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Nasir had not long past broken words to Agron of how he often stood at odds with Crixus. As it was his heart who had known greatest conflict with the Undefeated Gaul, the Syrian had been amused to admit to such.
Yet in this moment, looking upon all that remained to them of the man, Nasir could recall naught but how they had stood at one another’s side as brothers in war against Rome. They had known one another for over a year’s passing and had experienced much together.
Now the man was gone from this world, leaving void none held expectation of being once more filled.
In Naevia’s belief Agron had been struck down as well, Nasir’s grief of lost heart had not allowed thought of what meaning loss of Crixus would hold for him. Now that Agron had been returned to him, Nasir now suffered for death of one who offered such aid in guiding him to discovering what sort of man he stood.
Agron’s presence at his side – bearing much of his weight upon Nasir in manner which may have been familiar and of comfort but for knowledge that he would not be upon feet if the Syrian were removed from place beneath arm – only provided memory of final words Nasir broke with the Gaul before forces were parted.
Memory of mistake made which should not have been allowed to pass.
Naevia stepped forward in approach of Crixus’ pyre, moving past where Spartacus stood grasping torch tightly within hand, gaze intent upon the one whose death had claimed her heart. Pausing mere paces from carefully prepared pyre, her hands lifted to face, necklace always worn by Crixus which had parted but briefly from her hold during fight with Crassus’ son touched lips as eyes closed in sorrow of loss.
Nasir held keener understanding of her loss than his own.
Nasir’s eyes turned to Spartacus and observed how the Thracian’s eyes were fixed upon his lost brother. Emotions were strong within gaze in manner Nasir was unaccustomed to seeing from rebel leader, for while Spartacus did not deny emotions be seen he was more reserved in display of such. Yet any who looked upon him now would know depth of grief as he held his own remembrance of time shared with the Gaul.
After so many months of knowing control great enough that words not his own remained silent from Nasir’s mind, the Syrian knew the urge to claim silence of his own thoughts by becoming lost in that of others. His mind was in turmoil beyond what he believed himself capable of enduring and perhaps another would provide answer. He was surrounded by those familiar with death and so one must know greater peace than Nasir did now.
Nasir allowed his attention to shift within himself, turning awareness to thoughts which kept unspoken words from piercing mind. In brief moment – speed built from much time exploring limitations of his talent – he removed all which kept unspoken words of others from his knowledge and welcomed the wave of pain which struck him as thoughts of thousands surrounding him reached him at once. His grip upon his spear tightened as sensation of weakness passed through him as he adjusted to so many words echoing through mind.
It was only through training of his talent equaling that of learning weapons that his mind was able to find structure within such chaos, organizing thoughts from one another based upon manner of message. Within brief moments he was capable of shutting out those who would cause him greater distress or whose thoughts reflected language he held no understanding of and heard only those whose thoughts provided words of sense.
This was the talent of which he had been born to command and he had never before felt more at ease in allowing it such freedom. This was the ability which held possibility of allowing him to see through the eyes of another as they were sent to the afterlife, regardless of scar such vision had left upon him. While he had grown into warrior of great skill – equal among those trained as gods – this was skill he alone stood truly familiar with, giving him identity when he held doubt of which name he held to be true.
Naevia had turned away from the pyre, leaving the Gaul’s possession at his side, and returned to place of greater distance from the dead. Nasir noticed this as passing awareness yet Spartacus at last breaking words aloud brought his attention from within. However, he did not allow flow of unspoken words to fade from mind.
“This night, hearts lift in joyous reunion with those thought lost to us,” the Thracian’s words brought forth a wave of names through Nasir. He grasped onto each one as it flowed through his awareness, intent on remembering all five hundred who had been returned to them. He would understand others’ joy as well as their sorrow. As Spartacus gave further words of how those returned were connected to those left behind, more names became clear to Nasir until he could think of none other than Agron at the acknowledgment of many standing as lovers.
After losing himself to grief over belief that his lover had fallen, Nasir could not think of any other besides the one who truly gave him reason to desire life. No other held to heart bore meaning to Nasir regardless of meaning held to one whom they returned to. He could do naught but accept moment of selfish desire to take form, his gaze lowering but briefly as answered flurry of names with echo of his heart’s name within mind. Gaze lifted once more once moment passed and he was once more lost in Spartacus’ broken words and the silent thoughts of all others.
“Hold them close, for the shadow of Rome is upon us. We shall seek our destiny together. Whatever the cost.”
