ANCIENT GREECE, 44 B.C.
The evening was tranquil, the surface of the Mediterranean smooth and black, interrupted only by the hull of a ship as it slid through the water with the ease of a lover. Davius stood motionless on its deck, the soft wind caressing his hair with gentle fingers. The slumbering city appeared in the distance, the torches that burned at its borders flickering in the darkness like summer fireflies.
"We are nearly there."
From behind him, Lucius appeared, joining his gaze towards the approaching land. The two stood comfortably in silence, Davius enjoying the rhythmic lull of the water lapping against the sides of the ship.
Rome had recently descended into chaos. Conspiracy and revenge ripped apart the sturdy fabric of the empire, sending its citizens into a sheer panic. Attempting to restore the Roman Republic, and fearing the absolute power of one man, several powerful senators ambushed Julius Caesar, brutally stabbing him to death. What these few idealistic aristocrats hadn’t anticipated was the reaction to the beloved dictator’s assassination, the common citizens of Rome wasting no time in setting the forum and its surrounding structures ablaze in ferocious rebellion. The anarchy frightened Lucius, who argued that the instability of Rome was quite possibly the worst setting for two unusually wealthy, very secretive blood drinkers.
Davius agreed, and they abandoned their home to find safe haven in Greece. Lucius pushed for Athens, claiming that it was the most logical choice, as he owned property there which he could easily reclaim. Davius speculated otherwise, suspecting Lucius’s motives for relocation were more influenced by the recent influx of philosophers to the city, rather than simple repossession of property. Regardless, he concurred, and they left swiftly under the cloak of nightfall with as many possessions as they could manage.
A stream of silver moonlight peeked its way through the heavy clouds of the night sky, casting a sliver of light across the ocean waves. Davius inhaled deeply, letting the cool vernal air caress his lungs, wondering absently if breath was even essential to him anymore.
It had been five years since the night he was transformed.
Life as an immortal blood drinker had come easily to him, embracing the ways by which they fed with ease and unquestionable skill. In the beginning, Lucius kept vigil, an ever-present mentor, as Davius found himself entranced by the seductive hunt and conquest of his victims. The power coursing through his body as he latched onto their submissive necks proved itself insatiable, the rush of pleasure as he engorged himself on their essence, intoxicating. He was so enamored by his new life, that it wasn’t long before any lingering memories of human life faded, the love between Gaia and the slave boy from Gaul simply an ambiguous recollection.
He also discovered that the thrill of the hunt was only one of the gifts this new life offered, ecstatic the day he realized his remarkable speed. Although inevitably exhausting if pushed for too long, he could now dash across villages in a matter of seconds, his body traveling so fast, it was as if he flew. Lucius never cared much for the power, content with his nightly strolls, yet for Davius, it became another obsession. He found himself giddy as a child as he darted through forests for sport, leaping from tree to tree in an ironic homage to a youth he’d long passed.
Lucius, in the meantime, had busied himself with acquiring material possessions. Delighted at having a new companion, he set to work to ensure that their lives lacked nothing short of the absolute pinnacle of luxury. He spared no expense, indulging in his conspicuous tendencies without hesitation. He renovated their humble temple into a magnificent residence that soon became the envy of Rome. It boasted pools, gardens and elaborate statues, all erected of the finest marble. He imported art from Egypt and Africa, their vestibule becoming a gallery of world treasures. It even piqued the interest of Julius Caesar, who expressed the desire to dine with them before his brutal, untimely demise.
But they had left that all behind now, abandoning Lucius’s domestic masterpiece to the mercy of a raging mob.
The ship made its way towards a secluded part of the beach, which offered more privacy than the Athens harbor, the elevated city growing larger and more intimidating as they edged closer to the docks.
It had taken great persuasion on Lucius's part to have them sail at night; the captain threw quite a fit, tossing out accusations and mumbling about superstitions before Lucius threw a bag of gold at his feet. After picking it up and examining one of the polished coins with a crude bite, the man nodded, and arrangements were made. Now Davius could sense the seaman’s anticipation upon their arrival, tapping the deck anxiously with his boot as he navigated the ship to harbor.
Lucius remained pleasantly unaffected. His ring laden hands rested neatly on the edge of the ship as the wind picked at his black curls. “Almost home,” he remarked softly.
