by David McAfee
The men sighed. Several sat where they were, while a few went into the trees, most likely to take care of some pressing bodily needs.
“Two men?” he asked. “Which ones?”
“Argus and Jason,” Weilus replied, panting. “They were at the rear of the line.”
“How long ago?”
“It is hard to say, sir. We’ve been marching hard and long, but my best guess would be sometime within the last half hour.”
“Deserters?”
“Not likely.”
No, not likely. Weilus had personally chosen the men for this mission. Gareth knew both Argus and Jason. They were good, dedicated men. They would not have deserted. Something must have happened to them. But what?
Whatever it was, it would have to wait.
“Tell the men to double up,” Gareth said. “No one is to leave the group without a partner. Not even to take a piss. Understand?”
Weilus nodded and saluted, then left to inform the men.
Gareth watched as his men learned of their new marching orders. Not one of them questioned them or seemed uneasy. Several of them put their hands on their swords, their suddenly stern expressions spoke volumes about their state of readiness. Even travel weary as they were, his men were ready for a fight. Weilus had chosen well.
He just hoped it would be enough to stave off whatever had taken Argus and Jason.
***
Jarek also watched as Weilus gave the men their new orders. He stood about fifty feet from the group of men, hiding in the shadows between the trees. Unlike them, he did not need torches to see in the dark. His newfound visual prowess allowed him to make out every detail of their clothing even in the thick darkness under the forest canopy. He could count the droplets of sweat on Weilus’s forehead.
And he heard every word they spoke.
He brought his hand to his mouth, wiping away the fresh blood on his lips. Argus and Jason had been excellent fare. He felt strong and ready. But even with his newfound strength and speed, Jarek did not feel up to the task of attacking twenty armed city guardsmen who would no longer be surprised. He briefly entertained the idea of attacking Gareth, at least. Just seeing his former Captain so close made Jarek’s fingertip twitch.
If Jarek had a copper for every time Gareth had berated him for what were little more than simple mistakes, he would be a wealthy man, indeed. It would be wonderful indeed to rip that overbearing bastard’s head from his shoulders and toss it into a hole somewhere.
But Gareth was surrounded by nineteen strong, well trained guardsmen. Not to mention the fact that the Captian himself was an accomplished fighter. Could Jarek kill him fast enough to get away from the others?
Maybe, but he would not chance it. Not tonight. Maybe on the return trip from Vesuvius, after he had killed and consumed Theron. Maybe then he would pay a visit to Gareth and teach the man a lesson about true power.
Jarek took one final look at the man who’d been his Captain for years, then turned around and headed for Vesuvius.
Chapter Twelve
CAELINA shuffled sideways along a narrow ledge about a thousand feet up the southwestern slope of Vesuvius. She scanned through the scraggy brush and loose pebbles as she went, looking for…something. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find, but there had to be signs of a cave somewhere, didn’t there? She was a warrior and a mother, but she was not a tracker. She could not find any sign that anyone other than her had been on the mountain, but that meant very little because she probably would not have recognized such a sign anyway. And so she moved along the slope, ducking under thorny brush and clamoring up stunted tree trunks, looking for an entrance to the caves that she was certain Vesuvius housed.
It would have been easier in the daylight, but the sun set several hours ago, and the occasional rumblings of the stone underneath did nothing to simplify her trek. Still, she would not give up. In her mind, she saw Filo and a host of other children sitting in cages or waiting for their turn on a monster’s turning spit. She would not let that happen. She could not let that happen. She had to save Filo. She had to save them all. She had to.
Another tremor went through the stone beneath her feet. A slight one this time, even weaker than the last, and over in a few seconds. Good. Perhaps Vesuvius was calming. That boded well for her search. How wonderful it would be to have all of them reunited again: Caelina, Gareth, and Filo. They could go watch the chariot races tomorrow, if Filo wanted. He loved chariots, after all. They would make a day of it.
Lost in pleasant thoughts, it took her a moment to realize that there was a new sound on the wind. It rose above the sounds of birds singing and the wind sighing through the trees.
The sound of a child screaming.
Filo! she thought, going completely still. She held her breath and listened.
There it is again!
But it wasn’t Filo. This sounded like a little girl. She sounded terrified and hurt.
Caelina turned her head this way and that, trying to get a feel for the direction. After a few moments spent trying to get her orientation, she realized the sound was coming from above and to the right of her current position. She frowned, her brows knit together. Any person who would make a child scream like that did not deserve to draw breath. Caelina patted the sword at her side and stared up the mountain. Whoever it was would not be breathing much longer. She would see to it. She grit her teeth and grabbed an overhanging rock, using it to pull herself up. Moving like this, she slowly made her way up the slope, pausing every minute or so to listen and then move up a little further.
After a few minutes, the screaming stopped. Caelina’s shoulders slumped. Was she too late? She listened again, counting her heartbeats. When she reached a hundred with no further sound from up the mountain, she sat down, trying to force the tears back.
She’d failed. The child’s screams had stopped. That could only mean one thing: the child was dead.
