Dane walked up onto the shore, the black material giving way slightly under his feet. It was like sand, but with larger granules. There was no indication of vegetation, and the haze still limited observation. He heard a splash and Ahana was swimming ashore. As soon as she was next to Dane, Shashenka followed, holding the AK out of the water above his head to keep it dry.
“Which way?” Shashenka asked.
Dane answered by walking inland, toward the crest of the black dune, Ahana and Shashenka following. His lungs labored for oxygen as he climbed.
Just short of the crest, he abruptly stopped.
“What is it?” Ahana asked as she came up next to him.
Dane pointed down. A set of footprints cut across their path, heading to the right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Falco felt the aches of old wounds aggravated by sleeping on the cold, hard ground. He slid out from under the thin blanket and stood. It was still dark, about a half hour before dawn, the most dangerous time for an army in the field. He stretched his arms over his head, then slipped on his gladiator’s lorica segmentata, trying tight the laces that held the metal together in the front. He drew his sword, wiping down the metal with a cloth to make sure no moisture remained on the blade.
Putting his helmet on, he began to make a circuit of the camp along the interior of the hasty perimeter. He checked on the guards, making sure they were alert. Then he detailed a water party and made sure those in charge of breakfast were at work. By the time he made it back to the center, General Cassius and Kaia were also up, and the first hint of dawn was in the east.
“The word has spread about the barbarians behind us,” Falco told Cassius. There was no such thing as a secret in a legion.
“And the mood?” Cassius asked.
“Most are more worried about the black wall than the barbarians,” Falco said.
“I want a cohort ready to move in an hour,” Cassius said.
“Already taken care of,” Falco said.
Breakfast was eaten in silence, the men chewing on dried meat and stale bread. Falco ate nothing, his usual preparation for combat. He’d seen men with food in their gut suffer a wound in the stomach and knew the odds of survival were better with nothing inside.
He glanced over at Kaia. The priestess also was not eating. She met his gaze. Falco was startled; he caught something in her eyes, something that reminded him of Drusilla. It was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure if he had really seen it.
“Let’s go.” Cassius was buckling his helmet. He paused, his eyes shifting between the two. “Do you—”
Falco stood. “I’m ready.”
Kaia checked the knife in her belt. “I am also.”
Cassius nodded. Without another word, he headed for the gap in the north side of the square camp where the cohort was drawn up. Cassius took the lead, Falco a half step behind to the right, Kaia the same distance back to the left. They moved forward, toward the wall.
They negotiated through the swampy ground, but despite their best efforts, everyone was soaked to mid-thigh and exhausted by the time they reached the quarter-mile-wide stretch of dry ground between the swamp and the black wall.
Cassius had the cohort draw up in battle formation, facing the darkness. Falco could pick up the fear among the men, but it was like the buzzing of a fly in the midst of the almost overwhelming negative aura of the gate. Even during the siege and sack of Jerusalem, he had never felt such darkness in his soul.
Cassius turned to Liberalius. “I need a volunteer to go with Centurion Falco.”
Liberalius’s face was pale, a line of sweat trickling down either side of it. “I would be honored to accompany the centurion.”
“Very good,” Cassius said. “I will have part of the cohort patrol around the perimeter of this wall.”
Falco had the Naga staff. He walked forward toward the black wall, Cassius, Liberalius, and Kaia close behind. He could not tell what the wall was made of, and he halted less than a pace from it. He extended the staff, and the metal tip went into the black, disappearing. He quickly pulled it back out: the metal was unchanged.
“I think—” he begun, but he couldn’t complete the sentence before Kaia walked past into the black and disappeared.
“I’ll be right here,” Cassius said. “How long should I wait?”
Falco shrugged. “That is up to you, sir, I would not recommend sending anyone in after us.”
“All right.”
Falco stepped forward. The moment he made contact with the darkness, his skin rebelled, almost causing him to stop, to retreat, but he pressed on. He staggered, fell to his knees, and was on his feet again immediately. There was the same ground beneath his feet, but the air was hazy, full of a thick, brownish gray mist. He could see Kaia standing still about ten feet in front of him. His sword was out of his scabbard, and he was beginning to strike at the figure that suddenly appeared to his left, when he realized it was Liberalius. Falco kept the sword in his hand as he moved up next to Kaia. They could barely see forty feet in front of them. Behind, the black wall stretched as far as they could see left and right and up.
“Where to?” Falco asked.
Kaia pointed directly ahead. “Can’t you feel it?”
Falco focused his mind. The place was oppressive, but there was something even darker in front of them, a darkness so complete that Falco knew that if he went there, he would never return to the world of light.
“It matches your soul,” Kaia said.
Before Falco could reply, she set off, walking briskly. Falco hurried to keep up. The land was going up. The grass and scant vegetation was brown, dying. There was no sign of anything living. The land had been swept clean of all life, or it had had enough sense to leave as soon as the gate appeared. Falco paused and kicked the dirt with his sandal. There weren’t even any ants apparent. He looked over his shoulder. Liberalius was rooted in place, a stricken look on his face.
“Kaia,” Falco was surprised to find he had hissed the name, as if afraid of being overheard. The priestess halted. Falco went back to the tribune.
“What is wrong?”
Liberalius shook his head. “I cannot continue. There is pain”—he tapped the side of his head—“here. Unbearable.” A trickle of blood marked the tribune’s face below his nose.
“Come,” Falco tried to guide him forward, but the tribune fell to his knees, agony on his face.
“I cannot.”
Falco glanced up the slope. Kaia was waiting impatiently. “Go back to Cassius,” he told the tribune. “Tell him what you have seen.”
Liberalius weakly nodded. Falco helped him to his feet and propelled him toward the black wall. He watched as Liberalius staggered downslope and then into the wall, blinking out of sight as he passed through.
Falco hurried back to Kaia. He could feel the pain that had stopped Liberalius battering at his mind, but he was able to keep it sufficiently at bay so that he could continue.
They crested the rise and halted. The ground ahead sloped down.
“It’s down there,” Kaia said.
“What is?”
“The way through.”
“To where?”
“Where the Shadow comes from,” Kaia said. She began walking down, and Falco followed. They covered a half-mile, the ground continuing to go down slightly, until Falco estimated they must be below the level of the river. That was confirmed when a flow of water cut in from the right, angling in the direction they were going.