No sooner had they reached the dock when several men appeared. They carried blazing torches that illuminated the swords precariously sheathed at their sides. They numbered at least twenty, their collective stance revealing their intent. “Who are you, strangers, that greet us at so late an hour?” one called out.
“These are wealthy men from Egypt, once Grecian citizens who now wish to return to their homeland,” explained the seafarer, nervous sweat dripping down a body misshapen by corpulence. “Egypt’s harsh sun has made their skin sensitive to light, so now they can only travel by nightfall.”
“We must see proof of this, sirs,” the leader of the pack retorted. “Romans wishing to escape persecution have tried to seek refuge here, but the people of Greece want no part in their civil unrest. We remain rightfully suspicious of every new arrival. Please, step down to the docks.”
Davius blinked only once before Lucius pounced. The mob of men cried out in unified terror as he tore through them, the sounds of snapping bones and ripping flesh reverberating down the shoreline.
Davius turned to the seaman, who was frozen in shock, and offered him a sad smile. “We appreciate your assistance,” he said, not unkindly, before sinking his teeth deep into the man’s neck. The blood released into his mouth, assaulting him with the man’s final thoughts, the strongest memories of his life. He had shocked even Lucius with the initial discovery of his psychic power, that human blood released its secrets to him in a stream of clairvoyance each time he fed. Lucius was pleasantly surprised, surmising that the ability was inherited through his father’s bloodline, dormant until his transformation.
Davius was now assailed by images of a brown-haired boy dancing excitedly on the beach as ships rolled into port, the brackish sea air, the heat of foreign summer sun. He saw the man’s family, felt the pain of losing a wife in childbirth, and the agony of years of loneliness, alleviated only by incessant voyages at sea. The man had yearned for death well before Davius’s fatal bite. He waited until the man’s heart gave one final shudder before he released him, wiping his lips as the cumbersome body fell to the ground with a thud.
“Are you ready, brother?” Lucius called up to him from below, standing the victor amongst a sea of fallen bodies.
“I am,” he replied, joining him on the bank. “However, it occurs to me that we killed them before they could unload our belongings,” he added, playfully.
Lucius’s smile tightened, and he cursed. “I suppose I shall have to travel to our dwelling and retrieve the slaves that are awaiting our arrival. Will you be joining me?”
Davius paused, thoughtfully, beholding glassy waters splashing the shoreline against the cloudless sky. “I would actually like to explore a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“As you wish,” Lucius nodded. “I will not be long.” He disappeared seamlessly into the shadows.
Davius left the docks, heading up towards the city. Their arrival and brief massacre had gone unnoticed, the streets empty as he walked. He was struck immediately by the graceful precision in the city’s construction. Unlike Rome, Grecians worked with the natural topography to assemble their capital, columns and fortitude climbing up and down the mountainous landscape, all the way to the great Acropolis that loomed miles ahead. Even in the sparse moonlight, he could see tendrils of plants crawling down the smooth marble buildings and sprouting out of magnificent vases that depicted Athena in battle. Statues of the goddess were abundant throughout the streets, her watchful eyes affixed to her namesake city. Intricately designed temples were erected just as plentifully, strong Doric columns holding up terracotta roofs, with decorative acroteria standing at each point of pediment. The city looked strong and foreboding, yet reflected the refined intellect of its people. Davius decided he approved of Lucius’s recommendation to reside there.
He headed back towards the beach, leaving the quiet metropolis behind him. The discarded bodies were still scattered across the rocky sand, the ocean waves that rolled over them threatening to drag them into the depths of her murky abyss. He assisted, lifting them one by one and placing them into the hungry sea. He watched as she swallowed the last of her meal, as a faint memory of water sacrifice surfaced in his mind.
It caused him to pause, realizing it had been long since he’d remembered anything distinctly from his human past. He pushed away the unwelcome thoughts, wondering instead what could be keeping his companion so long.
“Hello, Davius.”
Startled, he whipped around to confront the unfamiliar voice, furious to be caught unaware.
What appeared to be a man stood before him, yet Davius could smell, taste, and feel humanity, and this creature was certainly not that. His body was deformed, hunched over as if weighed down by an invisible stone. A pair of coarsely castrated stumps protruded not only from his spiny back, but from his forehead, as if he was once a creature with not only the wings of a bird, but the horns of a goat—both severed simultaneously in a single act of cruelty. He stared at Davius through one perfectly blue eye, the other clouded over by a white film, an angry scar interrupting its almond shape. What might have been soft golden hair now looked like straw, laying unkempt about his shoulders. He looked like a being who had seen many battles, an aged warrior carrying the weight of a lifetime's worth of war.
“Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Davius demanded.
“I have visited you once before, in another one of my guises.”
“The boar,” Davius suddenly remembered, recalling the peculiarity of his eyes.
The creature smiled, revealing a set of sharp teeth similar to Davius, which took him aback. “My name is Libraean,” he said, “I help preserve the balance between two worlds. I have much to tell you before your master comes.”
Davius laughed at his audacity. “I have no master.”
The creature who called himself Libraean apologized with a humble nod. “My intention was not to insult you, Davius. I do not socialize much and often forget the connotations behind words. Please, come, follow me.”
He darted off with speed similar to what Davius had grown accustomed to using. Davius considered his request for only a moment before dashing after him. Within minutes, they arrived at a cave nestled in the rugged mountains, its mouth high above the roaring sea where no human being could hope to enter. The waters crashed against the jagged rocks below, sending up a soft spray of salty mist upon their faces.
Libraean gestured him inside.
The womb of the cave was warm and inviting, a low fire still burning between a cozy heap of blankets and a table laden with eating utensils. The walls were bare, the light from the flames casting shadows against the russet-colored rock.
Libraean moved to stoke it, and Davius noticed the shabbiness of his tunic underneath his fraying cloak. His feet were wrapped in makeshift boots of winding leather straps that seemed far too bulky for comfort.
“This is your dwelling?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Libraean nodded. “It is quiet here, a comfortable place to pass the time. As you may guess, I do not see much daylight. But I am content to be alone with my books.” He gestured to a heap of loose parchment and handcrafted scrolls nestled under the shelf. They lay near a handmade stylus and a small clay jar of writing ink. “I write here, as well,” he added.
He hobbled towards his bedding, procuring a pallet of sheepskin. He laid it out next to the fire, across from where he sat. “Please, sit,” he invited, settling down onto his heap of blankets.
Davius accepted, his near proximity and the growing flames offering a better view of the unusual creature before him. Besides the peculiarity of his eyes and his blunted horns, he could have passed for human, his weathered face once undeniably handsome. “Why have you brought me here?” he asked him.
Libraean sighed, gazing into the fire. “I warned you once before about Lucius, but you failed to heed my plea. Now that you are one of us, I must elaborate further.”
“One of us? You are an immortal?”
“I was once exactly what you are. Now I am simply this creature, the bitter manifestation of my failures.” He looked down, unwinding the straps of his boots. He pulled one off, revealing not a human’s foot, but a large cloven hoof. “My deformities are my penance in this world.”
Davius peered at him curiously. “Who created you?”
“None other than Lucius,” he replied, pulling off the other boot and reclining so that his hooves warmed by the crackling fire.
Davius was shocked.
“You were not the first creation as Lucius claims,” he continued. “He once told you of his true nature, but he did not divulge everything. Lucius was a dark god as he said, but what he left out was that there is also a god of light, a god who transcended him in power. This humans’ preference of this other god infuriated Lucius, who began a campaign to realign the loyalties of an evolving populace back towards him. He created daemons, their sole purpose to stalk the earth creating chaos and misery, while compelling mages to wreak havoc in his name. Yet all of Lucius’s efforts were in vain. The more fearful their world became, the more humans turned towards the god of light, the exact opposite reaction of what Lucius desired.
“Frustrated by his antics, the god of light banished him from the realm they both shared. The split forced two separate domains to be, one light and one dark, a summerland and an underworld, the latter where Lucius’s spirit roamed, resentfully brainstorming a plan to be released. He longed to join the earthly plane, to be close to his cherished humanity. Many years passed before a woman was born with magic so powerful that she could raise his spirit into corporeal form. He came into this world imperfect, a daemonic, beastly creature who breathed fire, and it took masterful sorcery to transform him into something that could pass for human. When they finally succeeded, he immediately set out to create others in his image.