This was possibly greatest strike against memory of Crixus: he had failed to force Rome upon knee. Crassus and Caesar yet pursued remaining rebels and would continue to make attempt to deny them freedom so deeply desired. There stood no doubt that more would fall after this day where so many were spared.
Agron was not yet safe from the afterlife. Cloth wrapped tightly about hands placed him in greater danger than any other as weapon would not be again held with haste.
“Yet let us not pass from memory those left absent from our arms. Those who sacrificed their lives so that all may live free.”
Such words brought forth myriad of hope and despair within thoughts of rebellion. It was perhaps the first time any held reason to truly consider what so many deaths meant to those left behind. They were an army seeking freedom from the might of Rome and every man and woman sent to the afterlife was lost for others to realize such desire. While none who fell held desire of death to claim them, they knew it was possible to pass and that they accepted such as their fate. Of this Nasir was certain as such thoughts passed mind prior to every battle fought that he may fall and in doing so may spare another from such fate.
Spartacus turned to Naevia and offered torch he held to the woman, which she took hold of before turning gaze to look upon those gathered about them. Holding the fire high above her, she called out words of remembrance in recognition of one who had indeed sacrificed all for sake of rebellion and those following: “For Crixus.” She turned then and threw the flame to set the pyre ablaze and all that remained of Crixus’ body was surrounded by flames.
To be given the honor of a pyre was not a thing many fallen were afforded. Rebellion held leisure of neither supplies nor opportunity to burn those lost in the many battles fought, though none were dismissed from notice, especially for one such as Nasir who held responsibility of knowing others well enough to hold command over guard. He may not have known all, but he remembered many more than others in similar position of authority such as Saxa and Lugo.
The last to be burned so had been those to fall upon night of descent from Vesuvius’ peak.
Nasir recalled how he had known struggle that night as well as ones he held great respect and affection for were honored, ones such as Mira and Oenomaus.
As Nasir’s mind turned to those he yet remembered with heavy grief, Spartacus called out remembrance of his own.
“For Sura.”
As Nasir’s mind was yet accepting of all thoughts and unspoken words, such name being spoken brought forth wave of recognition within many as the Thracian’s lost heart was brought to recollection. Sura’s death was the beginning of rebel uprising. Thoughts of her death were so strong within Spartacus, it was as though the Syrian was now bearing witness through the Thracian’s eyes of occurrence Nasir had only been told of in passing. Image came forth of how Sura had fallen from cart, body stained with blood and damaged from many months within grasp of Rome, how she had found peace in death within grasp of her husband’s arms with loving gaze upon her though it was devastated by grief.
“For Varro…”
Many thoughts formed image as Varro was well known by those remaining from Batiatus’ ludus. The man’s smile which would come forth often in place where there stood little to find amusement in, his skill as gladiator bringing him great favor, how for many suns he stood as single ally of Thracian champion when so many favored Crixus. How order had been given for Spartacus to kill him when no blood was to be spilled and how the Champion had crumbled at being forced to bear such weight.
How the man’s wife had soon after fallen as well, placing blame upon Spartacus by breaking words bearing greatest strike against the man’s memory of such dear friend.
“…And Mira.”
Memories his own took form alongside that of others who had known Mira. The house slave moving about her duties, guiding others in completion of tasks in much similar manner as Nasir had lead slaves of the Roman he had served. The woman rising against Batiatus regardless of not bearing skill of warrior. The freed woman training with the bow and gaining skill enough to stand as one holding superior talent with weapon than most others then and even now. It was how she had been struck down: as a warrior taking axe to chest in wound that no medicus held skill to heal. She had stood as equal to Spartacus, holding as much of his heart as he stood capable of giving. Nasir had told truth when he had broken words with Mira of how Spartacus held her in deepest affection as he had been making attempt to offer aid to her doubt that the Thracian’s affections were insincere. She had made choice though to part from him and had fallen to the afterlife holding belief she stood alone.
Gannicus’ voice echoed through rebel crowd, “For Oenomaus.”
The Doctore had guided Nasir in his path to becoming the warrior he now stood as just as he had taught many gladiators to stand as gods among men. Countless thoughts of the man’s lessons echoed through mind so as to give sensation that the man was giving another in this moment. However, such thoughts were crushed with haste under force of memory of Oenomaus being struck down in battle against the Egyptian who stood with Ashur, the man’s final thoughts being of how he would once more be with wife lost many years past.
Sybil was next to offer memory, her voice barely known for its gentle manner, “For Diotimus.”
