by Ahimsa Kerp
“This I understand all too well,” Iullianus said. “The only thing that has saved my people is how far away we are from Rome. They have to cross Gaul, sail across the sea, and march up Britannia just to engage us. And they’ve still managed to enslave half my country.”
He normally didn’t discuss his past, but Rowanna was easy to talk to. Furthermore, they both knew that either of them could be dead or worse by tomorrow. It was not freezing, not like it would be in either of their countries this early in the spring. Nevertheless, it was cold enough and wet enough that they relied on each other’s body heat every night. They occasionally had sex, but often were too exhausted from the day’s efforts of survival to summon the requisite energy.
“Your people,” Rowanna murmured. She leaned into the big man and wrapped her arm around his chest. “I think they are not unlike mine.”
He felt like there must be some fundamental difference, but he could not articulate why. “I suppose we are. We have no cities or forts such as you. I suppose we are less civilized.”
“If Rome represents civilization, then that can only be a good thing.”
“Rome represents one kind of civilization. The Greeks, the Egyptians, the Brigantes, these were all very different. Though, it is not lost on me that all, ultimately fell before the Romans. It is ironic, however, that the qualities that make the Romans real buggers help them to save the world from the lifeless menace.”
Rowanna said nothing. She was asleep already. He envied her that ability—it was not easy for him to sleep, and then it was only a half-sleep at best. He was too cautious, too wary of menaces that could approach in the night. Dark dreams plagued him and visions of bloody flesh filled his sleeping mind.
She had suggested sleeping in trees, but there were few remaining since the Romans had burned the world. The copse they currently rested under had only slim corkwood trees. These provided some protection from the rain, but a child would be too heavy to climb them.
He lay there, eyes closed for several moments until he was sure that she was asleep. Then he rose and moved away from her. Squatting on his heels, he stared out into the night. The stars were hiding behind the clouds, of course, but he could see a glowing hint of the moon. He had tried to honor his promise to Lepidus, but this was beyond foolish. Only luck had kept them alive for this long. They needed to get out of Italy. Even captured by slavers or pirates would be better than this.
He listened carefully. It was quiet. The lifeless could not move without groaning and moaning, and the Romans and their horses were even louder. He was horrified by the thought of waking up, surrounded by enemies, and each night it didn’t happen, made him think that it was only that more likely the next time.
They had to make for the sea. Tarentum was not far—even at their crawling pace they could be there before the end of the month. From there, anything could happen—they could perhaps sail to Egypt or Iberia. It was the right decision. He sighed as tension that he hadn’t realized existed, fled away into the dark night sky.
He rejoined Rowanna, and pulled her warm body tightly next to his. In the cold spring rain, on the cold spring ground, surrounded by cold enemies, he slept.
He opened his eyes and found the world had withered away. Rowanna was nowhere to be seen, and broken, cracked earth stretched before him as far as the eye could see. He took an unsteady step forward, but his body ached with a heavy inertia and it was only with great effort that he moved at all. A distant but insistent hunger reached for him and filled him with uneasy dread.
In the distance something green shone. Not a tree, though he could not be sure what it was. The green shone with a vitality that caused him to cry out. He had to see what lay there. Some of the earth chasms were so deep that he could see the fires of Hades burning below. Taking care not to cross these, he shambled forward as quickly as he could.
With infinite patience, he crossed the barren landscape. The muscles in his legs ached with fierce intensity and his back felt as though the bones were in the wrong places. Grey and yellow gasses sifted across the land on a listless wind, and the putrid stench gagged him.
At last he drew near. Planted in the earth was the largest shovel he’d ever seen. The blade was buried in swollen earth, but the handle rose far above him. Green blossoms of life sprouted from the shaft, defying the desolation with their very existence. The big man reached out to grab it, to touch it, to embrace it, and then he stopped.
He screamed, though the sound was swallowed by the wretched land. His hand was no longer his, but a monstrosity of rotting, decayed flesh. As he looked, the skin around his small finger bubbled and dripped off, leaving a jagged white bone. He reached for the shovel anyway, but it drew away from his tainted grasp and when he clenched it, the green leaves instantly withered and died.
****
They awoke before dawn, shivering in the early morning cold. This was the best time they’d found to move. The lifeless were sluggish from the chill, and the Roman patrols did not start until after the sun came up. It was hard to rise, however. Together, their clothes had mostly dried and Rowanna’s breasts were pressed comfortingly up against his own chest. The joy he’d felt the previous night was subdued but still present.
They rose and hid the signs of their presence as best they could. The lifeless were mindless, but they seemed to sense humans from afar and there was no reason to help them. And as for the Romans—if they weren’t employing trackers, they soon would be. Iullianus had little woodcraft, and Rowanna only slightly more.
They had few possessions: the weapons they carried, their cloaks, the extra cloak, and a small handful of food. Perhaps the most valuable tool they owned was his shovel, which in addition to killing the lifeless, dug privy pits, made for a walking stick, and made for a seat when the ground was too muddy. With trade blocked and fields burnt, there was little to subsist on. It was yet another reason they had to leave the peninsula, Iullianus mused. They walked along a deer trail that climbed up and down small hills as the sky slowly lit up behind the clouds. The rain continued intermittently, but it was a light spring shower that might have almost been pleasant in other circumstances.
