by David McAfee
But Baella seemed able to open them at will. Obviously, Theron would want to know how she did it. Taras was curious about it himself.
“I was referring to Ramah,” she said. “If he comes upon us while I am working, the portal will vanish, and will take with it any chance we have of escape.”
Theron looked as if he would argue, but after a few seconds, he nodded. “How much time will you need?”
“Five minutes. Perhaps six.”
An eternity when fighting off a powerful Bachiyr like Ramah.
“Very well. I will scout ahead,” he said. “If Ramah comes, I will hold him off until you complete the portal. Just make sure it is ready.”
“It will be ready,” she said.
Theron looked at her one final time, then turned up the cavern and began to walk ahead.
He doesn’t trust her, Taras thought. Which is amusing, because she clearly doesn’t trust him, either. This business about scouting ahead and holding Ramah at bay was just a ruse.
“You are not wrong,” Baella said, turning toward Taras. “I knew you were perceptive.”
“How…” Taras began, but his voice was weak and dry.
“Your face reveals your thoughts too well,” Baella said. “And you are right. Theron cannot be trusted. If Ramah is indeed in the tunnels, Theron will betray me to the Councilor for even the smallest chance at the Council’s forgiveness.”
“Then why would you trust him?”
“I don’t.”
“You are making a very good show of it,” Taras observed.
“That’s the point,” she replied, then turned her back on him.
At first, he thought she was very foolish or very brave to turn her back to an enemy, but as Taras tried to move his arm, he realized she was neither. Taras simply was not a threat to her in his current state. She would leave him here for Ramah, who would probably just kill him rather than waste the effort to carry him to the Council. Perhaps Ramah would be busy, and thus motivated to kill him quickly. Taras had to smile. How bitter was it that his best hope for the future lie with a quick death?
Baella removed a small vial of blood from a pouch in her tunic. It looked a great deal like one of Theron’s vials. It probably is, Taras reflected. He would not be surprised in the slightest to learn that she had stolen it.
Baella unstoppered the vial and dipped her finger into the blood. Then she used it to write a few symbols on the stone wall. Once the symbols were drawn, she whispered the word ‘bayit,’ and threw the vial into the wall.
The vial broke, splattering its contents over the symbols. As Taras watched, the stone began to shimmer. It was like looking through waves of heat rising from the floor. The area around the symbols became translucent, and Taras thought he could see castle walls just beyond the shimmering surface of the rock wall.
“I am sorry to leave you like this, Taras,” Baella said, “but the portal can only take one person at a time. So you see, I never really trusted Theron. He was simply a means to an end. An end that turned out to be a waste of time. He is a fool who does not deserve the power he holds. But you…well, I do wish things could be different. If I’d had time to procure another vial, perhaps I could take you with me, but I only had one. It’s a shame, really. I could have used you. Still, one can’t dwell on wasted opportunities. Farewell, Roman. May Ramah kill you quickly.”
Her ability to echo his thoughts was uncanny. Could she read his mind? Or was she simply very, very good at reading faces?
“I will see you again, Baella,” Taras said, his voice dry and harsh. “Nothing lasts forever. Even Bachiyr must die eventually.”
“Indeed,” she admitted. “But I believe you will learn that much sooner than I.”
She turned to walk through the portal, but just then a voice reached out from the darkness.
“I have found you, Theron,” the voice said. Taras knew that voice. Judging by Baella’s reaction, so did she. She turned to look down the cavern, even taking a few steps away from the portal to get a better view, though Taras noted she took care to keep herself hidden as much as possible. The lighting in the caves was dim, but in the distance Taras could just make out two figures as they came together and began to exchange blows.
Ramah had caught up to them.
“You are a fool, Theron,” Baella whispered, smiling. “You could have had everything, yet you still desire a return to the Halls. Well, now your wish will be granted. Ramah will be only too happy to take you back, though I doubt you will enjoy the experience.”
It was the perfect moment. Baella was distracted, and Theron was engaged in a fierce battle. Taras would never have a better chance. He summoned every ounce of his remaining willpower and got to his feet. To the Abyss with stealth, what he needed now was speed. He charged his legs with what little blood he had left and lunged. Baella’s eyes opened wide as he shot by her and jumped through the portal. She reached out a hand to grab him, but her fingers closed on a tattered remnant of his torn shirt. The shirt ripped, leaving her holding a charred rag as Taras leapt into the portal. The last thing he heard as he passed through was Baella swearing at his back.
Chapter Fourteen
GARETH and his men were close. His two trackers had come back a few moments ago and informed him they’d managed to pick up Caelina’s trail near the base of the mountain. He’d wanted to proceed immediately, but Weilus again convinced him that the men needed a rest. He’d called for a ten minute halt. They still had seven minutes of it left.
He was still troubled by the fact that they had not been able to find the bodies of his two men. Whatever had taken them, it had taken them far enough away that they could not be found. Not at night, at least, and probably not without a proper search party. But what could take two fully trained and armed guardsmen that far away, that fast, without anyone around them hearing a thing? That was the thought gnawing at him when his trackers appeared. He pushed it from his mind, wanting to focus his attention on finding his wife. The two men were dead, but Caelina might not be.
