“You can’t do this,” Herakleia said. “Not now, Alexios. Now when we need you the most.”

  They were in the Daphne Community Hall. It was late, and the union leaders of the Workers’ Council—sitting on chairs on a stage at the hall’s center—had dealt with all its business for the day. As leader of the soldiers’ union, Alexios had joined them, doing his best to keep himself under control, even as visions continued to burn at the edges of his eyesight. Workers, peasants, mothers, children, and all sorts of people from within and without the city had joined them, sitting at the tables and chairs around the stage, listening to the councilors’ discussions and sometimes interrupting with questions or comments.

  Before the uprising, the Community Hall had been the site for Trebizond’s open-air slave market. Alexios saw the hall torn down, the market reconstructed, the mothers and children here standing nude in chains on the stage, with the auctioneer shouting prices into the crowd, the families screaming and crying as they were separated.

  “Kentarch Leandros,” Samonas said. “Do you wish to respond to the strategos?”

  Alexios cleared his throat. “I was going to say…you’ve got all kinds of good people who can take my place here. Kentarch Fatima al-Din has already been doing a great job of handling things during my leave of absence—”

  “All because of what a wandering holy man told you,” Herakleia said. “All because you’ve been having hallucinations.”

  “Yes,” Alexios said.

  “There’s no way we can keep you here,” Herakleia said. “Nothing we can say or do. No medicine we can procure.”

  “Nothing.” Alexios was growing more stressed. Sweat was running down his face, and his voice was trembling. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. I want to stay. But I’ll lose my mind if I stay. I can’t go on like this.”

  Herakleia looked at the other union leaders. For a moment, all was silent.

  Jamshied the Blacksmith waved his big, muscular hand. “If he wishes to leave, who are we to deny him?”

  Alexios nodded to Jamshied. There had always been tension between these two, since both loved Herakleia.

  “It was Kentarch Leandros that saved the city in the first siege,” said a black-veiled babushka in the audience named Ioulia. “In the second siege, he left us to find help, and could have gone forever if he’d wanted. A lesser man would have saved his skin and allowed the rest of us here to die. But we were counting on him, and he knew that. Alexios, he came back with a whole century of new fighters, new workers, good people we’ve all come to love and respect. The Domari. He risked his life for us so many times. He would only leave us if he didn’t have a choice. We can’t keep him here against his will. That’s slavery, that is.”

  In spite of everything, Alexios’s face broke into a genuine smile. “Thank you for your kind words, grandmother, but everything I did would have been impossible without the people in the uprising.”

  “It’s good to be humble, it’s good to be modest,” Ioulia said. “But false modesty is also an affront to God.”

  “It isn’t false,” Alexios said. “Even the people on this stage, Herakleia and Jamshied, they sacrificed so much while I was gone.”

  “You should also take pride in your achievements, young man,” Ioulia said. “You made a difference, Kentarch Leandros. My whole family would all be slaves, now, and scattered like so much dust to the four winds if not for you.”

  A tear burned Alexios’s eye, and he wiped it away and nodded. “Thank you, grandmother.”

  “You’re welcome, my grandson,” she said.

  Ioulia’s words made Alexios doubt everything, as no one else’s words had. He returned to the possibility that he had already lost his mind. Maybe the last year had been too stressful. If he just held on and did some sort of therapy, took some of Za-Ilmaknun’s medicine, maybe he could stay and help his friends. And who knew? If Alexios was wrong about these visions, leaving—rather than staying—might doom the uprising.

  The people are nothing without good leaders. Good leaders are nothing without the people. And if the Romans captured me outside Trebizond, tortured information out of me…

  Other members in the audience were standing, in the mean time, and describing how Alexios had made a difference in their lives. One amazon named Simonis said that during the second siege, Alexios had galloped on his horse out of nowhere and killed a Latin who was trying to have his way with Zulaika al-Jariya. Amina bint Hamza al-Ghuraba of the Bani Murra, who was also in the audience, described how Alexios had freed her family from slavery in the Assyrian desert, even though they had been too frightened to fight for themselves—too frightened to even think about running away. A Domari child named Omar standing beside her added that he had learned the farr from Alexios on the march upcountry from Melitené to Trebizond.

