“Best of luck to you then, you’ll find nothing but death there,” the butcher replied. “We escaped during the fall and I have no desire to go back.”
“Emperor Otho is building an army to take the city. We have two full legions and more than that number of veterans and willing civilians.”
“Emperor Otho? I assumed he had died during the sack,” Garic replied, shocked to hear that the man a lot of people had blamed for the fall of Rome had survived.
“He escaped to Spain and has brought back the legions that were there to take back the city. I’d like you to consider joining us. It is your home, and this is your chance to get revenge on the creatures that drove you from it.”
Garic stepped back, turning briefly from the young man. He had not thought too much about the city since he had left. The pain of being driven from the only home he had ever known had been too painful. He had expected to live in Rome for his whole life, passing on the family business to young Tulius.
He had dreamed of teaching his son everything his own father had taught him. Those dreams were now so much ash on the ground, but in front of him was this boy offering the chance to take it all back. To fight, and probably die, in search of a broken promise.
“My life here is safe and happy,” he said, turning back to Julius.
“As was mine until a few weeks ago, Garic. I had a quiet, insignificant life, until the Risen came. Then the legions arrived and I was given the chance to be someone important. It’s scary and...”
He held up a hand to stop what sounded like a well rehearsed speech. “Boy, I fought on the walls of Rome against the undead. Don’t think to lecture me about an unimportant life,” he snapped, anger rising in his voice.
This young man thought to shame him into joining a fight that almost certainly could not be won. He spoke to Garic as if he was the first person to have discovered the idea of duty. The trouble was, in his heart, he knew the boy was right. Since he had left Rome, there had been a nameless shame growing in him.
He had run. It was so easy to say that he was saving his family but he had still run. He wasn’t a fighter, not like the armoured men that were standing so close, but that didn’t mean he was a coward either. So why did it hurt to think of himself not fighting?
“I have a family,” he said to Julius.
“We have families with us,” Julius replied happily. The boy was letting Garic talk himself around to the idea of going with the legions.
He tried to imagine taking Atia and Tulius from this place. They were safe here, they had a home. To drag them out into the country would be a slap in the face of everything that had gone before. Good people had died to get them here.
Still, there was the burning guilt, the nameless need to prove that he was not a coward.
“No, they will stay here,” Garic stated firmly. With those words he realised he had made his mind up to go.
“Does that mean we are joining up?” Lee asked, looking like he had just been told he can go to a festival.
“It means I am going, I need you to stay here and look after your mother, Atia and baby Tulius.” He had a sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of telling Atia that he was leaving her once more.
Lee looked at his friend, a look like he had just been struck on his face. Garic saw his lip quiver slightly, a mixture of defiance and sadness fighting for control of his features, before the boy ran back toward the caves.
“We leave tomorrow morning, Garic. We are heading straight for Rome. I hope to see you in formation when we march.” Julius said, holding out his hand. The butcher shook it, nodding. His chest was a turmoil of anticipation. Thoughts of fighting the Risen again, of telling his wife, and of knowing he was doing everything he could to protect his family swirled in his mind.
Regulus watched the mountains grow taller as he travelled toward them. At their feet he would find the dark pine forests in which stood a broken-down hut. The distance was unknowable, lost behind the horizon and the low frozen mist that brought the first signs of winter as he moved closer to his destination. Each mile seemed to take him further away from the warmth of summer, leaving in its wake a cold, hard feeling of loss.
Regret ate at him as his feet passed the milestones, knowing the sorrow he had left behind and wishing that he had said goodbye. Deep in his heart he wondered if, given the choice, he would act differently. Would he allow Lucia the chance to change his mind, knowing he may well submit to her wishes? It had been a hard decision, but he swore it was the right one.
Regulus found himself listening to the sound of his feet on the hard packed earth. He kept the hood pulled low over his face, shading his eyes from the low winter sun, and isolating himself from the world around him.
He walked among the undead, as they shared this road. The hunger and malevolence was replaced by something more worrying and potentially destructive; purpose. Regulus could feel the direction and desire in them. Where once had stood beings of pure violence and death, now there were creatures of singular intent. Like a rabble of men who had found a leader, and were following orders.
Others might wonder at the change in the undead, Regulus was all but sure of what was happening. He had lost his connection to Viddus, only the faintest glimmer of the power he had once felt now remained. This god, so strong and vital, had been lost to the power of the ancient ones. Who else could be calling the undead to them in such a way? They moved in numbers, like a herd drawn to the barn at the end of the day.
Regulus had once thought Viddus the cause of this downfall. He had been so violent, so vicious. Now he knew that to have been nothing but the beginning of the end - the first cracks in the wall that held back the ancient ones. Like a dog who has grown so old that he snaps at a friendly hand through confusion, Viddus had fought against Regulus out of fear.
The young man had experienced the power of the ancient ones for the briefest of moment. The living corruption that was Zombie had been such that it made the Risen pale in his shadow. Had he once been scared of these living dead? How could he fear them now, when he had felt the strength that Viddus had fought for so long.