He called a halt when they reached a small shack at the base of a bare hill. It had been modest even in its prime, and now was dilapidated from years of bad weather and neglect, but it still stood, and the roof had more wood than holes.
“Why would you build at the bottom of a hill?” Rowanna asked. “Surely you’d suffer from floods and poor lighting.”
“I know not why, but the Romans haven’t found it yet,” Iullianus said. “There may be food.” They cautiously entered the building. It was clear. They found soggy cucumbers, grapes sour with age, and ground almonds. It did not taste good, but they feasted on it, saving only some limp vegetables for later.
“We must go,” Iullianus said. Bits of almond hung in his teeth.
“Now?” she asked. “I have not yet begun to get dry.”
“Nor shall you. It’s a forced march today. We’ll let our feet follow the way.” He marched out of the shack.
Rowanna followed him out in the foggy morning.
“You’ve a sense of purpose today,” she said.
“We’re heading south, to the sea,” he said. “I decided last night. You were right—we never should have come here. We can surely find a ship there and journey to somewhere without lifeless, Romans, or mud.”
She stared at him for a moment. He knew her well enough to realize that she was not happy. “We have no money. The ports are closed, regardless. It seems like a great deal of trouble, with little chance of success,” she said.
“The large ports will be closed, undoubtedly, but there will be hundreds of bays and harbors too small to patrol. We don’t need a large craft, not with summer coming,” he answered. “And we have no choice. If we don’t escape this, we will both die. Sooner, probably, rather than later.”
"I’d almost rather die than get back on a ship,” she said.
Iu
llianus laughed, louder than he wanted to. She smiled at him, a little reluctantly. “I mean it,” she said. “I’d perhaps rather stay here than board another mobile vomitorium.”
“At least this time you won’t have any food to vomit up.”
“That’s a depressingly optimistic way to look at things.”
“It’s what I do best.” His smile was meant to be charming but it faded almost instantly.
“Did you hear that?” Rowanna asked. Her hands were already reaching for the pilum strapped to her back.
“Silence,” he answered, crouching slightly. He swiveled his head and listened intently.
A low groan reached them.
“By Mithras,” he hissed. Slowly, with deliberate care, he drew his blades. Efossion stayed clasped on his back. Rowanna had the spear before her and she twisted to face the direction they’d come. Good instincts, he thought. He had not taught her that.
Both of them froze, hoping not to attract the notice of the lifeless, but more groaning sounded.
“They’re all around us,” Rowanna whispered.
Iullianus scanned the land. It was bleak and dark, covered in grey clouds. He could not see a thing. The sounds were strangely muffled in the eerie fog. They sounded from all directions.
“Maybe we should go back inside,” Rowanna said.
“No, we need to see what’s coming.” An idea struck him. “I need the high ground. Stay here, and yell when they arrive.” The red-haired man looked carefully at the building.
“It will not hold my weight,” he said. “Perhaps you will have more success.”
She smiled dubiously but approached him, placing her spear down carefully next to him. He clasped his hands together and boosted her up. Her fingertips just caught the edge of the roof and she grunted as she pulled herself up.
She was silent for a long time.
“Well?” Iullianus asked at last. “What do you see?”
“Zalmoxis!” Rowanna said.
“What?”
“Look to the hill.”
Iullianus swiveled his head. There were dozens of lifeless shambling unsteadily toward them. It was difficult to see through the fog, but they looked long dead—there were more bones than flesh, and their clothes were moldering and tattered.
“Get down,” he said, “we must flee.”
“I was wrong about one thing, at least,” Rowanna said as she sat on the edge of the roof. The big man moved to help her, but she jumped down before he could reach her. She leaned down and clasped the shaft of her weapon.
“Yes?” Iullianus asked. The fastest of the undead were closing in on them.
“I would rather fight the Romans after all,” she said. She rose and hefted her spear. The heavy point drove into the face of a twitching lifeless a meter away. Her expression did not change as she stabbed at another, scraping flesh away from bone.
He grabbed the Dacian woman by her elbow. “We can’t win this fight. Nor hold out for long. We must flee.”
She snarled and jabbed her hardwood spear in the gut of an advancing lifeless. With a wrenching twist, she tore away its stomach and intestines plopped out. The monster did not stop, rather, it jerked forward as more long tubes of intestine spilled out.
“Let’s go. Now,” he said.
There were too many coming from the hill to the south, so they turned the way they had come. Once running, none of the lifeless could catch them, and the few that were in their way were felled by fists to the head, or simply knocked over by the advancing humans.
They hadn’t run for long, however, when Iullianus felt a powerful pain in his side. He tried to keep going despite it, but it was too acute to ignore. Rowanna ran awkwardly, her pilum held with both of her hands.
“Apologies,” he panted, “I cannot go on.”
“We can’t stop,” she said. “Keep going.”
“I cannot,” he said, breathing deeply. “Grant me a moment."