  “He went out of his way to teach me,” Omar said. “He could have ignored me like other adults, but I liked him. He always treated me with respect. Like I was his equal.”

  It went on. Many people described the difference Alexios had made in their lives. Several times he told them it was unnecessary to speak like this, it was late, everyone had work in the morning. But they wanted to tell him. Perhaps they sensed that this was their last chance—because Alexios had decided that he was leaving, and nothing would stop him.

  Eventually the council voted. Everyone but Herakleia chose to let Alexios go. He thanked them, shook their hands, said goodbye to them—all of them, even the audience members, everyone except Herakleia. Then the council voted to adjourn, and everyone walked out. Avoiding Herakleia—avoiding even her gaze, since she was furious with him—Alexios walked through the dark city to his apartment. He wanted to get Rakhsh and leave that same night, but when he returned home and found Isato, Basil, and Kassia sleeping peacefully in their beds, he stopped and held still in the silence, thinking.

  Should they come with me? It’s too dangerous. But I can’t leave them here. And I can’t leave without saying goodbye. I can’t wake them up, either. They’ll never get back to sleep…

  Anxious as he was to leave, he forced himself to lie in bed beside Isato. This was not so difficult as it might have seemed, since she was one of the most beautiful people he had ever encountered. Merely touching her made him drunk with bliss. When they had first met, when he had first seen her, he had trembled at the sight of her. It had felt like he was drowning in her beauty, like he was unable to control himself and would collapse. She was like a deafening ringing in his ears, a blinding light shining into his eyes, a numbing tingling that consumed his body. Yet so many nights he had lain here, either afraid or unable to sleep, or tortured with nightmares, the shadow on his face. This disturbed Isato, which was the last thing Alexios wanted. This wasn’t just because he loved her—although he did love her. He had always loved her, since before either of them had even existed…

  Months had passed since she had been angry enough to transform into a hyena, but it was still good to avoid antagonizing her. She was prickly enough in her human form, but became a whirlwind of destruction if you pushed her too far.

  Alexios lay in bed beside her in the dark, waiting for the visions to come. But for some reason they let him be. He soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the first he’d enjoyed in weeks.

  When he woke, it was almost noon. The sun shone through the window, and city sounds filled his apartment. This place consisted of one room with four beds against the four walls facing a big wooden chest in the center. Isato and the kids had already gotten up and left without waking him. No doubt they had noticed how well he was sleeping, and had decided to let him rest.

  He wondered, for a moment, if he was free from his visions, if they had departed with the same seeming randomness as when they had arrived. Yet this thought alone—hinting that he might be able to stay in Trebizond after all—instantly brought the visions back. Once more, he saw the city burning, its inhabitants led away in chains or lying dead in the streets.

  “Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ll go.”

  The visions vanished.

  Alexios took a deep breath, then got ready to leave. There was little to take with him. Armor, Gedara sword, a change of clothing, a heavy cloak for sleep and cold weather, money, Zhayedan Fighting Manual, shoes, some water flasks, some sacks for food and feed. What else did one need to travel across the world? As for his family, the city would take care of them. It was a communal place. Everyone—children, elders, the infirm, everyone—was everyone’s responsibility. No one did anything alone here. The uprising focused especially on single mothers and orphans, since so many had been produced by the chaos plaguing the world.

  Although Alexios was sorry to leave Trebizond, and afraid of what the future held, a small part of him also felt excited.

  There’s so much to see of the world. I’ve barely scratched the surface.