Few knew of aid Diotimus had given to rebellion, first in finding meat to give to others as plentiful supplies could not be maintained, then in offering knowledge of Sinuessa which allowed army to find safety for some measure of time. His life had been forfeit in seeing Sybil to freedom, the man he fled service of claiming his life in unkind turn of fate. Sybil’s freedom was owed as much to Diotimus as it was to Gannicus and so the man stood worthy of remembrance of all gathered.
“For Rhaskos,” Rabanus offered memory.
Rhaskos had been among the more vile Gauls though one who had remained loyal to Crixus. He had gained Chadara’s affections and had allowed her to feel as though she could survive within unfamiliar rebellion. Yet he had fallen in spectacle within arena before Spartacus could see him to freedom. He was not truly known by many, however the image of the man being run through many times while entangled within net was not one easily forgotten.
Another rebel within the crowd called out, “For Sanus.”
The large man who once stood in service of Qilin was one who had gained friendship with many within rebellion and mind was filled with memory of conversation shared with the man. Nasir had many of his own as well, having shared company often with the man as Sanus had been assigned nearly daily to shifts of guard and so reported to Nasir often. It was bitter truth to accept that none offered memory of manner in which the man had been lost as none had bore witness. The man’s life was all of which could be remembered.
Lugo’s call of “For Donar,” allowed thoughts to shift once more and Nasir was nearly overwhelmed by differing memories as his own rose to surface.
Donar had been among the gladiators for many years and had led many rebels in learning to become able warriors. He was one considered to bear great honor, regardless of crass nature. He fought and fucked. He also stood as able leader and therefore held deepest respect of any who had trained under his guidance – many times at side of the Syrian – which at times appeared akin to hours of insult if not for progress all knew after barbs against technique or failed strategy were called. To see the man run through with Roman blade as Sinuessa was lost to rebellion brought deep pain and rise of emotion Nasir struggled to suppress. Donar’s company would be deeply missed by more than gladiators.
“For Duro.”
Mind was drawn from thoughts of rebels gathered to focus upon the man standing at Nasir’s side. Dark eyes turned to lay gaze upon his heart though he ceased turn before motion could finish, allowing Agron’s weakness to pass absent witness.
While it had been words broken by Agron to have given revelation to his brother’s fall, he had not again truly spoken of Duro. Nasir would not have even learned of the man’s name if not for others calling it out: Agron had not given voice to his brother’s name in all time passed since the two learned of one another. However, remaining guilt of loss was not to bear victory over remembrance to be shared with all gathered. Agron would have all recall how it was only for Duro’s death that he had survived to stand as capable leader among rebels. Memory of the man’s death would remain concealed from Nasir as none other among their numbers witnessed Duro’s fall and naught unspoken passed between Nasir and Agron. The German would continue to bear secret until he chose to break words with Nasir upon events passed.
“For Acer,” words broken by man familiar to all for bearing long life upon the sands who now passed knowledge brought forth by countless years of experience to those new to sword called Nasir’s attention to those beyond his heart and vision extended once more.
Acer had been another not well known by Nasir and his death had been witnessed only by ones already given voice, though Nasir recalled all which had been revealed to him of the man’s torture, how the Roman woman Ilithyia had run him through with gladius as though animal slaughtered. He was to be remembered for loyalty willingly given to Crixus in the man’s search for Naevia.
The next voice called from further within those gathered and Nasir could not identify who gave memory, “Fortis!”
Another name of one known briefly by Nasir yet who the Syrian recalled well even as image of the man’s body hung by tree for display with FUG carved into skull came to him, Spartacus and Naevia having been ones to witness such dishonor. This was another man lost for his loyalty to Crixus though the Syrian stood certain Fortis had only made choice he thought correct.
“For Barca!”
Many thoughts were brought forward at name of the Beast of Carthage. Memory of how the man destroyed all who stood in opposition of him within the arena. Recognition of the man’s strength in that he was allowed to show care for lover Pietros absent concern for being imagined as weak for doing so. Thought of how he had truly been the first among many to consider gaining freedom through victories in the arena and only finding death for bearing thoughts beyond Batiatus’ control. Regret from Spartacus for not having even known the man lay dead until Naevia had broken words to Oenomaus.
“Nemetes,” Saxa’s voice bore familiar vigor yet Nasir recognized depth of emotion not often expressed by fierce warrior, pain of loss of one she had shared bed with often in early days of freedom coming forth upon wake of all remembered.