Caelina sat on the slope and sobbed, imaging the dead child. In her mind, she saw the tall Roman with the sharp teeth tearing at a little girl’s throat and devouring her. Doubt crept in, slowly sinking its icy teeth into her soul. This is probably what happened to her beloved Filo. He had most likely died on this very mountain. The past year of her life had been wasted searching in vain for a son who was very likely long dead.
In the year she spent looking, she never once allowed herself to consider the possibility that Filo was anything but missing. Now, the more she thought about it, the more she realized she could escape the logic no longer. Gareth was right. If Filo could have come home, he would have. Her beautiful son was dead. In truth, she had known this for a long time, but refused to admit it to anyone, even herself.
“Oh, Filo,” she cried, her face in her hands. A sob shook her body as she pictured her lost son, alone and crying for her as the blond monster advanced on him. Had he called for her at the end? Probably. What had the Roman done then? Laughed at him? Worse?
Her tears began to dry as her despair turned into anger, then grew into a white hot, seething rage. This was not some hunting accident or illness. Her son hadn’t simply died, he’d been murdered. Murdered by a ragged, bloodthirsty Roman with shaggy blond hair. And there was only one punishment suitable for murder.
Caelina stood up, checked her sword, and started back up the mountain, going from memory. Trying to follow the direction from which she’d heard the screaming. She would avenge her son, monster or no monster. The tall blond thing would take no more of Pompeii’s children. She would put a stop to its raiding once and for all.
After a few minutes, she crested a stone ledge about one fourth of the way up the volcano’s southern slope. There, at the back of the ledge, was the entrance to a cave. It was black as midnight inside, but she didn’t care. She had a torch in her satchel and tinder with which to light it. A single torch wouldn’t last long, of course, but she had no intention of staying inside the cave any longer than she had to.
Just long enough to kill the thin
g that had killed her son.
She knelt on the rocky ledge and set to lightning the torch. It did not take long, and soon she stood at the entrance to the cave. She pulled her sword from its sheath and walked through the shadowy entrance.
Then the screaming started again.
***
“Hush, child,” the scary woman said. “I won’t hurt you.”
Nona didn’t believe it. The woman’s eyes were red and she had sharp teeth. Those were the kind of teeth monsters had. That made the woman a monster, didn’t it? And Nona didn’t like the way the woman was looking at her. It made her feel like she wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in her belly, so she heaved a couple of times and tried to push back against the wall.
Nona prayed to the gods to help her. A long time ago, her father told her that the gods were fair and kind, but if that were true her mother and father would still be alive, and she would be with them right now instead of in this dark place with the scary woman. Nona didn’t believe the gods were kind, she thought they were mean. They liked to hurt people and make their crops fail for no reason. The only reason she prayed to them now was because she didn’t know what else to do. The scary woman was close, and getting even closer.
Nona was little, even for her age. Her father had called her his “Tiny One.” The scary woman was big, and she had sharp teeth. Nona couldn’t fight her, but maybe just this once the gods would listen. Maybe they would help. Silently, she promised that if the gods helped her this one time, she would believe in them forever.
The gods didn’t seem to care, though. The scary woman growled, then started coming toward her again. Her teeth were sharp and white, and her clothes were even more torn and dirty than Nona’s. And even though she was scary, she seemed sad, too. Nona might have felt sorry for her if she weren’t so scared. When the scary woman reached out and grabbed Nona’s sleeve, Nona stopped praying and started to scream.
She punched and kicked the woman as hard as she could, aiming for her nose. Her father once told her that if you break a person’s nose they won’t be able to fight anymore. She wasn’t sure if she believed that, but it was all she could think to do.
Her foot caught the woman in the face, and Nona heard a sharp crack. Was that the woman’s nose? Nona hoped so. She looked past her feet and saw the scary woman with blood on her face. Her nose was crooked and there was more blood coming out of it.
I did it! Nona thought. Now she can’t fight anymore!
But the scary woman just reached up and grabbed her nose between her fingers. She twisted it back into place. It made another snapping sound, and then it looked normal again. Except for the blood.
Nona screamed again and rolled onto her hands and knees. She crawled as fast as she could. If she could get to the door, maybe she could open it. She’d watched the tall man try and open it, but he hadn’t been able to. Neither could the scary woman. Nona probably couldn’t open it either, but she had to try.
Before she reached it, the scary woman grabbed her ankle and pulled her backward.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. When Nona turned to look at her, she saw red tears coming from the woman’s eyes. The woman really was sorry, or she seemed to be, but that didn’t make Nona feel any better. She screamed again. Then she started to cry.
The scary woman was crawling forward with her mouth open when a flash of something shiny hit her in the face. The scary woman fell to the floor, and Nona turned around to see what had happened.
There was another woman standing in the cave. She wasn’t scary, though, and she had a uniform just like the guards in Pompeii wore. She also had a sword in her hand. The tip of the sword was red, and some blood dripped off it onto the floor. But Nona didn’t care about any of that. The new woman didn’t have red eyes or sharp teeth. That made her a friend.
Nona got to her feet and ran over to the woman.
“Get behind me,” the new woman said. Nona obeyed.
“The gods,” Nona breathed. “They answered my prayer!”
