me this.” Quintus raised his right hand, clenching his fingers and letting go. “Look at my hand. Look at how well-shaped it is, how good it is at making a fist, or picking up food. Look at my eye.” Quintus put a finger to his temple. “It’s so delicate, all these little pieces working together perfectly to let me see. You really think all this stuff could have come by chance? You think a pile of goo just somehow managed to turn into us, all by itself? Of course not. There’s only one explanation for how we’re all here that makes sense. The sky god Caelus mated with Terra and fathered the Titans, who in turn created the Olympians.” Quintus crossed his arms, smiling smugly at me. “It’s the only way, when you really think about it.”

JUNE 8, 2766

Woke up to the pain of a burning itch all over my right arm. Scratching at it proved fruitless. I tumbled out of bed, reaching for the light switch with my good arm. I was treated to the sight of my forearm in a bright shade of red.

        “Fuck,” I mumbled to myself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I swung the door open, into the living room. Servius was in his typical position, planted in front of the television cradling a bottle of wine like it was his child.

        “Servius!” I yelled. “I think…I think I’ve got a rash. Go get the cream!”

        “Yes, sir,” complied the slave. He ran off to his own room, leaving the couch all for myself. I sat down in the middle of the sofa. On the screen, a couple was arguing, the husband planted in front of the television. Watching a guy watching television. This is what I’ve turned into.

        “But Lucius, honey,” whined the wife. “If you stay here and watch the big race instead of going to the temple, people will start talking about us! They’ll say we’re not pious!”

        “And if I go to the temple with you, next day at work people will talk about what a great race this was. I know the way things go around here,” replied the husband. The laugh track broke out, a chorus of invisible voices showing their contempt.

        “Here you are, sir,” said Servius, rushing towards the couch with a tube of ointment.

        “Thanks.” I snatched the tube out of his hand, squeezing a dollop onto the rash. “And go change the channel, will you? If I spend another minute listening to your stupid sitcoms I’m going to develop brain damage.” The slave turned a knob on the television.

        “Is the news OK?”

        “Yeah, sure, the news is fine,” I mumbled, rubbing the cool cream over my arm. I gave a heavy sigh of relief as the pain subsided.

        “That doesn’t look too good, sir,” said Servius, peering over my shoulder to look at the rash. “Maybe we should take you to see a doctor.”

        “I probably just slept funny or something. I don’t need a doctor.” The last of the cream disappeared into my skin. I sunk further into my seat. “And even if I did, we couldn’t afford one anyway.”

        “You’re still looking for a new job, aren’t you?” Servius headed for the kitchen, peering inside the fridge.

        “Why don’t you let me worry about the money, OK? Things are going to be fine, trust me.” I laid down, taking up the entire couch by myself. “I just need to keep doing interviews until I’ve got enough material for a whole book. After that, big things are going to happen, I promise you.”

        “I thought the censors wouldn’t let you release the book, sir.” Servius returned to the television, a fresh bottle of red wine in his hands. The slave nudged my legs, forcing me to sit up again. “How are you supposed to make money from it?”

        “Hey, what did I just tell you?” I asked. “I handle the big-picture stuff, you handle the grunt work. It’s a simple system. Now shut up and watch some TV. And give me that.” I pulled the wine from Servius’ hands, taking a healthy swig from the bottle before returning it to the slave.

        “The conflict in the Orient has worsened this past week,” read the newswoman on the television. “Arabian rebels have reacted to the presence of Roman troops with increased hostility.” The screen displayed a man with a long, sinister beard, speaking before a crowd in Arabic.

        “That’s interesting, he’s not speaking Latin,” I said, nudging Servius. “The guy must know it, they all know how to, yet he’s choosing not to. He’s choosing to reject anything Roman, you know?” Servius drank from his wine, wholly uninterested in the news.

        “The Roman swine steps onto our land once again, not out of hate, but envy,” read a translator speaking over the rebel. “The Romans envy our freedom, our prosperity. Arabia Felix has just begun to cast off the shackles of Roman oppression, to become its own nation.” The rebel raised his finger to the crowd, his speech growing more excited. “This frightens the Roman, to know a world exists beyond their grasp, and so they fight back. They wish once again to control our wealth, to make us change our names and submit to their idols. If you see a Roman, it is your duty as a free man to make him submit to your rifle before he can do the same to you!” The crowd erupted into wild cheers, a few of them hoisting guns up into the air.

        “That’s awful,” said Servius. “Killing Romans? Why would they want to kill us?”

        “They’re not talking about you, idiot.” I grabbed the bottle out of Servius’ hands. “They’re saying to kill Roman soldiers. Soldiers.” I took another sip of the wine. A little too dry for my tastes.

        “Well…why would they want to kill soldiers, sir?” asked the slave. “Don’t they realize all the good they do, the people they protect?”

        “It becomes a little hard to think about a person’s good side when they’re shooting at you, I believe.” I handed the bottle back to Servius, then shook my head at the television. “Those poor bastards. I’ll tell you, Servius, it’s a good thing nobody at the Tribune ever tried sending me out for a war story. If I was in the middle of a battlefield, I think I’d probably shit myself.”

        “Legate Aurelius Taurus has requested the Emperor for more troop deployments, claiming the situation has gone beyond a simple peacekeeping operation,” continued the anchor. “The Temple of Caesar has been closed, in an effort to dissuade observers from seeing the defaced statue of Julius Caesar. The search for the statue’s head, as well as the members of the Sons of Horus responsible for the act of vandalism, has so far proved fruitless. When reached for comment, an Imperial spokesman claimed that they’re still optimistic in having the statue repaired in time for the Augustalia.” The newswoman idly flipped through the papers on her desk before speaking again. “Emperor Piissimus has formally approved the Senate’s plan to expand the size of the government’s corn dole program, though not all are happy with the new legislation. A few farmers have voiced concern that they may not be able to grow enough grain to satisfy the new demand.” The screen cut to an old man, standing in the middle of an Iowan field.

        “Yeah, I’ve got everything portioned out, you see…” said the farmer, pointing at the grain behind him. “This goes to the government, this goes to this buyer, this right here goes to this one…now I’m being told I need to grow more and, well…I just don’t know, you know?” The screen returned to the comfort of the news studio.

        “A few defiant farmers have even vowed to refuse to satisfy the new Imperial demands. What this means for the countless Roman citizens dependent on the corn dole to survive remains unclear.” A violent cough overtook me, drowning out the rest of the report. My throat tightened. It was getting harder to breathe.

        “Master!” shouted Servius, putting his bottle of wine aside and extending both hands out towards me. “Are you all right, sir?”

        “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…” I said before coughing again. “It’s just…Hercules, it’s so…just so stuffy in here. I need to get some air.” I rose from the couch, returning to my room. “Hey, you wouldn’t know where I put my sunglasses would…gah!” As soon as I pulled open the closet door, the household god was staring me down again with its horrible eyes.

        “Sir?!” shouted Servius, running into the room. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

        “No, I’m just…fuck…” I picked up the statue, handing it to the slave. “Can you put this thing in…I don’t know, your room? Somewhere away from me?” Servius carefully cradled the god in his hands, before looking back at me.

        “Why don’t you want it here, sir?” he asked.

        “Because it gives me a damn heart attack every time I open the closet. I’m sick of it. If you like it so much, great news, you can hold onto it.”

        “But the Lar is supposed to protect you,” replied Servius meekly.

        “Then how come I feel less safe every time I see it, huh?” I asked, rummaging through the drawers on my nightstand. “No, all the protection I need is right here.” I proudly brandished my pistol to Servius before holstering it.

        “Are you really going to go out with that, sir?”

        “Why not?” I pushed the slave aside, returning to the living room. “You can never be too careful.” The woman on the news was droning on about the Senate’s attempts to once again cut the space program’s funding, calling it a waste of money because there’s no Arabs or Chinamen to kill up there. We’ll never have a man in space at this rate. If it means getting off this planet, I’d have volunteered for the job.

        “It’s just…I don’t know,” muttered Servius. “Do you really think someone’s going to attack you out there?”

        “Not with my girl by my side, they won’t.” I gave the gun a gentle pat before making my way to the door. “Be back in a few.”

        I exited the apartment, looking up at the inviting sun. Only a few seconds later, I had another coughing fit. Breathe, Diagoras, breathe. Can’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. As I regained composure, I looked at everyone walking past me. Who knew what they were thinking? Any one of them could be zealots, no, maybe assassins, eager to take their shot at Diagoras the Atheist. I took a deep breath, letting my sinuses clear up, while instinctively resting my hand on my pistol. Have to be prepared for anything. Never know which one of these people could have it in for you.

        The itching on my arm had subsided, but it was still as red as when I first woke up. Probably nothing. No need to worry about it. I shouldn’t walk too far, though. Wouldn’t be smart to leave Servius alone for too long. Maybe I’ll just walk a block, get some air, then go back. Don’t head for the forum, though. Should probably only go there when I have to from now on. Never know what they’re telling people in all those temples. Those fucking temples, with their ignorance and their bigotry and their violence. What I wouldn’t give to see them all burned to the ground.

        I walked on until the crowd cleared out, leaving me in one of the quieter parts of the city. Only people who hung around here were the junkies, and they rarely showed themselves at day. There was something eerie about the sight of plain, empty buildings all around me, knowing even mighty New Antioch herself can look like a ghost town.

        The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps coming from behind me. Loud, rapid, running footsteps. Probably nothing, I told myself. Maybe somebody’s just trying really hard to catch the bus, that’s all it is. The footsteps were growing louder. Maybe I should go back home now.

        A hand wrapped itself around my face, placing a rag over it. I pulled out my gun, only for a second hand to place an iron grip on my wrist.

        “Look!” I shouted. “Take what you want, just…” Soon it became a chore to talk. The fumes were overtaking me. My eyelids began to sink. Before too long, everything went black.

JUNE 9, 2766

My eyes pried open, slowly adjusting to my dim surroundings. There was a horrible pounding in my head. I tried to put a hand to my forehead, only to be stopped by the rope tied around my wrist. On my back I could feel the soft sensation of a mattress.

        “Hello?” I shouted. “I swear to the gods, if this is about to head where I think it is, I’m going to…” The lights snapped on. An elderly Chinaman stepped closer to me, a strange cap covering the top of his head. His face was stoic, staring me down with no readable emotion.

        “So, you’re awake,” said the Chinaman. His Latin was perfect, despite his thick accent.

        “Listen here!” I screamed. “You’ve got ten seconds to untie me before I put a fucking bullet in your head!”

        “I will free you when you listen to what I have to say.” The stranger sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch my body at all. “It’s all right. I’m a friend.”

        “Oh, you drug and tie up your friends, do you?” I tried to wrestle my way out of my bonds once again. “And what do you do to your enemies?”

        “I hide from them.” The Chinaman clasped his hands together, looking up at the ceiling wistfully. “I am very good at hiding. Just like my parents, and their parents, and so on, all the way back, farther than anyone can remember, at least as far as the days of Tang.”

        “What the fuck are you even talking about? Who are you, anyway? What’s your name?”

        “My real name is of no concern to you,” answered the Chinaman. “You can call me Youtai. Now, will you listen to me?” The stranger looked straight into my face, trying his best to look trustworthy. I stared back, struggling to keep a clear head in the midst of all of this.

        “If I stay here and listen, would you untie me?” I asked. Youtai immediately began undoing the ropes.

        “You’re a very special man, Diagoras,” grunted Youtai, struggling with one of the knots around my left wrist. “It’s been a long time since a guizi spoke out against Rome’s idols. A story like that can travel far. All the way to China, even.”

        “Idols?” I pulled one of my hands free, moving my newly freed wrist back and forth. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You’ve got gods of your own back in China, don’t you? All that, what’s it…Tao shit, right?” Youtai smiled to himself.

        “The idols of China are also not mine,” he answered, beginning to untie my other hand. “Tell me, Diagoras, during your observations, have you ever studied history?”

        “A…a little bit, yes,” I answered. The Chinaman’s eyes lit up with delight.

        “Good, good,” he said, releasing my other hand. Finally free, I sat upright, able to look at Youtai eye to eye. “You’ve heard of an Emperor, what was his name…Maxentius, was it?”

        “Yeah, yeah, I have…” I answered, rubbing at my wrist. “He’s the asshole that was responsible for getting people crazy about the gods again. He did a purge, wanted to rid the whole world of atheists.” Youtai leaned in closer to me, grabbing me by both shoulders.

        “But Maxentius never had the whole world, did he?” Youtai grinned. “Even in her prime, there were places beyond Rome’s reach.” The Chinaman let go of me, scratching at the funny cap on his head. “Let me tell you a story, Diagoras. Two thousand years ago, long before there was a Maxentius, there were…there were people like you and me. People who couldn’t stand the idolaters that surrounded them. They demanded we bow to their Emperor, and when we resisted, they captured our city, looted all that we hold dear.”

        “We?” I repeated. “You mean your ancestors were Romans? Because you don’t exactly, you know…you don’t really look the part.”

        “If you let me finish, you’ll understand,” snapped Youtai. “Our home was in ruins. Our people weren’t welcome in Rome, so we fled east, where Caesar’s hand couldn’t reach. We came to Persia. For some of us, it was good enough. For others, not so much.” Youtai looked down at his hands, thinking carefully about the events of millennia past as if he was there himself. “One day, hungry Rome would finish taking the West, and look at us once again. Persia couldn’t be safe. On we went, further east, to the land of silk and temperate men, where no Roman had ever set foot. There we would be safe, and so there we stayed.”

        “So, you’re not really Chinese, then?”

        “Me?” Youtai pointed at himself. “I am Chinese. But my people…we came there, spread our views, even married and bred with the locals. For a time, we were able to walk out in the open, free of fear. Of course, then Persia fell. Sure as we predicted, Rome was going east.” The Chinaman looked down, his voice growing lower. “We prepared for the worst. We took to living in secret. Our thoughts on the gods never left the house, our books carefully hidden from outside eyes. Generations passed, and soon we were safely forgotten. When Maxentius hoped to rid the world of our kind, we kept on, where he couldn’t reach. When Wuzong sacked the temples of Buddha, demanding all China submit to his faith, we still hid, defying his will. When Zheng Mian Fei took control, said a lack of faith stopped us from being true Chinese, we said ‘Fine, we’re not true Chinese,’ and still lived like we did in secret. And then…there is you.” Youtai clapped his hands, looking up at me with a warm smile.

        “Me?” I repeated. “What about me?” Youtai returned to his feet, rummaging through a nearby suitcase.

        “You’ve come forth, refused to stand to Rome’s idols and Emperor.” The Chinaman haphazardly threw clothes out of the case in his search. “You’re a hero, just like Danyili.”

        “Who the fuck is Danyili?” I asked. Youtai said nothing, letting the room go silent, save for the sound of him tossing around his belongings. After a while, he pulled out a small black book, bound in leather. The Chinaman softly stroked its cover, grinning like a madman.

        “This!” exclaimed Youtai, pacing back towards me. “This is for you. You use this, and Rome’s idols will fall. All of her people will know the truth, put aside their foolish ways and do what is right.” I opened the book, its pages covered from top to bottom in thick Chinese characters.

        “...I don’t know any Chinese,” I said, weakly shaking my head at Youtai.

        “It doesn’t matter,” he assured me. “You have the book. You have the truth. A great nation will be made of you, Diagoras.” I closed the book back up.

        “So…what do you want me to do with it, exactly?”

        “Share it,” he ordered. “Spread the word, open people’s eyes.” The Chinaman put his hand on my shoulders, looking at me with sincerity. “You’re going to change the world.” I looked down at the book in my hands, then back to Youtai.

        “…Thank you,” I said. “Can…can I go now?” Youtai picked up my pistol.

        “This is yours too, I believe.”

        “Y…yeah, thanks.” I took back my gun, returning it to its holster. “So, I guess I’ll just go…do whatever it is you want me to do with this, then?”

        “Mazel tov,” said Youtai.

        “I told you already, I don’t know Chinese.”

        “It means good luck,” he replied with a smile.

        I walked out the door, finding myself on the deck of a cheap motel. The sky was a husky shade of blue as dusk began to set. I shook my head, trying to set my thoughts straight. How long had I been gone, and what’s the way back home? I set out to find a bus, the strange book nestled safely under my arm.

        It took some aimless walking, but soon enough a bus pulled up nearby. Without sparing a moment’s hesitation, I ran towards the vehicle. The doors pulled open, revealing a frowning woman at the steering wheel.

        “That’ll be a denarius,” the driver huffed. I went through my pockets. I swear to the gods, that Chinaman better not have robbed me. After some rummaging, I was able to feel the familiar smooth metal surface of a coin in my pocket.

        The bus revved on, leaving me free to sit down and collect myself.        I flipped to a random page of the book in my hand. It’s a thick book, full of endless rows of indecipherable Chinese gibberish. Why Chinese? Why couldn’t it be in, I don't know, Gallic or Hispanic? At least then I could make a decent guess about what it says. Fuck, I'd even settle for English. It had to be important, though. This Youtai guy kidnapped me just to make sure I saw it. Maybe it’s the secret that’ll disprove the gods’ existence once and for all, carefully encrypted to keep it safe from Roman eyes. I put the book up to my chest, grinning like the villain in an old cartoon.

        Soon I was standing outside my apartment, the sky above me now pitch black. I opened the door, where I was greeted to the sight of Servius by my desk, talking on the telephone with a concerned look on his face. As I stepped through the door, the slave promptly hung up the phone, his eyes wide with shock.

        “Where have you been, sir?!” asked Servius furiously. “I…I almost had a heart attack worrying about you! You could’ve been dead, for all I knew! It’s…I mean…” The slave struggled to find the right words, wringing his hands through meaningless gestures. “You go for a walk, and don’t come back until the night after? Just…what in the name of the gods happened?”

        “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I answered. “Pollux, I don’t quite believe it myself, and I was there.”

        “...And what is that?” Servius asked, pointing at the book. “Is that what you decided to scare me over, sir? A book?”

        “Oh, not just any book,” I said proudly, patting its cover. “This is the book that’s going to help me disprove the gods once and for all.” I opened the text, showing its pages to my slave. “It’s also entirely in Chinese.” Servius stared at me with confusion.

        “Would…” Servius took a deep breath. “Would you like me to make you something to eat, sir?”

        “Perfect,” I replied, making my way towards my room. “Dinner and bed, that’s what I need.” I fell onto my bed, tossing the book back and forth in my hands. I had to read it, there was no question about that. A translator, that was what I needed. I’d have to get a hold of somebody who can speak Chinese for me.

        Time to go find a Mexican.

JUNE 17, 2766

While those in the thriving center of New Antioch brag about how blessed they are to be pure Romans, living in the most Roman city of them all, immigrants of all kinds lurk in the city’s outskirts. As Servius and I walk through the city’s Mexican district, the overwhelming smell of musty Chinese food overtakes us. My slave pulls his shirt over his nose.

        “Are you sure we’re heading the right way, sir?” asked Servius.

        “This is the address he gave me last week.” A car drove past us, a young Mexican man sticking his head out the window.

        “GUIZI!” yelled the stranger, his voice only faintly audible as the car raced away.

        “…How does he know we’re not Mexican?” I asked, nudging my slave with my elbow. “We’re as brown as he is. You think it’s something with the way we walk?” Servius said nothing, staring at the streets with unease. I sighed, continuing the walk forward.

        “It just seems strange, sir,” said Servius, coughing as he lowered his shirt. “Why would a professional linguist be living in a place like this?”

        “He’s not a professional,” I answered. “If he was, he’d be charging us a lot more. Still, he speaks Chinese, and he speaks Latin. What more could we ask for, huh?” In a nearby alley, two men were spray-painting a curious image. The wall in front of us was covered with a monstrous bright green serpent, grinning maniacally at anybody who passed by.

        “This is nice,” I said to the youths, rapping my fist against a dry spot on the walls. “Is it yours?” The two strangers turned towards me, each of them wearing the same scowl.

        “What are you, a cop?” asked one of them.

        “No, just curious.” I looked back up at the graffiti. “What’s it supposed to be? Quetzalcoatl?”

        “None of your business, guizi,” scoffed the other man. “Get the fuck out of here.” With a weak shrug of my shoulders, I left the thugs to their business, continuing to my destination.

        “Um…sir?” asked Servius, trailing behind. “What’s a Quetz…uh, a Quetz…”

        “Quetzalcoatl?” I looked back and forth, making sure nobody was nearby to listen. I kept walking, making sure there was distance between me and the street artists. “He’s an Aztec god, one of the ones the Mexicans worshipped before the Chinese showed up. He’s supposed to be the god of knowledge and merchants, I think.”

        “Just like Mercury!”

        “Yeah…” I said absentmindedly, looking down at my swastika. “Yeah, just like Mercury. Anyway, when the Chinese first settled in the New World, they were shocked by what the natives were doing. Human sacrifice. They thought the gods needed blood to keep the world going. They were real specific about it, too. Sometimes the gods wanted a woman, sometimes they wanted kids, sometimes they had to remove the heart. All those innocent people, slaughtered for the sake of belief.”

“That’s awful,” said Servius.

“Damn right it is.” I crossed my arms. “Worst part is, it was all for nothing. Every last one of those people could’ve been spared, and the Sun would’ve still come up the next day. Naturally, once the Chinese started colonizing the place, they put a stop to it. No more sacrifice, no more religion.” I paused to give Servius time to say something, but the slave stayed silent. “Of course, ever since Mexica declared independence, they’ve been turning to the old gods again. Sort of a sign of defiance, national pride, you know? They may speak Chinese, wear their clothes, eat their food, but the old gods…those are theirs and theirs alone.” I started grinning to myself. “Heh, it’s funny. I read about this in The Eagle and the Dragon. Do you know why the Chinese decided to clamp down on the Aztec religion? Not just the sacrifice part, but put a stop to the whole thing?”

“Why?” asked Servius.

“Because they’d seen it before,” I explained. “The insane religious fervor, the willingness to kill for their gods. They saw it in the Romans. It reminded them of us.” I pointed at a nearby tenement, its bricks wearing with age. “This should be the place. You got the book?”

“Right here, sir.” Servius held up the text for me to see.

“Good.” We made our way up the stairs, where rows of doors marked with indecipherable Chinese characters greeted us. Hesitantly, I knocked on one of the doors. From within, a woman yelled incomprehensible curses in Chinese.

“Erm…hello?” I said from the other side of the door. “Is this…is this Lang Zhan Shi?”

“Other side, guizi!” barked the woman. We turned around, looking at the door directly across from us.

“I, uh…I guess this is it.” I knocked on the second door, the two of us waiting in awkward silence. Servius’ fingers were drumming the book’s cover at a rapid pace. The door slowly creaked open, revealing a young Mexican man peeking around the edge.

“Ni hao?” greeted the stranger, adjusting his glasses.

“Hi there, Mr. Lang?” I asked, putting on my best smile. “Diagoras Cinna. We talked on the phone a few days ago?”

“Oh…” Lang swung the door open all the way, standing upright. “In here, please,” he said, gesturing towards his apartment. As we stepped inside, we saw a layout not too different from our own home, yet with a decidedly more squalid look. The floor was strewn with assorted garbage, and the paint on the dilapidated walls had gone a sickly shade of yellow.

“Would you like something to drink?” said Lang with a hasty bow. “I have tea, juice, wine…”

“It’s fine,” I said with a wave of my hand. “I'd rather just cut to business.”

“Of course,” said the translator. “You have the money, I trust?” I reached into my pocket, handing Lang an envelope full of bills.

“That’s up front. You’ll get the other half when it’s done,” I said. Lang tore open the envelope, sighing with ecstasy as the face of Augustus Caesar greeted him from within.

“You don’t know how much this means to me,” he said, gratefully.

“I think I have an idea,” I mumbled, examining the apartment’s scenery further. Servius had placed himself down on the cluttered couch as if he was back at home, ready to watch more TV. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s a linguist like yourself doing in...this place?” Lang rubbed at his temples.

“I’m paying off what I owe to New Antioch University,” he explained. “They gave me the education I needed to make a living. That sort of thing comes with debts.”

“Debts that cancel out the whole making a living thing.” My eyes continued to scan the apartment. On one shelf sat the statue of a fat old man, a resplendent beard hanging down to his waist. Almost reminds me of the ugly household god I’ve got. “Out of curiosity, what’s your first language, Latin or Chinese?”

