Curses and Smoke (26 page)

I
don’t understand,” Lucia murmured. “The mountain … It
swallowed
Pompeii.”

Castor began to cry into Tag’s neck.

“What’s happened?” a voice roared. “What’s happened?”

She turned, stunned. “
Father?
”

Lucius Titurius was weaving from exhaustion, his eyes wide with horror as he stared at the obliterated city below them. Tag pulled Lucia away as her father lurched toward the edge of the ridge. Tag put Castor down and murmured to him to go to the ridge facing Nuceria. But the boy refused to move, clinging to Tag’s tunic.

Titurius threw down the torch he’d been carrying and fell to his knees. “Where did it go? Where?” he cried.

“The mountain took it,” Lucia said again. Even as the words came out of her mouth, she could not fully fathom their meaning. How was it possible? And yet the evidence was right there — everything was gone. Their home. The school. The gladiators. Metrodona and everyone else in the house.

And, oh, gods! Cornelia and her baby. She covered her face. Oh, no, no. Cornelia
must
have escaped! Surely Antyllus would’ve sent them out of the city at the first sign of trouble, maybe even when the earthquake hit. Perhaps they escaped via his boat. Didn’t Cornelia say he had one? Yes, they were probably bobbing on the bay that very moment, safely away from the black destruction that swallowed Pompeii.

Yet even as she tried to convince herself that her dearest friend had survived, her heart grew heavy. She knew Cornelia had been too far along with child to run. She would have stayed in Pompeii with her husband and family in the hopes that whatever this was would soon pass. And now she was gone. No one could have survived that.

Her father moaned pitifully.

“We need to run,” Tag whispered into her ear.

Lucia stared at the smoking blackness that had once been her beloved city, feeling as if each leg was a block of marble sunk deep into the earth. How could she move when Cornelia never would again?

L
ucia’s father finally spoke. “It’s your fault,” he wheezed, rising from his knees, pointing. “
Your
fault.”

“No, Father, please,” Lucia said. But Tag knew he wasn’t talking to her. He was looking at him.

The old man unsheathed his
gladius
, and a jolt of fear flooded Tag’s limbs.

“You both need to go down to the other side,” he told Lucia and Castor as coolly as he could manage. Castor began whimpering. “Go,” he repeated.

Titurius pointed the tip of the sword at Tag. “You. You are the curse-bearer. You made this happen. Everything started falling apart after that day.”

“What’s he talking about, Tag?” Lucia asked shakily. “Father, what are you saying? What curse?”

Tag clenched his teeth. “Lucia, get away with Castor, please. I will follow,” he urged. He lifted his chin at Titurius and called in as strong a voice as he could muster, “No,
you
cursed your family. The gods are punishing
you
for your outrage.”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Titurius said.

“Stop. This is madness!” Lucia cried. “Father, go back to Pompeii. Perhaps … perhaps the school can still be saved. We were on the edge of the city. The mountain may not have reached it. It may not be too late.”

She glanced at Tag, and then back at her father. Tag instantly understood. Despite the fact that everything had almost certainly been destroyed, perhaps her overwhelmed father could be convinced to go back to Pompeii and see the devastation for himself, which would give them enough time to disappear.

Titurius hesitated for a moment, but then the mad gleam in his eyes grew brighter. “I will go back. But not without you, daughter, and not before I kill the source of all my misery.”

Titurius and Tag began to circle each other. The ridge overlooking Pompeii loomed dangerously close. Tag’s right hand twitched in want of a sword to defend himself. “I didn’t curse you,” he shouted, trying to buy time. “Your wife did.”

He heard Lucia take in a breath. Gods, why wouldn’t she listen to him and get away?

“I could have had it reversed,” Titurius said. “I know I could have, if only you hadn’t plunged the iron nail into it.”

“Father, what are you talking about?” Lucia cried again.

Tag put his hands up in a calming gesture. “Lucia is right. The school may yet be saved,” he lied, grasping at their only hope. “Go back.”

“Not before you die,” he said, lunging at Tag. Lucia screamed, but Tag easily dodged the blade. Titurius came after him again and again, Tag dancing away every time. The old man was weaving and wheezing. Surely Tag could disarm him. He just had to wait for the right opportunity.

If only he had a weapon. If only he had kept his shield …

“Father, stop!” Lucia cried. “Don’t hurt Tag. Let him go. Go back to Pompeii and leave us be.”

“I am not going without you, girl. Your marriage to Quintus is the only thing that will save us now.”

Tag looked beyond the ruined city, realizing that not just Pompeii had gone dark. The whole region was blacked out — even Herculaneum, which meant Quintus was likely gone too. Despite his dislike for the spoiled patrician, Tag felt a pang. Nobody deserved to die in such an awful way.

Lucia pointed at the coastline. “I see no lights around Herculaneum,” she said, as if reading his mind. “Quintus is dead. Your only hope now is rescuing what remains of the school. You must go back.”

“There may yet be gladiators who live,” Tag added. “If they are in the cells, they’ll be waiting for rescue as we speak.”

Titurius slid his red-rimmed gaze to the still-smoldering city. Tag could tell he was considering it. He really had gone mad if he thought anyone survived the mountain’s attack. But if they could convince him it was possible, they had a chance.

Tag felt Lucia’s small hand move into his as she gently tugged him back. “Go,” she said to her father in a soothing tone. “Pontius will not be able to control the men for long without you. He
needs
you.”