“No,” said the scary woman, her voice even harder and scarier than before. “They answered mine.” She stood up, and her teeth seemed longer and sharper than before. Her eyes even glowed a brighter red. Nona hid behind the new woman’s leg and watched as the scary woman walked around the new woman. It reminded Nona of the way two dogs walked back and forth in front of each other just before they fought. Nona didn’t like it. Neither did the new woman, who put a hand on Nona’s head and pushed her backward so hard that Nona fell on her backside. Nona cried out. The stone floor hurt.
“I’m sorry, child,” the new woman said, “but I am going to need that leg.”
“Not for long,” the scary woman said, just before she jumped forward.
***
Ramah found the cave easily. The woman’s trail was easy to follow through the woods, but once she reached the base of Vesuvius she began to wander. Probably searching for the entrance. Ramah had no such trouble. He easily picked up the trails of numerous others that led straight up the slope. These trails were far too straightforward and purposeful to not be destined for a specific location on the mountain, and what could that be but a cave?
Ramah climbed the slope easily, locating the entrance with little trouble. As he pulled himself over the lip, he heard screaming in the darkness ahead. It was not Theron or Taras, however. Instead it sounded like a small human child. A girl, by the sound of it. The thought of a human child up here brought a smile to his face, but he banished the thought of killing her as quickly as it came. He had important business inside. If the child was still alive when he finished with Theron, then he would deal with her on his way out. It was not an unpleasant thought.
Ramah entered the cave. Right away he noted the smell of burning pitch. That meant a torch, which supported his idea that there was a human up here, as only a human would need a torch to find his way around in the cave. The woman was already here, he knew. But could there be others? Humans often moved in groups, especially at night. He stopped for a moment and tasted the air inside the cave. He detected the smell of several different humans, but most of them smells were old and faded. Only two remained strong. One of those was the woman’s, the other probably belonged to the child he heard screaming earlier.
The darkness did not bother Ramah at all. He preferred it, in fact. The Bachiyr race tended to have exceptional night vision, and his was better than most. He followed the contours of the cave floor easily, walking through the caverns and ducking under the low ceilings as though the place was alight with a hundred torches.
He walked along, listening to the sounds of the cave, trying to detect where Theron might be. The little girl’s screams had stopped, which meant she was most likely dead. Theron had probably killed her. It didn’t matter. There would be others. In any case, he continued to follow the distinct scent of the woman who’d led him here. He could feed on her if the need arose, though he doubted it would. Still, he’d feed on her anyway, need or no need. She was here. He might as well take advantage of it.
But first, Theron.
He walked through the caverns, poking through the caves with his senses. Feeling the nooks and crannies, willing the stone to talk to him. He’d never been great at tracking through caves. The stone floors left no impressions as people walked by, but he’d long ago learned how to trace an echo to its source. If he heard just one short phrase in Theron’s voice, he could probably follow it to the renegade.
Soon enough, he caught it. He could not make out the words, but the tone was definitely Theron’s. And it sounded as though he was talking to someone. Ramah took a moment to orient his hearing, then started in the direction of the strongest echo. He followed it along for about half an hour before the voices began to gain a bit of clarity, which meant he was getting closer. Thus assured he was traveling in the right direction, he continued to follow the trail.
Another twenty or so minutes later, the voices were clear enough that he could almost make out the words. Theron was
talking to someone. A female. A Bachiyr, Ramah guessed. If the female had been human Theron would have likely killed her already. Had he secured an ally among the Bachiyr? If so, she would suffer the same fate as Theron. There was only one way to deal with traitors, after all.
Theron’s voice echoed through the hall again, and this time Ramah was close enough to make out the words.
“Did you enjoy that?” Theron asked. His voice had a hollow, distorted quality due to bouncing off countless stone walls before reaching Ramah’s ears.
“It was impressive,” the female said. “It would have been more impressive if it had worked.”
“I am close,” Theron replied. “Very close. It is only a matter of time, now.”
“As you say,” the female replied.
Ramah froze. He knew that voice. Even distorted by stone walls and the Father knew how much distance, he recognized it. He couldn’t quite place it, but he was absolutely positive he knew the woman. Interesting. Who was she? He would find out soon enough, he supposed.
Ramah resumed walking toward the two Bachiyr.
Chapter Thirteen
GALLE couldn’t believe her good fortune. Caelina! Here. Now. The gods must have heard her prayers, because this was too much of a coincidence. The very woman Galle had hated most in her life had been delivered right to her in her time of greatest need. Galle might have been reluctant to kill a child, but it would be an absolute pleasure to tear Caelina’s life away.
She circled the other woman, watching her sword. Galle knew Caelina practiced with that sword often and could be very dangerous. Jarek had once remarked that Caelina could probably defeat half the men in the city guard, perhaps more. He’d even used Caelina as an example of what a strong woman should be, throwing her in Galle’s face as if Galle was nothing more than a meek receptacle for his seed. Privately, she’d often suspected the two of having an affair, but she could never prove it. When she confronted Caelina with her suspicions, the other woman had punched her in the face and walked away. Galle, weak and afraid, had not dared confront her about her suspicions again.