“Chinese,” answered the translator.

“And how’d you learn Latin? Was it at school, or…”

“The average teacher in Nova Roma has no patience for us ‘barbarians,’” Lang said with a weak smile. “No, I learned Latin myself. Trips to the library. Started out small, with children’s books, then worked my way up.”

“Taught yourself, eh? Good for you. Couldn’t you make a living just off of translation, though?”

“You’d be surprised how little demand there is out there for a translator.” Lang sat on the couch, right next to Servius, resting his feet on the nearby table. “The typical pure-blooded Roman considers themselves above the rest of the world. They believe their language is the only one worth knowing.” He gave an uneasy glare to Servius, prompting the slave to scoot to the side. “This same arrogance pushes away most Chinese speakers, making them refuse to associate with Romans unless they absolutely must. Things will get better with time, I hope.” Lang crossed his arms, closing his eyes in thought. “Not long ago it was practically a crime to speak Chinese within Roman borders. We’re past that, at least.”

“Uh…yes,” I replied. “So, um…Servius, could you give him the book?”

“Here you are,” said the slave, giving the tome to the translator. Lang eyed the book with uncertainty, wrapping his hands around it, hoping to get an idea of its length.

“I had thought you’d be asking for something a little…simpler,” he said with disappointment.

“You said you needed the money, right?” I asked. “How long do you think it would take?”

“Hard to say,” he mumbled. “Probably a few months, I’d wager. What is it?”

“No idea. That’s why I’m here.”

“Let me take a quick look.” Lang opened the book, turning to the first page. “In the beginning, a god created the heavens and the earth…”

“Wait wait wait, a god?!” I exclaimed. “This is just more religious bullshit! Give me that!” I snatched the book out of the translator’s hands. “Come on, Servius, we can probably make the next bus if we run.”

“So you don’t want me to translate it?” asked Lang disappointedly, staring me down as wide as he could make his eyes. I looked away at the translator, then sighed.

“You have my address?” I asked, waving the book around in one hand.

“Yeah, I wrote it down back when you called, remember?” With an uneasy hesitation, I handed the book back to Lang.

“Just…just send it over when you’re done, and I’ll send the rest of the money.” The translator eagerly grabbed the book.

“Thank you!” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied tonelessly, as I walked towards the door. “Come on, Servius.” Soon the two of us were back outside, with me scowling for anyone who dared to walk outside in the slums to see.

“Why did you do that, sir?” asked Servius as we descended down the apartment’s staircase.

“Because the guy wanted to look at that book. Or at least he wanted the money. Either way, I thought at least one of us should be allowed to walk away happy.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, keeping my face bent down at the sidewalk. “Unbelievable, I tell you. Simply unbelievable. That Chinese bastard gave me that speech about how he’s just like me, how he’s got the secret to stopping the gods, and it turns out it’s just a different flavor of bullshit. He doesn’t want what I want. I want free thought, I want people to look at science and reason, become thinkers, become smart, become tolerant!” I proudly pointed my thumb at my chest. A young Mexican woman was heading towards us in the distance, walking a panting dog on a leash. “He just wants people to start worshipping, I don’t know…fucking Chingchongulus, whatever gods they’ve got over there. It’s all just another religion.”

“What’s the problem with that, sir? What’s wrong with religion?” Servius asked. I stopped in my tracks. The woman and her dog were getting closer.

“Servius,” I said, still looking straight ahead. “Are you stupid?” A pause filled the streets.

“E…excuse me?” he replied.

“I know you’re a slave, I get it.” I turned around to face him. “I can’t expect you to be as smart as I am. But you’re not stupid, are you? I mean…have you been paying attention to anything we’ve been doing, over these past few months? Huh?” I laughed to myself, the frustrated chuckle weakly echoing through the slums.

“What’s wrong with religion,” I repeated. “Not too long ago, all of these assholes were ripping peoples’ hearts out because of religion!” The woman approached us, casted a quick glance at me, then began to run away. “It’s because of religion that fucker at the museum is passing off lies as fact! It’s because of religion that they’re allowed to torture kids over at Camp Piety!” I started to jump into the air, barely able to contain my fury. “It’s because of religion that every single important decision in the government is DECIDED BY BIRDS! It’s because of religion that Relicta is holed up in some piece of shit swamp and will stay there until the day she dies! FUCK!” I shouted, as loud as my voice could muster.

“People…people can hear you, Diagoras,” said Servius.

“Let them hear me, fucking let them hear me!” I replied hoarsely. It was starting to hurt to breathe. “They need to hear it. People need to know what they’re doing to the world, all for the love of the gods.” I began to cough violently, a thick phlegm rising out from my throat.

“Sir? Are you…are you feeling well?” Servius ran towards me.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said, sticking out my arm to keep the slave at bay. “I just…oh, Hercules, I need a drink.” I continued walking. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

JUNE 25, 2766

In front of me sat Sol Ocellus, the head monk of the Temple of the One. With his crossed legs, the monk’s position appeared uncomfortable, yet his face displayed no emotion but serenity. Servius sat on the floor as well, trying his best to mimic Sol’s pose. While the slave struggled to keep his balance, I stood, looking at the room around me. In the midst of the city’s other, far more extravagant temples, it’s hard to fault one for overlooking the sparsely-decorated display here. There is no lavish artwork on the walls, nor are there brilliant marble columns. Even the temple’s lighting is minimalist, preferring the dim illumination of burning candles over electric lights. Of course, no temple, not even this one, is complete without a statue. Behind Sol Ocellus sit two figures, each of them in the same pose of meditation as he is. To my left, with his ragged hair and long, wizened beard, is the unmistakable image of Plato. To the right is a younger man, almost the opposite of the other statue. His face is clean-shaven, his hair is neat and tied into a bun, and his earlobes stretch almost down to his neck. I had never seen the man before, and yet something about the image told me I could only be looking at the Buddha.

        “I’ll be honest, it’s hard for me to believe a place like this is allowed to be here,” I said, breaking the silence in the temple. “I always thought it was illegal to worship Buddha.” Sol opened his eyes and took a deep breath, seeming not at all perturbed that I had broken his calm.

        “Buddha is a teacher, not a god,” answered the sage tonelessly. “One can follow his words and still serve the gods.”

        “I see…” I muttered. “And what about the, you know…those statues?” I pointed at the marble figures behind Sol. “Plato and Buddha. Kind of a weird combination, isn’t it? I mean, they never met or anything, did they? It’s not like Plato ever went to China.”

        “India,” corrected Sol. “Gautama Buddha was from India.”

        “Got it, sorry,” I said with a weak chuckle. “Still, why Plato?” Sol rose up to his feet. Save a brief grunt, the monk stayed perfectly composed. Servius stood up as well, grateful to leave the pose of meditation.

        “Plato never met the Buddha,” said Sol, turning around to admire the temple’s twin statues. “Yet he was able to taste of the same wisdom that he had. Tell me, Mr. Cinna, are you familiar with the Myth of Er?”

        “I try not to spend too much time thinking about myths.” Sol turned around to face me and Servius, smiling curtly.

        “Plato wrote about what happens after death,” the monk explained. “He wrote of a place in the sky were the good are rewarded, and a place beneath the earth, that’s Tartarus, where the wicked are tortured for their crimes. After their deeds in their past life are paid off, wise Fortuna lets them choose new lives.” The monk folded his hands together solemnly. “It is here that men show their true colors. Those of false virtue choose to lead wicked lives, thinking they’ll be sent to the sky again. Those in Tartarus, a little more aware of the suffering life had brought them, choose to lead lives of good. Some men become animals, and some animals become men. Then they drink the waters of Lethe, forgetting their lives in the past, and are born again.” Sol pulled his hands apart, stretching one arm out towards me, and the other to Servius.

        “It’s samsara, you see,” the priest continued. “We live lives wrought with suffering. We die. We’re reincarnated, fated to continue the ruthless cycle again. Buddha and Plato both understood it. How else could two wise men, living in different times and different corners of the world, reach the same idea independently, unless there was some truth to it?”

        “Or they could’ve both happened to be wrong in the same way,” I answered, trying to keep my eyes on the meditating statues instead of Sol. The monk gave a hearty laugh.

        “Ah, Diagoras. I had wondered what you would say when you came here,” replied Sol. “Why would you attack the Buddha’s teachings, I wonder?”

        “If you know who I am, you don’t need to ask that,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’m not big on religions.”

        “My religion is to the gods of Rome.” Sol walked over to a pyre, burning with a weak flame. The monk reached for a nearby stick of incense. “Buddhism is a way of life. It can fit with all faiths, or no faith at all. You could even be a Buddhist, if you wanted to.”

        “And I don’t want to,” I replied. “I don’t trust anybody who insists they’ve got all the answers and everything they do is right. I know where that kind of thinking leads. It always ends up with an excuse to harm people.” Sol slowly placed the incense into the shrine. The musty scent of exotic spices permeated through the temple’s halls. Servius stepped closer to the monk, hoping to observe the spectacle. Sol patted Servius’ bald head, looking down at him as a father might to his child.

        “Buddha instructed his followers to harm no living beings,” said Sol jovially. “He even said not to conduct business with slaves. Slaves or weapons.” The monk eyed the pistol by my hip. “You’re a far more dangerous man than I am, Diagoras.”

        “This coming from somebody who bows down to the god of war.” At this, Sol simply shook his head.

        “There is no god of war,” replied Sol.

        “Wait, what?!” exclaimed Servius, taking a few steps back, covering his face to shield it from the incense’s fumes. “You said you worshipped the gods. How can you do that if you don’t believe in Mars?”

        “There is a Mars,” continued the monk. “If you would like to call him that. He embodies courage, and watches over all those he has instilled courage with, soldiers included. But he does not start wars, nor does he condone them. There is no god of war, for the same reason there is no god of disease. The gods do not bring evil into the world, only good.”

        “Only good things,” I repeated. “Really.”

        “Of course. That’s all the gods are, virtues under a different name,” explained Sol. “Jupiter is leadership. Minerva is wisdom. The great mother Juno is love for your family, while Venus is love for those outside of it. Mercury is creativity, Vulcan is hard work, Apollo is the drive for constant improvement. Those last three gods have taken a special liking to you, Diagoras.” I grabbed my swastika, rubbing at the necklace with two fingers involuntarily.

        “Well…what about all those stories of Jupiter sleeping with women, huh?” I asked. “Is that the kind of thing that comes with leadership?”

        “All those stories…yes, that’s what they are.” Sol stepped back towards his meditation cushion. “Stories. Lies by mortal men. Not all of those blessed with Mercury’s gifts use it for the best, I’m afraid.”

        “So you don’t think all the stories about the gods are true, then?” asked Servius.

        “Not for the most part, no.” The monk sat on the cushion, returning to the same quiet pose he had maintained before. “The Myth of Er isn’t true, either. Plato made it up.”

        “Then why the fuck did you bother telling it to me?” I asked. I was starting to get lightheaded from all the smoke.

        “To illustrate a point.” Sol closed his eyes, drifting away from the real world. “The story doesn’t matter. The message does. Lead a good life, avoid the temptations of evil, and in time the god will reward you with nirvana, freeing you from the cycle.”

        “The god?” I repeated. “Which one?”

        “The One,” answered the monk. I clenched my teeth in frustration. There was a scratching at the back of my throat. Another coughing fit was about to come on.

        “Sir?” Servius ran towards me, wrapping my arm around his back and lifting me up. “Let’s…let’s get you out of here. I don’t think it’s good for you to…”

        “No, no!” I shook my arm free, pointing at Sol. “I’m not leaving until this guy starts making some sense!”

        “You know, Diagoras, you should really try meditating,” said Sol, refusing to drop the smile. “If you let go of all that anger in you, you’ll be much better off in your next life.”

        “Shut up!” I roared. “First you say you follow the gods of Rome, and now you say there’s just one god. Which is it, huh?”

        “There is only one god, and its name is Good,” the priest explained. “If there were truly multiple gods, separate beings, able to disagree with each other, then they could disagree on what is good and what is evil. It’s absurd, thinking the cosmos themselves couldn’t have that sorted out.”

        “So how do you follow all the gods, then, if there’s just one?”

        “One god, many, many names.” Sol’s calm smile elevated into an outright grin. “Sometimes it spreads virtue under the guise of Jupiter. Sometimes Mars. Sometimes Juno.”

        “Jupiter and Juno are the same guy, then?” I asked, coughing again. I put my sleeve over my face. “So this god can be both male and female?”

        “This god is neither male nor female,” corrected Sol. “When one is immortal, there’s no need to reproduce.”

        “But it goes around pretending to be all those other gods?” I asked.

        “That is correct, yes.”

        “And it wants us to…”

        “…Free ourselves from the suffering of material attachment,” the monk explained. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to meditate with me, Diagoras? I think it’d be good for you.”

        “No, no, I’m good. I really am.” I cocked my head to the side, trying to get a better look at the Buddha statue behind Sol.

        “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?” asked Sol. “I’ve seen that look of yours in Romans before. You look upon the Buddha and see a strange idol. Foreign, alien…even Chinese, perhaps? You’d have started meditating by now if that statue wasn’t there.”

        “I’m not big on religions. No matter how nice they try to make themselves look.” Servius was starting to sit on the floor, doing his best attempt to copy the monk’s pose again. “Servius, get up on your feet.”

        “Aw, why?” whined the slave, undoing his legs.

        “Because I don’t want you swallowing any more bullshit than you already have. In fact…just go outside, tell me how long it is until the next bus comes, will you?” Servius walked towards the temple’s exit, frowning the whole way there. Sol shook his head in disappointment.

        “You’re a good man, Diagoras,” said the monk. “But you are corrupted by anger. Very corrupt.”

        “Well, there’s a lot of things out there to be angry at. I mean, did you know that…”

        “Life gives us all things to be angry at,” the monk interrupted. “Yet our anger only hurts ourselves. If you cannot let go of your anger, Diagoras, you’ll be trapped forever in samsara.”

        “You can’t scare me with that, you know.” I began clenching my hands into fists. “You’re really not as different from all the other priests out there as you think. Oh, you’ll be trapped in Tartarus, you’ll be trapped in ‘samsara!’ It’s not going to faze me, all right? I know better than all that. You can lie to yourself all you want, but the fact is there’s no afterlife, no reincarnation. You get one life, that’s it, then you’re dead.”

        “And you’ll have chosen to spend your one life angry at what you can’t control.” I opened my mouth, then just as quickly closed it. Sol was just smiling blissfully in meditation, Plato and Buddha doing the same thing behind him. I spun around, retreating to the temple’s exit myself.

        “You’re very smart, Diagoras!” yelled Sol before I could step outside. “If you release your prejudices, you’ll achieve great things! Great, great things!”

        “Shut up,” I muttered under my breath, before opening the door. “Just…just shut up.”

JULY 6, 2766

It’s become difficult to sleep lately. I’ve spent the past few nights tossing and turning in my bed, struggling with troubling thoughts. One night I was up until four, wondering if my mission would be all for nothing. Even if I finished the book, even if I could somehow get around the censors, print out thousands of copies and hand them all out myself, who’s to say anyone would listen? What if not a single person is turned away from the gods by my words, not even the smallest solace to comfort me while I rot in my inevitable cell? On other nights, my mind decides to take me back to dark memories. I can still see Relicta being dragged out of the courtroom, jeered at by the crowd of strangers, spit on by her father. Our father.

        Last night began not too differently. I was curled up in my bed, cursing my newfound insomnia. The arid air of summer filled the room, my body was completely under the covers, and yet I felt unbearably cold. Maybe I did need a doctor, I thought. Not that it mattered. I couldn’t afford one anymore. Might as well just die instead. I began to imagine myself dead, my body placed in a beautiful marble sarcophagus, the deeds of my life inscribed on the side. People would see me then, at least, a work of magnificent beauty. I wonder if they’d give me my own tomb, a house to spend forever in, just for me? The thought of eternal rest soon took me to sleep, but not without a disturbing dream.

        A bead of sweat trickled down my face. In my right hand I clutched a long sword, its blade in pristine condition. In my other hand was a great oval wooden shield, large enough to cover almost my entire body. I was surrounded on both sides by similarly armed soldiers, each of them clad in ancient armor. Looking at my companions, I could see a strange symbol on the front of their shields, the letters P and X on top of each other. No idea what that could stand for.

        In front of me rode a man on horseback. I couldn’t see his face, though his armor was a magnificent shade of gold, concealing purple clothing underneath. He could only have been the leader of our battalion. In front of him was a wooden bridge, providing safe passage over the unforgiving river churning below it. At the other end of the bridge stood a second army, not too different from our own. At the front stood their commander, clad in gold and purple. From the distance, he seemed to have the face of a young man, a poor child roped into this battle. Behind him was a vast cohort of legionaries, their shields adorned with images of scorpions. It seemed that they had outnumbered us. I looked at the soldiers to my sides, their faces unusually stoic in the midst of war.

        The enemy’s leader pulled out his sword, brandishing it into the air. Their soldiers lifted their shields over their face. The men on my side quickly did the same. I tightened my grip around the sword, my heart pounding furiously. This wasn’t right, I thought to myself. Maybe I wasn’t ready for death after all. Not like this. Not as another statistic on some cursed battlefield.

        “Charge!” shouted our leader. My fellow soldiers and I raced forward, putting the commander behind us. Soon we were on the bridge, our neat formations collapsing into a mindless orgy of gore. Men screamed in agony as swords sliced through their bodies. The arrow of an enemy archer pierced the eye of one of the soldiers next to me. The noises he made could only have been described as unearthly. A horseman charged towards me, only for a friendly spearman to stab the innocent animal in its side. Both the horse and its rider fell into the river, the current carrying them away to where they’d never be seen again. I threw my shield over my face, trying my hardest to avoid the violent spectacle in front of me. Don’t get involved, I told myself. Just ride it out. You’d have to wake up eventually. It's all a dream, after all. It must be.

        “Retreat!” yelled the booming voice of the enemy’s leader. The Praetorians promptly turned around, running back to the safety of the land.

        “After them!” ordered our own commander. Our legions chased after the enemy, taking the fight to their end of the bridge. I stayed put, still cowering under my shield. Behind me, I could hear the slow trotting of a horse’s hooves.

        “What are you, stupid?” asked the man behind me. I lowered my shield to see my leader looking down at me with scorn. He had the face of a man older than the enemy’s leader, yet a physique that appeared far younger. Beneath his scowl was an unusually virile jawline. “We need to get going!” The commander rode on, leaving me behind on the bridge.

        “Release the bridge!” yelled the enemy’s leader at the other end. Soldiers by the shore began to pull at the mechanisms keeping the pontoon connected. The ground beneath my feet pulled apart, dropping me and my commander into the river below. I closed my eyes to brace for the impact. The brief sound of a splash accompanied the water overtaking me. After that, there was nothing. Nothing but a curious calm. I took another look at my surroundings. The raging current of the stream had come to a halt, its depth reduced to the point where I could comfortably stand up, the water barely reaching my neck. My companion, however, struggled to stay above the surface, his heavy armor fighting to keep him down. In the distance, his horse was being carried away by the waters, the faint whinnies of a confused animal just barely audible.

        “Hold on, there!” yelled the enemy’s leader, making his way towards the river. “I want to see him die myself!” The villain stepped into the water, grabbed the commander by the shoulders, and pushed him down.

        “Drink it, you bastard!” he yelled gleefully. “You like that, don’t you?” He lifted his victim out of the depths, relishing the sight of his defeated face, then thrust him back down again. The commander’s limbs flailed wildly, fruitlessly attempting to break free. Out of the turmoil, the river released my leader of his helmet, washing it away with the rest of the casualties. The dominant leader brought his opponent back up again, hoisting him by his hair. With his other hand, he drew his sword, hastily chopping at his victim’s neck. Our leader screamed like a dying animal, the gaping wound at the side of his throat not yet enough to finish the job. The sword slashed again, then a third time, until the commander’s decapitated body fell into the river. The victor hoisted the loser’s head into the air for his entire army to see.

        “The enemy of the Romans has perished!” proclaimed the Emperor. The crowd in front of him erupted into frenzied cheers, gleefully finishing off the last of my fellow troops. The color of the scene in front of me gradually grew fainter, the praise of the legions trailing off in the distance. The river and the soldiers sank away, leaving me alone in an empty black void. I looked down at my body. My ancient armor had vanished, replaced with my usual outfit. My trusty gun rested at the hip, where just moments ago I had kept a sword.

        “Where’s that slave boy of yours?” asked a familiar voice. Gottlieb stepped forward, clad in all white, a frothy mug in each hand. “I brought him that beer he asked for.”

        “Wh…what, Servius?” I said, looking at the featureless plains surrounding us. “He isn’t here. Nobody’s here.”

        “Ah. His loss then, I suppose.” Gottlieb took a sip from one of the mugs, his beard suspiciously dry afterwards. “Now, let’s talk business.”

        “Business? What kind of business?”

        “What kind of business?” Gottlieb repeated incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re even asking that, lad! Killing Loki! Been months since you started on it, and where’s the progress? Loki and his minions are still going around, causing as much trouble as ever! I’ve got half a mind to take that necklace back if you don’t get out there and stop the gods!”

        “He’s going to stop all the gods.” Youtai stepped out of the void, adjusting that funny cap of his. “Including yours, guizi.” The Chinaman turned towards me. “Have you still got that book, Diagoras? We’ll need its words. After all the idols have been purged, the world will still need order to survive. We’ll have an eternal kingdom, one that will stand forever.”

        “Pah, order!” scoffed Gottlieb, taking a swig from the fuller of his two mugs. “What do ya think he means by that, I suppose? Don’t you trust the Chinaman, Diagoras! I know his kind. He’s just another one of Loki’s tricks, trying to get you to do what he says so he can cause more trouble!”

        “And I know your kind,” retorted Youtai. “Another Philistine out to fill the world with chaos and destruction. You ignore him, Diagoras. Follow me, and everything will be just fine.”

        “No they won’t!” Gottlieb stepped closer to the Chinaman. “Follow me, do what we say. That’s just what the soldiers said before Ragnarok!” The two foreigners were soon shouting unintelligible arguments at each other, my once silent surroundings now filled with their insufferable noise.

        “Hey, hold it right there!” I shouted. Gottlieb and Youtai both turned towards me. “I’m not doing this book for either of you. I came up with a plan…a plan by myself, and that’s what I’m sticking to.” The two of them stared at me for a few moments, trying to wrap their heads around my words.

        “There are greater matters at hand than your plan,” said Youtai.

        “There’s a war going on, child!” added Gottlieb. “Where do you get off, huh? Being so selfish, expecting people to care all about your book, your plan. You want to be valued, you take a side!” The two of them returned to bickering between each other. I could almost feel my heart sink. All the work I’ve been putting in, all the goals I had planned, for nothing. The very thought was making me disoriented. I took a few steps backwards, trying to regain my bearings. Eventually my back was up against a wall. A hand came down on my shoulder.

        “Well, would you look at all that fighting?” said a familiar voice. I turned around to see Emperor Piissimus, clad in his trademark purple suit. He must have been ten feet tall. “Almost makes you want to stick it to both of them, doesn’t it?”

        “…The Emperor?” I asked, with confusion.

        “The Emperor,” repeated Gottlieb and Youtai, both of them staring at the man with disgust.

        “Now listen here, Diagoras.” The Emperor grabbed my other shoulder, then got down on one knee, the giant lowering himself to my level. “I know we may not always get along, but that’s no reason to get hasty, is it? Before you go off trusting two idiots you don’t even know, maybe you’ll take a minute to think about how good you’ve already got it, hmm?”

        “With everyone bowing down to your gods?” I lifted the Emperor’s arms off of me. “I’m not so sure if that’s as good as it gets.”

        “You’ll be sorry, Diagoras!” yelled the Emperor. “We know how to run things! Let those morons have their way, see how everything crumbles!”

        “Ignore him, Diagoras!” added Youtai. “I know what to do. You put your faith in me, and we can make a great nation.”

        “Ah, the fuck with all that!” interrupted Gottlieb, his supply of beer somehow no smaller than it was when he first appeared. “You know how great nations turn out, Diagoras! Forget it all! Go with freedom!”