  Still, even the hardiest merchants rarely went all the way to Sera. (This was the plan that was coalescing in Alexios’s mind.) Most of the time they brought their merchandise only one city over on the silk routes, dropping it off in exchange for the merchandise which others had brought from other places. (Franks and Romans, having nothing of value to trade—“Europe” being a wretched cultural backwater, a glorified peninsula jutting off from Asia, India, and Africa—usually just brought gold or silver coin in exchange for silk, spice, slaves.) Making “good time” on such a trip would mean reaching Sera in about a year. As far as Alexios knew, only Herakleia, Gontran, Diaresso, and maybe Sedko Sitinits even talked about doing something like that. So many mountains, deserts, and bandits lay in the way.

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  Alexios was so caught up in his preparations that he found himself with his supplies and even with his trusty, cinnamon-colored horse Rakhsh walking through Trebizond—where everything was being built or rebuilt—toward the Satala Gate, thinking that within a few hours he would be back in Tourkía and among raiders and ruined towns and cities again. A voice stopped him.

  “Where do you think you’re going, commoner?”

  He turned. Isato was standing in the street, her arms crossed, wearing the white clothing—trimmed with rainbow patterns—of Aethiopia. Bushy black curly hair, shining blue eyes, the blackest skin of all. She had brought a horse of her own, as had Basil and Kassia, who were standing with her. Their three horses were also loaded with supplies.

  “You didn’t think you were leaving without us?” Kassia said.

  “He's still got a lot to learn,” Basil said.

  “You guys can’t come with me,” Alexios said. “It’s too dangerous. There’s—”

  “What could be more dangerous than what we’ve already been through?” Kassia said.

  “Don’t you remember the time we fell into that lava pit with the giant skeleton that was trying to eat us?” Basil said.

  “Or the battle in Miriai’s caravanserai,” Isato added.

  Alexios frowned. “You guys—”

  “There’s no use fighting us,” Basil said. “We’re coming with you.”

  Alexios raised his finger. “Then don’t complain about it. This is your choice. No one’s forcing you to come along. You can stay here, people will take care of you.”

  “I can’t believe you were going to leave without even saying goodbye,” Kassia said.

  “That wasn’t my plan at all,” Alexios said. “It’s just—”

  “This also isn’t the way you want to go,” Basil said. “Heading east on the roads is too dangerous. We found a ship that’ll take us across the Euxine to the port city of Phasis in Mingrelia. From there we can cross the Kaukasos on foot, then take another ship across the Hyrkanian Ocean into Mazanderan.”

  “You’ve really taken care of everything, haven’t you?” Alexios said.

  “Somebody had to,” Kassia said. “Since you obviously weren’t going to.”

  Alexios laughed. He was impressed with how Kassia and Basil had grown so much since he first met them. Then again, they had lived through a war. There had been little time for them to be children.

  The four travelers wended their way through the city down to Hadrian’s Harbor. There they found thousands of people waiting for them—amazons, workers, peasants, administrators, families, priests, imams, even a rabbi and a mobad. All were facing Alexios when he arrived with his family. A band played a celebratory song, cheers went up, and everyone tried to shake the travelers’ hands and wish them well. Some gave them money, others urged them to be careful. Alexios found himself laughing and crying at the same time, unable to believe that Trebizond had turned out like this. Za-Ilmaknun was also there to bless Isato and bid her farewell. The princess thanked her debtera for keeping her safe on her Roman pilgrimage.

  “But now your duty is done,” she said to Za-Ilmaknun. “I release you from my service.”

  Za-Ilmaknun knelt and kissed her hand. “I shall always be in your service, my lady.”

  “Use your āsimati to keep these people safe.” Isato nodded to the thousands of Trapezuntines who had gathered here. “And await my return.”

  “I shall do all you command, my lady,” Za-Ilmaknun said. “May God protect you and grant you a safe journey.”

  Isato bowed. “And you, deacon. I feel you will not be staying here. You are too restless. You will have adventures all your own.”

  “I intend to, my lady.”

