Etruscans

by Morgan Llywelyn

  Pepan should be behind him … and then he inhaled sharply. “But he told me he was vulnerable in the Netherworld too!”

  Suddenly he understood. Pepan had offered himself as a sacrifice. Horatius turned and ran back through the defile, ax in hand. This time he would be ready for them. He would hold his breath and not breathe their poison.

  But the sandy plain was deserted. There was no sign of the creatures, though the ground was encrusted with slime. There was no sign of Pepan either, only a puddle of blood.

  Crouching, Horatius studied the scene. The congealing blood told him nothing. But then the pervasive, lurid light changed slightly and he made out an unusual indentation on the ground a few paces away. He got swiftly to his feet and went to look.

  Moving in a straight line across the sand toward the horizon were blurred marks more nearly resembling the tracks of a bear than those of a man. They were accompanied by the footprints of naked human feet, high-arched like a woman’s. Between them were the unmistakable prints of Pepan’s Etruscan sandals.

  Horatius raised his ax in silent salute to the man he had known so briefly—the man who had been with him all his life.

  Then he retraced his own footsteps back through the defile, in the direction Pepan had sent him. His journey was not yet over.

  No sooner had he set foot on the gleaming black plain than he became aware of something moving beneath him. When he glanced down he discovered his own reflection, as if he walked on a mirrored surface. At first the effect was unsettling. He kept looking down to see his face looking back at him.

  Raising his eyes, he tried to estimate the distance to the horizon. But perspective was unreliable here. At one moment it seemed quite close, then when he looked again he was gazing across an endless blackness beneath a lurid red dome. The infrequent streaks of gold that blazed across the faraway roof of the Netherworld were also reflected in the black marble. Like fireflies, they provided nervous flashes of light that were gone before he could focus on them.

  Nothing else moved on the dark plain.

  Perhaps because he was alone now, Horatius felt increasingly apprehensive. And yet the ax was on his shoulder, the knife and slingshot close to hand. None of these had been of any use against the creatures with the bubbling skin but they were a comforting reminder of Pepan’s words: You have never been alone.

  He walked on for a time.

  An interminable time.

  The landscape, and himself as the solitary figure in it, was unutterably depressing. What he had seen of the Netherworld was no place for a human spirit, he thought. What would the Kingdom of the Dead be like? Surely it was better than this. But he had no idea in which direction it lay, any more than he knew where to find his mother. He could only keep going forward, ever hopeful of discovering something—anything.

  Perhaps that is what faith means, Horatius told himself.

  Then in the distance he glimpsed a single figure that flickered in and out of his vision, now discernible, now seeming no more than a trick of the light. As he watched, he realized the figure was coming in his direction. Soon he could tell that it was bobbing back and forth as if running in an erratic pattern, then crouching and half-turning to look back.

  These were the actions of prey fleeing a predator.

  Hefting the ax, he scanned the horizon but saw nothing else moving.

  As it came closer, the figure gradually resolved itself into that of a man. Every movement he made indicated terror. Horatius set off toward him, impelled by the instinct to help a fellow being in distress. Then he paused. There was something disturbing about that figure. Although manlike in every proportion, he was running too fast for any human.

  Horatius took the ax from his shoulder and balanced it warily in his two hands.

  Now the other noticed him, turned toward him. The unnatural speed slowed to a normal pace.

  Horatius called out, “Are you in trouble?”

  The man threw up one arm and waved. “Stay where you are,” he called, “I will come to you.” He trotted toward Horatius.

  As he approached Horatius was astonished to see a face he knew: the clear green eyes, the piercing gaze of an eagle.

  Lars Porsena.

  The Prince of Clusium—here!

  Then at once he realized that although the creature wore the handsome visage of the prince, this was no human.

  At the same time Lars Porsena reacted to him. He stopped, shocked. His handsome face hardened into a look of implacable hatred. “I know you,” he said through clenched teeth as he approached. “Oh, but this is good … good. Surely the Ais are playing with me. This is some jest. I know you,” he repeated almost with disbelief. “You have your mother’s sound.”