“Guys, I told you, I’m not trying to take anyone’s side. I just want to get this book done, and…” My own words were quickly drowned out by the three men’s continued tirades. Gottlieb, Youtai, and Piissimus started to spin around me, blur together. Soon it became hard to pick out a specific voice among the three. They were all just one voice, too busy talking to itself to spend any time on me.

“Order!”

“Prosperity!”

“Liberty!” The voices kept growing louder. It was getting harder to breathe. Soon the darkness began to clear. A horrible bright yellow eye rose into the air, its very presence demanding my attention. The eye roared, filling the void with an unbearable light. The three arguing men were consumed by the beams, taking me with them.

I woke in a cold sweat, back in the safety of my room. There was something hard under my back. Reaching underneath, I pulled out a book. The Eagle and the Dragon. Figures, I thought to myself. The book must have had something to do with the dream, I was sure of that much.

I stepped outside my room, carefully tiptoeing so as not to wake Servius. It was tricky, navigating the apartment in total darkness. The light might not have made much difference, though. My head was throbbing in agony. It was difficult to think straight. I turned on the kitchen sink, cupping my hand beneath the faucet. Get some water, Diagoras. Lifting the sweet liquid up to my face, I could already feel my senses slowly returning to normal. There was a knock on the door.

“The fuck?” I said aloud. I opened the door, greeted by the sight of Falsa Sperus, clad in a seductive, transparent gown.

“Hello there, Diagoras,” the priestess whispered with a smile.

“F…Falsa?” I said, rubbing at my eyes. It was getting hard to comprehend anything in front of me. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” she asked, stepping into the apartment. “I want you.” The priestess put two fingers to my chest, rubbing them downwards.

“All right, all right, I get it,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I? That’s funny. Still, this beats the last part, I guess.” I took a few steps backwards, raising both hands into the air. “All right, go on, do what you want. Have fun with it.”

JULY 7, 2766

My eyes creaked open, greeted by a blinding light above my head. I shook myself back into consciousness, only to find myself strapped to a hard chair in a strange room. In front of me was a plain wooden table. A bare lightbulb hung overhead, weakly swinging back and forth.

        “About time you woke up,” said a shadowy figure in front of me. “I was beginning to worry they gave you too much.”

        “What is this?” I asked. “Where the fuck am I?” The man stepped forward, revealing the prestigious uniform of a legate. In his left hand, he clutched a pack of cigarettes.

        “You’re in the richest neighborhood in New Antioch,” said the legate with a smile.

        “Aurelius Taurus?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be in the Orient. What’s the matter, they run out of little girls over there?”

        “Funny, funny guy,” muttered Taurus, freeing one of the cigarettes from its case. “You’re lucky the Emperor ordered me to leave you unharmed.”

        “The Emperor?” I repeated. “All right, what is this? Am I still dreaming?” Taurus leaned against a wall, shoving the cigarette into his mouth.

        “You see, Diagoras, I’m sworn to protect Nova Roma from all threats, foreign and domestic. There are plenty of soldiers able to keep up the fight in Arabia, but there’s an enemy back here that needs my attention just a little more.” My eyes widened in terror, a sharp pain piercing my stomach.

        “You’re…you’re talking about me,” I said nervously. The legate shook his head, smiling to himself.

        “Don’t flatter yourself.” Taurus pulled a lighter from his other pocket, lighting the cigarette. “If the Emperor was afraid of you, we would’ve nailed you to a cross and hung you out somewhere you could serve as a warning to others months ago. You’re not a threat. You’re just a mediocre writer with a big mouth and a crazy plan. But even you have your uses. That’s why you’re here.” The legate held out the pack of cigarettes towards me. “Smoke?”

        “…Mediocre writer?” I repeated, adjusting my position in the chair. Taurus smiled, shoving the cigarettes back into his pocket.

        “You heard of the Sons of Horus?” the legate asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

        “Course I have. Egyptian cult, protesting the war in Arabia, took Caesar’s head…”

        “Took Caesar’s head,” said Taurus, blowing a puff of smoke into the already musty air. “That’s what did it, you know. Normally the Emperor doesn’t get this hung up over a bunch of whiny protesters. His plan was just to declare them illegal, kind of a formality in these cases, then carry on as usual, shrug them off from then on as a nuisance. But then they had to take Caesar’s head. Tell me this, Diagoras. What’s the hardest part of being Emperor?”

        “Oppression gets boring after a while?”

        “Pollux, you think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” Taurus took another drag. “The hardest part, from what he’s told me, is that you’ve got a reputation. You’re not just the head of the Roman Empire, you’re a god. You’re the gods’ living representative on Earth. That kind of title comes with heavy responsibilities. The big one is you can never look weak. Never.” The legate stepped closer to the table. “Imagine what’d happen if people saw the Emperor crying. Suddenly, the living god doesn’t seem so godly after all. People don’t take him seriously, then next thing you know the whole government’s crumbling down.”

        “Wait, the Emperor cries?” I asked. “He’s the Emperor. What’s he got to cry about?”

        “The fact that he can’t cry.” Taurus flicked what remained of his cigarette to the ground, grinding the ashes with his foot. “Try paying attention for once. Anyway, the guy’s a god, and gods can’t be bested by men. That’s your basic cosmic hierarchy. And here we’ve got some idiots with a hacksaw decapitating Julius Caesar…Caesar himself, the patron of all the Emperors, and so far they’ve gotten away with it. There’s a chance old Caesar will still be headless by the Augustalia, and that’s just inexcusable. The Emperor can’t look weak, which means the Sons of Horus can’t go unpunished. The story’s just not allowed to go that way.”

        “And what do I have to do with this?” I asked. The legate smiled, wagging his finger at me.

        “You like snooping around, harassing religious people, asking too many questions…” Taurus explained. “So we’re going to let you do just that. We got an anonymous tip a few days ago, said the Sons of Horus meet in secret each night at some old abandoned brewery.”

        “What’s a brewery?”

        “It’s a place where they make beer,” answered the legate, barely able to contain his frustration. “You know what beer is, don’t you, son?”

        “Unfortunately.”

        “Anyway, as I was saying. We want you to go there. Play sympathetic, ask questions. Learn everything you can about the Sons of Horus, who’s in it, what do they believe, what are they planning. And most importantly, see what you can find out about Caesar’s head.”

        “And why do you want me to do this, exactly?” I asked. “Can’t you just handle things like you usually do, send some Praetorians armed to the teeth, have them go berserk, see who can take down the most women and children?”

        “Pollux, I know, right?” replied the legate, a smile of relief washing over his face. “That’s what I told the Emperor we should do! Of course, he said no. Said we can’t make heroes out of them. If we came for them full force, guns blazing, people would know they were on to something big. He thought soon we’d have even more Sons of Horus to deal with than before. Candy-ass.” Taurus returned his full attention towards me. “But then there’s you, son. You’re the last person anyone would suspect of working for us. Vocal atheist, critical of the Emperor back in your Tribune days? Shit, the Sons of Horus would probably start talking as soon as they saw you at the door.”

        “Yeah, see, that’s another thing,” I replied. “If you know how I feel about the Emperor, what makes you think I’d want to help him?” Taurus said nothing, simply reaching into his pocket. The legate pulled out a gold coin, tossing it onto the table. In front of me, I could see the familiar image of the god Mars clad in classical armor, spear and shield in hand.

        “An aureus?” I said, looking back up at the legate.

        “Now picture about a hundred thousand of those,” Taurus said, making a wide sweeping gesture with both hands. “You do this job for us, you’ll never have to work again. Everyone knows about your little…situation with the Tribune. Some money would do you good, wouldn’t it?”

        “Well…” I looked down at the coin again, almost mesmerized by its pristine condition. It had been a while since I last saw an aureus.

        “And that’s just the first part,” Taurus continued. “You help us out with the Sons of Horus, you’ve got the Emperor’s word that you’ll receive full amnesty for your crimes.”

        “Crimes? What crimes?”

        “What crimes,” repeated Taurus with a chuckle. “Just can’t stop joking around, can you? You know what crimes. Physical assault, public blasphemy with the intent to distribute immoral literature, that kind of thing.”

        “I don’t need amnesty for those. The governor already pardoned me.”

        “And who does the governor take orders from, hmm?” Taurus began pacing around the desk, not once taking his eyes off me as he circled around. “You know how the Emperor is. He’s all about piety, wants Nova Roma to love the gods more than ever before. The only way a guy that says the shit you do would be allowed to stay on the streets is if the Emperor himself made sure of it. You haven’t spent the past few months in some cursed penal factory, slaving away making…I don’t know, televisions, and waiting for the conditions there to finally do you in. You’ve got the Emperor to thank for that. Now it’s your turn to do something for him, a favor for a favor, see?”

        “Tell me this, then. If everything’s really being overturned, does that apply to the censors’ decision? Can I get this book released?” I asked. Taurus took a deep breath, pursing his lips and folding his hands.

        “You’d be forgiven for all your past crimes,” the legate explained. “It’s not a free pass to keep doing whatever you want in the future. Can you imagine what a guy could do if they had that kind of privilege from the government? He’d go around killing people, looting their homes…”

        “Raping kids,” I added. Taurus’ face scrunched.

        “Point is, you can’t release this book you’ve been planning. You’d get forgiven for all the stuff you’ve pulled during your interviews, but if you kept it up…well, this isn’t the kind of deal we can hand out more than once.” The reality of the situation slowly crept up to me. It was getting difficult to focus. My vision was starting to blur.

        “Then I’m not helping you,” I said, almost automatically. “I’ve worked too hard trying to expose all the shit that’s happened because of the gods. I didn’t do it all to become the Pontifex Maximus’ stooge.” Taurus gave an odd little smile, its true meaning hard to read. His face seemed almost heartfelt and malicious at the same time.

        “Son, let me tell you a story,” said the legate, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve never told this to a civvy before. It was back in ’53, the Ghanaian embassy attacks. You’re a newsman, you probably remember the basics. Some African rebels go crazy, Jupiter knows why, hold the whole Roman embassy hostage, and my legion gets sent in to save them.”

        “Then you come back, everyone calls you a hero, and pretend you’re incapable of ever doing anything wrong. Yeah, I know the story.”

        “No, you don’t,” dismissed the legate. “See, when the attacks happened, I couldn’t contain myself. I’m a born Roman, see. I’ve got nothing but pride for this country, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a bunch of backwards-ass foreigners thinking they can hurt Jupiter’s chosen nation. I was assigned to save the hostages, but for me…saving them just didn’t seem like enough. I wanted to show all the Ghanaians what happens when you fuck with Rome. Do you know what decimatio is, Diagoras?”

        “I…think I might have heard the term a few times,” I answered, wriggling uncomfortably in my seat.

        “I wanted to line up every last person in Djenné, every single man, woman, and child, put them in groups of ten, and make them draw lots. See if those Kanunteeists could evolve a bulletproof skull.” Taurus’ eyes lit up with wonder, as if he was looking on the faces of the gods themselves. “In each of those groups, one person would die. And the other nine we’d make watch…well, those people would never lay another damned finger on a Roman for as long as they live. Of course, the Emperor wouldn’t approve. He said we needed to look like the good guys, said showing the military decimating civilians on television would just hurt our reputation. Save the hostages, keep the collateral to a minimum, those were his orders.” The joy fled Taurus’ face. The legate crossed his arms in discontent.

        “The Emperor was wrong,” he continued. “I still think he was wrong. If we did things my way back in Ghana, those barbarians in Arabia wouldn’t even think about trying to fight back against us. So I know how you feel, so sure of yourself that you’ve got it all figured out and the Emperor doesn’t. But I did as I was told, because he was the one in charge, and we can’t pick and choose which orders we follow. You see the point I’m trying to make here?”

        “Not so sure if I want to.”

        “As much as he tries to be, the Emperor’s not perfect,” explained the legate. “I know it, and of course you know it. But if the guy who’s been training his whole life to learn how to run a nation doesn’t have it all figured out, then you don’t either. And the Sons of Horus definitely don’t, that much I can promise you. Listen, you really want to call it a day, go home, go to bed all proud of yourself that you stuck it to the Emperor, fine, but don’t think you’ll still be smiling after the Sons of Horus have gotten away with whatever it is they’re planning. Tell me something, you know what happened after the Empire fell in Europe?”

        “Course I do. There was no more Emperor telling the little guys what to do. Freedom happened.” Taurus shook his head, chuckling to himself.

        “Yeah, that’s right, son. Freedom happened. The freedom to raid, the freedom to not maintain the old trade routes, the freedom to shut down the schools and wallow in ignorance. It wasn’t until a few centuries ago that Hispania and Italia finally started to bounce back, and the rest of the old West is still shit. When freedom wants to be, it can be worse than even the nastiest dictator.” The legate took a deep, contemplative breath as he crossed his arms. “If I were you, I’d visit that brewery and find out all you can about what the Sons of Horus want. If not for us, then for yourself. If you’re really not going to help the Emperor, then you’d better make sure, and I’m talking damn sure, here, that you’d be happier if those bastards did what they’re planning.” Taurus reached into his other pocket, opposite from the cigarettes, pulling out a small card and a pen. The legate quickly scribbled something down.

        “What’s that?” I asked. Taurus slid the card across the table. I picked it up, examining the numbers scrawled on top of it.

        “The address of the brewery,” he said. The legate opened the door opposite me, letting the light seep into the room. “And a phone number if you need to reach us again. Think about it, will you? I trust you’ll make the right decision.” Taurus pointed outside. Hesitantly, I rose from the chair, exiting the room. As soon as I was out, the legate slammed the door shut behind me. Outside of the plain room I was kept in laid a hall of unparalleled beauty. Magnificent marble columns nearly five times my height stretched up to the ceiling. Beneath my feet, a silk carpet lay over a golden floor. I could only have been inside the Pratusian Palace. For all I knew, the Emperor could’ve been home, working right above me.

        I slid Taurus’ card into my pocket, my hand brushing against my bare hip as I did so. My memory was starting to clear up. I was unarmed when they took me. No gun. Not even an empty holster. I felt naked, being out of the house like this. I hurriedly made my way to the exit. Had to get back home. Can’t be out in this state.

        My heart was racing. I’ve been kidnapped twice now, forced to meet with someone who wants something from me. It’s downright bizarre, all the people expecting me to be their pawn. Don’t see why I can’t just be left in peace, free to finish the book. That’s what I’ll do, I thought. See the Sons of Horus, do as I’m told. Then I’ll have an audience with the Emperor. I can appeal to him, explain why I need it released. It’s a long shot, but maybe he’d listen. My eyes darted around, examining my lavish surroundings once again. My thoughts were racing so fast I almost forgot where I was. I slapped myself. Focus, Diagoras. You need to focus right now. It’s a long way back home, and I doubt any buses stop by the Emperor’s palace.

JULY 14, 2766

Servius removed the pot from its brewer, carefully pouring coffee into my cup. The slave hurried to the pantry, grabbing the creamer and sugar. I leaned back on the couch, listening to the gentle tap of the slave’s metal spoon clashing with porcelain as he stirred. Servius returned to the living room, my coffee in one hand and his bottle of wine in the other.

        “Perfect,” I said, grabbing my cup out of his hand. “Thanks.” The slave gave a weak smile before sitting on the couch himself. On the television, twelve stock cars were racing each other along an oval stadium. Servius’ free hand clenched in excitement.

        “So, uh…who’s winning?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee.

        “The Reds,” replied Servius, his voice tinged with disappointment.

        “How can you tell?” I asked, squinting at the television.

        “Because the car at the very front is red, sir,” said the slave, pointing at the current winner. “It’s not hard to figure out.”

        “Well, excuse me!” I leaned back, trying to put a little distance between me and Servius. “I never got too into sports myself, you know. Always had more important things to think about.”

        “Sports are plenty important, sir,” said Servius, screwing off the cap of his wine.

        “Really? Explain that, then. How’s a bunch of cars driving around in a circle and some guys chasing a ball around important? Go on, I want to hear.”

        “Do you see all those people watching?” asked the slave, pointing at the cheering spectators in the background. He took a sip of his wine, the drink dribbling down his chin. “Most of them are poor, see? Some of them are even, you know…slaves, sir. But then some of them…some of them are businessmen, priests, Senators…sometimes even the Emperor shows up!” Servius raised his bottle again. “You don’t think people would gather together like that, but here they are, all together in the same circus, united by their love of sport. That’s…you know, that’s pretty inspirational, isn’t it, sir?”

        “Hmm,” I grunted. On the television, one of the white cars was approaching the red one up front. “I mean, I guess you could see it that way.”

        “And you see the drivers?” Servius asked. “They’re all slaves, just like me. But people, free people…they cheer for them, treat them like heroes. The best drivers can make enough money to buy their freedom, even.” The slave fixed his eyes on the television, watching the race with a silent awe. My nostrils started to flare.

        “Um…Servius?” I asked. “But you, uh…you only like these races because of the sport of it, right?” On the screen, one of the green cars veered out of control, heading straight into a wall. The camera zoomed in for a closer look. Smoke was coming from the car’s crushed hood.

        “Yeah!” cheered Servius, jumping onto his feet. He hoisted the wine bottle into the air, treating it like the spoils of war. “Come on, Blues! Push ahead!” Without a moment’s hesitation, I set down my coffee, walked over to the television set, and turned it off. The excitement of the races disappeared, leaving a blank black screen in its place.

        “Hey!” cried Servius. “What did you do that for?”

        “It’s, uh…that was violent!” I answered. “Someone could have been hurt in that crash, and you were cheering about it! Those races are a bad influence on you.” Servius shook his head, quietly groaning under his breath. The slave returned to the couch, getting deeper into his wine.

        “Besides, we’re always watching television,” I continued. “Too much of that stuff and your brain will rot. Why don’t we talk, huh? It’s been forever since we’ve been able to just, you know…sit down and talk. Lately things have always been either work, or sitting in front of the TV shitfaced.”

        “Work…” Servius repeated, taking another sip from his drink. “Have you…have you been looking for a job yet?”

        “I’ve got a job, we’ve both got a job. Our job’s to keep going around, get this book done, and open people’s eyes to the truth about the gods.” Servius shook his head.

        “I’m talking about a job that’d let us keep the apartment…sir.” The slave lifted his bottle again, this time taking a hearty gulp.

        “Well…” I twiddled my thumbs together. “Now that you mention it, I suppose I…I guess I did receive a…job offer of sorts recently.” Servius’ head shot up off the couch.

        “Really?” he asked.

        “You remember when I was gone last week?”

        “I hope you’re telling the truth here, sir,” replied Servius. “If you tell me again you were kidnapped by some sort of magical Chinaman…”

        “For the last time, Servius, that Chinaman was real. But no, it wasn’t him this time. It was Legate Taurus.” Servius rolled his eyes, sinking back into the sofa.

        “Why do you keep trying to pull these jokes on me, sir? Taurus is in Arabia.”

        “I know, that’s what I thought too. He’s here, though, trust me. He wants me to investigate the Sons of Horus for him, said he’d pay me a fortune if I did it.” The slave set down his bottle, picking up a nearby pillow in its place. He took a deep breath, clutching onto the pillow with a death grip.

        “You’re being serious here, sir?”

        “Dead serious. Guy gave me a number where I could reach him and everything.”

        “Well…you’re going to do it, right?”

        “I don’t know. Move over.” Servius sat upright again, allowing me to take a seat on the couch. I reclined as best as I could without getting my feet too close to the slave. “They’re good for the money, I know that much, but the whole thing feels kind of...wrong. I’m trying to put an end to the garbage the Emperor spouts. I can’t just turn around and help him, can I? I’d be compromising my values.”

        “You can’t pay the rent with values,” retorted the slave.

        “And you can’t buy dignity with money.” I put a hand to my chin, getting lost in thought. “Maybe…I don’t know, maybe I could fake it? Call them up, tell them I visited the Sons of Horus but they wouldn’t tell me anything…I don’t know, maybe they’d still pay me then.” Servius picked up his bottle again.

        “If you don’t do it, they’d be unhappy with you.”

        “They’re already unhappy with me,” I replied. “If I don’t help them, all they could really do is…wait a minute…ah, shit.”

        “What is it, sir?”

        “They did say something about…being forgiven for my crimes. Something about how the pardon was just so I could do this for them. If I refused, they’d probably…”

        “Send you to a factory?” finished Servius.

        “Something like that, yeah, probably. If I’m lucky.” I bit my lip. The room was starting to grow hot. There was a burning sensation all over my right arm. “Hey, Servius, go get the ointment again, will you?” The slave rolled his eyes and left the couch, hurrying over to his room. A few seconds later, he returned, the mostly-flattened tube of cream in his hand.

        “If they’ll send you to a factory, then there’s no question about it. You have to do it, sir,” said Servius. I grabbed the ointment out of his hand.

        “Don’t tell me what I have to do.” I rubbed the cream into my arm, the liquid gradually disappearing into my skin. “Which one of us is the slave here? You see, Servius, people like me, when we’re faced with difficult decisions, we can’t just go with what seems easiest. I have to ask myself what a hero would do in that kind of situation.”

        “What, like Legate Taurus?” asked the slave, returning to his usual spot on the couch.

        “No, not like Legate Taurus!” I snapped. “I mean more like…I don’t know, Hercules? No, no, I need somebody real. I need to think about…what Cato would do!”

        “Who’s Cato?”

        “Come on, Servius, did you forget everything my parents taught you as a kid? He was a Senator from the dying days of the Republic. When the crowds cheered Caesar, Cato was one of the few able to see him for the tyrant that he was.”

        “I thought Caesar was a hero, sir.”

        “Of course you do,” I said, pursing my lips into a frustrated smile. “That’s because you never took the time to think about it. Caesar was a brain-damaged priest who thought he was a descendant of Venus, started a bloody war for the sake of power, and became a dictator that we still have to pay lip service to two thousand years later. That sound like a hero to you? When Caesar took Africa, when it was clear there was no stopping him, Cato killed himself. He decided it was better to die than live on as…as a slave!”

        “What’s wrong with living as a slave, sir?” asked Servius, his brow furrowing.

        “What’s right with living as a slave? Slaves are the lowest of the low, existing only to fulfill the needs of their master. Shit, if I was a slave, I’d kill myself too!” Servius’ grip around the wine bottle tightened.

        “So…so you’re asking yourself what Cato would do, then? When it comes to this job?” Servius asked, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

        “Cato wouldn’t accept it, I know that much. Cato knew better than to give in, start doing what the Emperor told him to.” Servius put the bottle to his lips, loudly chugging at what remained. As he put the empty bottle down, his head wobbled back and forth.

        “And so…and so Cato killed himself?” asked the slave. His speech was growing slower, more cautious, his tongue mulling over each word.

        “At first he tried to stab himself,” I explained. “When that didn’t do the trick, they say he stuck his hands into the wound, started tearing out his own intestines.”

        “So…so I want to make sure I understand all this, here, OK, sir?” asked Servius. “You’d rather…you’d rather do what Cato did, pulling out your guts…than get a lot of money?” I laughed, giving the slave a quick shake of my head.

        “Of course you don’t look at the deeper meaning of it all. It’s a matter of principle, Servius. Cato was nobody’s slave. He was his own man. A thinker, a doer. Just like me. When another nut came around, claiming himself to be a god, he didn’t bow down to him. He chose to die free.”

        “Did he have a family?” Servius asked.

        “Em…” I pinched at my forehead in thought. “Been a while since I read the story…his son was with him when he died, I think. Why?”

        “Was his son…you know, was he all right with that plan, sir?” The slave dropped the empty wine bottle, the thud as it fell to the carpet resonating throughout the room.

        “He didn’t need anyone’s permission for what he chose to do with himself,” I replied. “I told you already, Cato was his own man. A genius. Guys like him and me…we’re not bound by what other people want of us. Not the gods, not the government, and definitely not anyone as low as family.”

        “So…so, let me make sure I understand this,” said Servius with a heavy breath. “If you…when Cato decided to kill himself, he didn’t care at all if other people…people he was, you know, close to…he didn’t care if they’d be upset over…over Cato dying?”

        “It’s the true mark of an enlightened mind.” I wrapped my arms behind my head, leaning back in satisfaction. Servius got up from the couch, staggering over to the kitchen.

        “Servius, buddy?” I turned my head, seeing the slave rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers. “What are you doing? I don’t think we’ve got any more wine…” Servius returned to the living room, concealing an object behind his back. Revealing his hand, he dropped a thick butcher’s knife on the table in front of me. My reflection looked back at me through the pristine blade.