“I have you seen you run for hours and not tire," she said.
“This soldier needs more food than he’s been getting,” Iullianus said. He had always been healthy, able to out drink and outfight men a dozen years his junior. Now, some part of his body felt useless, atrophied.
She said nothing, but was looking past him.
“Look behind you,” she said.
He turned, and for a moment he was back in the forested mountains of Dacia. There was a horde, nay an army, of shambling monsters coming for them. There were more together than they had seen since leaving Dacia.
“There's no inspiration,” said Iullianus. “Like that of a thousand undead corpses running at you. I will run again.”
“Do not call them inspiration,” Rowanna said, "for they are the opposite—they are death, decay, and the end of dreams."
He turned and Rowanna shrugged and followed his loping, lupine run. They sprinted away, legs churning across the barren land. If the jagged stitch in his side did not lessen, neither did it worsen. He supposed that was no small favor. After struggling for too long, Iullianus slowed to a steady jog, and then finally to a gasping halt. Rowanna had slowed with him and she looked at him in askance. Iullianus looked carefully behind them, but the mists obscured their undead pursuers. “Let us make for the road,” Iullianus said. “A Roman patrol would perhaps distract them.”
"Is anything wrong?"
"My body feels strange. It's never struggled like this. I may be ill, but that's of no worry to you."
Rowanna nodded at this and together they headed back toward the road. When they had left the road, they'd moved half a day away from it. Here, further south, it must have swung toward them, for they found it not long after.
“Which way?” Rowanna asked.
“South,” Iullianus answered immediately. “We need to reach the sea. Now more than ever.”
It was raining again, as heavy sheets were cascading relentlessly upon them. The foreboding sky was pregnant with dark thunder. They both knew there were lifeless behind them, but it was too wet and too misty to see far at all.
The mud worsened as it grasped at their feet with a relentless clutching. For the first time in his life, Iullianus understood surrender. The endless struggle of survival was beginning to overwhelm him. He needed to stop, to rest. He turned to Rowanna to suggest a break, but the grim look of determination on her face shamed him and he said nothing. He concentrated on walking and not thinking of how cold he was.
As they walked, the rains eased up. It was still cloudy, mostly, but the sun shone over the soaked earth. The sunlight was a ray of warmth and life, and Iullianus felt his spirits warm along with his body. The road cut into a canyon, with high rocky walls on either side. The sun was high enough that it sparkled upon them even with the cliff walls straddling them.
"Be careful," Iullianus said after they had been in the canyon for some time. He had seen something moving. His eyes were unused to the light and he scanned the road ahead, one hand on his brow to block the sun.
There were more lifeless on the road ahead of them. They seemed to be looking for something.
Rowanna flicked her eyes at him and then back to the road. "I see them," she said. "We have to run once more."
So saying, the two of them jogged once more. The creatures were too slow and it was no hard matter to run around them. Iullianus whooped with pleasure as he knocked one down with his shoulder.
"You're feeling better," Rowanna said, as they emerged from the canyon at last.
“I am. Do you see this road?” he pointed to the long stretch of cobblestone. “All we have to do is follow it, and we will walk directly to the sea.”
“What about the Romans?”
“I doubt they have come this far south. They must protect the city itself, and can only journey so far.”
Rowanna nodded. “And how long must we travel down this road before we reach the sea?”
“Truly? I do not know. I think less than a week.”
The sun was shining, they were making good on
their escape, and they had a plan. Iullianus was so happy that he began whistling a jaunty camp tune. They strode through the afternoon, more light-hearted than he could remember. He was still whistling when they stumbled into the Roman camp.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Italy: 89 CE, Early Spring
The sound of Roman trumpets blasting was familiar to Rowanna, and until recently, it had always been the sound of the enemy. Even her time at the camp in Dacia had not taught her to think of it as anything but threatening. Here, she could see the trumpeters standing high in a watchtower. It was a sparse camp, unlike the one she had taken refuge in before. There was no trench, no palisade of sharpened wood. No defenses at all, though the layout of the camp was otherwise the same. They stood in the middle, near the commander's tent.
Within heartbeats, soldiers poured out, surrounding them. They held blades toward the pair, but as of yet had not attacked. Rowanna knew it was merely a matter of time, and she hefted her spear, ready to take as many with her as she could. Iullianus had opted for the opposite tactic. He had laid his swords on the ground and held his arms open widely.
“Salve,” he said, “I am Legatus Tettius Iullianus of the Legio XIII Gemina. We are not enemies. There is no reason for bloodshed.”
The men surrounding them separated looking to a medium sized, swarthy man who could have been no more than twenty. He stepped forward, the tension on his face visible. “Salve, Tettius Iullianus. I wish I could greet you as a friend, I truly do, but we are of the Legion Mortis. None meet us without tasting death as a result.”
Rowanna could tell posturing when she saw it, and knew a fight was coming. Were they Dacians, they already would be throwing punches. What did civilization do to men that made them act less like humans? She took a deep breath, wondering which would be her first target. It would be difficult. These men all wore armor, and most of them were big Germanic warriors. She wondered if she would even be able to kill one of them before they got to her.