  At the end of the crowds was Herakleia, standing beside Sedko Sitinits and his wife, Vasilissa the Wise, the two Varangians who were the elected leaders of the city-ship of Kitezh. The two traders offered to take the four horses aboard a Kitezhi longship called the Sparhawk, moored to the mole and ready for departure. Alexios embraced Miriai, and with tears in her eyes the beautiful old grannie made an obscure sign over him.

  Herakleia hugged Basil and Kassia goodbye and shook hands awkwardly with Isato. As the three passengers went aboard with Sedko and Vasilissa and the horses, Herakleia turned to Alexios. The band kept playing, but with less verve, and the crowd watched them in silence. Everyone knew about their past.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Herakleia told Alexios.

  “Is this goodbye?” Alexios said.

  “It doesn’t have to be. You have to take care of yourself. Take care of your kids and Isato.”

  “It’s starting to look like they’re the ones taking care of me.”

  Herakleia hugged him close. “I’ll see you again. I know it.”

  “At least somebody does.” Alexios pulled away—Isato was watching from the Sparhawk’s deck—and then he shook Herakleia’s hand. “I’ll miss you, strategos. I’ll be thinking about you. Take care of the uprising until I get back.”

  “I always do,” Herakleia said.

  Alexios went aboard the Sparhawk. Sedko ordered the sailors to weigh anchor. Soon the sails were unfurled and full of wind, and the rowers were maneuvering the longship east, guiding it along the shoreline. At the harbor, the band was blasting its trumpets and the kaba gaida bagpipes and pounding its drums and cymbals, everyone in the crowd was shouting and clapping and waving their hands, and even the basiliks on the walls were firing salutes. The whole city seemed to be bidding the travelers farewell.

  Herakleia stood alone on the mole, watching them leave. Alexios waved at the crowds, keeping his eyes on Herakleia until she was impossible to see.

  The Sparhawk passed the city’s fishing fleet, the sailors aboard the sailboats and dinghies waving and wishing them well. Soon Trebizond was lost in the mist. To port stretched the endless Euxine Sea, to starboard lay the rolling hills and mountains and little fishing villages of the land that was either called Lazistan or Lazika, depending on whom you asked.

  “It’s a two-day journey to Mingrelia,” Sedko told Alexios, as they stood together on the Sparhawk’s sunny, windy deck, watching Isato, Vasilissa, Basil, and Kassia lean over the bowsprit and spit into the waves for luck.

  “I feel like I ought to tell you,” Sedko said. “I don’t approve of this little trip of yours.”

  “Join the club,” Alexios said.

  “If it were up to me,” Sedko continued. “I wouldn't have brought you at all. But when I heard you were going, I worried you'd end up sailing aboard some slave ship. You don’t know how dangerous it is out there in Mingrelia, Abasgia, Georgia, Shirvan—it's almost pure chaos out there. All of you are just getting yourselves into trouble, in my opinion. I don't mean any offense, but it’s not something you’re likely to come back from.”

  “We’ve been through some rough spots before,” Alexios said. “Besides, Herakleia, Gontran, and Diaresso have all made it to Sera and back again.”

  “Times have changed.” Sedko shook his head. “Even in the last couple of years, everything has gotten worse. Why else do you think I'm working with you? There's nobody to trade with! It’s hard for anyone to farm out there these days. As soon as farmers get a crop, raiders sweep in and steal it. Everyone’s either starving, enslaved, or hiding up in their little mountain villages—the only places where they have any chance of defending themselves.”

  “Against Turks?”

  “Turks, Turkmen, Arabs, Armenians, Jews, Georgians, Persians, Varangians, Romans, even some Khazars, it doesn’t matter. They’re all mixed up together. And none of them were ever pure to begin with. Some of the Christian nobles and their retinues joined the Turks when they started coming from the east or west or north or south or god knows where. Sometimes they had that choice, and they took it. You can either be a snake out here, or you can be a mouse. That’s just the way it is.”