        “What’s that for?” I asked, looking back up at the slave. Servius put his hands behind his back and stood upright.

        “Since it seems you’ve already made up your mind, sir,” said the slave, trying to sound as formal as he could under the influence. “Out of curiosity, will you be doing it quickly, or disemboweling yourself just like Cato?”

        “Hey, whoa there,” I said, sticking out both hands. “I never said I was going to kill myself.”

        “Why not?” asked the slave, barely able to fight back a grin. “Isn’t that what Cato would do?”

        “…I’m not so sure I like what you’re implying here.”

        “You were the one who implied it.” Servius picked up the knife, retreating back to the kitchen. “I just…I worry about you sometimes, sir. You’ve got a chance to set everything in your life right, and instead you’re talking about…about dying or going to the factory! Do you know how I’d feel if that happened?”

        “Free men decide what slaves do, not the other way around.”

        “What about your parents, sir?” Servius pulled open the drawer, putting the knife back in.

        “Pretty sure I’m already dead to them at this point.”

        “And Relicta?” My hands clenched at the name, each finger digging deep into the leather of the couch.

        “I suppose…” I took a deep breath. It was getting tricky to talk. “I suppose I couldn’t…help Relicta from a factory.”

        “Does that mean you’ll do it, then?” Servius returned to the living room, his lips curling into a smirk.

        “Fine, you bastard, you win,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I’ll do it. But it takes more than money to change my mind. When it’s done, I’d better have the Emperor himself hearing me out.”

        “Good enough,” said Servius. The slave turned on the television, falling happily into the comforts of the couch. On the screen, the cars were still racing as passionately as they were before. I turned to my slave, still observing the sport with an insatiable fascination.

        “Hey, Servius, since you watch this stuff…do people ever, you know…pray for their team to win?”

        “Oh, all the time. They say Mars himself supports the Red team. I don’t believe it, though. I think Mars loves the Greens.”

        “I see…” I turned my head back towards the television, giving as much attention as possible to the cheering spectators in the background. “Tell me this, Servius, do you like any other sports?”

JULY 23, 2766

“Popcorn!” shouted a vendor to the crowd. “Popcorn! Just a denarius!”

        “Ooh, could we get some popcorn?” asked Servius, pointing at the concession stand.

        “No way. We’re still on a budget, remember?” I grabbed my slave’s arm, making sure I didn’t lose him in the midst of the rushing crowd. “Now come on, we’ve got to hurry while there are still seats open.” The musty smell of sweat and peanuts filled my nostrils. Around me was an endless parade of drunken citizens, New Antioch’s finest, racing for a chance to be a spectator. Servius and I made our way through the filth, reaching the sweet relief of the open arena. A large fine net circled the stadium, separating the pit in the center from the crowd. The floor of the ring below us was bright red, adorned with the familiar eagle of Nova Roma. Its walls were dotted with gates for the fighters to enter and leave through. Above that, right at the bottom of the net, stood statues of all the great gods. Jupiter, Mars, Mercury, Vulcan, Vesta…every colosseum in the country’s got the same statues, to signify that the gods never miss a game. To my right I could see the statue of Neptune, the familiar trident in his hands. On his head was a real laurel crown, a circle of green to clash with the monochromatic marble. It went without saying that Neptune would be the arena’s guest of honor on the Neptunalia.

        “I’ve never been to Harbor Park before,” said Servius, lowering himself into his seat. The slave looked all around him, absorbing the sights with a childlike fascination. “This whole place is just…wow! Did you know it was like this?”

        “What, you mean if I’ve been here before?” I shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position in the stadium’s hard plastic chairs.

        “Uh-huh,” nodded the slave.

        “Yeah…once. Must’ve been about…ten, I think. Dad took us, me and Relicta.”

        “What, I wasn’t there?”

        “No, Mom and Dad wanted you to do…something. It was a long time ago. They were punishing you, maybe?” I wiped the sweat off my forehead. “To be honest, I didn’t like it too much. I just stayed by the concession stands for most of the game, tried to find a way to entertain myself.”

        “You should watch it this time!” replied the slave. “Come on, sir, it’ll be fun!”

        “Oh, believe me, I intend to.” I clasped my hands, carefully examining the cheering fans surrounding me. To my front sat a thick man with a shaved head and a plastic cup of cheap wine in each hand. Nothing’s even started yet, and the man’s hollering as if he’s witnessed the gods themselves hopping off their pedestals. By the statue of Neptune was a golden seat with a large awning above it, shading the area. On the other end of the stadium was Emperor Piissimus, flanked by the usual Praetorians, wading through the crowd, smiling and greeting all he passed by.

        As the Emperor sat in his throne, three men stepped into the pit of the arena. The first of them had a thin moustache, his hair perfectly coiffed to the point where it seemed like a single metallic object. He wore a toga, trying his hardest to convince us all he’d just walked into the wrong time period. Slung over one arm was a small brown jacket. Behind him was a man dressed like a woman, a long wig and a light blue dress. The final figure, led into the arena by the crossdresser, hung his head down low, hoping to avoid the crowd’s gaze. In contrast to the elaborate dress of the first two men, this one went shirtless. His only clothes were the shorts around his waist and the cuffs around his hands.

        “Greetings, citizens!” shouted the first man. His voice was a shrill parody of the sound of a cultured man. “I am Vilis Plautus, the official playwright of Harbor Park! Are you all excited for the game?” The audience let loose with the insufferable sound of tens of thousands of cheers all at once, forcing me to plug my ears. “It seems you are! While our athletes prepare, I have a little play for you. I think you’ll all like it.”

        “Ooh, a show!” proclaimed Servius, leaning forward in his seat.

        “I call it The Death of Hercules,” continued Plautus. “A wonderful story, with a wonderful cast. You see, citizens, today the role of Hercules will be played by none other than Aquilinus Agricola, one of the Sons of Horus!” The man in a dress pushed his prisoner towards the center of the stage, leaving him open to the howls of the jeering masses. I slumped in my chair.

        “Like all great tragedies, this one begins with the wife!” said Plautus. A few chuckles came from the audience. “Deianira, wife of Hercules, had begun to fear her husband’s infidelity. When the demigod fell for the lovely princess Iole, Deianira begged Hercules to stay with her!”

        “Oh, Hercules!” cried the man in the dress, raising his voice into what just might have been the most pathetic falsetto ever used on this Earth. “Why would you ever betray me so? I’ve done so much for you, loved you, stood by your side, and you’d dare to break my heart, leave me for someone else?” He lifted up the prisoner’s chin, looking him straight in the eye. “Please, Hercules, take it all back! Stay faithful to me, leave that horrible other woman behind, and I’ll forgive you! It will all be better again! Oh, please, Hercules!”

        “Fuck you,” snarled Aquilinus. The crowd booed him again. Servius stood up and joined in the shouting himself.

        “Oh goodness, Hercules!” The crossdresser put a hand to his forehead, leaning back in shock. “How could you say such rude things to your own wife?”

        “Desperate for Hercules to stay with her, Deianira turned to the Tunic of Nessus,” narrated Plautus, holding up the cloth in his hands. “With the centaur’s dying breath, Nessus had told Deianira the blood on his shirt was a potion of love. In truth, of course, the shirt was imbued with all the venom of the Hydra.” The playwright opened up the cloth and held it up into the air for the crowd to see. Countless miniature spikes jutted out of the shirt’s insides, each needle carefully placed to make sure none of them pierced its victim’s vitals. This was a device made not to kill, but to hurt. An appetizer before the climax of the show.

        The two actors wrapped the monstrous jacket around their prisoner’s chest. Steel met flesh a dozen times over. Aquilinus bit down, fighting against nature. The Son of Horus refused to give the audience the satisfaction of his pain. The two men whispered to each other, their words left obscured to the crowd. The mock wife of Hercules stepped forward and hugged Aquilinus, the act of false affection pushing the jacket against his body. The star of the show gave in, the entire colosseum echoing with his horrible screams. Weak cheers came from the crowd. The moron in front of me was hollering with a kind of joy most people go their whole lives without feeling. I squinted my eyes, tightening the grip around my seat’s armrests.

        “Mighty Hercules struggled to remove the tunic,” continued Plautus. As if he was going through the motions, Aquilinus attempted to pull the jacket off of himself. “But even his great strength proved no match for the Shirt of Nessus. Where the tunic was pulled away, the demigod’s skin was torn with it! So eager was Hercules to end his suffering that he constructed a great funeral pyre!” Two masked attendants rolled a bed of wooden logs onto the arena. Plautus and his assistants hoisted their prisoner up, dropping him unceremoniously onto the heap of tinder. One of the workers ran off, returning behind the scenes.

The whole stadium fell nearly silent. A few spectators, mostly children, were cheering by themselves. Most of us stayed quiet, knowing our own noise would spoil the treat in front of us. In the center of the arena, Aqulinus was hyperventilating, a rapid, hoarse groan coming from the back of his throat as he breathed. This was the quiet panic of a man realizing he’s only got a few short minutes left on this green Earth. The Emperor was leaning forward slightly in his chair, the same pose of curiosity my own slave was doing.

“Hey, uh…Servius?” I whispered. “This whole thing is just a show, right? A bunch of smoke and mirrors?”

“Shh!” hushed Servius, putting a finger to his lips. The attendant returned to the stage, a lit torch burning brightly in his hands. Plautus gave a small bow to the worker before taking the torch himself.

“Now I am Philoctetes!” declared Plautus. “Prince of Thessaly, son of Poeas, lover of Hercules!” The playwright approached the pyre, looking down on his whimpering prisoner with a sickly grin. The man in front of me was shaking his fists in unbearable anticipation.

“Mighty Hercules,” continued Plautus. “I commend you to the gods!” He put his torch to the pyre, letting the flames slowly spread through. A few seconds passed in horrible silence. After that, the entire bed was caught ablaze, taking Aquilinus along with it. Through the fire, I could just barely make out the sight of the condemned screaming, but whatever noise he chose to spend his last breath on was drowned out by the roaring applause of the crowd. Even the Emperor himself was giving a slow clap, smiling with all the pleasantness of a man who’d just seen a normal play.

“Wow!” cried Servius, joining in with the applause. “I never thought I’d get to see one of those before!” Down below, the attendants brought out buckets of water, extinguishing the flames. The charred corpse of Aquilinus, left with only a faint, perverse resemblance to a human being, stared up into the sky as he was wheeled away. I put a hand to my mouth.

“Thank you! Thank you!” shouted Plautus, bowing to each side of the audience. “And now, I leave you all with the lovely words of Emperor Piissimus! Enjoy the show! May Neptune bless you all!” The playwright and his assistants made their way towards the exit. Emperor Piissimus got up from his seat. Every last person in the audience, me included, turned to look at him like clockwork.

“Oh, great Neptune,” prayed the Emperor, bowing his head in the usual routine. “Lord of the seas, we thank you for continuing to provide for the people of Rome, just as all the other gods have continued to do so. All too often, Neptune, do some of us overlook your generosity. Your rivers, from the mighty Mississippi to the Posuga out west, give us the water we need to drink and to irrigate our crops. Your fish, your endless bounty, feed our citizens, especially here within our capital. But in these trying times, your most important gift is the Atlantic Ocean.” The Emperor closed his eyes, taking a moment to mull over his words. A few people started to whisper among themselves. Others stayed silent, too faithful to dare speak during the Emperor’s moment.

“So many men of lesser lands envy our superiority. They hate us, wish to do us harm, even. It’s why so many of our brave soldiers are off fighting to protect us from the Arabian menace as we speak.” The man in front of me bowed his head, showing solemnity I didn’t think he was capable of. “But no matter what challenges the barbarians may try to throw at us, I know Nova Roma will stand tall. We have the protection of Jupiter, Juno, Mars, and yes, even Neptune. Any Orientals that would dare attack our soil would need to pass through Neptune’s mighty ocean first. His barrier, along with the courage of our troops, lets us be sure each Roman citizen can sleep soundly at night.” The Emperor raised his hands into the air, looking up to the heavens themselves.

“Great Neptune, we thank you for all you have done for the people of Rome. May these games please you and all your followers in attendance, and may the peace provided by you and your fellow gods never wane.” The Emperor looked down again, facing the audience. “And now, my friends, what better way to honor the lord of the seas than the tale of a fisherman and a fish? Bring out…the Secutor!”

One of the gates creaked open. A bare-chested warrior stepped into the arena, his face concealed by a plain oval plastic helmet. Were it not for the two eyeholes in the front, one could barely tell there was a human face underneath at all. Tall ridges adorned the top and sides of the helmet, giving the impression of fins. The gladiator’s right arm was covered with a sleeve of scaly armor, clutching onto a short blunted sword. In his other hand was a crimson rectangular shield, large enough to cover his entire body. The faceless athlete raised his weapons up towards the crowd, the audience erupting into a frenzied cheer.

“This big guy is the, uh…the fish, I’m guessing?” I whispered to Servius.

“Uh-huh,” said the slave with a nod.

“Bring out…the Retiarius!” boomed the Emperor. Another gladiator stepped into the arena, clad in nothing but a loincloth, a small plate of plastic armor over his shoulder, and a holster for the dagger at his hip. In his right hand was a trident, not too different from the kind Neptune himself would wield. In his left hand was a large net. The fisherman copied his opponent’s gesture, raising his own weapons into the air. The audience produced a mixed noise. A few mild cheers here and there, peppered with some clusters of laughter.

“BOOOOO!” jeered the man in front of me. “KILL HIM!” The two warriors stepped closer to each other, until they were separated by just a few feet of distance.

“Let the battle begin!” decreed the Emperor. As soon as he finished speaking, the Secutor’s sword lunged towards his opponent. The Retiarius quickly hopped backwards, away from his enemy’s reach.

“All right, I’m kind of lost here. How exactly does this work?”

“If your weapon touches bare skin, you get a point,” explained Servius. “If your opponent falls to the ground, you get a point. Whoever has the most points once time runs out is the winner.”

“The uh…the fisherman’s got a lot more skin showing than the other guy, doesn’t he?” I pointed at the Retiarius, still struggling to stay as far away from his opponent as possible. “That doesn’t really seem fair.”

“Well, nobody really wants the Retiarius to win, sir. The Secutor’s the powerful one.” The slave turned to watch the fight, only to start smirking. “You know, I heard that a long time ago they would fight with real weapons, not just props. Sometimes they’d even kill each other!”

“Sounds ridiculous,” I muttered. “Where’d you hear that?” I turned my attention back to the fight. The Retiarius was still leaping, almost dancing, around the arena, too busy fleeing in fear to make a move of his own. The Secutor stood still, tired of the chase. After a while the Retiarius, so caught up in his antics he’d forgotten his surroundings, ran straight towards his enemy. The Secutor hastily swung his sword against his opponent’s side. The whole crowd burst into a frenzied cheer.

“First point goes to Secutor!” declared the Emperor. The Retiarius briefly clutched at his side, only to stand back upright, smiling to the crowd. Something clicked with me as I saw his face. The guy’s almost naked, everybody hates him, he’s up against a guy who looks like he can break him in two, and he fucking smiles.

“Say, Servius…” I whispered, leaning towards my slave again. “If the, uh…if the net-guy was going to win, how would he do it? Just curious.” Servius put his hand to his face, eyeing the two combatants thoughtfully.

“Well, the trident is longer than the sword,” he replied. “The best thing for him to do is try and keep his distance, jab at him from far away.” Sure enough, the Retiarius had taken to the offensive, sticking his trident out at the Secutor. He attempted a jab, only for the Secutor to block the attack with his shield. The underdog strafed to the left, then made another jab. The Secutor turned around in kind, blocking him again.

“Come on!” I screamed. I put a bent finger in my mouth, biting at it with anxiety.

“Are you rooting for the Retiarius, sir?” asked Servius, eyeing me curiously.

“Eh, what?” I returned my hand to its armrest. “No, no, I’m not rooting for anyone. I just want to…you know…make sure this fight is fair.” The slave gave a weak shake of his head, then returned his attention to the game. The faceless Secutor approached his opponent, the weight of his armor leaving his movement slow and methodic. The Retiarius hopped away from him, continuing the usual routine. Suddenly, the fisherman made a false step, toppling to the ground.

“Secutor two, Retiarius zero!” shouted the Emperor. The Secutor crossed his arms in satisfaction.

“That’s bullshit!” I shouted. The guy in front of me turned his head around. “He didn’t do that! The guy just tripped!”

“If your opponent hits the ground, you get a point. Those are the rules,” explained Servius. The Retiarius returned to his feet, then threw his net at his opponent. The Secutor was soon caught in the tangled weave of the Retiarius, the fish struggling to free himself from the confusion. The fisherman grinned, plunging again with his trident. Another block. The Secutor was still coherent enough to focus on what counted. His head trembling in frustration, the Retiarius pulled his dagger from its sheath, charging towards the Secutor at full speed. The blunted blade struck the Secutor’s back, the force of the blow nearly knocking him forward.

“Secutor two, Retiarius one!” announced the Emperor. The crowd met the attack with the loud unison of ten thousand disappointed groans at once.

“That’s not what you do, you dumb motherfucker!” screamed the man in front of me. “You’re not supposed to get up close!”

“Why not?” I asked. “It worked out for him, didn’t it? Doing the last thing anyone expected from him.” The spectator turned around again, shooting me with the most threatening glare he could muster. Shortly afterwards, he was back to normal, chugging down wine and screaming hopeless nonsense to nobody. The Secutor tore off the net, tossing it aside to the ground. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Retiarius ran off.

The Secutor chased after his enemy for about a minute, then just as promptly stopped in the middle of the arena. The gladiator clutched at his head, a sobering reminder that a human being was hiding beneath the helmet. His other hand reached for his stomach. Soon the gladiator was down on all fours, struggling to breathe.

“Uh…what’s happening here, exactly?” I whispered.

“The Secutor’s been worn out,” answered Servius with a frown. “You can only fight for so long with a helmet like that.” The swordsman was still on his knees, hopelessly heaving with the whole crowd watching. Eventually, staying up at all became a chore, and the Secutor crashed to the ground.

“A tie, two to two!” shouted the Emperor. The Retiarius stepped towards his fallen opponent, squatting down to his level. The power of the Secutor had run its course, a victim of the passage of time. The once frail Retiarius grinned at his helpless foe. Returning to his feet, he raised the trident, lightly tapping it against the Secutor’s back.

“W…Well,” said the Emperor, eyes wide at the display in front of him. “I think this match has been decided, don’t you? The winner, three to two, is the Retiarius!” The net-fighter grinned, basking in the adoration of the crowd. Two attendants came towards the Secutor, helping the weary loser up to his feet.

“Bullshit!” screamed the man in front of me. “BULL! SHIT! You don’t hit ‘em while they’re down! That pathicus ain’t playing fair!” I gave a smile to match the Retiarius’ own. That poor idiot, he just didn’t get it. The gladiators have got a goal, to win, and he pursued that goal. No shame in that. Let the Secutor and his fans stew to themselves later on, call the Retiarius dishonest, ruthless, evil, whatever they like. He did what he needed to follow his goal, and saved the worrying about it for another time.

“Could we go now, sir?” asked Servius, tugging at my sleeve. “After…that, I don’t think I want to watch any of the other fights.”

“Shit, there are even more fights?” I leaned back in my seat. “Let me know if you see a wine vendor coming through, will you?”

AUGUST 3, 2766

A sharp gust of wind blew in my face, like the gods themselves were trying to impede my progress. Aside from the air, and the gentle sound of my feet moving against the sidewalk, there wasn’t a sound to be heard. It was the sort of eerie, suspicious silence that begged to be hiding something sinister underneath. Walking the streets of New Antioch alone is ghastly enough in the day. In the dead of night…if there was such a thing as Tartarus, it couldn’t look much different from this. My right hand was resting calmly on my holstered gun, and it’d stay there all night as far as I was concerned.

        With my free hand, I pulled over my coat. It was damned hot, as August tends to be, yet I still felt the need to be wrapped up. I had to be getting sick. It was the only explanation. I envied Servius right now, that lucky bastard getting to sleep in a warm bed, blissfully unaware of what was going on. If I told him I was going tonight, he’d insist on coming with me, I know it. Can’t have that. I’ll be seeing the Sons of Horus tonight. Afterwards, if things go well, I’ll be off to the Emperor’s palace. Maybe the man himself would be there waiting for me. Point is, I’m about to meet important people, dangerous people. The last thing I want is the slave making an ass out of himself.

        Eventually I came to the address on the card, greeted by a shabby brick building with a dilapidated wooden door. Biting my lip, I knocked on the door. From the other side, I could hear hushed whispers, objects being shuffled, and the growing sound of footsteps approaching me.

        "Sorry, we're closed," said a gruff voice from behind the door.

        "Uh...is this the Sons of Horus?" I asked. I waited a moment for a response, only for the men on the other end to fall dead silent. "This is Diagoras Cinna. I was...I was interested in joining you."

        "Diagoras the Atheist?" asked the stranger.

        "Don't call me that. But...but yes, that's me." The men behind the door continued their unintelligible whispers amongst each other. After a while, the door creaked open. Greeting me was a man not too different from what I pictured. Cheap suit, black pistol at the hip. It was the mask that threw me off. The man in the suit looked back at me with the face of a baboon.

        "Nakhthorheb will want to see you himself," said the monkey-man. "Follow me." The baboon led me further into the building, my heart pounding furiously the whole way. The walls were lined with old tanks for the brewing of beer. Occasionally we'd pass stacks of unmarked crates.

        "I thought this place would be a lot...busier," I said with a nervous smile. The baboon turned around, the smiling mask hiding his true expression from me.

        "These meetings are strictly for our most senior members," the thug explained. "Isis' children are many, and never so foolish as to gather too much in one place." We passed two more masked goons, a jackal and a hawk, seated at a table playing cards, their masks raised just enough for me to see their mouths. The hawk raised his bottle of beer. This stuff was a dark brown, not like the golden stuff I've seen before. The thug happily downed it, not in the least disgusted by its taste. As I passed them, the two men promptly lowered their masks, hiding away what little humanity I could see.

        "This is Diagoras the Atheist?" asked the jackal, getting back up on his feet.

        "I thought he'd be scarier," added the hawk. "This guy's a baby face."

        "He said he wants to join us," replied the baboon. "Is Nakhthorheb ready?" The two henchmen each stood by the baboon's side, leading me to the main chamber. One wall of the room was lined with a colossal map of the city, various locations marked with red thumbtacks. Opposite it were rows of photographs, smiling faces with names and information hastily scrawled underneath. In front of the right wall, standing on a pedestal, was the stone head of Julius Caesar, the spoils of war. The three men headed towards the center of the room, where a great framed painting of Isis cradling the infant Horus overlooked us all, and stood behind their leader. Hunched at a desk was another man, toiling away at unseen plans. This one went unmasked, instead choosing to wear a golden headdress, an imitation of the pharaohs of old clashing with his modern suit.

        "Diagoras the Atheist!" announced the baboon, stretching his arm out towards me.

        "Thank you, Hapi." Nakhthorheb rose from his desk, staring me down with curious eyes. "Diagoras Cinna." The leader beamed with the kind of smile a father would reserve for his son. "The pleasure here is really all mine."

        "Yeah, I bet it is," I replied.

        "Your story's been of particular interest to me," continued Nakhthorheb, pacing around the room. His three henchmen stayed still, remaining stoic in the face of their leader. "A man like you, voicing his contempt for the gods...it's proof that people's faith in the invincible state is weakening. Proof that we're starting to win this fight."

        "Yeah, uh..." I scratched the back of my head. "What fight, exactly, I have to ask? Most of what I've heard about you comes from the news, and..."

        "And you want to know the truth," finished Nakhthorheb. "The Sons of Horus began simply enough, a cult of Isis believing the goddess' holy land should be left untouched. Even before the Emperor began sending out troops, Rome has always tried to reclaim the wealth of the Orient, Egypt included."

        "Wait, that's how you started?" I asked. "So what are you now?"

        “The first Sons of Horus were weak,” explained Nakhthorheb, his eyes sinking as he reminisced. “They thought you could change the world with just words and a good attitude. They started with simple prayers to the goddess, ignoring how the Romans always prayed louder. Then they moved up to…silly protests, standing outside the Senate with their little signs and chants, thinking that would sway the men in charge. I was there back then, young, dumb enough to think it would work.”

