Kyle West - Evolution

“Almost there,” Samuel said. “Keep moving!”

We ran down the rest of the way down the mountain. We came across more people walking both toward and away from the city — people dressed in robes, and the poorer ones dressed in rags. At one point, a set of guards came up the road. We ducked out of the way and hid behind a boulder until they passed, not wanting to risk questioning.

When we got back on the road again, we left the highlands and entered a thick forest. After running another couple miles, we were there. Before us was an ivy-clad stone gatehouse that led into Nova Roma. The tall, wooden doors were wide open, and crowds of people passed both in and out of the city. Some of the people had to pause before a set of guards to answer questions.

“How are we supposed to get in there with those guards?” I asked.

Julian stepped up beside me. “I don’t see any way to avoid it. Your skin color and clothing alone will give you away. I’m the only one of us who could pass through.”

“Is there a way you can talk to the guard?”

Julian shook his head. “The fact you only speak English will tell them you are slaves. English is the slaves’ language.”

“So, we need to avoid confrontation,” Samuel said.

Julian nodded. “Exactly.”

We stood there for a moment, thinking of how we might get inside.

“Is there another gate we could go through?” I asked.

“There are five gates into the city,” Julian said. “All of them are watched. All we can do is hope to sneak by and not get noticed.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good idea,” I said.

“I don’t know of any other way,” Samuel said.

“Wait,” Makara said.

She pointed to a large group of people, walking toward the gate from a dirt path leading into the forest. They seemed to be together in some sort of a religious procession. They were dressed in dark, fine robes. In the center, a silver tray was carried, spilling out smoke from an urn. The smell of incense tingled my nostrils. The urn was wreathed in colorful flowers of red and yellow. There were about twenty in the procession. Many held their heads low, as if in mourning.

“A rich man’s funeral, most likely,” Julian said. “There is a cemetery within the forest they are likely returning from. It’s not likely that the guards will stop them. If we can somehow attach ourselves to them without anyone noticing…”

“That’s our way in,” Samuel said.

Samuel walked forward boldly, and we followed him. As we neared the gate, the crowds thickened. It was early enough in the morning that anyone living outside the city would still be making their way in — and that worked in our favor. It wasn’t hard to attach ourselves to the tail of the funeral procession. By the time we were that close, there were enough people around us to where we didn’t stick out. We neared the gate, keeping our heads low like the mourners.

I tried not to think of how we would stick out, being so differently dressed from them. But a moment later, we were out of the sun and in the shade of the gatehouse. The chatter of the crowd echoed within the confines of the entrance, and I didn’t dare glance to my left, where a group of people separated us from the guards. Finally, we were through the gates, walking into the sunlight of the city. Before stopping, we walked on with the procession for another moment.

I glanced back toward the gate. The guards were there questioning a new group of people.

“We made it,” I said, hardly able to believe it.

But no one was listening. They were gazing in awe at the buildings surrounding us. The street was bursting with people, flowing down a long, stone avenue like a river toward the city’s center. Tall, stone buildings lined each side of the street, and green trees occupied a median in the center of the avenue. Carts filled with sundries, anything from produce to glassware to clothing to household goods, lined the building fronts, behind each of which a merchant hawked his or her wares. The people were dressed in robes of white and brown, the richer wearing more vibrant colors of yellow, red, and purple. Head scarves covered the faces of most of the women, obscuring almost all of their features except the eyes. The richer and more colorful the woman’s clothing, the more her face was hidden. The poor wore simple tunics of burlap or cotton, all undyed and dirt brown.

The morning air smelled of unwashed flesh and animal dung. The thrum of human life was near deafening.

As we walked ahead, a contingent of guards marched down the street, regaled in leather armor and carrying long, pointed spears. Standing at the head of the contingent was a leader wearing a yellow and black-spotted jaguar headdress. The crowds parted before them, giving them plenty of space to continue walking. The guards marched past us without even a glance. As soon as they passed, people filled the void they left behind. It was a scene of confused chaos.

In the distance, the Coleseo towered above the other buildings. A large temple rose on our left, marble steps leading to an altar surrounded by both green trees and pillars. Smoky incense drifted from the temple’s open doorway, trailing down the steps and into the street below. A vendor to our right shouted, hawking a sugary pastry which carried the scent of cinnamon. Despite my breakfast that morning, my stomach growled.

The entire city was overwhelming, and boasted the wealth and power of the Nova Roman Empire. The amount of things to see was a bit overwhelming, and it made Raider Bluff, the largest city I had seen to this point, look like a tiny dot.

“Come on, we’re not here sightseeing,” Samuel said, marching ahead. “We have to make it to Central Square.”

I followed Samuel, along with the others, but I could not keep myself from not looking around.

“Hide your weapons,” Makara said. “They might be as lenient here as in Raider Bluff.

Nodding, I slipped my gun underneath my shirt, where it would remain hidden.

We followed the curve of the street, surrounded by people on all sides. The main road split into smaller streets of stone, and the smaller streets split into alleyways. People came in and out of doors, groups hung out on corners, watching passersby. And always, the guards marched, stopping people on occasion to ask questions. Most people ignored the guards, giving them a wide berth. I saw two more men wearing jaguar headdresses, questioning a very nervous merchant.

“What are they?” I asked Julian.

“They are the jaguar warriors — the most elite force of the Emperor. They are brutal fighters with both gun and axe. They also serve as his police. During war, they lead the centuries.”

“Centuries?”

Julian didn’t answer for a moment as one of the warriors pushed the poor merchant. The man looked like he was near tears, but in the end, he reached into his satchel, producing a handful of small, silvery items. It was then that I realized they were batteries.

“In the Imperial Army, there are divisions,” Julian said. “Largest is the legion, twenty thousand men. Then comes the cohorts — a thousand men each. The cohorts are split into ten groups of one hundred. These groups of one hundred are called centuries. The jaguar warriors, also known as the centurions, lead the centuries. They are known for the bravery, leadership, and martial prowess.” Julian paused, watching the jaguar warriors turn away from the crestfallen merchant they had just shaken up. “They are also corrupt. You never want to have to fight one.”

I had trouble imagining twenty thousand men in one place — much less an entire army.

“How many legions are in the Empire?” I asked.

Julian shrugged. “Four, I think.”

Eighty thousand men. That could easily overwhelm the entire Wasteland, even if they didn’t have many guns. If we could manage to gather all the people of the Wasteland, and that was a big if, we wouldn’t even have a fourth of Augustus’s army. It was all the more reason why he had to be convinced to join us.