Staring into the blackness, Titurius nodded over and over again, clearly wanting to believe it was true. But then he turned, saw their linked hands, and his eyes grew wide with outrage. “You
dare
touch my daughter in front of me?” he bellowed.

What happened next occurred in an instant, yet somehow, at the same time, with dreamlike slowness.

Titurius pulled his sword arm back and lunged. Tag tried to pull Lucia away, but she leapt forward, arms out in appeal. In the space of a blink, the sword thrust meant for Tag’s left kidney plunged into Lucia between her lower ribs instead. Tag heard the faintest
clang
as the sword tip stabbed the hoard of coins and jewels slung on her back.

The three of them froze — all staring with disbelief at the weapon sunk deep into Lucia’s chest. Black liquid blossomed around the sunken blade. Titurius began to pull the sword back.

“No!” The medic in Tag took over. “Don’t take it out!” he shouted. He needed to assess the damage before he could allow the sword to slice backward through her flesh. But he hadn’t spoken quickly enough, and in horror, Titurius pulled the sword out of the front of his daughter’s chest. He staggered, moaning in shock.

Tag quickly untied the shawl containing Lucia’s hoard; the sack fell to the ground with a clattering thump. He cursed at the sight of spreading blood on the back of her
tunica
where the sword tip had gone through. He pressed on the cut, trying to contain the bleeding. Lucia gasped in pain and stumbled toward her father before he could look at the entry wound. Titurius keened and backed away, the sword still dripping blood. It seemed to Tag that they were all moving as if underwater.

With a dazed, uncomprehending look, Lucia stared down at herself. She looked up at Tag with enormous eyes.

“I can fix this,” he said. “I promise. It’s going to be all right.”

Lucia shuddered with pain as he continued pressing on the wound in her back, reaching to apply pressure on the front too. The movement propelled her forward again, which made her father back up even more. Tag gripped her arm, trying to steady her. “No, no, Lucia, don’t move. Let me —”

“You,” she gasped, staring wild-eyed at Titurius. “You killed all your girls. You cursed us all.” Her voice, thick and dry, sounded like it came from the underworld.

“No,” her father said, hands still on his head, his expression contorted with horror. “No. I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“
I
curse you,” she wheezed. “The Furies will haunt you for eternity!”

“No, please,” Titurius cried as he continued backing up. His back leg slid on some loose rocks, and his knee buckled under him. He tumbled backward, his arms waving as he tried to catch himself.

But he was too close to the edge of the outcropping. It happened in eerie silence. Titurius’s mouth moved, but Tag heard nothing. In a blink, the man who owned him disappeared over the ridge, hurtling to his death, back toward Pompeii, his demolished city.

C
astor began to sob behind them.

“Father?” she managed. One moment he was in front of her, the next he was gone. Had she blacked out? This pain clawing at her side made it hard to concentrate. To think. To breathe. She needed air, but even as she gulped, it wasn’t enough.

“He … has gone to Pompeii,” Tag said, his voice cracking. “Now, I must treat you.”

“Hurts,” she said, gasping.

“Shhhh, I will take care of it. You must follow my instructions,” he said. But his voice and hands were shaking. He sat her down when she began to sway. The movement was excruciating. “You’re going to be all right,” he chanted over and over again, and she couldn’t be sure if he was saying it for her benefit or for his.

Air. She needed more air. Fire flashed through her side. She clutched at Tag’s arm as he gently laid her on the ground. “Castor!” he called.

She could see that the boy was crying as he ran toward them.

“I need your help.”

Castor nodded even as he continued weeping.

Lucia tried to say, “Good boy,” to encourage the child, to tell him not to be afraid, but her mouth was filled with a thick paste of hot metal, and when she tried to speak, only a gurgling sound came out.

Poor little boy. He was so scared. But Tag was here. Tag was going to take care of everything. It was going to be all right.

If only she could take a breath. Searing pain tore through her again. Gods. She needed air — the clean air that was
just
on the other side of this hill. The pure air in Nuceria. They could see it. Why couldn’t she
breathe
it? She gasped and clamored for it — for
any
air now — dirty or not, but it didn’t come.

She heard fabric tearing. Tag was going to wrap her wound, sew her up, and everything would be all right. He was a good
medicus
. He’d often described how he stitched up gladiators. He’d stitched up worse wounds than this. She knew he had.

Then why was he crying?

“Stay with me,” he kept whispering. “Please stay with me.” Which she did not understand, because she had no intention of going anywhere without him, now or ever again. Her father hadn’t hurt Tag. That was the most important thing. Tag said he’d returned to Pompeii. They were finally free. It was going to be all right.

She gasped again for air, yet also felt it rushing out of the opening in her chest. Despite the pain, she tried to press her hand on it, so the air would stay in.

“It’s collapsing,” Tag murmured. Pain — white-hot and blinding — tore through her. She wanted to scream, but only a dry, desperate gasp emerged.

She forced her eyes open so that she could look at Tag, even as small lights exploded around the edges of her vision. The massive wave of pain threatened to make everything go black. Why couldn’t she move her mouth to speak? She wanted to tell him everything would be all right. She wanted to tell him she loved him. And she would, once she was on the other side of the pain. Once she could take a breath. She would definitely say it then….

But the wave hit again, and she went under.