  “We had some experience with that. A few months ago we rode through Tourkía, south all the way to this place called Harran. We survived.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’ll make it this time,” Sedko said. “And look, I don’t mean to keep one-upping you, but this is different. The situation out there in Mingrelia, it’s bad. There's Muslim emirs, Christian kings, pagan lords, all kinds of different people fighting over it. Nobody's really in control anymore. Just landlords, farmers, and raiders. And actually, I ought to warn you. The port we’re coming to—Phasis is what it’s called—there’s a slave market there. Sometimes even the Venetians or Genoans or Arabs make it all the way out here to pick up slaves. They’re so cheap, they’re practically giving them away. And the slaves themselves, you know, as crazy as it sounds, some of them don’t even mind getting out of this place, even if they have to leave in chains. That’s how bad it is. In Fustat or Venice or Genoa, slaves have got a shot. Maybe their masters will like them, maybe they’ll set them free, maybe they can run away, they can have a little land of their own, they can start a family and be serfs instead of slaves. But here, there’s just no chance, no chance at all.”

  Alexios wondered what Gontran would say about this character—was Sedko always so negative? “You’re saying we shouldn’t get involved with all the different conflicts in Mingrelia?”

  “Do whatever you want. Just give me some time to cast off before all the hacking and slashing starts. And remember, you’re not alone.” Sedko nodded to Isato, Kassia, and Basil. “You’ve got kids to think about. You’ve got a family.”

  “They’re more dangerous than they look. You wouldn’t want to mess with them.”

  “Right,” Sedko said. “I’m just worried we’re never going to see any of you again.”

  “You might not. But I told them. They all know the risks.”

  “Do they though? Sometimes we run into things we don’t expect. Things that change us more than we thought possible.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  Alexios was thinking of how he had plunged into Byzantium a year ago, all because he had been sent to high school detention without any evidence of wrongdoing. Then, out of boredom, he had played what had turned out to be a magical board game, and now he was here on a longship sailing in the Euxine in the year 1082. He had changed so much since he had first arrived. Who could have expected that? Yet he realized now that the old person he’d used to be—Julian Torres—was only a child, one focused on little more than satisfying his immediate whims. Video games, food, jerking off, sleep, hanging out, and avoiding antagonizing the adults in his life—his parents and teachers, these shadowy presences hovering over everything. That was it. Now, things were different. He was a father, a romantic partner, a leader—an adult, even if he was still young. People counted on him. His ideas had transformed, too. In the old world, he’d thought any real change impossible. Now he knew that it was inevitable.

  Julian Torres and Alexios Leandros were different people. The self was just an egotistical illusion, one created by material circumstance. When material circumstances changed, that self also changed, and, in changing, changed material circumstance. And sometimes it could change so much that—although it occupied the same body as its previous incarnation—its present form could be as different from its past as any two random human beings.

  Evening came. Sedko gave orders to drop anchor, have dinner, rest. He refused to bring the Sparhawk anywhere near the shore—which turned out to be the right choice. As the crew and the passengers were all eating on the deck, a man on a horse rode out from the forest that was covering the mountains, themselves shining in the orange sunset. It was too far to see what the horseman looked like, but a crew member said that he was shouting. Everyone stopped to listen. Alexios was unable to understand whatever the horseman was saying. Sedko closed his eyes and cupped his hands around his ears. The horseman drew a scimitar, waved it at them—the metal gleaming in the orange light—then sheathed his weapon and galloped out of sight.

  “It was some dialect of Turkish.” Sedko lowered his hands. “He was telling us we’re doomed. That we’re in his territory, now—he called this place ‘Chaneti.’ We’re all going to be enslaved, he can’t wait to get a good price for our skins, he’ll kill us all, and on and on.”

  Everyone on the deck was silent.

  “Friendly guy,” Alexios said. “But it’s nothing we haven’t heard before. And it’s a good thing they don’t know how to swim. Good walls and deep water are pretty much the only things that stop these guys.”

  “For now,” Sedko said.