"Why did you ask me to meet here? You know you're not allowed within," said Guba, calling out to the darkness. The moonlit chamber was massive, stretching far above his head. Large enough to fit a court, which during the day, it did. At night, however, the government, like all other institutions, return to their homes to rest, and one man within is very lonely indeed. Pillars dot the great expanse, casting shadows about and shrouding all but the sections nearest to the massive window in pitch. It was before this window Guba stood, peering out at the moon and the land that basks in its light.

"Sas ney tafeca sli, Unitas idir," responded a voice, somewhere in the shadows. His voice, yet someone else's. Guba did not bother to turn. 

"Too true," Guba said. He could feel in his bones that tonight was a night of fate. The future called to him through the glass, beckoning him in a way none other than the voice may ever have a chance to understand. "Come join me by the window, brother."

"I would," said the voice, followed by the tapping of sandals upon stone. The dim light exposed a face, Guba's own, and yet not. They were of a form, nearly perfectly in all ways. Two they were, and yet one, so the wise man had once said. Indeed it seemed true, but for their spirits, for the many paths of fate had seen to it that their spirits were made differently. An ironic joke of the universe, perhaps, or a mere error on the part of the cosmos, or less likely, a path intended for them to take, unexpected as it is to them now. 

"Gugurta, dare you wear the sword in this hall?" Guba snapped. It made an unmistakable rattle as he walked with it. "With a single demonstration of it, you were thrown from the favor in the palace. Not even our brothers in cause would tolerate such radicalism." Gugurta let his hand travel to the fine hilt of the sword. A Varacci sword it was, light and elegant, so different from the harsh spathae of the legions.

"Do you not like it, brother? I myself find it fetching. We are, after all, of the belief that the poor [i]orkh[/i] be lifted of his oppressions in the inner isles. Unless, of course, I had forgotten the day on which we changed causes." It was as if Guba could hear the impish smile on his face. It led him to deepen the furrow in his own brow.

"You're lucky the new king is of our sensibility. I fear the executioner's axe comes baying for our blood. Let us go into the night, brother mine, before your little joke of meeting in this hall grows weary, not only to us but to the eye of the barbaric Optimates. After all, I hear the Cohorta is performing its induction ceremony tonight." With that, Gugurta pulled the head covering tighter around his face, and the two strolled out.
__________________________________________________________
"Today, is a day of greatness!" shouted Mario. A roaring cheer followed, deep and bellowing. The roar of the Varacco. It carried over the waves, into the sky, so loud even the spirits must hear it. "Greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!"

"Greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!" shouted the young Varacci that joined him. Mario looked into their faces, and saw the conviction he and his cousins had beaten into them.

"When you raised your swords, and swore yourself Cohorti for the first time in your lives, you were but boys and girls." Boos, hisses, and low growls punctuated the words. "Now, as I have seen your tusks grow long, your brave vigor strengthen, I may no longer find these children. I find men, and I find women. Cousins to further the greatness of the Cohorta!"

"Greatness for the Cohorta, greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!"

"I swear to you, my cousins today, and in battle my brothers and sisters, that I, Mario di Aggiapo, shall in my life guide you on the Cohorta warpath, to serve with honor the sun-king's crown, to defend our land, a land of imperator's pride and doge's reverence!"

"Greatness for Mario di Aggiapo, greatness for the Cohorta, greatness for the sun, and greatness for the Sumitaga!"

"Watch the moon rise! Watch as the spirits descend from the sky, and inhabit us, for but a few moments! The moon! The moooon! Agh . . . agh! AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Mario tensed up as he felt the familiar sensation wash over him. That moment, when his spirit falls away and a foreign one rushes in to fill the void left behind. The war-shamans called it "il vegliare somo", the waking sleep. Sleep, however, was the least accurate term for what happens next. The wave of fury washed over the young Varacci, and they too were wracked with the great pains and pleasures of being filled with excessive spiritual power. One young male drew his sword, and with a deafening scream snapped it in two, throwing the shattered remains into the sea. A female beat her fists together, not stopping even as they gushed with blood.

"AWWOOOOOOO! AWWOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Together, they howled at the moon, demonstrating the fury of the Varacci, the fury of the sea and the sky itself.