Yet.
He was silently rehearsing what he would say to her when the whole world exploded.
At least, that’s what it felt like. The earth bucked under his feet, sending him to the ground with a painful thump. The surprised curses behind him spoke to the fact that his men had likewise been caught off guard. He sat up just in time to see the top of the mountain shatter outward in a fiery cataclysm, sending unknown tons of rock and magma flying in all directions.
The sound of Vesuvius’s anger deafened him. The top of the mountain boomed its displeasure across the sky like a hundred thousand blasts of thunder. He brought his hands to his ears, but they did little to quell the rumbling noise. He watched Vesuvius erupt and began to shout his wife’s name, but the sound off his voice was swallowed up by the pounding din.
Somewhere up there, amidst the molten stone and crumbling rock, was his beloved Caelina. Despite the wildly shaking ground, Gareth rose to his feet. He stared at the fiery glow atop Vesuvius, swore a curse to the gods, and began to walk toward the slope.
As the first bits of volcanic debris began to pelt the ground around him, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Weilus, wide-eyed and frantic, clutching his shoulder and shouting something Gareth could not hear.
Gareth knocked his friend’s arm away and turned to resume his walk. He had to find her. He had to make certain…
Weilus grabbed him again, much less gently this time, and spun him around. Gareth was about to punch the guardsman in the face when he realized he could make out Weilus’s words, if just barely.
“We have to get out of here!” Weilus shouted.
“Go,” Gareth replied. “I have to find Caelina!”
“You can’t! You’re the Captain! The men need you!”
“Caelina needs me more. You are in charge now, Weilus. Now let me go!”
Gareth once again turned to go, but Weilus launched himself forward, crashing into Gareth and wrestling him to the grou
nd. Gareth, seething, reached for his sword.
“How dare you…” he shouted, but the rest died in his throat.
Weilus had knocked him to the ground, turning him around in the process, and Gareth caught a look at his men.
Or rather, what was left of them.
Rocks and boulders fell all around them. Although the blobs of magma cooled into stones during their escape from Vesuvius, some of them were still hot enough to cause small fires in the dried leaves and brush of the forest floor. As a result, several blazes had already engulfed the small clearing where his men had stopped to rest.
Broken trees leaned over whole, unbroken ones, while rumbling boulders rolled into others. Several of his men lay bleeding and broken in their wake, while others danced and screamed as they tried to extinguish the flames that consumed them. One of his men, a youth by the name of Gant, lay trapped under a thick log while flames licked his legs. His screams were so loud Gareth had no trouble hearing them above the general noise of the eruption.
Weilus was right. They needed their captain.
“But…Caelina…” he said.
“Caelina is dead,” Weilus shouted. “But we are not!”
Filo is dead!
His words came back to him. Almost the last words he’d said to her before she stormed out. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but she needed to hear it. More, she needed to hear it stated firmly, as a fact not to be denied. Much as Weilus was doing now.
He looked at the mountain, at the glow it cast around the surrounding countryside. He watched as a huge cloud of ash began to form and drift southwest with the wind. He watched as bolts of fire shot skyward, sending flames and gods knew what else toward the heavens. He heard the steady rumble of Vesuvius as she belched her rage into the night, and realized that Weilus was right. His wife was very likely dead.
First Filo, he thought, and now Caelina.
What would he do now?
A tear formed in his right eye. Rather than wipe it away, he allowed it to spill over onto his cheek. As others threatened to follow it, the air became dim and thick with the smell of ash and soot. He knew what that could do. Breathe those ashes for too long and soon a person would cease to breath altogether.
But would that be so bad? He could die here, and no one would blame him. He could find Caelina and Filo and the three of them could run and play for eternity. It sounded so pleasant. He almost welcomed it.
But in the background, he could still hear Gant’s screams. He still felt the heat of nearby fires, and the thud of superheated stones as they fell around him.
No, he thought, Not like this. He couldn’t give up. Not when his men needed him.
“Good bye, Caelina,” he said, as another tear rolled down his cheek, cutting a path through the dark soot that had begun to stain it. He wiped his eyes with the inside of his tunic to avoid getting any ashes in them, then turned back to his men.
Weilus and several other men were attempting to lift the fallen tree that pinned Gant to the earth. Gant, still screaming and writhing in pain, begged them to help him. Right away, Gareth could tell there was no hope. The tree that had fallen on Gant was a huge, old maple, with a girth as big as a fat ox. It must have weighed several tons. All of his men together would be unable to lift it. Like as not, what remained of his troop would die trying to help Gant, who would die just the same. Already his legs were charred to the point where he would never walk again. Even if they did manage to move the tree, they would have to carry him through a forest rife with fires, falling rocks, and clouds of ash.
That would be a death sentence for all of them.
Gareth pulled out his sword and stepped forward just as a large boulder rumbled through the clearing. He dodged aside, and it bounced by, rolling over one of his deceased soldiers and flattening the man, then it continued through the woods without even slowing. Gareth was glad the man was already dead. He continued toward the tree where Weilus and the other men grunted and strained.