  Horatius was caught off guard. “How do you know about my mother’s sound?”

  Lars Porsena bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. “I know all about your mother; at least, all I need to know.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Seen her? I just left her—back there.” With a jerk of his head he indicated the direction from which he had come. Then unaccountably he chuckled.

  “I have to go to her,” Horatius began, but before he could take a step Lars Porsena blocked his way.

  “You are going nowhere,” said the demon in a voice vibrating with menace. “You pitiful puling pup, the gods have delivered you into my hands after all. I can snatch victory from the very fangs of defeat. When I finish with you there will be one less thing for me to worry about. When I have done with you, I may even go back and confront Pythia.”

  Faster than thought, the Etruscan body melted into a different form altogether. Instead of a human being Horatius was confronted with a man-size ball of metallic-looking spikes. The ball rolled toward him, pulsing rhythmically, while from its midsection two green fires burned like eyes. A spiky tentacle shot out to take a savage swing at Horatius.

  He dodged sideways, barely avoiding the tentacle, feeling it brush against his hair. “What do you want?” he cried with a sense of outrage. “I’ve done nothing to you!”

  From within the ball the voice of Lars Porsena replied, “You exist. That is your crime against me and the punishment is death.”

  “That makes no sense!”

  The demon chuckled. “You expect logic? The rules of existence are different once you leave the Earthworld. You are totally in my power here.”

  Not totally, thought Horatius. Hit me; strike my breastplate.

  With an act of purest faith, the young man stood firm. When the demon reached for him he met the blow with his chin up and his head high. The spiky tentacle snapped out, catching him full in the chest. It rebounded harmlessly off his armor.

  But it suffered dreadful damage in return. A ripple of blue fire ran up the appendage from the surface of Horatius’s breastplate. There was a blinding flash of light and a great crash like the voice of Tinia the lightning god. With a howl of pain, the spiky ball disappeared.

  In its place stood a beautiful woman, nursing a bruised arm.

  The transformation was so abrupt, the contrast so total, Horatius could only stare. She was the most compelling creature he had ever seen. A mane of honey-colored hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing naked breasts. The curve of her unclothed hips was an invitation; the golden nest at the base of her rounded belly was a lure. Meltingly green eyes smiled languorously at Horatius. “I want you,” she whispered.

  The young man’s body responded with a surge of mindless desire.

  Opening her arms, the woman urged, “Come to me. Be my lover and you will know the heights of passion.”

  Unconsciously, Horatius stepped forward and the woman moved to meet him.

  “I will teach you wonders,” she promised in a voice throbbing with invitation. But as she spoke the hair on her head began to move, to writhe and twist with a horrid life of its own. The light in her green eyes became an insane glare that held nothing of human warmth.

  Fighting the lust still scorching throug
h him, Horatius held his shield at an angle so he could catch the woman’s reflection in the metal surface. What he saw was no woman at all. Instead his enemy was revealed as a figure of putrescent horror, holding out arms that dripped with the rot of the grave.

  Shuddering, Horatius swung the shield in front of him to cut off the vision.

  A silence fell then. He might have been alone in all creation. The loudest sounds were the roaring of his blood in his ears; the thudding of his heart. He waited, trying to prepare for the unguessable, but nothing further happened.

  When he could stand it no longer he peered over the top of the shield and saw only the black plain, the red sky. Then he heard something moving and looked down.

  On the ground before him crouched a monstrous lizard longer than a man. The body was the color of flame, the head saffron yellow surmounted by a serrated crest of orange cartilage. From the shoulders sprouted leathery black tendrils that waved like weed beneath the sea.

  The saurian’s eyes were clearest green.

  Fixing a cold gaze on Horatius, the lizard vented a roar that reverberated across the plain. Its open mouth revealed a double row of pointed teeth, each one as long as a man’s thumb, set in muscular jaws. The creature continued to roar as it lashed its tail from side to side, building momentum for the attack.