From a distance, Guba and Gugurta watched, as they had year after year, for many years, beginning when they were children. They knew that hidden in the shadows, many Imasicians enjoyed watching the brief lunacy, some with disgust, others with wonder. They were a magnificent spectacle, these induction rituals. When the shreds of civilization were wrenched away while the flesh remained. Guba, in his heart, longed to be as wild as they in those moments. "Imagine," he whispered. "They serve the king more closely than we."
_____________________________________________________
"My lord Lucca," said the servant. "A message for you."

"Throw it in the fire," Lucca responded. In his hand was a bottle of rum, once full, but now half empty. "Do not give me that ridiculous look. I know, as well as you, that it was sent from Lady Amara. I wish not to hear from her."

"As you command, my lord," she said. The crackle of the fires intensified for a moment as it was fed fresh parchments. "I take my leave now, if it please you- oh!" she winced, and clutched at her arm.

"What is it?" Lucca asked, standing up. He swayed a bit under his weight, but his eyes remained resolute. He stumbled over to the servant, leaning on the wall for balance. She shook her head, but an intense glare from the near-legendary doge led her to meekly pull up her sleeve, revealing a distinctly spatha-shaped cut wrapped sloppily in cloth. The blood was still wet, by the looks of it. "Where did you get this?"

"I was not careful, my lord. I was visiting the blacksmith's. I asked about your spad-"

"Where? Do you think me stupid?" Lucca was too far gone to contain his usual composure. Lucca the Wise, they called him, despite him being one of the youngest Varacci to ever serve as Serene Doge. They think he does not know, but he realizes that in the far islands, they call him Lucca Augustus, for which they would be killed if the human authorities ever heard.

". . . Il taverna, my lord." 

"Who was the dog that would dare lay a hand on my employ? I would castrate him with his own sword!" His nostrils flared, so large they could perhaps swallow a grape. 

"A . . . a leggionare, my lord." She shrunk away at the answer.

"Leggionare? On Sendimenti? They would not dare. Why did you not fight, as is your right on this island?" Lucca's face fell from anger to shock. He could not feel them, but he could hear his teeth grinding like stones together.

"I could not! I was afraid. He said . . . if I did not stand still . . . he would tell the Leggiato, who would tell the Senatores, who would break our peace with the Imazzicci." Lucca huffed, and he turned to leave. "Wait, my lord!" the servant cried, descending to her knees. "Do not write to the Imazzicci! I am a woman of the peace, I do not wish to attract the ire of the human signori." Lucca sighed, and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I will investigate the matter thoroughly," he said, trying to return to his regular, calm tone. "Let it be known that you need not fear any false hands from now on. I shall rest, and think of the matter again in the morning." He stumbled up the stairs to his bedchambers, clutching his head. As he did so, another servant descended the stairs, stopping to bow absentmindedly as the doge passed him. Lucca did not seem to take any notice whatsoever. When the servant reached the bottom of the stairs, he tiptoed over to the other.

"Did you sway him?" he asked.

"Perhaps I did, perhaps I did not," she responded.

"Perhaps," he mused, looking up at the stairs. "You have done a great thing for the Varacci. In time, we shall find ourselves free again, led on by mighty Lucca. Until then, we may only hide and wait. Rest easy tonight. It took much courage to suffer as you did." He pulled an Imasician spatha from his pants as he did so, cracking a wry smile.

"No courage at all, knowing the risk," she responded. The two of them began to chuckle, as old friends do, but immediately stopped, remembering not to awaken the sleeping.

"Good evening, then. Greatness for Amara di Molobenini."

"Greatness for Amara di Molobenini."
_________________________________________________________________
Masinissa leaned over the railings, and vomited into the sea. "Will we see land soon?" he asked.

"Soon, boss," shouted a sailor. The deck roiled and rolled, and Masinissa felt the influence of another mouthful of acid threaten to pass through his lips. He hated this, and he suspected many of his men did as well. But what choice did he have? It was his solemn duty to win the necessary glory for his king and rightful ruler. If that meant traveling near a thousand leagues by ship, then so be it.

"I will not have soon. I will have sooner. Tell your rowers to make double time for this final stretch. I will- hulph!" He could not hear quite clearly, but he thought he heard the Drakon mercenary laugh. He grimaced, wiping the yellow bile from his face. He hated those Drakonese as well. One could never tell, by their seemingly honest faces, what they were thinking. "Courage, man," he told himself. "Courage, for a few leagues more. Surabhumi is on the distance now, I need but reach out and take it for my own."