        “So what will work?” I asked. The masked henchmen stepped forward, getting in front of their leader’s desk. Nakhthorheb walked up to the head of Caesar, stroking his stone hair with two fingers.

        “When the living god Ramses wanted the Hittites out of Egypt, he didn’t ask nicely. He didn’t waste time hoping to appeal to the reason and decency of monsters. He went to war. If you want change, real change, you have to be armed. The tyrants of Rome understood that. It’s how they got to be where they are.” My eyes widened.

        “You’re proposing a war, then?”

        “I prefer to call it a revolution,” said Nakhthorheb with a smile.

        “How many of you are there, exactly? You know how big the Roman military is, right?”

        “I am not deluded, Mr. Cinna,” replied the man dressed as a pharaoh. “I know the revolution will not be easy, nor will it be quick. But the Sons of Horus lie in every province of Nova Roma, and as our fight continues, I’m sure more will become sympathetic to our cause.” Nakhthorheb turned back towards me, mustering a smile. “Eventually, the Emperor will die. Him, and the Senators, and the governors, and anyone else who’d dare to continue Rome’s tyranny. The Aquila will fall, and Horus will rise. Even the most wicked of men must one day succumb to Ma’at, and the Roman state is no exception.” Nakhthorheb stepped away from the statue, walking towards me.

        “I’ve read your columns, Mr. Cinna,” he continued. “You’re as disgusted with the ways of the Emperor as we are. Will you join us?”

        “Well…” I tugged at my collar, letting out a nervous chuckle. “That depends, you know?” Nakhthorheb frowned, his eyebrows curling together with a fierce intensity.

        “Depends on what?” he asked.

        “If I’m going to commit to something, I need to make sure it’s been thought through. So let’s…let’s just suppose everything you’ve said goes as planned. You win, the Emperor’s gone…what are you going to do afterwards?”

        “A fair question.” Nakhthorheb wandered over to the map on the wall. “Like Apep’s eternal struggle to swallow Ra, Rome devours cultures, tries to put foreigners underneath the eagle. First thing we do is get rid of this Roman nonsense that different races should have to be together. The Sons of Horus will head back to the Orient, our old home. Your old home. The whites will go back to Europe, the blacks back to Africa, the Chinamen back to Asia. This awful land will be left to the natives. And if there are any degenerates left that still consider themselves a Roman, they can go back to Rome. The real one, in Italia.”

        “What, you’re just going to kick everyone out?”

        “No, I’m going to liberate them,” explained Nakhthorheb, stepping away from the map. “For longer than anyone can remember, the state has forced people out of their lands, forced them to live among foreigners. We’re going to do away with that, give people back their freedom.”

        “So people would have the freedom to stay where they are if they wanted, then?” The hawk began stepping towards me, only for the jackal to pull him back. Nakhthorheb stayed silent, lost in his own thoughts. “You know what, forget I asked that. Stupid question. OK, so the Romans are gone, and we’d all head back to…I guess Egypt?” Nakhthorheb cleared his throat.

        “Egypt, yes…” answered the leader with a frown.

        “All right, so we get back to Egypt, the Emperor’s not messing with the Orient, telling anyone what to do…what’s your plan there?” The smirk returned to Nakhthorheb’s face.

        “Liberty, of course,” replied the leader. “We find a pharaoh who’s a sensible leader, one that’ll allow every Egyptian to lead their own proper life, one that won’t repeat the evils of Rome.”

        “You’ll need to be more specific. The Emperor’s done a lot of shit,” I said with a weak laugh. “Which evils of Rome are you thinking about?”

        “The corn dole,” answered Nakhthorheb without a moment’s hesitation.

        “Really, the corn dole? That’s, uh…that’s the first thing on the list for you?”

        “Nova Roma’s farmers work to produce that grain. The Emperor takes it away from them, then gives it to the laziest citizens, those who won’t work to provide for themselves. Does that sound fair to you?”

        “What about the people who need the corn dole to survive?”

        “If you won’t provide for yourself, if you’re happy sucking on the Emperor’s teat, you deserve to starve!” snarled Nakhthorheb. “The parasites’ survival takes food away from those more worthy of it. Ma’at doesn’t suffer those who steal food.”

        “Who’s this…Ma’at character, exactly?” I asked. The hawk shook his head, faint laughter coming from beneath the mask.

        “Now, now,” said Nakhthorheb, pointing a scolding finger at his henchmen. “This is a chance for him to learn.” The leader faced me once again, taking a deep breath. “Ma’at is the goddess who brings order to the universe, she who brings day and night, summer and winter. Ma’at delivered us commandments, told us the proper way to live, and the modern Romans have neglected what she taught. Did you know these days they have…they have men lying with other men?” Nakhthorheb grimaced like he was sucking on a lemon. “Ma’at herself forbade that, and yet they don’t care, continuing to wallow in evil. There’ll be none of that when we go back to Egypt, I promise you that. We’ll be a moral nation, one that lives according to the principles of Ma’at.”

        “And what would those be?”

        “Oh, mostly obvious ones. Don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t commit adultery…” Nakhthorheb explained, spinning his hand along as he listed the commandments. “There’s also…don’t blaspheme.” The leader squinted at me.

        “Don’t blaspheme,” I repeated.

        “Your hatred for the idols of Rome is commendable. Channeled, it can be a force for good. But no Son of Horus can deny the goodness of Isis and Ma’at. If you wish to join us, you’ll have to open your eyes.”

        “Well…” The Sons of Horus stepped closer to me. I tried to look away from them. The head of Caesar caught my eye. “…Sure.” Nakhthorheb’s face morphed into a frown.

        “You hesitated,” said the leader.

        “What? No I didn’t.” Nakhthorheb rested a hand on my shoulder.

        “You tell us you believe, yet blasphemy still resides in your heart. It’s the heart that Ma’at weighs and judges after your death, Diagoras. The Sons of Horus must be pure there.”

        “All right, fine, maybe I did hesitate.” I lifted the man’s arm off of me. “What you’re asking for is…you know, it’s a pretty big order. You can’t just change your beliefs overnight.” I took a few steps backwards. “I think…I think what I need is just, you know…a little time to think things over.”

        “He’s trying to weasel out!” cried the jackal.

        “Told you he wasn’t cut out for it,” replied the hawk. Nakhthorheb gestured towards the minions, silencing them. His eyes were still focused on me, staring with a calm contempt.

        “If you aren’t with us, then go.” The leader pointed at the door. “Don’t taint us with your presence.” I sheepishly turned around, making my way for the door. The Sons of Horus began laughing among each other, pointing at the outcast.

        “You’re no different from the rest of them, Diagoras!” shouted Nakhthorheb. “Deep down, you’re a Roman through and through! You’re a slave to the gods, just like your whore of a sister!” I pulled my pistol out of its holster and spun around, finger on the trigger. Didn’t even need to think about it, it all happened automatically. I pointed down at the pharaoh’s legs and fired. Blood spilled on the floor, and Nakhthorheb fell down after it, the room filling with the beautiful sound of his screams. His henchmen reached for their guns, but not before I could cripple each of them. The Sons of Horus were all on the ground, moaning in agony. I holstered my gun and walked towards the head of Caesar.

        “You bastards don’t realize how lucky you are,” I said, hoisting the statue’s head with both hands. “You’ll probably bleed out before the Praetorians show up. That’s better than what you deserve, it really is.” Nakhthorheb was face-down on the ground. I kicked him until he rolled upwards. Tears were streaming down his face, the great disciple of Isis bawling like a newborn baby. “I hope the authorities get here in time. I hope they patch you up, keep you from getting off too easy. And then I hope you get the fucking cross.” With Caesar in hand, I headed for the exit, leaving the cultists to lie in their own filth.

        “And by the way,” I said, just before heading out. “Give Ma’at my regards.”

AUGUST 4, 2766

“You shot them?” asked Taurus, his voice distorted by the neglected pay phone. “Why?”

        “Personal reasons,” I answered, my finger twisting the phone’s metallic cord. “You’ll want to get the police over there quickly.”

        “You really are a crazy bastard, aren’t you?” laughed the legate. “You’ve got the head?” I looked down at my feet, the head of Julius Caesar still resting where I placed it.

        “I do. I’ll be at the Pratusian soon to deliver it.”

        “Good work, Diagoras. I promise you, you’ll be richly rewarded once this is all done.”

        “Yeah, about that reward. I want to talk about it when I get there.” The phone replied with a flat dial tone. Must have run out of time. I fished in my pocket for another coin, only to shake my head. No sense wasting money when I’d be able to talk to him face to face soon enough.

        “Well, come on, Baldy,” I mumbled, lifting Caesar’s head. I began the walk towards the palace, traversing the city’s lonesome streets. I looked up at the sky, only to see nothing staring down at me. The artificial lights of the city had obscured the stars and planets. Hercules and Jupiter were nowhere to be seen. All that was up there was the faint light of the moon, a waning crescent. In a day or two even that would be gone, leaving the sky in total darkness.

        I decided to look at the ground instead, keep my vision focused on the sidewalk. I shifted the statue’s head around, putting it under my armpit in a vain attempt to conceal it. The gods help me if anyone were to see Diagoras the Atheist strolling through town with the missing head of Caesar.

        “This isn’t so bad, is it?” I asked, turning my vision to the statue. “How long has it been since you got out, got some fresh air? Two thousand years?” The stone head of Caesar looked different. I was used to seeing him tower above people, standing on a pedestal. Face to face, I could see a strained look in his eyes, almost fearful.

        Ever since I was a kid, I was told in school that Julius Caesar was a hero, a god among men, that we owed everything good in our lives to him. Then I got older, angrier, and changed my mind. Caesar was no hero. He was a twisted fuck who went around killing Gauls, then overthrew a democracy and had himself declared dictator for life. A living god, even. In my book, he was no better than Piissimus and all the other clowns that have followed in his footsteps.

        But walking like this, seeing him by my side…I don’t know, there’s something about it that makes me think. Maybe Caesar wasn’t a hero or a villain. Maybe he was just a guy who tried to do what he thought was the right thing, whether it actually was or not. The old Republic had become bloated with corruption, and he had tried to put a stop to it all. I closed my eyes and let the skyscrapers and streetlights of New Antioch melt away, my imagination filling barely-tamed nature in its place. I tried to imagine myself in Caesar’s shoes as he crossed the Rubicon, picture what was going through his head. Good or bad, I’d always thought of him as a brave man, born fearless. I shook my head. Fearless...there's no way that could be true. He was going to war against the world’s greatest nation, and failing meant death for sure. When he first stepped into that river, he’d have to be scared shitless. He still did it, though. He swallowed his fear, did what he had to do, and ended the tyranny of the Republic. Of course, then he replaced it all with a new kind of tyranny. Once this is all done, I’ll need to remember not to do that part.

        Soon the landscape of the city began to change. The buildings became smaller, more elaborate, spread farther apart. The poverty gave way to marble columns and the abodes of Senators. In the center of it all was the most beautiful building in the city, statues of Jupiter and Juno standing proudly by its steel gate. No sooner did I start approaching the palace before the gate swung open, inviting me in. The front door pulled back, a man decked in military regalia hastily marching down the courtyard.

        “Is that it?” asked Taurus, his face as firm as those of the statues that surrounded us.

        “Looks like it.” I hoisted the head of Caesar up for him to see. The legate smiled, a look of actual warmth in his face for once.

        “Come with me,” he replied, turning around and gesturing towards the door. “There's somebody who'll want to speak to you directly.” The two of us began traversing the foreboding halls of the Pratusian, a mighty echo following each footstep. I could barely contain the curious sense of panic in my chest. There’s only one thing this could all be leading up to. I’ve wanted it to happen for ages, yet somehow it feels all wrong. It’s not supposed to go like this. It’s supposed to be a special event, one I’m prepared for, one where I’m dressed nice and Servius is by my side recording. Instead I’m bitter as shit, I just shot four men, and all I want to do is go to bed.

        “Word is he’s alive, by the way,” said Taurus, breaking the silence.

        “Who is?” I rubbed at my eyes, trying my best to stay focused.

        “Nocter…Nacto…the leader of the Sons of Horus. Lost a lot of blood by the sound of it, though. By the time the Praetorians arrived, he was begging to be taken in.” The legate smiled to himself. This grin was different from before. It had the soldier's usual aura of cruelty.

        “So what’s going to happen to him?”

        “First we’re going to wring out all the information about the Sons of Horus that we can from him. There’s still a lot of work ahead of us there. Then he’ll be sent to court and tried. You know what comes after that, I suppose.”

        “Yeah, I do…” I said. The awkward silence returned to the halls. I looked straight ahead, trying to enjoy the scenery. Taurus put a hand on my shoulder.

        “Did you even get hurt?” he asked.

        “Excuse me?”

        “The police told me the Sons of Horus all had guns back there. Did you really cripple them all without even getting scratched yourself?”

        “I, uh…” the head of Caesar was starting to feel heavier. I picked up my pace, moving slightly ahead of the legate. “I was just…motivated back there, I guess.”

        “Motivation can only get you so far on its own. Where’d you learn to shoot?” Taurus pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

        “My father taught me, back when I was a kid. Took me to the Temple of Ignistelum every weekend. He always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, join the military.”

        “How old are you, son, thirty?” asked the legate, lighting up the cigarette in his mouth. “It’s not too late.”

        “Yeah, that’s, um…” My head was throbbing. “That's great, really. But I’ve already got my calling.”

        “Right, of course.” Taurus blew out a puff of smoke, the fumes rising up to the unreachable ceiling. “Your, uh…that book of yours.” The legate approached a nearby door, with me following suit. “Well, before you get any ideas, you might want to take up your calling with him.”

        The soldier swung the door open, revealing the modest interior of a library. An unconquerable array of books on law, history, and religion stared me down from each wall. On a nearby table was a miniature statue of Mercury, his caduceus pointed towards the shelves. It was the man pacing nervously through the center of the room that caught my attention, though. He was clearly as unhappy about being up at this hour as I was, and dressed to the nines in his familiar purple suit, no less. Even in this state, however, there was a strange sense of awe one couldn’t help but feel in his presence. The man turned to face me, showing me all his teeth in a smile of delight. I now had an audience with Emperor Piissimus.

        “Ave imperator!” shouted Taurus, stretching his right arm out towards the ceiling. The Emperor raised his own hand up to his head, giving his soldier a curt smile as he approached me.

        “Is that it?” asked the Emperor. I held the head of Caesar out towards him, my hands trembling with uneasy anticipation. The Emperor lifted the head away from me, chuckling to himself as he looked into the eyes of his precursor.

        “The Praetorians called me as soon as they showed up,” said the Emperor, lowering the stone head onto the table, next to Mercury. “Pretty interesting report they had, and I’ve heard a lot over the years.” He clasped his hands together, beaming with uncontainable joy. “You walk into the Sons of Horus’ lair alone, them not suspecting a thing, find what they’re planning, shoot them all, and walk away with Caesar in hand. If I had a few thousand of you, I’d be king of the world right now.” The Emperor grabbed my arm with both hands, shaking it profusely.

        “Legate?” he asked, leaning his head towards Taurus. “Would you fetch the briefcase?” The legate ran off without a word, bringing the Emperor’s attention back to me. “As promised, there’s a reward in it all for you, of course. You’re about to become one of the richest private citizens in Nova Roma, my boy.”

        “You can keep the money,” I said tonelessly. “I want something else. Something better.” The smile vanished from the Emperor’s face.

        “Better than gold?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

        “A book,” I answered, my eyes looking up at the towering shelves. “I’ve been working on a book. I need to get it released. I want to go through the censors.” The Emperor’s smile returned, accompanied by a relieved laugh.

        “Say no more,” the Emperor replied. “As soon as this book of yours is finished, I promise, it’ll be first in line for review by the censors.”

        “I don’t want to be first in line,” I said. “I want the book to be released. No censors, no bullshit, just get it through. You can do that, can't you?” The Emperor pulled away from my hand.

        “We’ve let you break a lot of rules already,” replied the Emperor, rubbing at the hand he touched me with. “If we let you bypass the censors…that’d send a message to people. Great nations always fall when they forget their morals. I budged a little here, figured the Sons of Horus were a bigger threat to our morality than you. But if you kept going against Roman morals…well, I’m not going to be known as the Emperor who let people bring on the ira deorum.” There was a horrible throbbing in my head.

        “Then I want something else,” I said. “A pardon.”

        “You’ve already got your pardon,” laughed the Emperor.

        “Not for me. My sister. Relicta Cinna, former Vestal, exiled for breaking her vow.” Legate Taurus stepped through the door, a briefcase in his right hand.

        “The money, Your…”

        “Hold on a second,” interrupted the Emperor, putting a hand up to the soldier. “I need to think, here.” He pursed his lips inward, trapped in his own thoughts. Then, he stepped closer to me, placing a hand on each of my shoulders.

        “My son,” said the Emperor, shaking his head reluctantly. “They don’t call me ‘very pious’ for nothing. When I make decisions, I stand on principle. Our faith is what holds the fabric of our society together. For a Vestal, a person charged with tending the flame that keeps this nation going, to go back on their word…a lie like that isn't the kind of thing you can just forgive.” My fingers started to twitch, like they were squeezing at a rubber ball that wasn’t there.

        “But…but she’s a good person,” I said, hyperventilating. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

        “She broke her vow. She lied to the gods, and that’s about as wrong as you can get. It’s probably not an easy thing to hear, but just because you’ve got an attachment to this person doesn’t make what she’s done all right.”

        “Do…do you know how she lives?” I leaned in closer to the Emperor, each of us able to feel the other’s breath. “Stuck in that swamp, all alone…it’s miserable.”

        “And if we don’t uphold our promises to the gods, we’ll all be miserable. I’m already letting one blasphemer go as it is. Two’s really pushing it.” Piissimus took a few steps backwards, then rubbed at the back of his head. “I know it’s probably upsetting for you to hear all of this, but I’d rather have a person upset with me than a god. You’ve got your freedom, and you’ve got your money. I don’t think there’s anything more for us to say.” The Emperor gestured to the door. I turned around to see Taurus pointing at the exit as well, holding up his briefcase.

        The shields of denial broke, the reality of the situation hitting my brain. The book’s not going to get through. Nobody’s going to abandon the gods. Relicta’s going to die in that dismal swamp. I lose. It was getting difficult to breathe. I hunched over, arms wrapped around my stomach. I wanted to vomit, expunge myself, clean all those false hopes away.

        “Are you all right, son?” asked the Emperor. The fucking Emperor, the living god, the nine-foot-tall billionaire. Eating gold-plated turkeys and fisting a different supermodel every night while everyone else swallows down his shit. Telling everyone to honor the gods, honor him, kissed by Jupiter, always right. I could hear footsteps behind me. The Emperor was getting closer to me again.

        “Do you…do you need help?” he asked. “Taurus, go call a hospital.” He’s right behind me now. No book, no hope. I lose. I lose, but he doesn’t have to win. Caesar was staring at me from the desk. I knew what I had to do. Time to cross the Rubicon. Alea iacta est. I stood back up again, mustered the last of my strength. I turned around, looked at the bastard straight in his eyes, and reached for the throat.

        “Help!” shouted the liar as soon as I’d grabbed his neck. There were more noises behind me now. A briefcase falling to the ground, more footsteps. The legate pinned me to the floor, his knees digging into my back. The Emperor ran off, out of my vision. I howled and snarled, struggling to free myself from the soldier’s grip. Something hard struck my neck. It was getting hard to stay awake. Been up for so long now. I just needed to sleep a little bit. Yes, just a little sleep…

AUGUST 5, 2766

I opened my eyes, just barely able to notice the blaring lights above me. The soft hands of a woman were caressing my chest. Wrapped over my shoulders was a curious pair of arms, their fragrant scent dancing across my nose. The inside of my mouth was unbearably dry.

        “So, you’re awake,” whispered a woman’s voice. The arms rose away from me. Soon I was staring at the grinning face of Falsa. “I was wondering when I’d be able to have some fun.”

        “…Fun?” I said hoarsely. It was difficult to speak. My vision cleared, revealing myself to be in the same room Taurus had me locked up in not too long ago. “What…what kind of fun?” The priestess smirked.

        “You are Diagoras the Atheist,” she said, leaning closer to me. “And you’ve been very, very bad.” The priestess was on top of me, her hand rubbing against my cheek. “And when somebody’s been bad, they need to be…disciplined.”

        “I’m really not in the mood for this,” I groaned. “Get off of me, lady.”

        “You’re not in a position to be giving out orders.” Falsa’s arms reached around the back of my chair, her hands locking with mine. “You attacked the Emperor last night. Might as well have some fun while you’re still breathing.” The priestess started to unbutton my shirt, giggling the whole time.

        “Dear, that’s enough.” Verus stepped into the room, a plate of food in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. His clothes were simple; modern, even. The man was from this time period after all. “I need to speak with him. Alone.” The priest pointed to the door. Falsa turned around, the excitement fleeing her face as soon as she caught sight of her husband.

        "Oh, why do you have to be such a stiff, honey?" huffed the priestess. Falsa got off of me, putting her arm around Verus' shoulder. "It isn't fitting, you know, having the rex sacrorum coddling atheists. Why can't we have some fun with him? We could do it together, make a game out of it." The priestess turned to look at me again, grinning like a lunatic.

        "Out," ordered Verus, pointing the plate to the door. He looked almost like a waiter. Scowling with reluctance, Falsa walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the priest. Verus set the plate and wine in front of me. Salmon and figs, the silverware carefully placed on the edges of the dish.

        "Eat," commanded the priest. "You need your strength." After a brief hesitation, I began slicing at the fish. Verus sat in the chair opposite me. "I know what you must think of him, but the Emperor really is a reasonable man beneath it all," he said, folding his hands together as he leaned in. "After being reminded of what you've done to stop the Sons of Horus, he's decided to chalk your...episode to temporary insanity. One last crime to be forgiven." I took a sip from the wine, letting the sweet juice tickle my throat. Falernian. Pollux, there used to be a time when I drank Falernian every week.

        "And what about the money?" I asked. Verus frowned, his eyes sinking downward.

        "The Emperor said there had to be some kind of punishment," he answered. I took a deep breath, then had another bite of salmon.

        "So, no money, no book." I leaned back in my chair. "This is my reward for helping you guys out. What do I get, then?"

        "You get...an interview," said Verus. "We never got around to arranging one, did we?"

        "There's not much point to an interview now, is there? Nobody's going to hear it."

        “You’ll hear it,” answered the priest with a smile. “Now go on, ask me something.” I stared at Verus, refusing to say a word. There had to be some kind of angle here. Him, Falsa, Taurus, the fucking Emperor…they’re all cronies together. I looked away, getting back to the food on my plate.

        “If you won’t ask the first question, then I will,” said Verus. “Why do you hate the gods so much?” As soon as the question hit me, I stopped chewing my food, struggling to swallow what was left in my mouth. After washing it down with another sip of wine, I looked up at the priest.

        “My sister,” I replied.

        “I’m not a mind reader, my son. I need you to be more specific. What about your sister?” I put the fork down, my finger idly rubbing across the edge of my plate.

        “She was a good person. A priestess, even. Always smiling, helping people out in need. But then she slips up once. Once!” I held up a finger to the priest. “And suddenly the whole world hates her. They banished her from society. Some people even wanted her dead. Complete strangers, saying my sister deserved to die. Every time I see a temple, every sacrifice, every festival...all I can see is her locked up in that swamp.” I closed my eyes, tried to imagine a meadow, pretend I was somewhere else. I opened them again, returning to reality as quickly as I’d left it. Same shitty old room, same priest staring me in the face.

        “And you know why they did it?” I continued, leaning closer to Verus. “Because she broke a vow to the gods. Had to punish her, don’t want the gods getting pissed at us too, do we? Nobody’s…” I began laughing to myself. “Nobody’s seen the fucking gods before! All the old stories about them don’t make any sense! We have…we have no idea they even exist! But they decided to ruin the life of a real person, a living, breathing, innocent person, all so they wouldn’t upset the gods.” Verus hung his head.

        “I'm sorry,” said the priest.