  Horatius held his shield to one side, arms spread as if inviting destruction.

  The lizard lunged forward.

  Fearsome teeth clamped on the young man’s shin. The beast bit down; the teeth shattered like glass against the greaves.

  The lizard’s roar became a squeal of pain as splintered shards tore its mouth and tongue. Black blood spurted. The monster writhed at Horatius’s feet and …

  … was transformed into an immense bull.

  The roar of the lizard was as nothing compared to the bellow of the bull, a creature half again as large as any Earthworld beast. The hide was dead white with large patches of red, like splotches of blood, on the back and belly. A pair of sharp black horns curved out from the forehead—but it was not a bull’s forehead. The beast’s massive shoulders were surmounted with an outsize human head. The face was a distortion of Lars Porsena’s.

  Pawing the ground and snorting in rage, this grotesque brute fixed baleful green eyes on Horatius. It was powerful enough to charge through his shield. Even his breastplate could not turn so huge an adversary.

  Had not one of his ancestors mentioned bulls?

  Horatius spread his feet to give himself a more secure stance and hefted the gold-plated ax just as the bull charged.

  Horatius neatly sidestepped the charge and put his full weight behind the swing. The ax sang with a voice of its own, a somber whirr of death. The glittering blade sliced into the muscular neck of the bull just below the human jawbone. There was a momentary resistance of tough flesh, but nothing could deflect the sacrificial ax.

  At the moment it sliced through the brute’s jugular, Lars Porsena changed again.

  In place of a bull with a man’s head an even more improbable hybrid appeared. Crouching on four clawed legs was a creature with the body of a great, tawny lion—and with wings. This time the head was that of an eagle, a green-eyed eagle. The pitiless, predatory eyes burned into those of Horatius.

  He swiftly took half a step backward and lifted the ax for another blow. Before he could strike, the creature unfolded its broad wings and sprang into the sky.

  The ax sang harmlessly through empty air.

  Tilting back his head, Horatius saw the thing hovering above him out of range of the ax. When it screamed its voice was like nothing he had ever heard before. Then it extended its clawed feet and dived toward him.

  The mighty wings beat the air so hard they almost knocked Horatius down. One of the feet caught the ax, tore it from his grasp, and carried it high into the crimson heavens. Screaming triumphantly, the monster climbed into the sky again and prepared for another dive. With gaping beak and downbeating wings, the brute could plummet to the ground with enough force to break Horatius in half.

  Horatius whipped the pouch from around his neck. Tucking the flint knife into his belt, he twisted the cloth into a sling that he armed with a stone from the Styx.

  The monster dived.

  Horatius fired.

  The stone struck between the savage green eyes. The brute, stunned, lost control and fell spinning out of the red sky.

  When it hit the ground it vanished. In its place a human figure lay crumpled at Horatius’s feet. The figure moaned and struggled to rise, then turned a bloody face toward the young man. “Help me,” implored Pepan, reaching out. “Help me get up.”

  Horatius automatically extended a hand. Pepan got to his feet with an effort, wincing in pain. “What have you done to me?”

  “I don’t … but … I don’t understand …” stammered Horatius. “You … I mean he … I thought you were a monster.”

  “I am and always have been your friend,” Pepan replied reprovingly.

  Embarrassed, Horatius dropped his eyes … and noticed two reflections on the gleaming black surface where they stood. His own was familiar, but the image beneath Pepan did not resemble the Rasne lord. It belonged to a very different man in a very menacing posture.

  Horatius swiftly dropped to one knee and snatched the flint knife from his belt. Raising his arm, he struck a mighty downward blow. The weapon fashioned by the earliest Etruscan sank to the hilt in what appeared to be solid stone—and pinned the demon’s reflection to the ground.

  Pepan’s form dissolved into that of a furious Lars Porsena. He tried to lift first one foot and then the other from the ground, but they were held securely in place. Even demonic strength could not free them from their reflection.

  He was trapped.

