Page 6 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

But then comes the day when everything changes. I’m eight, and seemingly overnight, my body begins to stretch and grow. The farmer eyes me like he does the fattened hogs ready for market, seeing not a child, but a possession, something to sell.

“He’ll fetch a good price at the slave market,” he tells his wife, not bothering to whisper. “Might even beludusmaterial. All that work in the fields made him strong.”

I don’t fully understand the full meaning of his words, but I feel the shift in the air. Something is ending, something else beginning. Fear grips me, but also a tiny spark of… what? Excitement? Hope? For the first time, I dare to imagine a life beyond these fields.

The night before I’m to be sold, Caecilia sneaks to my side. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears as she presses something into my hand—a small wooden charm, a carved phallus. It represents a symbol of my inner strength and fidelity to the gods. It hangs on a leather cord and has been worn smooth by years of the good woman’s worry.

“For protection and good luck,” she whispers, closing my fingers around it. “May the Gods watch over you, my boy. May the Goddess Fortuna herself smile upon you.”

It’s the only gift I’ve ever received. Pressing it to my chest, I feel its warmth against my skin. I make a silent vow. I will survive. I will become strong. And someday, somehow, I will find a way to repay this kindness.

The memory fades, and I’m back in this strange room, what Varro calls machines beeping softly around me. My hand instinctively moves to my chest, searching for the charm that’s long since been lost. But instead of smooth wood, my fingers touch a thin tube—some sort of necklace I don’t recognize.

Varro is still here, his presence a constant in this sea of change. He notices my confusion and gently explains, “It’s to help you breathe and get better. Don’t worry. Rest, my friend,” he says softly. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word sounds foreign to my ears, a concept I’ve never truly known. The wooden charm may be gone, lost to time and tide. But maybe Fortuna’s still watching over me after all.

Chapter Five

Thrax

The new room they moved me to is quieter, more private. The smells are as harsh as the first room but, thank the gods, those irritating beeps are gone. Even the bedding is strange. I have run my hands over it many times and have yet to find a bed bug, hole, or tear. The weave is barely visible and so perfect it is like spilled cream. I’ve lost track of time, drifting in and out of sleep as my body slowly, bit by bit, regains its strength.

A part of me wonders if other slaves will join me in sharing this room once I am well again. The house I find myself in is strange and I have yet to see the mark of thedominaon any of the strange people wearing masks.

The door opens, and Varro enters. As the only familiar face in this strange world, his presence brings a taste of relief, though the tension in his jaw and the unreadable look in his eyes tell me that whatever he has to say, I may not want to hear.

“How are you feeling, my friend?” he asks, pulling up a chair beside my bed. I notice he no longer wears the mask he claimed was to protect me from illness. Why did he need it then, but not now? The question lingers, but I don’t voice it. There are too many things I don’t understand, too many questions I can’t ask.

I wait for him to speak because, surrounded by so many strange things, I don’t know what to pay attention to or how to answer his question.

Varro leans forward, his eyes searching mine. “I know you must have questions. I’m here to answer them, if you’re ready.”

Although my heart hammers inside my chest, I nod slowly. I’ve stared down three armed men at a time in the arena. Whatever he has to say, surely I can handle it.

“We survived the shipwreck,” Varro begins, his voice gentle. “But not in the way you might think. The cold… it preserved us, froze us. Kept us alive.”

I furrow my brow, trying to understand. Varro quietly watches as though he’s waiting for me to figure it out. Then it strikes me. “How long?” The words come out in a scratchy rasp.

I brace myself as Varro takes a deep breath. “Longer than you can imagine, Thrax. The world has changed in ways that will be hard to understand at first.”

As he speaks, painting a picture of a world I can scarcely believe, my chest aches, worse than when that man from Germania struck me in the chest with a war hammer. My slick palms grip the smooth bedding beneath my fingers.

Horseless chariots that move faster than the wind. Buildings that scrape the sky. Devices that can capture a person’s likeness in an instant. A metal box that heats food with no fire.

“There are even great metal birds that carry people through the air,” Varro says, his eyes alight with wonder. “They call them airplanes. I’ve been in one. Crossed the great ocean in less than a day.”

I shake my head and dizziness hits me so hard I have to slam my lids closed. That sounded like the ravings of a madman, or maybe the fever dreams of a dying man. But Varro’s steady gaze—and a glance at all the unusual objects in my room—tells me it’s all true.

“How?” I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Varro’s expression grows solemn. “Thrax. Even with all their magical machines and abilities, they say they have no idea howwe survived. I have a theory that there was something in the priestess’s potion that we drank on the docks of Ostia before we set sail, but it’s just an idea in my head.” He pauses, and my muscles tense as I prepare myself for a blow. Finally, he tells me the information I’ve been waiting to hear. “We’ve been asleep for nearly two thousand years.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Two thousand years? It’s impossible. Unthinkable. My mind can’t fathom the world he just described.

I wipe my palm across my mouth as I try to control the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. My throat tightens and I swallow hard, trying to keep my food from erupting from my throat. Two thousand years. Everyone I’ve ever known, every place I’ve ever been—gone. Dust. I am truly, utterly alone except for the man at my bedside.

When I open my eyes, Varro’s face is lined with concern. I try not to let him see the war of emotions raging inside me. I’ve spent a lifetime hiding my feelings; this is no different.

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