        “You'd damn well better be sorry!” I drank the wine again, taking down half of the glass at once. “Maybe if you and your wife weren't slicing open a pig every month, people wouldn't be so hung up on making sure we never offend the gods.” The priest was still too much of a coward to look me in the eye. “How do you sleep at night? Seriously, I want to know. I mean...you've based your entire life around feeding people a pack of lies!” Verus looked up at me, his brows furrowed.

        “What I give people, Diagoras, is hope,” he said. “The world can be scary sometimes. Right now I'm sure you understand that even better than I do. If people took too long to dwell on all the uncertainties of life, they'd fall into despair.” The priest managed a weak smile. “And that is where I come in. That is why I hold the sacrifices, promise the people of Rome that the pax deorum will still go on. When people listen to me, they're comforted. They hear how there really is order to it all, how the gods are watching out for all of us. They can look at the Lares in their homes and rest easy.” Verus leaned closer to me. “You probably think I'm a fool for doing what I do, don't you, Diagoras?”

        “Yes, I do.” I threw one of the figs into my mouth.

        “Well, you're free to call me that. Stupid, crazy...knowing you, I'm sure you can think of something more colorful. But don't say I don't care about people, because that simply isn't true. I've devoted my life to helping people, making sure they feel confident enough to face the world.”

        “You don't need to believe in a bunch of invisible people in the sky to face the world! I'm facing the world, aren't I?”

        “And I commend you for it. Maybe one day everyone can be as confident as you are. But until then, people need guidance.” The priest stared at me with a kind of gravity I'd never seen in him before. “And just because you don't need it, that doesn't give you the right to take it away from those who do.”

        “All right, fine, so people need someone to turn to.” I finished off the last of the wine. “Why do you need to throw so much extra bullshit on top of it? Can't you give people hope and tell them the right thing to do without saying how Jupiter's going to throw a lightning bolt at them if they fuck up?”

        “Who would you rather take advice from? Verus Sperus, the nobody, or Verus, the head sacrificial priest?”

        “I don't think I'd want to listen to either of them.”

        “Of course you wouldn't,” said the priest, smiling to himself. “But to the layman, a guide needs to come from a position of authority. Nobody's in a position so great they can tell the whole world how they should live. Even the Emperor needs someone to guide him at times. So we turn to a new authority, one meant to be the greatest in all the world, one above all mankind. We read stories of their greatness to remind ourselves. It was Venus who birthed Aeneas, Mars who fathered Romulus, Jupiter who personally descended to Earth and told Numa the secrets to make Rome prosper. The gods have proven to us time and again that they're a worthy source of guidance, and it's the priests, their representatives on this world, who we can trust above all else.” Verus pushed back his chair, distancing himself from me.

        “You know something, Diagoras?” he asked. “Let's say you're right, and for all we know you just might be. Maybe the gods aren't real, maybe all the old stories are just fairy tales. Even if they didn't exist, they still provide people a shoulder to cry on, a model to aspire to. After all the lives they've enriched, what makes you so sure people would benefit from you taking those beliefs away?”

        “Because not everyone’s like you,” I replied, pushing aside my empty plate. “You might think you're doing the right thing, helping people, all that shit, but some other priests out there are real crooks. Hey, what about your wife?” Verus' head drooped downward. “Tell me, how did you end up with a girl like her?”

        “We met in college,” Verus answered. “We were both training to be priests.”

        “See, that's my point. If someone like her can become a priest, what's stopping other people like her? People who aren't all about purity and guidance.”

        “She was different back then,” the priest said with a wistful smile. “She was...you know, like me. Hopeful, confident she could make the world a better place. After she was selected to be regina sacrorum...I don't know. I suppose all the power had just...gone to her head.” Verus sighed. “I know what some people say about her, but she really is a good person. I'm sure of it.”

        “The power went to her head. You just said that. You might think the gods are perfect, but priests, people, aren't. If your wife ended up like that, couldn't any priest? Couldn't we all just be getting guidance from a bunch of lunatics?” Verus pulled the empty plate towards himself.

        “I don't think I appreciate you saying all these things about my wife,” said the priest.

        “Why not? If anybody has the right to be angry at her, I'd say it's you. You know she was just about to fuck me, right?” I turned my head to look at the door behind Verus. “That's what it seemed like, anyway.” The priest got up from his chair, slowly approaching me. I'd done it now, I thought. Verus raised his arms, then wrapped them around me in a tight hug, patting me softly on the back. His face tightened, freeing itself from all the anger and leaving a look of quiet solemnity in its place.

        “What in the name of Hercules...?” I grunted, wrestling to free myself.

        “I forgive you,” whispered the priest into my ear, letting me go. He was standing upright in the center of the room now, as firm and stoic as the Statue of Jupiter.

        “What was that all about?”

        “I wanted to remind you of what love feels like,” explained Verus. “I fear you might have forgotten, with how much you've been consumed by hate.”

        “I'm not...I'm not consumed by hate!” I said with a laugh.

        “Are you sure? Hate is all I ever see from you. You hate the gods, you hate the Emperor, you even hate me. Tell me, Diagoras, what do you love?”

        “I love my plan.”

        “Your plan to rid the world of the gods, fuelled by hate. I want you to name a thing you love, not the absence of a thing. You understand that, don't you?”

        “Well...” My eyes darted around the room. An empty glass was still sitting by my seat. “I love wine.”

        “I'm sure you do.” Verus smiled. “What else?”

        “Well...I love my gun. I love my fam...” I bit my lip before I could finish the sentence. “I love my sister.”

        “That's better. Anything else that you love?”

        “There’s...um...that's...that's it,” I said sheepishly.

        “Wine, your gun, and your sister,” repeated Verus. “Three small comforts in an otherwise wretched existence. You accuse us priests of taking attention away from the material world, yet you can't stand the thought of it yourself. This is not a way to live, Diagoras.” The priest approached the other end of the room, shaking his head as he walked. “And if you don't know what's best for yourself, how could you know the right way for other people to think?”

        “I could say the same thing about you. Why do you have to jump on me just because I don't believe in the gods?”

        “I don't care if you believe in the gods or not.” Verus swung open the door, exiting the darkness of the chamber. I trailed after him, the two of us walking side-by-side through the halls of the Pratusian. I put an arm over my eyes. After spending so much time in darkness, the sunlight had become unbearable. “What you think and do has no effect on me, though you might want it to. But it does affect yourself.” Verus turned his head toward me, giving me a serene smile. “I'm going to take you home now, Diagoras. I want you to eat well, spend time with your slave...whatever it is that makes you feel better. And then, I want you to think about all you've done, and whether it's made you happy.”

        “I'll be happy once I'm done. I just need to finish this book, get the message through...somehow. Once I know nobody else will ever be put through what Relicta has, I'll be happy.” Verus shook his head, laughing to himself.

        “Diagoras, let's suppose you got your way. Your message gets through, everyone abandons the gods. Priests get fired, temples are destroyed, the flame of Vesta is put out, and there isn't a single sacrifice ever again. Do you really think suffering would go away with it?”

        “Well, maybe not entirely,” I answered. My arm was itching again. “But there'd be less of it. I'm sure of that much.”

        “And you think believing in the gods is naïve. It's not an easy thing to hear, Diagoras, but there will always be evil people in this world, and there will always be excuses for them to do evil. Take away one reason, and another will simply take its place. There'll always be another Relicta. If the pax deorum isn't complete peace on earth, what makes you so sure a world without it will be?”

        “So there's no hope, then?” I asked. Verus closed his eyes, unable to give an answer. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

        “The only thing you can do. Be good to yourself and to others. Give other people an example to follow.” The priest put his arm around my shoulders, like I was just a child to him. “May the gods watch over you, Diagoras. Now come on, let's get you home.”

AUGUST 7, 2766

“Is this the place, sir?” asked Servius, his hands idly rubbing across the buttons of the tape recorder. I looked at the address in my hands, then back up at the quaint white house standing in front of us.

        “Looks like it,” I said. “Hopefully he's still around to do an interview.”

        “And why are we interviewing him, again? Didn't the Emperor turn you down?”

        “Hey, there's still a chance the Emperor will change his mind later down the line. I'm not ruling out that possibility.” I approached the house, knocking on the door. “Besides...I just really want to speak to this guy.” The door swung open, revealing a frail old man, about a head shorter than me. His whole body was trembling, yet there was a strange sense of calm to his face.

        “He...hello?” said the man.

        “Hi there. Judas Porcius?” I asked.

        “Yes...” The stranger adjusted his glasses. “Who are you?”

        “Diagoras Cinna. We arranged an interview earlier?” Judas' eyes lit up in excitement, the old man grabbing my hand and shaking it fervently.

        “Well, hello there!” greeted the man. “Took you long enough. You were this close to missing your chance!”

        “And I'm Servius!” said the slave, sticking out his hand. “I'm his assi...”

        “Servius is my slave,” I said. Judas grabbed Servius' hand, shaking it with the same excitement.

        “Well, hello to you too, slave!” The old man turned around, retreating to his house. “Please, come in, both of you!” The man's home wasn't too different from my expectations. To my right was a household god, extending his blessings to whoever passed through the door. Framed photographs hung on the walls. Some of them were of a man, Judas in his youth, it seemed.  He had a full head of hair and no wrinkles back then, but that toothy grin of his didn’t change.

        Some of the photos were normal circumstances. Attending a party, his college graduation. Others were of his travels, standing by monuments all over the world: La Horca de Piedra in Britannia, the Temple of Venus in Aelia Capitolina, the Serapeum of Alexandria, the Buddhas of Bamiyan, the Koguryo Tombs of Pyongyang. The man had clearly gotten around during his better years. Others were of a woman, giving the same seductive smile to the camera in every picture. None of the pictures seemed to show the two of them together.

        “Could I get you two something to drink?” asked Judas, wandering into the kitchen. “Wine, coffee, tea? Help yourself to whatever you like, it'll just go to waste otherwise.”

        “Ooh, I haven't had tea in a while!” said Servius. I stuck my arm in front of the slave.

        “Why don't you get something healthier? Like wine?” I whispered. Judas rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, pulling out a small steel kettle. “Believe me, you don't want this guy's tea.”

        Judas filled the kettle with water from the sink, humming an absentminded tune to himself. The old man then placed it on the stove, preparing to bring the water to a boil. I found myself envying his unusual happiness, though his mood was unsurprising. Today was a special day for him. After months of waiting, hoping all the bureaucratic red tape he needed to sift through would sort itself out, today is the day Judas Porcius' dreams come true. The Senate has finally approved his petition to kill himself.

        “The package came just this morning,” Judas explained. “Came with a really nice letter, said the Senate found my reasoning sound. And then they gave me this.” The old man held up a sealed plastic container filled with ground herbs.

        “Tea leaves?” asked Servius, squinting at the bowl.

        “Yes, that's right, tea leaves!” Judas shook the container. “Mixed with a few special ingredients.” The old man opened another cabinet, pulling out a white porcelain teacup. Eagerly unsealing the container, he poured a hearty spoonful of the poison into the cup.

        “We'll, uh...we'll just have wine, thanks,” I said.

        “Very well, then.” Judas pulled two glasses from the cabinet, then made his way towards the fridge, drawing a bottle of dark red wine from within. I took the bottle from the old man, examining its top carefully. Screw-on cap. Suppose I couldn't be choosy.

        “I guess we should get started.” I unscrewed the wine, pouring the thick red liquid into one of the glasses. “Let's get the obvious one out of the way first: What is it that made you want to...you know...” A sharp whistle interrupted me as steam blew out of the kettle.

        “One moment, please,” said the old man with a smile. Judas grabbed the kettle, pouring some of the scalding water into his teapot. He stirred the deadly brew with one hand, while reaching for a saucer with another. Soon he had prepared what looked like the kind of proper stuff they'd drink over in India. There was something unsettling about it, the sight of death in such an unassuming form. If I hadn't known better I'd try to drink it myself. I shook my head, pouring a second glass of wine for my slave. Judas put the teacup to his nose, inhaling the fumes with a satisfactory grin.

        “In the living room, come!” said the old man. “It'd be better if we sit down.” The three of us returned to the living room, Servius and me sitting on the loveseat with Judas in an armchair opposite us. “I guess I should save this for afterwards,” joked the old man, setting the saucer on a nearby table. Servius was already getting into his wine. I looked down at my glass, then over at Judas' teacup. All of a sudden, I wasn't feeling too thirsty.

        “There's not much for me to look forward to,” said Judas, folding his hands and leaning closer to us. “I suppose I can't complain too much. I've got my home, my wine, my television. But I haven’t got a woman, or kids. One morning I just woke up and asked myself, what am I waiting for? That's what keeps us all going, isn't it? Something in the future to get excited about, a dream to fill you with hope. You've got something to look forward to, am I right?”

        “Oh, yeah!” said Servius. I turned to the slave, already back in his wine as if he'd never spoken at all.

        “...Yes,” I answered, looking back at Judas.

        “Then you understand what I'm talking about,” said the old man with a smile, pointing his finger into the air. “There's just nothing left in this world for me, I'm afraid. All that's left to look forward to is passing over into the next one.”

        “Do you want your wine, sir?” whispered Servius, tapping me on the shoulder. I looked down at the drink, still untouched.

        “Yes, I do.” The slave scooted further towards his own end of the couch. I looked back at Judas. “So, you decided to die back in...January, correct?”

        “That's right. Saw what you wrote in the Tribune, thought you might like to have a talk. After all, it'd be a while before the Senate could get to me, what with how busy they are.”

        “If you're so determined to...to do what it is you're doing, though, why wait for the Senate's approval at all? You can get poison yourself just fine, you know.”

        “I thought about that, you see, but then I wondered...what if my death wasn't sanctioned? Dying's all well and good, but dying before the gods are ready for you...well, that leads to serious problems. I could end up spending eternity in Tartarus, for all I know! So I decided I'd write to the Senate, see what they think.” After some hesitation, I took a sip of my wine. Driest shit I'd ever tasted. Half of me wanted to spit it out.

        “Is there a problem with the wine, fella?” asked Judas.

        “It's fine,” I sputtered, swallowing it down. “What were you saying...right, Senate. You know, they don't look at too many suicide pleas these days, but from what I've been told all they really look at is if there's any money in your death or not. You haven't, erm...bequeathed any of your possessions to someone else already, have you?”

        “Don't have anyone to give it to,” answered the old man, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “All my family's dead, I'm afraid.”

        “So, this house, everything in it...all of it's just going to go to the government once you die, then, right?”

        “I suppose so,” Judas said.

        “Well, I'm...” I pinched my forehead and took a deep breath. “I'm pretty sure they only approved your plea so they can take your stuff! They want you to die, because then they'll get your money.”

        “And they can have it!” huffed Judas. “I don't care why they approved me, just that they did. I've done everything by the book, and I've been approved to die. No more being alone. No more lying in bed, waiting for the day to end so the cycle can start all over again. All that's left for me is Elysium.”

        “So that's the reason for it all, then?” I put my wine to the side, on a nearby table. “You've filled out this suicide plea so you can go to Elysium?”

        “Have you ever gone outside and found out the weather is all wrong?” asked Judas, looking up at the ceiling with a wistful smile. “Too hot, too cold, rainy...whatever. They say in Elysium it's always spring, you know. The weather's always just right. They don't have bad days down there.” The old man closed his eyes, imagining himself in paradise. “All the good people who have ever lived are there too. I'll be able to see my family again. I'll be able to see Volusa again! And I'll get to meet Romulus, Aeneas, Caesar, Pratus...a gathering of all the greatest people who ever lived, and because I've been sanctioned, I'll be there too! Dancing and reuniting and eating the fruit that never runs out! Of course I want to go to Elysium, Diagoras! When you look at how dreary this world is, I'd be crazy not to!” The old man dipped his finger into the teacup, then pulled it back. Servius got up from his seat, grabbing my glass of wine.

        “Listen, Judas, I know what it's like being unhappy. I really do. But...”

        “Don't try to use your tricks on me!” barked the old man, all the joviality quickly fleeing from him as a trembling finger pointed at me. “You came to hear my story, and I'll tell it to you, but I won't fall for any of your blasphemies! You're not going to keep me out of Elysium!” I tried to look away from him, only for the statue of the Lar to catch my eye instead.

        “I'm not...” I started laughing to myself, scratching at the palm of my left hand. “I'm not trying to keep you out. What I mean is...you know, you'll have plenty of time for Elysium once you get there. Why not make the most of this world while you still can, huh?”

        “Look at these pictures,” said Judas, gesturing at the photos on his wall. “I've seen the world, son. I'm done with it. There's nothing here for me. Nothing worth putting off paradise for. I'm done.” The old man dug through his pocket, pulling out a shining gold aureus.

        “Is that...for us?” asked Servius, halfway through my glass of wine.

        “Of course not, slave. It's for the ferry.” Judas flipped the coin, catching it in mid-air. “Old Charon will take just about anything, of course, but if you want the best seats, you give him an aureus. That's my plan, only the best of the next world for me.” He pulled his teacup closer towards him. “Now, was there anything else you wanted to ask, or can I leave?” There was a pit in my stomach. He was really going to go through with this.

        “Listen, Judas, I...” I pursed my lips together, trying to find words. “Let's just...let's just suppose there's no underworld, all right?”

        “I already told you!” he shouted. “I won't believe your lies!”

        “Listen, listen!” I stuck both hands out at the old man. “I'm not saying there's no underworld, all right? I want you to just...suppose there isn't. Like, pretend. Can you do that?” Judas squinted at me, like he couldn't wrap his mind around the words. “Now, if there was no underworld, and...and I'm not saying there's no underworld, just...if there was, got it? If there was no underworld, you'd be cutting your life short for nothing. You'd probably wish you stuck around as long as you could, then. But...but if there is an underworld, you're definitely going to Elysium, whether you die now or later. Staying alive's the safer option, when you think about it. So you should wager that the underworld doesn't exist. Does...does that make sense to you?” Servius and Judas were both staring at me now, barely a clue on either of their faces about what I'd just said.

        “I'm sorry,” said Judas, reluctantly shaking his head. He lifted the teacup off the table. “But I've made a commitment. If I were to call it off now, even suspect paradise doesn't wait for me, I'd be blaspheming. I could see myself out of Elysium that way.”

        “Hey, hey!” I shouted. “Judas, what are you doing? Seriously, don't do anything drastic. You need to think before...” In just a second, the old man had swallowed down the tea, putting the empty cup back on the table.

        “Mmm...not so bad,” said Judas. The old man put the aureus in his mouth, clenching it between his teeth. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Diagoras. It was good to see somebody before I left this world. When I meet Dis, I'll be sure to put in a good word for you...” Judas closed his eyes and fell silent, leaving me and Servius alone in the abandoned home of a dead man.

        “He...he's not...you know...is he?” stammered Servius.

        “Hello, Judas?” I said, rising from my seat. I snapped my fingers in front of the old man's face. “You still there?” Judas didn't budge, the smile on his face as peaceful as ever. The headaches were about to return again.

        “Turn off that tape recorder,” I ordered. Servius promptly shut off the device. “We're...we're done here.” The slave ran out of the house, anxious to get as far away from the corpse as possible. Me, I stayed just a moment longer, staring at the body. He looked like he was just sleeping. What if he was? For all I know he might snap back to life, catch me in the act. Didn't matter, had to go through with it.

        I squeezed the corpse's cheeks, forcing his lips open, then pushed a finger into his mouth. My head was throbbing. This was disgusting, but necessary. I pushed my nail between his teeth, then pulled downward. Over his molars was the gold coin, dangerously close to Judas' throat.  With two fingers, I gently pried the coin out of the corpse, wiped it off on my shirt, and dropped it in my pocket.

        I need it right now more than he does.

AUGUST 10, 2766

“Thank you for taking me along, sir,” said Servius, stepping over a muddy twig on the ground. “It's been a while since I've gotten to see Relicta.”

        “...Yeah, sure, no problem,” I mumbled. I looked down at the newspaper in my hands. It felt odd, holding a copy of the Tribune without my name in it. “Do you think she'll like this?” I asked, holding the newspaper out towards the slave.

        “I think so, sir,” Servius answered, shifting the bag of supplies to his other hand. “A big headline like that is something you'd want to hold on to, maybe even hang up on the wall!”

        “I hope she does. It's hard, you know? I always want to bring her something when I visit, but I never know what she really wants. If anyone's in the position to want something, it's her, isn't it?”

        “She'll like it, trust me,” said the slave. The dismal shack was in front of us now. As soon as I'd rapped on the door, my sister pulled it open, beaming with the same smile she always has when I visit.

        “Servius!” she shouted, running forward to hug the slave. “Castor, how long has it been? You look so different!” Servius leaned his head against Relicta's chest, smiling as she pet at his head.

        “Hey, Relicta,” I said, managing a smile. “Mind if we come in?”

        “Oh, of course!” Relicta stepped backwards, clearing the doorway for us. “Please, make yourselves at home.” I entered the shack, trying to keep my focus on the floor.

        “Is that food?” asked my sister, pointing at the bag in Servius' hand. The slave pulled a bunch of grapes out from it.

        “I know it's not as fancy as what I usually bring,” I apologized. “Money's been kind of scarce lately. I pretty much only had one aureus to spend. I did get something else for you, though.” I held out the newspaper's front page to my sister. “NOVA ROMA TO SEND MEN TO SPACE,” blared the headline. Relicta's mouth fell agape as soon as she saw it.

        “Is this real?” she asked, taking the paper out of my hands.

        “If it's in the Tribune, it must be. Seems like the Emperor's planning a show of global superiority.” I put my hands in my pockets, scowling. “It's...it's still a big deal, though.”

        “Oh, Diagoras, this is lovely!” Relicta twirled around, holding the newspaper up to the ceiling. “Romans in outer space, just think about how far we've come! Oh, the other Vestals must be doing a good job tending that fire!” I fell into a nearby chair. The room was starting to spin.

        “Is that a new dress, ma’am?” asked Servius. “It looks nice.”

        “Well, thank you, Servius!” said Relicta, doing a little curtsy. “I learned how to sew clothes myself a long time ago. They're not the best, but I do what I can.”

        “...How do you do it?” I asked, putting a hand over my eyes.

        “Well, the first step is getting some cloth...”

        “No, I mean how do you stay so happy? I mean, just...just look at this place!” I gestured at the room around me. “You've lost everything. You've been trapped in this accursed swamp for twenty years. You should be a fucking lunatic by now, yet every time I see you you're smiling like a kid on Saturnalia. How do you do it? Seriously, I want to know. I need to know.” Relicta turned to me, the smile finally vanishing from her face.

        “Diagoras, sweetie?” she asked. “Is...is everything all right? This isn't like you.”

        “He's been like this a lot lately,” said Servius. “It's happened ever since...”

        “Shut up!” I shouted. “Don't go talking about me like I'm not here!” Relicta kneeled down with the dignity of a Vestal, putting herself on my level. She wrapped an arm around me and smiled.

        “Tell me what's wrong, Diagoras.” I shook my head, taking a deep breath through my nostrils.

“I really wish you hadn’t asked me that,” I mumbled. “Now I have to do it, don’t I?” I told her. I told her of strange old Chinamen with unreadable books, of meeting Legate Taurus face-to-face, of shooting four men. I told her of my betrayal, how my dreams have fallen to pieces, no hope for me, no hope for her. I told her of all the rashes and headaches and the thoughts that keep me up at night. When it was all said and done, I put my head down and waited for her judgment.

        “So what are you going to do?” asked Relicta.

        “I...fuck, I don't know,” I mumbled. “I just...I don't know, I had this idea that if I could open people's eyes to what the gods are doing, they'd just stop being horrible to each other, if only a little bit. They'd stop being horrible to you.”

        “We've talked about this, Diagoras.” My sister gave me that weird motherly smile of hers. “People can do bad things, but not the gods. The gods allow us to do things like this.” She held up the newspaper. My head started trembling. I couldn't take that smile anymore. Why can't she just be angry for once?

        “All right, since you think you've got all the answers, tell me what I should do, huh? My plan's fallen to pieces, I've got no job, the whole world's afraid of going anywhere near Diagoras the Atheist...what's next for me, huh? Should I just spend the rest of my life living in a shithole like you do? I don't have the patience for that!” I leaped from my seat. “I wasn't trained from childhood to be Little Miss Perfect all the time. I'm a journalist, I'm a critical thinker. When bad things are happening, I've got an obligation not to ignore it.”