To think of standing with his back to a door and hear the knocking of such a creature was enough to shrivel a man’s heart. To pit yourself against such a force, god or not, was unimaginable.
He walked constantly looking over his shoulder, not wanting to be found by his friends. He would not lead them to the temple. To know that he would sacrifice himself in order that they might live was the only thing that kept him moving toward his destination.
They could not follow on horseback. The legion had lost all but a few in the battle that had started this whole mess, but that was not the reason. The animals were still too scared of the Risen to allow themselves to get too close, and the road was too full of the creatures to make travel by horse possible. They would walk and he had a good start on them. Depending on when Lucia had woken, and how long it had taken her to realise he was gone, it might have been as much as twelve hours.
He had lain in bed, holding her, smelling her hair and feeling the softness of her against him. He had been almost certain that she must know what he intended to do. They were so close that it felt almost beyond question that she could not feel his thoughts. His heart had raced as he had slipped off the bed they shared and taken his clothes. His pack had been ready, sure that she would notice but her eyes had been only for him. Then he had left the camp and set out into the night.
The Risen walked alongside him as he sank into grief, feeling utterly alone. To not be seen by this murderous swarm should have been a gift, and after so many months of being hunted, he supposed it was. However, leaving his friends behind and losing the interest of even the worst of his enemies also isolated him in a world of one. It made him feel insignificant, just like looking up at the night sky and watching the stars.
As he walked, Regulus gathered wood for a fire. He camped at the side of the road, watching the undead wander past as he cooked his evening meal. The
warmth of the fire did little to heat the deep-seated chill he felt inside.
A group of Risen passed close to his camp, walking slowly but stolidly. An old woman tripped and fell, catching her feet on a rock close to the road. She did not hold out her hands to stop herself. She fell first to her knees and then onto her front, her chin hitting the ground hard. She struggled to get to her feet and he realised that her arms were broken. She lay on her front, thrashing and wriggling, trying to stand once more.
He wondered who she had been when she was alive. Had she been a mother, a grandmother? Had she killed anyone since she had turned, had those people turned as well? Had she been a good person or a wicked aunt who beat her nieces and nephews? A thousand questions that he could never answer.
Regulus got to his feet, feeling the pain in his own body. He would never get back what had been taken from him, his youth was gone. His legs and arms had little of their former strength, the damage to his mind having taken his body with it. Was that how these creatures felt, had they lost themselves or had they gained something new, something better?
He walked to where the undead woman lay in the road. She wore a dress that might once have been expensive, and Regulus wondered if she had been rich. The hem of the dress had ridden up and exposed her legs where large pieces of flesh had rotted and fallen away.
Taking her by the shoulders he lifted the creature, her feet flailing for a moment before finding the ground. She began walking as soon as he released her, not looking back and showing neither malice nor gratitude. The young man stood in the road, watching the undead creature walk toward some unheard voice, knowing he was answering the same call.
Regulus watched her walk into the darkness until he could see her no more. Then he went back to his fire and his meal. Ahead his destiny awaited.
Chapter Twenty Four
The flaming knot of cloth sailed out over the night sky and sank like a falling star. Secundus sent out a prayer as he watched it descend leaving a tail of light against the darkness.
There followed a moment where the world stood still. Secundus saw the Risen, gathered tight like sheep in a pen. The light below looked like the fires of Hades engulfing them. They seemed to stop their ceaseless motion for just a second, as if unsure what was happening. Then they exploded into life, reacting to the heat, or the pain, maybe even the light. They threw themselves against each other, against the sides of the arena. Some escaped the crush running blindly into the stands.
A blast of hot air rolled up and out into the night, carrying with it the cinders of burned clothes and the smell of burning rotten flesh. He stepped back from the edge, looking down and seeing just a small crescent of the conflagration below.
The undead were silent, burning without screaming. They began to drop to the ground, writhing as if in agony, and some were still as if dead. Secundus watched the fiery death throes of the undead and a bitter satisfaction glowed inside him. He hoped they were dying in pain and suffering for all the destruction they had wrought.
Those that escaped the flames began to spread the fire. The clothes of those who had arrived in the amphitheatre caught as the burning monsters ran into the press of the crowd.
The change came suddenly. If Secundus had not seen it happen he might never have believed it possible. There was a steady stream of undead climbing into the arena from the streets outside, he could see them lit by the light of the fire. They climbed through the arches in the curved sides in a continuous wave, each creature drawn on by the pull of the one in front.
Then, with no warning, they stopped. If Secundus had been asked to swear to it they did more than stop, they took a step backward. It was as if they moved in unison, thought as one. At one moment there was a horde of undead running one way and a few burning undead running toward them, the next they had all stopped moving. The burning Risen stopped where they were, flames burning and melting them, the unaffected Risen backed away from them.