  His green eyes gave Horatius a look of such concentrated hatred that the young man took a step sideways, out of Lars Porsena’s reach.

  The demon bent to draw the knife from the stone himself, but when his fingers touched the handle a shudder ran through him. He convulsed with pain. White smoke coiled from seared flesh.

  “My mother!” Horatius cried. “Where is she?”

  Through clenched teeth the demon snarled, “I’ll tear you to bits!”

  “I think not. We just proved I am more than a match for you. But I might be prepared to release you in exchange for information about my mother.”

  With a visible effort Lars Porsena arranged his features in a slightly more amiable expression. “What do you want to know?”

  “How can I be sure you’re telling me the truth?”

  “I have no reason to lie to you.”

  “You have no reason to kill me either.”

  “Ah, but I do. Did. If you release me I will consider matters settled between us however.”

  “First you’ll have to tell me about my mother and where to find her. Did you have anything to do with her kidnapping?”

  “I?” Lars Porsena sounded genuinely offended. He splayed the fingers of his right hand across his chest in a gesture of sincerity. “I dearly love women, I would cause no harm to any of them. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? I had as soon trust a viper. I don’t know just what you are, but …”

  As Horatius said the word viper, Lars Porsena went pale. His green eyes were no longer fixed on the young man’s face; they were staring over his shoulder with a look of total terror.

  At first Horatius suspected a trick, but it was obvious that Lars Porsena’s fear was genuine as he redoubled his efforts to free himself. He was almost sobbing with terror.

  Horatius turned to follow the direction of his gaze. Coming over the horizon was a huge, dark figure that appeared to glide forward, halt long enough to gather itself like a coiled spring, then glide forward again.

  “No,” Lars Porsena gasped. “No no no no no!”

  “What is that?” asked Horatius.

  “Pythia.”

  The name meant nothing to Horatius, but the way the creature was moving was unne
rving. It advanced with astonishing rapidity. By the time it had halved the distance between them, he could make out details.

  He stared in disbelief at the largest serpent he had ever seen.

  The upper part of her body was female, though not human. In her coils she carried two human women. She was so huge that their bodies did not impede her progress in the slightest.

  “Don’t let her get me!” begged Lars Porsena.

  Horatius started to ask, “What does she want with you?” but the words dried on his tongue as he recognized one of the women caught fast in the serpent’s coils.

  “Mother!”

  At the sound of his voice Vesi opened her eyes.

  “Horatrim,” she called softly.

  She was looking down at her son from a height, for the huge serpent was holding the two women far above a man’s reach. Both women were alive and conscious. The muscular coils of the creature possessed unimaginable power, but also great delicacy. Pythia could have crushed Vesi and Justine if she chose. Instead she held them almost tenderly.

  “Bur-Sin,” she hissed.

  The being Horatius knew as Lars Porsena crouched on the earth in abject terror.

  “Did you think to escape me?” Pythia inquired of him. “You demons are so arrogant.” Her glance flickered toward Horatius. Her eyes were as cold as the spaces between the stars. “I am the goddess Pythia. Release this cringing thing to me at once.”

  The young man calculated swiftly. Although the being before him was awesome, obviously she had some limitations or she would not have asked him to release Lars Porsena. She would have done so herself.

  “I will release him to you on one condition,” he replied. “Give those women to me. Then he is yours.”

  “No!” screamed Lars Porsena. Neither Pythia nor Horatius paid any attention to him. He had become a mere object for barter.

  Lowering her head on her sinuous neck, Pythia brought it close to Horatius. Her forked tongue flickered over his face in a curious, questing gesture. He shrank inwardly from her touch but stood his ground.

  “Ah,” she said at last. “So that is who you are. What extraordinary gifts you possess! Bur-Sin underestimated you, I suspect. He always underestimates others: his opinion of himself is so great he assumes everyone else must be inferior. In truth there is nothing superior about him. He is a thief, a bully, and a coward and deserves whatever punishment I choose to give him. Let me think …”