“I’m sorry, Gant,” he said, but if the frantic guardsman heard him, he gave no sign.
Gareth drove the sword downward, piercing Gant’s heart and silencing his screams instantly. His men stopped pushing against the tree and stared at him as though he’d just murdered a child. Which, he supposed, was not far from the truth.
“Gareth,” Weilus began, his eyes wide as dinner plates, “What have you—”
“He was already dead,” Gareth interrupted. “He just didn’t realize it yet. Neither did any of you.” He pointed toward the group of men, some of whom scowled at him as though they might think differently. “My wife is up there somewhere.” He nodded toward Vesuvius. “She is dead, too. Unless you want to join them, we need to leave. You can mutiny later, if we live through the night. Understand?”
One by one, the men nodded. Weilus started to speak, but Gareth cut him off.
“Cover your mouths,” he shouted. To demonstrate, he ripped away a strip of his tunic and tied it around his head, making sure to cover his nose and mouth. Once his men had complied, he motioned for them to follow him. He turned and marched, and the men that remained of his group fell into step behind him.
Weilus caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“You were right, Gareth,” he said. “Killing Gant was a mercy. The men,” he had to pause in the middle of his sentence as a particularly loud explosion rocked the earth around them “will see that by morning.”
Gareth grunted, stumbling a bit as the ground under his feet bucked. They had to live that long, first. He kept walking, watching the skies for any dangerous falling stones. The majority of the heavy debris had already crashed to earth after the initial eruption, but here and there smaller rocks still fell like large, hot hailstones. One of them bounced off a tree right next to him, and his companion flinched. It fell onto a dry, rocky patch, its energy spent.
In the sky, though, a massive cloud had formed, fed by the ashes of Vesuvius, which continued to pour its black, choking fog into the night air like a million sputtering campfires.
After a few moments of walking and dodging everything from fires to rocks to panicked animals, Weilus cleared his throat and spoke again. “Sir?” he said. “Pompeii is that way.” He pointed back the way they’d come.
Gareth stopped and pointed toward the eruption. “See that cloud of ash?” he asked.
Weilus looked, then nodded.
“Where is it going?”
“Southwest,” Weilus replied. His eyes widened again. “Toward the city!”
“Exactly,” Gareth said, and resumed walking. “That’s why we are going east.”
“But the city is going to need our help,” Weilus persisted.
“Look again, Weilus,” Gareth said, not bothering to turn around. “That cloud of ash covers the moon and every star from the mountain to the horizon. By now it has already started to fall in the city. Anyone who breathes it will die in minutes, and we are many hours away. By the time we arrived, if we even made it alive, there would be no Pompeii left to save.”
Gareth could not see his friend’s face, but his silence told him everything he needed to know. Weilus was smart. He would know the truth once he thought about it.
Gareth spared one last glance at the mountain. His wife’s body was up there, somewhere. Probably burned and blackened to a cinder. If she had stayed home like he wanted, they would both probably be dead already. Caelina’s obsession with finding their son might well have saved his life. He only wished he could have done the same for her. At least she was free now.
He pictured her holding his son in her arms again as the two of them looked down on him from above, and he smiled. He would join them someday, and what a happy reunion it would be.
But not today.
***
“Well, now,” Jarek said, smiling. “Lovely to see you again, Caelina.”
Caelina was not at all happy for the reunion, not with Jarek standing between her and the exit. The look on his face was frightening, a
s was the blood on his chin. As he shifted, she saw that his clothes were also covered with dried, crusted blood. The tips of his fingers ended in long, sharp claws, which were likewise bloody. It looked like too much blood for a single body, but if he was injured, he showed no sign of it. It was other people’s blood, then. And why did his eyes shine red in the torchlight now?
“Jarek,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What are you?”
“I’m alive, Caelina!” Jarek replied. “I’m more alive than ever! This is greater than I’d anticipated, and I anticipated quite a lot.”
“But you aren’t even human anymore.”
“No,” Jarek agreed. “I am better.”
Caelina stared at him, trying to recall what had attracted her to him in the first place. Whatever it was, it was long gone. All she saw now was a monster with blood on his hands. She had nearly ruined her marriage over this man, and now she could not stand to look at him.
“Let us pass,” she said.
As if to emphasize her need, the mountain began to shake. Softly at first, then stronger. She shifted her feet to restore her balance. Jarek did likewise, but the poor child fell to the floor with a short cry. A low rumble echoed through the walls, and small clouds of dust and silt began to fall from the ceiling of the cavern. Several large rocks crashed to the floor, raising more dust and adding to the general din in the passage.
“Let us pass,” she said again, louder this time. She grasped the frightened girl by the hand and helped her to her feet. “I need to get her out of here.”
“No,” Jarek said. “I don’t think I will.”
With that, Jarek sprang forward. Faster than Caelina could follow, he covered the distance between them, launching one of his clawed hands at her throat. She just managed to dodge to the side and avoid the blow, which would have torn out her throat. If the rocking, bucking stone of the passage floor upset his balance at all, he did not show it.