It looked to him like some rudimentary instinct had been triggered by the flames but there was more to it than mere survival. It was the way that they moved in perfect unison, each creature playing its part in a dance or a military formation. No, thought Secundus, they looked like puppets in a children’s show. It was as if they were being controlled by an external force or the hand of a god.
He moved to the edge of the platform, looking down on the fire that raged beneath him. The Risen that were caught in the flames were still, completely motionless. He watched as more than one of the burning undead that had escaped the flames walked to the edge of the arena floor and threw themselves back into the fire. It was act of conscious self-sacrifice.
In all the time he had been in Rome, he had been sure of one thing above all else, The Risen did not think. It was beyond the capability of their minds to make a thought of any kind, except to feel hunger and rage. Now these creatures looked to be possessed of the means to reason, either that, or something was doing it for them.
“Sir, what’s happening?” one of the other men on the walkway said from behind Secundus. He had been so intent on what was happening below and hadn’t realised he was not alone. His heart missed a beat and the thought that had it been a Risen instead of one of his own men he could now be dead, flashed across his startled mind.
“Fuck, Karius! You nearly scared me to death, man!” Secundus hissed under his breath.
“Sorry sir,” the other man replied sheepishly. He was a tall man from southern Germany who had a shock of blond hair that he wore swept back from the front of his head. “Sir, did you see what happened? This isn’t natural.”
“You might be right there,” Secundus said, still unable to take his eyes off the ground below. The Risen on the outside of the fire were watching those on the inside burn, waiting for them for die. Those that burned, simply stood and allowed it to happen. Secundus watched the flames char and then eat away at their already ruined flesh
There was a horror to it. To burn these creatures when he had thought them no more than mindless animals was right. It was war, and it was revenge. But to see them behave like this made him wonder if they might be able to feel. The idea that they could be controlled or that they could control themselves. Were there still thinking people inside those rotting bodies? Did their corrupted minds still hold a semblance of the person they had once been?
“What do we do now, sir?” Karius asked.
A good question, since they couldn’t assume that the Risen would behave in the same way that they had been doing. The one advantage the living had over the dead was that they knew what to expect, although now he had no idea of what they were capable.
“Are the ropes still anchored?” Secundus asked, continuing to watch the Risen below. Their silent ranks were unnerving in a way that the mindless violence had not been, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off them.
“Yes, sir. They’re coiled up over the far side.” Karius pointed across the arena where a pile of equipment waited, similar to the one Secundus had been using. They had used a rope to pass the kit up onto the roof, saving the time and effort it would take to carry it.
“Is it still secured?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. We kept it tied on, just in case. I’m not sure how much weight it will hold though,” Karius said, guessing what his superior intended to do.
Below them the silent crowd of Risen were still watching the burning mass, like mourners at a funeral. Secundus could see a restlessness creeping into the watchers. They moved and twitched, a little of their old behaviour coming back into them after the unnatural stillness of moments before.
He turned back to Karius and the other two men, “Get down that rope and back to the house, as quickly and quietly as you can.”
“Sir,” the other man started, “are you coming?”
“I’m right there with you, now move,” Secundus hissed, getting the men moving with a wave of his hand. They made their way around the curved line of the walkway, keeping low. The rope was coiled up and lay n
ext to a similar set of equipment to that which Secundus had used.
Karius ran the rope to the outer edge of the roof and let it drop, watching that there was no reaction from the street below. The area was seemingly deserted, most of the enemy being inside the arena.
“You two, hold the rope, take as much of his weight as you can,” he said to Karius and a second man. The third lowered himself gingerly over the edge, hanging over the skyline of Rome, and out of sight, clinging to the rope.
Secundus watched the man lower himself using his legs for support and walking himself backwards. It seemed to take an eternity, but soon he was on the ground and looking up for the second man, and he joined Karius in taking the weight of the next man. He was a young legionary and looked slight, but by the time he reached the bottom, Secundus was sweating.
The night air was cool and the heat from the arena floor below had all but gone. He looked down to see the charred bodies laying among a bed of glowing embers. As he looked one of the watching Risen looked up to where he stood high above them. His eyes locked with Secundus’ and for a long moment the gaze held.
“Karius, get down the rope now,” he said, trying not to move his lips.
“Sir, what about...”
“Do it now, legionary,” Secundus almost shouted. He heard the man behind him shuffling himself over the edge. Secundus kept himself still, watching the undead creature below him, it did not break eye contact. Then without warning, as if by some unspoken command, the crowd of undead broke and ran.
The Risen poured across the seating area, moving like a swarm of locusts. They climbed toward Secundus, falling over each other to get to their prey, like rats.
Secundus did not stop to see if Karius had made it to the bottom. He had one chance of escape and he dropped over the side of the walkway almost before he had a good grip on the rope. For a second he was hanging in open air, high above the streets of Rome, then he hit the outside wall of the arena with a rib crunching thud.
Ruin and Rebirth Page 20