        “Diagoras...” said Relicta, her eyes darting around the room. “Is...is this room too stuffy for you? Maybe you need to...go get some fresh air, talk to us once you're calmer...” Servius nodded along with the suggestion.

        “...You know what? Yeah, I'll go do that. Maybe some...some air will do me good.” I turned around and started walking towards the door. Servius stood up as well, moving closer to my sister.

        “Relicta? Ma’am? There was something I wanted to ask you...” said the slave. I was already out the door before I could hear the rest. Birds were chirping overhead. I took a deep breath. The swamp wasn't so bad, all things considered. No nosy family, no one trying to remind me of how far I've fallen. Just me and nature.

        I put two fingers to my lips, pretended I had a cigarette. Was suddenly craving one, couldn't quite say why. Afterwards I began pacing back and forth across the breadth of my sister's shack. I'd blown it, hadn't I? Something I said had set Relicta off. She and the slave are probably talking of a plan to take me down together right now, while I can't hear them. I suppose I'd have it coming if I'd hurt Relicta. She was the one I've been doing all this for. If she's not happy with me...I'm not sure I'd be able to live with myself.

        My palm started itching again. Pollux, that never goes away, does it? It's probably nothing serious, I told myself. I bet it's just because I'm outside. All this nature is making me feel funny. Nothing to worry about, no big deal, it'll all be fine. Just need to head back inside. I stepped into the house. Servius was hugging Relicta, letting go as soon as I came through the door.

        “Is...is everything all right here?” I asked. Relicta rubbed at her dress, straightening out the wrinkles.

        “Diagoras, sweetie, Servius and I were talking...do you really not believe?” asked my sister.

        “In what, the gods? No, I don't.” I crossed my arms.

        “I told you,” whispered Servius. Relicta was staring at me, not a trace of emotion in her unblinking eyes. She walked up to me, wrapping her arms around my body once she was close enough. This time it was different. Not a hug. It felt almost like she was falling down, clinging to my body for support. My sister buried her face into my shirt, hoping to muffle the sound of her sobbing.

        “Did I...did I do something wrong?” asked Relicta, her tear-stained eyes looking up at me. Servius rushed toward my sister, rubbing her shoulders in comfort.

        “Hey, hey, no, sis...” I patted Relicta on the back. “You...you haven't done anything wrong. I promise.”

        “Then why have you turned away from the gods?” she asked. Servius looked away from my sister, glaring at me. A sharp wind blew through an open window, causing the flames in Relicta's fireplace to dance and sway.

        “Because I...” I started laughing to myself, drowning out the sounds of Relicta's sorrow. “Because I...turning away from the gods isn't a bad thing, you know.” My sister's grip loosened.

        “Wh...what do you mean?” Relicta stood upright and took a few steps backwards, trying to put some distance away from me.

        “Diagoras?” whispered the slave. “I think maybe we should move to a different sub...”

        “Hold it, Servius. If anyone deserves to understand this, it's her.” I walked closer to my sister. Her eyes were darting left and right, so confused about what was happening. “Relicta...what if...there was no pax deorum? What if the Sun came up every morning all on its own, without Apollo having to pull it?” My sister stared at me, dumbfounded.

        “But if the gods didn't protect us...”

        “We'd protect ourselves. We've been doing that for thousands of years now, we just don't realize it yet. I'm not a bad person, Relicta, you know that. I just think that we've reached the point where we don't have to tell ourselves there's men in the sky watching over us.” I picked up the newspaper, getting a good look at the smiling astronaut on the front page.

        “We've...we've gone over this!” said my sister, smiling nervously. “Just because you haven't seen the gods yourself doesn't mean they're not there guiding us. Just because some people do bad things for the gods doesn't mean you should blame them for it!”

        “And I don't blame the gods,” I explained. “I blame the idiots that try pulling this shit off for their sake. But the funny thing is, if the gods are really out there, and they really had a problem with keeping you locked up here, why haven't they done anything? You think treating a priestess so horribly would be prime grounds for the gods to break out their wrath. Where's Jupiter's thunderbolts, huh? Why isn't the judge that threw the book at you...I don't know, covered in boils or something?” The room fell silent, save the crackling of Vesta's flames. Relicta was staring down at the floor, scared to even look me in the eye.

        “I broke my vow,” whispered Relicta. “I broke my vow, and for that I needed to be punished. The gods have no reason to be angry. Their justice has been carried out.” Servius wrapped an arm around my sister.

        “Why are you doing this?” I screamed, shaking my head. “Why are you willing to hurt yourself just to make the gods happy? Do you really want to spend your whole life trapped here?” Relicta was shaking her head now, mumbling under her breath, trying to block out everything I say.

        “The fact is, you could be free right now if you'd put all these superstitions aside,” I explained. “It wouldn't be as bad as you think, I promise. All the stuff you've been told about turning away from the gods...it's just something they say to keep you in check. I mean, look at me, I'm just fine, aren't I? The fact is, the flame of Vesta could go out right now, and the world would keep on spinning.” Relicta wiped the tears away from her eyes, stood upright, and looked at me.

        “Thank you for the newspaper, Diagoras...” she said, trying her hardest to stay composed. “I hope you'll come over to visit me again sometime.” My sister went silent, the rest of the room going along with her. My breath slowed down, all the excitement quickly vanishing.

        “Yeah...” I mumbled, turning around. “Yeah, I'll...I'll visit you again sometime. I love you, Relicta. Come on, Servius.” I opened the door, the slave trailing behind me.

        “Good luck, Servius!” shouted Relicta as we stepped out. I shut the door behind us, leaving the two of us by ourselves outdoors. Just me, the slave, and nature.

        “Good luck?” I repeated. “What was that all about?”

        “Why did you get her mad?” whined Servius, stepping ahead of me as we made our way out of the swamp. “You shouldn't try to hurt Relicta, you know.”

        “I wasn't trying to hurt her. I was trying to free her from the mindset that's keeping her locked up there.”

        “All you did was make her upset.” Servius looked up, enjoying what little sunlight could seep through the trees overhead. “She seems pretty happy how she is.”

        “Where'd you hear that from? Dad?” I scratched at my arm. It's probably just mosquitoes, I thought to myself. “Nobody's happy being locked up in a swamp, cut off from civilization. If Relicta thinks she is, then she's lying to herself. I'm giving her the chance to be free here, really free. Free body, free mind. But she's too deep into all that priestly bullshit to see the truth.” I shook my head. “Maybe one day she’ll figure out how brainwashed she’s been. Now come on.” I picked up my pace. “We'd better hurry up.”

        “Why, sir?” asked the slave, trailing behind me as I ran.

        “We've got to get back to the city before they stop handing out rations.”

AUGUST 17, 2766

I adjusted the pillow on the couch, trying my hardest to stay comfortable and focus on the television. It had become impossible to think straight. The insufferable sound of Servius rummaging through the junk strewn around the apartment rose above everything else.

        “Servius!” I screamed, lifting my head as far as my aching neck would allow. “Could you...could you be a little quieter? Please?” The slave ran out of the room, a matchbook in his hands.

        “I'm sorry, sir, but I need to get the altar ready for the Portunalia.” The slave looked down on me, raising an eyebrow. “I'd be done faster if you helped me, though.”

        “We've...we've gone over this already.” I put a hand to my forehead. “I'm tired of all these silly holidays. All those...all those fucking festivals I visited for nothing. You want to do the Portunalia, fine, but I'm staying out of it. Turn up the TV, will you?” Servius rolled his eyes, adjusting one of the knobs on the set before running off again.

        “More information on the situation in Beirut as it develops,” read the newswoman on the screen.

        “Servius!” I screamed again. “Could you change the channel?” No response. The slave was off in his own world, preparing to appease the god of keys.

        “The State Department of Space announced this morning that final preparations are being made for the launch of the Sol Invictus spacecraft, with plans to send a man into orbit around the Epulum Jovis. When asked for a response, pilot Lapis Pastor stated he plans to eat with the gods at the same time everyone else will.” Eat with the gods. Such a load of bullshit. If the guy's going up into space, he should know he won't see anyone else up there.  Why does he stick to these crazy superstitions? He, of all people, should know better than that. Of course, that's assuming the thing even takes off.

        “The former leader of the Sons of Horus, known only as Nakhthorheb, succumbed to crucifixion last night,” read the newswoman. The screen shifted to show a wooden post, surrounded by a pile of the condemned's dung. The camera panned upwards. I could see a pair of legs now, a nail driven through the man's feet. Soon I could see a shrivelled penis too. After that, I was looking at the bloodied face of Nakhthorheb, still wearing his pharaonic headdress. Even in a death as gruesome as his, there was something almost serene about his face, a man finally at peace. I started to picture his last moments, struggling for breath, surrounded by corpses, begging those crazy gods of Egypt to just take him already. My stomach churned. For some reason, seeing him strung up on television for all the world to see set me off. I couldn't have been sorry for him. Nakhthorheb was a bastard, he deserved this and worse. Still, such a horrible way to die exists out there. I'm probably just another blasphemy away from being on a cross myself. Not that there was much left in life for me.

        “A spokesman for the Praetorian Guard described Nakhthorheb's capture and execution as a crucial victory in the endless war against domestic threats,” continued the anchor. “However, the whereabouts of other members of the Sons of Horus remain unknown.” The television was drowned out again by the sound of Servius' footsteps, dragging something heavy behind him. I pulled myself upright to see the slave preparing the ceremony in the kitchen. On the floor was the altar, a three-legged bowl, stuffed with straw. In one hand, Servius clutched his matches and a copper key.

        “What are you doing?” I asked, getting up on my knees.

        “Preparing an offer for Portunes.”

        “What, indoors?” I pointed at the altar. “Are you going to start a fire indoors?”

        “It's contained, sir. It'll stay in the altar, it'll be perfectly safe.” Servius stepped away, heading into my room.

        “What are you doing in there?” I asked. “You'd better not be messing with my stuff!” The slave stepped out, holding up the household god with both hands. The statue flashed that evil smile of his at me.

        “What...what are you doing with that?” I clutched at my chest.

        “Portunes protects our doors, but the Lar protects our home. He should witness the ceremony too.” Servius headed back to the kitchen, dropping the household god where it could get a clear view of the altar.

        “You know it's just a statue, right? It's not going to see what you do no matter where you put it.” The slave stayed silent, striking a match and tossing it into the bowl. As the flame spread throughout the altar, Servius held the key up into the air.

        “Oh, great Portunes,” prayed the slave. “Protector of gateways, may you watch over and bless this household, allowing no evil to pass through our doors.”

        “Hey, what key is that?” I asked, pointing at the slave's hands. “That's not the house key, is it?” Servius rolled his eyes, looking down at me with a scowl.

        “You're breaking my concentration, sir!” whispered Servius.

        “Why are you whispering? We're the only ones here, you know.” Servius turned his head, gesturing at the household god.

        “I already told you, it's just a statue. You don't need to worry so much about hurting its feelings.” Servius glared at me. There's just no reasoning with slaves. “All right, fine, I won't...'break your concentration.' But what key is that?”

        “It's just a ceremonial key, sir, nothing important.” The slave brought the key down to get a closer look at it. “Could you turn off the television? I can't have any noise.” I leapt out of the couch, shutting off the newswoman's rambling.

        “Oh, great Portunes,” repeated Servius, holding the key up into the air once more. “Protector of gateways, may you watch over and bless this household, allowing no evil to pass through our doors. Just as you protect this home from without, may the Lar continue to protect us from within.”

        “All right, that's real nice,” I mumbled half to myself, clapping quietly. “Now go toss the key in before the fire gets too...”

        “Great gods, please watch over my master, Diagoras,” continued the slave, his eyes firmly shut in prayer. I squinted at the slave. “Please forgive him of his blasphemies, for he doesn't realize the error of his ways. Please guide him through this difficult time he's brought himself into. Help him back onto the right path, to find a job, to make peace with all of those he has wronged. Help him to see the light and recognize your majesty, so that he may join the rest of the righteous in Elysium.” Servius lowered the key down to his chest, mere inches away from the fire. “May this offering please Portunes, and all the other gods of Rome, and may my prayer be heard.” The key was lowered down into the altar. The flames danced green as the repulsive smell of burning copper rose into the air. Without even the smallest hint of panic, Servius prepared a glass of tap water, pouring it into the bowl. Their role in the ceremony completed, the fire died out as quickly as it came.

        “...What was that all about?” I asked, arms crossed.

        “It's what you're supposed to do for Portunalia, sir.” Servius adjusted the household god slightly. It looked like the statue was sneering at me now.

        “No, it's not. I've seen these ceremonies a hundred times. You toss in the key, then say a quick prayer to protect the house. You don't go around asking for people to...'see the light,' or whatever you said.” Servius got back up on his feet, unable to take the sight of me towering over him anymore, I bet.

        “Well, I...” The slave twirled his fingers around each other, being careful not to look me in the eye. “I might have taken a...small liberty with the ceremony. But that's only because I care about you, sir.” Servius stuck his arms out towards me. “It's my job to watch after you, and the way you've been ever since you saw the Emperor...it kind of scares me, you know? You barely leave the house, every time we talk you sound like a wreck, you keep complaining about headaches and rashes...I just want you to get better, sir.”

        “And what do you mean by better?” I took a few steps closer to Servius. “You mean like you? Talking to statues, slicing up pigs, pretending the men in the sky will make everything all right, sending innocent people off to swamps?”

        “No, no, I don't mean like that!” Servius lied, holding up his hands in panic. “I just mean you need to...” I swung a haymaker, knocked my fist across his face. Servius stared at me in disbelief. No words, no screams. Just rubbing his cheek and looking at me with the eyes of a charlatan exposed.

        “Don't...” I pointed at the slave, my finger trembling. “Don't you...ever pray for me, all right? I don't need that shit.” Servius still wasn't talking, his eyes fixed on the hand that punched him. He was probably still trying to put two and two together. That's slaves for you. If he's dumb enough to still think Jupiter and Mars are out there somewhere, he'd have to be dumb enough to not realize when he's been hit.

        Then came the response. Servius charged towards me, knocking me back until I was bent backwards over the couch, the slave wrapping a death grip around each of my shoulders. No words from either of us, just the quick grunts of our struggle. It was beautiful. I tried to wriggle myself free. No use. Servius was too pissed to let me do things the easy way. I lifted my leg, kicking him back. The slave fell on the ground, his head landing just inches away from the altar. I seized the opportunity and leapt onto him, pinning him to the floor. My foot knocked the altar over as I jumped, spilling the charred remains of the ceremonial straw. The ashes fell onto Servius' face. The bastard probably couldn't even see now. I raised a fist and started wailing into him. No technique, no finesse, just striking, again and again. I grabbed Servius by the shirt, shaking most of the ash loose from his face. I could see the tears in his eyes, looking up at me, pleading for it all to end. I grinned, grabbing the household god next to me. I held it up to the slave's face, made sure he could really see that ugly mug he worships.

        “You want it to stop?” I asked.

        “Y...Ye...” whispered the slave, before giving up and nodding.

        “Then pray!” I put the statue even closer. “The gods are always there, protecting you, aren't they? Pray!” Servius fought back the sniffling and closed his eyes.

        “Oh...oh great gods of Rome,” he said hoarsely. “Please...please let me...be safe.” I punched Servius in the shoulder. The slave let out a weak cry, just for the sake of making noise. It didn’t really hurt him, I know it.

        “What do you know? The gods didn't listen,” I panted, returning back to my feet. The slave stayed on the floor, down for the count. “Don't...don't rope me into your bullshit. I'm gonna...ah, Pollux,” I rubbed at the spot on my neck where Servius grabbed me. Never knew he had such a grip. “I'm gonna go take a nap. I want all this cleaned by the time I wake up.”

AUGUST 23, 2766

The morning sun peered through the window, its eyes tickling my face. I tossed around in my bed before getting on my feet, preparing to start yet another day. Sit in front of the TV, eat rationed bread, avoid eye contact with Servius on the rare occasions he actually leaves his room.

        At least I've been feeling better physically. The weird rashes have subsided, if only for a little while. I've got to look on the bright side whenever I can. It feels like there hasn't been too much to life ever since the plan failed. To be honest, the temptation's come up once or twice to shove my gun in my mouth and just put an end to it all already. Of course, as soon as I think about it, I remember seeing Judas leave right in front of me, and the thought subsides.

        I'm still breathing, and for that I've got to nurture hope. Who knows, maybe something good will happen, like people deciding on their own to be more open to the truth, or the Emperor getting cancer. Point is, as tough as things seem, there's always a chance I can still win in the end. I've got to hold on, stay strong. I'll be proven right one day, even if I don't live to see it. If I'm right, and I am, that'll happen. I'm sure of it.

        I stepped out of my room. Servius was coming through the front door, a brown package in his hands. The swelling from the incident had almost gone away. As soon as his eyes caught sight of me, the slave stepped forward.

        “This came in the mail for you,” said Servius, handing the box to me.

        “What is it?” I asked, staring down at the package.

        “I don't know, I just found it in the mail,” answered the slave flatly before retreating to his room.

        “I...nngh...I think I've got a pretty good idea,” I peeled away the tape of the package, ripping the box open. Inside was a colossal three-ring binder, stuffed to the brim with papers. I turned to the beginning, greeted by dense rows of Latin text.

        “I knew it!” I laughed, holding the book up into the air. “Hey, Servius! Remember Lang? The Mexican? His translation came in! Now I can finally figure out what that Chinaman wanted me to read so badly.” Servius stepped out of his room, a suitcase stuffed close to bursting in his right hand. In his left, he cradled the household god, like the ugly thing was a baby crying for his tit.

        “Hey there, Servius...buddy,” I said. “What are you all packed up for?” Servius didn't look at me, walking his way to the couch instead. He set the Lar on the sofa, adjusting its position to make sure it had a comfy seat. Afterwards, he turned his head in my direction, his eyes shut.

        “I'm leaving,” he answered, his grip around the suitcase tightening.

        “Leaving to where, the store?” I chuckled. “It's a quick trip, I don't think you have to pack for it.” Servius took a deep breath. He opened his eyes, caught a quick glimpse of my smiling face, then shut them again.

        “I'm leaving you, Diagoras. I'm free now.”

        “Haha! That's funny, really, it is,” I said, pointing at the slave. “But you can't just up and leave. You're my slave, and...”

        “I was never your slave,” Servius interrupted, his breath degrading to heavy pants. “I belonged to the family. Your father purchased me, and when you came of age your father lent me to you...lent, not given...for your assistance.” Servius opened his eyes again, just halfway this time. “I've been talking to your parents on the phone a lot. About you, about the stuff you've been saying and doing. I...I just don't feel safe around you anymore, Diagoras.”

        “This is some kind of joke, right?”

        “I wanted to go back to your parents' home, work for them again,” Servius continued. “But your father said that if an atheist can be free, it isn't right for someone like me to be a slave. So he filled out the papers and...just let me go.”

        “And you, Servius?” I asked, sticking my arms out toward him. “Is there anybody on my side?”

        “I've been on your side, Diagoras. I followed you along on all those trips, recorded all your interviews...but what you're doing now just isn't right. It's been months since the Tribune fired you, and you still don't have a job. Have you even been looking?”

        “I'm, uh...I'm pretty busy at the moment,” I answered, twiddling my fingers. “But I'll start looking as soon as this book is done.”

        “The book is done, Diagoras. The censors rejected it. The Emperor himself said it's not happening. But you decide to lie to yourself because you can't bear to look at the world how it really is.” Servius was looking straight into my eyes now. “You can live off of the corn dole forever if you'd like, but where are you going to live? You're going to lose this apartment soon if you don't pull yourself together. And then there's the way you've been acting. You've been rude, you've been violent, you attacked the Emperor...you even attacked me, Diagoras!”

        “I disciplined you. You were insulting your master, and you had to be punished.” Servius shook his head, turning towards the door.

        “Well, you're not my master anymore. So...so...” The slave bit his lip, shaking his fist as he looked for the words. “So fuck you, Diagoras!” He was grinning now, his hands trembling.

        “I know all your little games, Servius. You're trying to get me to feel sorry for you. I know you'll be back by next week. You've been a slave your whole life. You can't take the responsibilities of freedom. You don't know what it's like managing money, paying all your bills and taxes on time. Do you even know where you're going to go?” Servius stopped, turning around to look at me again.

        “No, no, I don't,” he said, his voice wavering. “I don't know anything that's about to happen. I don't know what kind of job I'll find, or who I'll meet. It's all so uncertain, but that's what comes with being free, isn't it?”

        “You won't be able to survive out there, you know.”

        “Maybe not, but you know what? If...If I do fail...” Servius' eyes peered over to the door. “If I do fail, at least it'll be because of decisions I made, not because I'm stuck chained to...to somebody like you! Good-bye, Diagoras. May the gods watch over you.” Servius turned around and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The room was quiet as death now, nobody but me. I headed to my desk, pulling open a drawer. Underneath were the notes I've made this year, an endless mess of mishmashed documents. There was still much work to be done before it was all fit to be presented. I started to read one of the sheets, only for my mind to wander back to what just happened.

        He was really gone, wasn't he? Maybe it wasn't all just a bluff. Being set free...if Servius was the kind of person to make up a story like that, he'd have done it a long time ago. My father may not like slaves, but he hates atheists even more. The bastard really would do something like that just to spite me, I bet.

        I shook my head. It didn't matter. What did I ever need a slave for anyway? Housework? It's no big loss. Servius was just holding me back anyway. The project needs to be pure. I can't have some brainwashed believer tainting it. Imagine how messed up my message would get if someone else handled it along the way. Now this would truly be my work and mine alone. I didn't need him at all. I turned back to the notes again, only for my stomach to growl.

        “Servius! Can you make breakfast?” I shouted into the empty room.

SEPTEMBER 4, 2766

The keys of the typewriter clacked away. It was hard to think straight, but when I managed, I could work at an impressive speed. I stopped, taking a brief glance at the handwritten notes by my side. It's been no easy task, trying to turn them all into something presentable, something worth showing to the world. Sometimes it's straightforward enough. For a few interviews, a simple word-for-word transcription will work. Other times, heavy editing is needed. I've had to tweak a lot of people's responses, cut through the bullshit of their exact words to get to what they're really trying to say. If the suits at the Tribune were here, they might have called this fabrication, but I know better than that. It's not lying, it's exposing the truth. The notes are full of lies. Full of lies and incomplete. Some of the details of what's happened these past few months, explaining the visuals behind every ceremony...I couldn't record those. I've had to go by memory. Then there's stuff like the sorry excuse for notes I made during the Bacchanalia. I was too drunk to remember a damn thing. A few of these notes are written in the childish scrawl that could only be Servius' handwriting. I wonder how long he's been tampering with my work. I'm definitely glad he's gone now, I can say that much. Now I'm left with the question of how much faith to put in the slave's notes, especially when I don't have anything on the subject myself. Pollux, it's all such a mess. I need to take all these writings, made by different people at different times, all of them contradicting each other along the way, and collect them into a single, coherent book. I don't think any good could come out of working this way.

        I pushed back my chair, freeing myself from the desk's grip. I can't remember how long it's been since I started my editing for the day. Must have been hours. I had to get out of here, make myself a drink. If I spent too long looking at the notes, I was likely to go crazy. I opened the fridge, pulling out a cold, half-empty bottle of cheap red Merlot. Awful stuff. I'd almost rather drink beer, but I wasn't in the position to complain. They don't give out Falernian on the corn dole.

        I fell onto the couch, staring at the scene above me. The ceiling fan spun overhead, like a clock gone insane, its hands ticking through the days as if they were seconds. I raised my wine, letting the bitter drink slide down my throat. There was something almost comforting about the sight of the fan. No words, no reminders of how horrible the world outside is, or how much better it could be. Just spinning and a cool breeze. I took another sip. I almost wanted to go turn the television on, see if any progress had been made with that space launch. I shook my head, quickly dismissing the idea. If I watch the news, nothing good will come of it. I'll hear how the Emperor's dedicating a new temple, or how there's a mob in the streets looking for atheists...something to put me in a foul mood, I'm sure of it. No, better to just watch the ceiling fan. It's a far more comforting sight.