Nasir often stood at odds with Nemetes – the German was often too uncaring for the Syrian’s nature of honor – for them to share company often, especially once they claimed Sinuessa. However, as Agron’s heart, Nasir had been accepted by all German’s as kin and his death was strike against such bond. Guilt and pain of his death was increased not only in that many leaders knew Nemetes had been tasked with remaining near Caesar – one likely responsible for his death – but also in that it had not been known that he had fallen until many hours passed once Sinuessa had been fled.
“Liscus.”
Much of what had passed after Nasir had been injured while fleeing the mines had been lost to his memory. Yet now as memory came forth from others, he recognized it within himself as well. Memory of the man making command that no lives having been sacrificed to cause would not have been for nothing.
Names were called quickly now and Nasir struggled to keep from being swept away in wake of emotions and memories reaching out to him with each call, his own mind seeming to answer call and conjure all that it could of those lost who were named as well as those who passed absent being given voice.
“Mannus!”
“Plenus!” The men remembered changing from disguise of slave delivered to mines to that of guards so as to keep rebel presence hidden, yet Ashur’s presence meant deceit was to fail.
“Tychos!” Nasir felt whisper of touch against skin of stomach of first gladius to be thrust into his hands by one remembered, felt tight grasp upon arm as the man held him after attempt had been made on Spartacus’ life, and another who had fallen in retreat from the mines in moment the Syrian remembered in vivid detail.
“Vitus!” The man’s last words had been ones of warning while in the mines and Nasir took in deep breath as he recalled sight – witnessed when he was yet unaccustomed to sight of death – of final breath of one remembered.
“Sophus!” Sensation of his other arm being held tightly against all struggles when Nasir had chosen death of his own creation came forth as well as how the one remembered had fallen when deadly strike had been inflicted upon the Syrian.
Nasir’s mind moved forward in remembrance of all those he knew whose names had not been called. In silence he could not break, he allowed all memories of those lost to him to pass through mind as thousands of others did the same.
He remembered Brictius…
He remembered Qilin…
He would never forget Chadara…
Another name being called regained Nasir’s attention as it was called by all.
All except for Spartacus, Naevia, Agron, and himself.
Crixus…
The man demanding death of a Syrian not to be trusted after making attempt to kill Spartacus and striking him in demonstration of strength to be dismissed. The Gaul had faltered for but a moment as the little slave turned enraged gaze upon him as blood dripped down chin.
Crixus…
Branded arm extended to him in offer of peace for it would have been action of the man’s heart to not condemn Nasir for actions of another.
Crixus…
Gaining acceptance of aid offered by one who had concealed truth of fate of the man’s heart and to further accept that he stood capable of abilities beyond what any other among them had ever known. Trust had been given when it had not been earned.
Crixus…
Strike after strike passing beyond developing guard of the Syrian by the Gaul, the man pressing endurance beyond what it had been upon day previous so one learning craft would not falter in battles to come.
Crixus…
The Gaul’s dark eyes looking upon him with emotion akin to respect as the Syrian once more did not bow to fear many felt concerning the former Champion as he made command that he never again be claimed as anything other than his own man.
Crixus…
The Gaul standing ready at cart to ensure the captured Syrian and German’s escaped absent notice of guards.
Crixus…
Fighting beside the man through battles numbering beyond recollection, often within gaze of one another as those with greatest skills with weapon were so often placed in line of most direct combat.
Crixus…
Watching as brothers appeared to discover differing paths for rebellion and standing upon opposing thoughts as he had when Romans were made to fight for crust of bread.
Crixus…
Making request of the Gaul to remain undefeated so as to see heart returned to him.
Spartacus’ voice broke through memory to cut through continued chants of Crixus’ memory. “Split heavens with the sound of his name. Let it carry to Crassus and Pompey as distant thunder promising storm of blood. All those who are able will make final stand against Rome. And this I promise you…” The Thracian turned to face those who continued to follow cause with seeming renewed heart in answer to flames rising with call of the Undefeated Gaul’s name. “…We will live free or join our brothers in death!” Gladius was drawn and lifted toward the sky in show of Spartacus’ choice to stand against Rome as Crixus had fallen doing.
As rebel leader returned gaze to pyre, Nasir allowed continued chant to embrace him and all thoughts not his own faded from mind. As though in continued demonstration of all he stood capable of, all thoughts within mind were his alone and no command had been given within him to make it so. It was as though his certainty of answer to choice set before all rebels removed all struggle against his abilities for this moment.
Nasir was a warrior and would fight to see his heart remain safe now that he stood returned to him.