        I turned my head to the nearby table. The household god was glaring at me. I hadn't moved the thing ever since Servius left. Almost forgot it even existed, really. Yet here it is, looking straight at me with that wicked smile of his. I took another swig of wine, then rolled back and forth, trying to muster the willpower to get out of the couch. I should really put the Lar back in the closet, where it can't bother me anymore. No, wait, better idea. Servius isn't around to complain. I should smash it. Yeah, smash it to dust. That wretched statue's been the last little hold the gods have had over me. Once I smash it, I can be free once and for all.

        “You'd better not do that, Diagoras,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Harming one of the gods would send you straight to Tartarus.” I turned around to see the apparition of a glowing young man, buck naked save the winged sandals on his feet.

        “What the...” I grabbed at my chest, nearly falling out of the couch. “Who are you?” The stranger grinned.

        “You should know me by now, Diagoras,” replied the man. The wings on his shoes started to flap. He was in the air now, circling over me before stopping with his penis hanging directly over my head. “It's Mercury, the cleverest of the gods! We never thought it would take you this long to turn around.”

        “Eh...turn around?” I muttered. “What do you mean?” The god descended, arms crossed as he lowered himself back down to the floor. His once perfect hair had been left frayed, slightly unkempt by the flight.

        “Oh, if only you were half as smart as you think you are, Diagoras,” said Mercury. “People must have tried to warn you a thousand times by now. If you defy the gods, you face the ira deorum.”

        “You can't scare me with that kind of stuff. Look at me, I've been an atheist for ages now. I haven't succumbed to the ira deorum.” Mercury laughed to himself before squatting down, the god lowering himself to my level.

        “Oh, Diagoras, the wrath of the gods isn't always lightning bolts from the sky and turning people into spiders. The gods have more subtle ways to punish you. They can make tiny shifts in circumstance, a lost job here, a damaged reputation there...most of the gods' victims don't know they've been damned until well after it's happened.” The god floated up again, his head looking down on mine. “Look at you. When this year began, you were so happy, so sure of yourself and your little plan. Now you've got no job, no plan, no friends. You're just a miserable shell, drunk and depressed, waiting for things to change when you know full well they won't. There hasn't been a punishment from above as great as yours since Mars turned Nanking to ash. Jupiter would like to let you stay like this, languish in pain for the rest of your days. But I want to help you, Diagoras. I really do. So I'm giving you one last chance.”

        “Nngh...one last chance? For what?” I put an arm over my eyes, hoping to block out the god's radiance.

        “Why, to repent, of course!” boomed Mercury, pointing his finger at me. The winged messenger picked up the household god, holding the statue over me. “I say to you, my servant, the same thing you said to yours! Pray for the pain to stop, Diagoras! Renounce your blasphemy, swear yourself to a life of piety! Honor all the gods of Rome, observe the feasts and sacrifices, and you shall be saved, your suffering brought to an end! Continue your wicked ways, however, and an eternity of torment in Tartarus will await you when you die!”

        “Wait, what...die?” I repeated, sitting upright. “I'm not going to die anytime soon. I mean, I'm still young...” Mercury let out a shrill laugh, the very sound driving a chill up my spine. The god set the statue down on the floor, leaning so close to me I could feel his breath on my face.

        “Why, you're dying as we speak, Diagoras!” said the messenger with a grin. “Of all the torments the gods devised for you, it was great Mother Venus who conceived the cruelest of them all. Ever since you set foot in her temple, Venus' servants have long had a hold of you, slowly eating away at your brain...you don't have much time left. If you don't make the most of these last years of yours, you'll belong in Tartarus.” I stared at the god for a few moments, dumbfounded.

        “No, no...this can't be right...” I mumbled. “This is all another bad dream or something, isn't it? I can't be dying, and you can't be real.” Mercury crossed his arms, frowning.

        “Stubborn to the very end, eh, Diagoras?” retorted the messenger. “I planned for this. If you won't take my word, maybe you'll listen to someone else. Someone you know.” The room began to shake, the ground tearing away mere inches from my couch. A bloody cross rose from the floor with Nakhthorheb nailed to it, naked save the headdress, just like I saw him on TV.

        “Great Isis' tits, Diagoras! Do what he says!” screamed Nakhthorheb, tears running down his cheeks. “The torments of Tartarus are worse than anything you can imagine! Each day Ma'at rips my heart from my chest, and each night Ammit devours my flesh, leaving only my bones behind! Bones, and the bullet you left in me!” The leader of the Sons of Horus looked down at his swollen thigh. “For the love of the gods, turn around, Diagoras! Repent! My punishment is but a small fraction of what awaits you if you don't!”

        “No, Pollux...this isn't right...” I put a hand to my forehead, trying to stop the throbbing from within. “Nakhthorheb...you're dead. You're dead, and you're not real.” I said, pointing to Mercury. I moved my free hand down, idly twiddling with the chain of my necklace. “None of this makes any sense. There's got to be a rational explanation...”

        “Where did you get that?” scowled Mercury, pointing at the swastika.

        “What, this?” I held up the necklace toward the god, his grimace growing at the sight of it. “I got this from...Gottlieb...” There was a picture coming through my head now, the sight of the old Norseman swallowing beer, his drunken ramblings about Mercury being Loki.

        “Loki...mischief...illusions...” I mumbled to myself, rubbing the swastika between my thumb and index finger. “This is all just an illusion, isn't it? None of this is real.” Nakhthorheb's cross retreated into the Earth, leaving me alone with the pouting Mercury.

        “Of course this is real, Diagoras,” said the messenger. His beautiful face was melting away, the god looking more like the kind of blurred image you'd see in a dream. Soon the only detail I could make out for sure was that smile, his pearly white teeth curled into an unnerving grin. “You'll never be saved if you cling on to your atheism. Just give in already. Accept the gods into your heart. Can you do that for me, Diagoras? Can you?”

        “Don't listen to him, Diagoras!” shouted Youtai, appearing by Mercury's side. “Cast out the idols! Carry on the words of the prophets! Fulfill your destiny!” The god and the Chinaman continued barking their orders. An unbearable screech permeated the room, white noise drowning out all the words.

        “Shut up!” I screamed, clamping my hands over my ears. “Get out of here, all of you!” I hurled my bottle at the men, only for it to shatter against the wall. Tears of red wine trickled down the room, slowly streaming towards the shards of broken glass on the floor.  The horrible visions were gone now, the apartment deserted save me, the spinning ceiling fan, and the household god. I picked up the ugly statue, letting its visage imprint itself into my mind. That fucking sneer of his. They say he's here to protect me. I know it's all just a pack of lies. All of it. The Emperor, the priests, the Sons of Horus, my own family. They're all lying, all for me to keep this evil damn statue, always watching me, always sneering.

        I ran back to my room, statue in hand, shaking violently. I pulled up the window, let the cool air blow in, and threw the Lar out into the alley below. I stuck my head out the window, waiting for the faint, satisfying thud as the god met his demise. That's what they deserve. That's what they all deserve, for letting this lie go on. Think of all the people killed for the gods, all the lives ruined. Pollux, the things I would do if I could go back in time. Think I'd go back to Maxentius' time and drown the bastard before he could spread any more of this piety nonsense. Just think of all the wonderful things that would happen without the gods in the world. No more war, no more ignorance, no more suffering.

        “Damn the gods!” I said to myself, cackling. “Damn the gods and all who serve them! You hear that, Mercury? You can't scare me with Tartarus! Your kind's already brought it here on Earth!” I staggered back to the couch, trying to stay calm. Just relax, I told myself. Lie down, stare at the ceiling fan.

        But just then, a funny thing happened. I blinked. I blinked, and in that split second of darkness, all I could see was the Lar, staring back at me with those ugly eyes of his.

SEPTEMBER 13, 2766

“And on that day they read the book of Moxi, reaching the ears of the people.” I shut the book. Couldn’t take anymore. It's nonsense, all of it. Nothing but a bunch of fairy tales and false prophecy. Different gods, different people, same bullshit. Some of the stories are even the same. Like that one near the beginning, about a guy named Nuoya. Gods make a big flood, killing everyone but the one guy that built a boat? That's just Deucalion all over again. I bet that lunatic over at the museum would have a field day with this.

        Some of the stories are pretty interesting, I'll give it that. Still, I can't believe I'll have to send some of my last precious denarii to Lang, all for a book I've got no use for. My mind flashed back to the Chinaman, telling me how important this book was for my mission. That crafty bastard used me. If he had his way, the gods of Rome would be gone, all for a new flavor of lies to take their place. If there's any comfort I have right now, it's knowing he won't get his way either.

        I surveyed the desolate apartment, clothes and empty wine bottles strewn all over the floor. Servius was always the one who did the cleaning, and since nobody else comes in here, there's not much point to making the place look presentable. In a month or two it'll become the landlady's problem, anyway. On the couch was Youtai's manuscript, a book that I was done with. Behind me were my assorted notes, a book that'll never be done. It still burns me up to think about it, the awful black joke the world's decided to play on me. The Emperor's still living large, free to keep spouting bullshit until the day he dies. And me, the guy who fought for truth? I'm the king of a dirty one-man apartment, at least for a little while longer, with nobody's ears except my own. If there was any kind of proof the gods were out there, this right here was it.

        I made my way to the fridge, pulling out the pork from last night. With an uneasy hesitation, I picked up a slice of meat, taking a small bite from it. Cold and bland, but I suppose it beats starving. This is how it's going to be from now on, it looks like. I eat whatever the dole's willing to provide, then I sit around and think about what could have been. Then the next day comes and the cycle repeats, again and again until Mors finally shows up and takes me.

        It's kind of funny, when I think about it. The whole time I was going around, doing interviews, I was scared about what would happen once I was outed. I expected getting the same kind of treatment Relicta did. People whispering my names on the street, calling for my head. Getting locked up, sent to court, maybe even put up on the cross. Instead I get a few minutes of infamy, then the whole world decides to forget about me, no punishment save to languish in obscurity and be unemployable. I bet the Emperor even planned this out, knowing him. Like how way back in the day Maxentius killed the blasphemers quietly. He wouldn't let me be a spectacle. I think I'd almost prefer the cross, to be honest.

        I took another bite of pork, letting the meat roll around my mouth, never quite swallowing it. There's something about the taste of pork that always struck a nerve with me. So naturally, that's the only meat available on the corn dole. Thanks, Gaius. I put the putrid meat back in the fridge. I didn't feel like eating. I just wanted to turn on the television, see what's going on in the outside world, pretend I'm somewhere else. The newswoman was on the screen. I'd spent so much time this past year listening to her drone on I feel like I could draw her face from memory. This time was different, though. Every time I watched the news, the anchor stayed stiff. Read the news, stay cool, don't act personal. This time, she was smiling.

        “A blessed Ides to all of you!” said the newswoman, beaming for the camera. Pollux, is it the Ides already? Feels like the Kalends was just yesterday. “As we speak, preparations are underway for the Epulum Jovis, to be held in the Pratusian Palace. Attending will be Emperor Piissimus, Legate Aurelius Taurus, still recovering from his wounds incurred in the Arabian War, countless Senators and priests, and of course, the gods themselves.” The screen cut to the palace's familiar halls, a lavish wooden table being assembled over the spots I once walked. A crewman pushed forward a plush armchair, with four others lifting a sitting statue of Jupiter into the seat. They always do this, pretend the gods are sitting at the table, eating along with everybody. It's an awful farce, pretending to feed the best food money can buy to a bunch of statues while people like me are stuck with third-rate pork. I don't know where the Emperor gets off, thinking he can pull stunts like this in public.

        Wait a minute, the Emperor. The Emperor's going to be there. At the palace, open to the public so he can grin for the cameras as he spoonfeeds Mars like a baby. Could I go there, I wondered? Maybe this would be the perfect time to have a talk with the Emperor. Yes, a little talk. Just let him know what I've been going through. I'm sure he'd understand after a little talk.

        “In other news, technical difficulties have postponed the launch of the Sol Invictus spacecraft until tomorrow...” I shut off the television. Can't waste any time. I need to get out of this apartment. Need to go to the feast. Need to have a talk with the Emperor. I ran into my room, threw on a coat, and pulled open the drawer next to my bed. There was my gun, resting snugly in its holster. I'd need her for the talk, definitely. At the top of the desk was The Eagle and the Dragon, a yellow bookmark sticking out from where I last left off. I must not have touched it in ages. I grabbed the book, stuffing it into one of the pockets of my coat. I'd better take that too. Once the talk is done, I bet I'll be stuck waiting around for a long time. It'd help to have something to read.

        I wandered out of my room, tripping down to the ground as I stepped through the doorway. As I fell, my head began throbbing again. Suddenly, it was a chore just to put one foot in front of the other. Doesn't matter. Need to focus. Need to get to the palace. Need to have a talk with the Emperor. I pulled myself back up, wiping the dust off my clothes. Lang's manuscript caught my eye. I could use two books once the talk is over. Better take that too. I shoved the binder in another coat pocket, trying to keep the weight even on both sides. Book in one side, book in another.

        I ran out the door, treading down the steps as carefully as my feet could manage. What's become of my body? Am I sick? Doesn't matter. I'll be all right after the talk. Once I have my talk with the Emperor, everything will be fine. I pulled back the front door, entering the outside world. Overhead, Sol was doing his part to stop me, the blinding sun hanging in full view. I put an arm to my forehead, blocking out the horrible light. Do your worst, Sol. The other gods are at the feast. You won't be unconquered after today. I'm getting to that talk.

        I started to run, the streets blurring together as I raced through. Occasionally, I could catch a glimpse of a passerby's face, always a look of odd perplexion to them. They're against me too, I bet. Them and the gods and my legs, brittle and set to snap. Doesn't matter. I'll keep running. Just need to make it to the bus stop, ride it out as close to the palace as I can get. Get on the bus, and then I'll have won.

        The roar of a great vehicle raced past me. Out of the corner of my eye, there was the bus, the light from within its windows beaming down on me. The bus drove past me, leaving me alone on the sidewalk. Fuck. It'd be at the stop soon. I needed to get there fast. I picked up the pace, my surroundings fading away as I ran. I could scarcely breathe, wanted to keel over and vomit, but I kept going. Do it on the bus, I told myself. Make it to the bus, have your talk with the Emperor, then you can do whatever you want. There's nothing they'll be able to do to you after that. You'll have won.

        In the distance, I could just barely make out the bus stop, bored citizens passing the time as they sat in the booth. I could still make it. I ran even faster, ignoring the burning in my thighs. The bus pulled into the stop, waiting for the passengers to fall in. My heart was pounding furiously, drowning out the sounds of the city. Had to keep running. I'm almost there.

        The doors snapped shut. The engine sputtered. The bus drove off, leaving me alone at the deserted stop. Of all the rotten luck. Sol wasn't enough, so now Fortuna's got it in for me too. She's making sure fate itself works against me, knows damn well it's Diagoras the Atheist she's spinning the Wheel of Fortune for. Doesn't matter. The gods control the bus, but they don't control me. The palace isn't that far off. I can make it to the feast. I can make it to the talk. I've got to make it to the talk, have a talk with the Emperor, set all this shit right. Once I talk with the Emperor, I won't have a problem in the world. Not even the gods will be able to stop me once I've finished talking to him.

        Soon the bright buildings disappeared, the cleanliness of the city giving way to desolate slums. Not the prettiest route, but it should get me to the palace faster. The less running I have to do, the better. Ignore the sirens, ignore the swearing in the street. Get to the palace. Get to the talk. Just keep running, just keep...FUCK!

        I don't know what it was that did it. Maybe part of the sidewalk was just misaligned, maybe there was something on the ground. Whatever it was, the damnedest thing happened. I stumbled again and fell to the floor, my chin scraping against the road. Doesn't matter, I thought. Pull yourself up, dust yourself off, get to the palace, get to the talk. I got back up on my knees, only to lose my balance and fall to the ground again. I pushed myself too hard. My legs had finally given out. I was stuck on the ground, gasping for air like a fish. Doesn't matter. This is fine. A small setback. I'll wait a moment, collect myself, then be off again. I'll crawl if I have to. I can still make it to the talk. Then came the sound of footsteps behind me, getting louder as they went along.

        “Well, if it isn't Diagoras the Atheist,” said a voice. I knew this man from somewhere. Couldn't remember. It was hard to think straight. I could still hear footsteps. Was there a second person? “I've been waiting a long time for this!” Fuck. Not going to be a victim. Slid my hand down to my holster. A foot came down on my wrist, pressing it into the ground.

        “Oh no, you're not scaring us off with that again! Get the gun, Bucco!” Two hands dug at my hip, pulling away the pistol. “Is it loaded?” asked the voice. From behind me, I could hear the familiar sound of the gun being cocked.

        “Looks like it,” said the accomplice.

        “Perfect! Let's drag him over there. We don't want any witnesses.” They were grabbing at my legs now, pulling me into a nearby alley. This is really happening. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Almost wanted to cry. This can't be the end. Not before I've had my talk. I closed my eyes. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear. Better to just wait for it to be finished. The hands were grabbing my shirt now, pulling me up, pinning me to the wall. In the distance, I could hear more footsteps. Another friend of theirs? The gun's hammer pulled back. I bit my lip, waiting for the shot. A moment later, I was out cold.

SEPTEMBER 14, 2766

My eyes pried open, a shining white light peering in. The air against my cheek was cool. Wasn't sure where I was, but something about it just felt, I don't know...right. Part of me expected if I rolled over, I'd fall straight into the river Styx. Eventually, I adjusted to the light. Above me, I could see a man being disemboweled. My whole body jolted, the sound of the sudden movement echoing through the silent room.

        “About time you woke up.” I turned around to see Joannes Lacus, the usual frown beneath his beard. “Spending a whole day unconscious isn't healthy, you know. You should probably see a doctor.”

        “Are you...” I put a hand to my chest, then to the stone floor, just to make sure all of this was real. I looked back up at the tortured man, no more than the statue of Prometheus. “Is this your temple?”

        “I thought you would recognize it.” The priest kneeled down before the statue, putting himself down on my level. “It hasn't been that long since you spoke to me.”

        “But I...I was in an alley being...why am I here?” Joannes turned to face me.

        “I was on my way to the Epulum Jovis...”

        “I thought you hated Jupiter.”

        “Yes, but I love the food they give to priests at the feast.” The priest smiled. A real smile, a warm one, the kind where it doesn't feel like he's about to cut your throat. “I saw two men surrounding you. Looked like one of them had a gun.” I put my hand to my hip, only to feel an empty holster. “So I stepped in and claimed you were under the sanctuary of the Temple of Prometheus. Anyone who wanted to kill Diagoras the Atheist would be willing to respect the protection of a priest, I thought.” Joannes returned to his feet, wiping the dust off of his robes. I looked back up at the statue of Prometheus, the scene of horror overlooking this serenity.

        “I thought you were pissed at me. You know, because of all the things I said. Why did you help me?”

        “You needed help,” said Joannes with a shrug, pacing around the temple halls.

        “I suppose there's some kind of catch, though, isn't there? Let me guess, I lose your protection if I leave the temple?”

        “No, no, nothing like that. You're free to go. But if I were you, I'd think long and hard about just where you're going.” The priest retreated to his office, leaving me alone in the temple's halls. Just me and the chained Prometheus. I laid down on my back, tried my best to get comfortable, then did just what I was told. I thought about all I'd done, all I'd lost. It's funny, you know. Ever since the Emperor shot me down, part of me had fallen into despair, thought there was nothing left in the world for me. And yet when I was in that alley, I really thought it was the end. I was going to die, and I didn't want it to happen. Deep down, I had some reason to keep on living. I wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was there.

        So what was it, then? The plan had fallen to pieces, that much was clear. Was I supposed to just settle down, find a job and a woman, play normal and hope that the days of Diagoras the Atheist could be put behind me? Fat chance of that happening. I was an outcast now. No, whatever became of me, it couldn't be normal.

        After a while, Joannes returned, carrying a plate in his hands. On top was a loaf of bread, so fresh I could see the steam rising from it.

        “Thought you might want something to eat,” said the priest, setting the plate down on the ground. Without a moment's hesitation, I bit into the bread, almost leaping in ecstasy as it rolled across my tongue. I could barely remember the last time I ate anything this good.

        “Thanks,” I said, before diving into the bread again.

        “There's a spare cot in the back, too,” Joannes offered. “You know, if you wanted someplace a little more...comfortable.”

        “You know what? I think...I think I'm fine here. Really.”

        “If you insist,” said the priest with a shrug, heading off out of sight again. The temple's halls were lonely once more, but far from silent. After so long without eating, I couldn't bear to finish off the bread quietly. Before too long, there was an empty plate in front of me. I put a hand to my satisfied stomach, only for something hard to block me. I pulled open my coat, and Youtai's book greeted me. I almost forgot I stuffed two books in there. Better take them out, I decided, give myself some room to breathe. I set the two tomes on the floor, then fell down on my back. When you take away all the sacrifices, the rituals, the bullshit preaching, there's actually something relaxing about being in a temple.

        Joannes came hurrying out the door again, his pace more frantic than before. This time, he was clutching a portable radio.

        “What now?” I demanded.

        “You'll want to hear this,” said Joannes, his eyes wide and his mouth barely able to hide a smile. The priest set the radio on the ground, pushed a button, then ran back to the seclusion of his office.

        “This is Lapis Pastor,” spoke the crackly voice on the radio, a deep breath following every word. “I am currently looking over the planet Earth...from the reaches of outer space.” I turned my full attention to the radio, just to be sure I'd heard that right. I'll be damned. They really did it. There's a man in space.

        “For all the people back on Earth, the crew of Sol Invictus has a message that we would like to send to you.” The radio paused, emitting the faint crackle that was as close to silence as it could get. Then, the voice read. “Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball, and the sky's high canopy that covers all, one was the face of nature, if a face: rather, a rude undigested mass. A lifeless lump, unfashioned, and unframed, of jarring seeds, and justly Chaos named.” He's reading the Creation. It was getting hard to breathe again. There was a funny churning in my stomach. The radio didn't care. The voice read on.

        “No sun was lighted up, the world to view. No moon did yet her blunted horns renew. Nor yet was Earth suspended in the sky, nor poised, did on her own foundations lie.” The poem continued. I couldn't bring myself to focus anymore. I put my hands over my face, made sure not a soul could see me, and I cried, sobbing like I hadn't done since I was a child.

SEPTEMBER 15, 2766

This will be my final entry. All this time I thought this book was to be the culmination of my life's work. Instead, it seems to only be the start of a much greater journey. This morning, Joannes approached me, still resting in the halls of his temple.

        “How are you feeling?” he asked. I sat upright, stretching my arms as I returned to my senses.

        “I'm feeling...good. Really good,” I said with a smile. “I feel like...I don't know how to put it. I feel like things have been wrong for a long time, but they're finally starting to go right again. Maybe that's how it works, you know? In the end, things always go right, even if it takes forever for it to happen.” I twiddled my thumbs together for a moment, the two of us sitting in silence. I looked into the priest's eyes. “I know what I want to do now, Joannes. I want to help you.”

        “Help me? With what?”

        “With this!” I answered, gesturing at the room around us. “You want more people here, worshipping Prometheus, don't you? I want to help you do that.” Joannes eyed me skeptically.

        “I thought you didn't believe in Prometheus,” he said.

        “That's right. And you know what? I still don't. But I'd rather have a guy like you in charge than what we've got now. A religion about helping people, about knowledge, one that's not so hung up on all these petty rituals. If more people believed the stuff you do, all the dogma, all the ignorance and suffering...it'd go right out the window, I bet!” I took to my feet, laughing. Part of me wanted to dance around the room. Joannes still looked unimpressed.

        “That's...I appreciate that, really,” replied the priest. “But I don't see how you can get more people worshipping Prometheus. The average person...they don't like what they hear about him in the stories.”

        “Then change the stories. Make them into something people would like. I'm a writer. I could help you with it.”

        “Alter the scripture?” Joannes raised an eyebrow. “You're suggesting we build our religion around a lie.”

        “If it means being able to change the world, I'd say telling a lie is worth it, wouldn't you? Now go on, tell me all about Prometheus. Begin at the very beginning.” The priest rolled his eyes, then nodded.

        “Well, Prometheus was born to the Titans Iapetus and Asia...”

        “No,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “It's too mundane. You need to make the circumstances around his birth more extraordinary. Make it clear from the very start he was something special. Let's say he was born from a virgin.”