“I was his first attempt, but I was deeply flawed. In the beginning I acted just as you do now, Lucius’s loyal, doting companion. Yet our era was not as civilized as it is now; I followed him through the blood-soaked battles and the violent massacres that waged between tribes. Lucius found pleasure in war, realizing that no greater thrill could be had by an abominable creature than spilling the blood of men in droves. We were unstoppable warriors, he and I, feared by humans who were forced to honor his name. Yet as time passed, my creation proved to be his ultimate failure. As more time lapsed, my nature reversed. Humanity crept back into my body, my soul started to clear. I felt pain, guilt, shame, remorse—human emotions and feelings. I could no longer bear to take innocent lives to fuel my own. I refused to leave our dwelling, fraught with painful memories and guilt over the pain I caused others. Disgusted and furious, Lucius eventually abandoned me.
“I knew I would not die quickly, for I was made so strong that it would take days of painful sunlight to rid the earth of my existence. But I was willing, wrapping myself around the trunk of a tree to await the dawn and my excruciating demise. But what came to me then was not the hellish burn of sunlight, but an angel, a creature that is the opposite of a daemon, who brings peace to mankind. They align themselves with the god of light. Where a daemon is shrouded in darkness, often deformed and antlered with the protruding bones of a starving animal, these angels glow with sublime radiance, their only deformity a pair of wings that enables them to soar through the skies like beautiful ethereal birds. This particular angel called himself Gabriel, and told me that if I should rebuke Lucius and his ways by working to restore the balance of good and evil upon earth, then I may die a peaceful death and spend eternity in the heavenly realm with the angels.” He paused to smile at the memory. “The broken horns and ripped wings remind me of my own constant battle, for as much as the daemonic part of my body still yearns for the blood of humans, my soul must stay pure and on the path of goodness and light. They remind me I am part angel, part daemon for the rest of my days.”
Davius frowned. “Why are you telling me all of this? I have no loyalty to a god of light. Besides, nothing in this world is truly good nor truly evil. So, what if Lucius is a dark demigod in human likeness, he has told me all of this before.”
“Did he tell you that you are the Daghda reincarnated? One of the most powerful gods in the Celtic pantheon? It is why you were able to manifest weather storms as a human. It is why you were strong enough to bear Lucius’s forceful transformation.”
“You speak of gods I have long forgotten,” Davius murmured. For a moment, he saw the autumnal breeze tossing red and amber leaves around the forest floor, a circle of Druids dancing in celebration of a bountiful harvest.
Libraean nodded. “You have forgotten much in your conversion, but that does not negate the accuracy of my words. Gods reborn as humans do not recall their past lives, it is the curious law of this land. You are now an earthbound blood drinker, but you have the perfect strength of an incarnate god that can withstand the dark power that was given to you. That divine strength creates balance within you, your light combating your dark. You can tip the scales whichever way you decide. If you choose light, you will be the one to restore true balance to this earth, enabling its creatures to survive by sending Lucius back to his degenerate realm. You have a fortitude where I do not.”
Davius scowled. “You are wasting your time. I have no desire to harm my friend.”
“Did he tell you that you need not take a human life? That you can drink from them enough to satiate you, leaving them so disoriented that when they heal, they will not remember what has transpired?”
Davius blinked in surprise before finding his rebuttal. “I have accepted taking the life of humans. I feel no pity for them—they are prey, as the deer is to the wolf. Neither the wolf nor the deer are wrong or right, it is simply the natural cycle of life.”
“That does not make it right,” Libraean countered. “You are still bound by the same morality as us all.”
“You speak to me of morality, yet you are the one who turned against the one who empowered you, who cherished you as his family,” Davius snorted.
“I do not expect you to understand my motives, Davius. I only hoped to share with you my story. I know you have been plagued by blood dreams, the same I once had. You saw Lucius’s realm and his hideous denizens, a glimpse of who he truly is. But I know you are too new of a creature to feel as I do. I have suffered long as a result of my transgressions, for allowing the bloodlust to consume me. My work upon this earth is now to cast daemons out from it, restoring this realm’s intended balance as best I can. It is the only way for my redemption. I wish to spare you my torment,” the creature explained. “My early memories were also dim at first,” he added. “But yours will come back, I assure you, and then you will be at a crossroads, as was I.”
“How do you survive if you do not feed?” Davius interjected.
“You once saw me in the form that I take to eat. The boar seeks its prey in the form of small animals, not humans, a true part of nature’s cycle, as you brought up, and therefore, acceptable. Soon I hope to eat real food again like humans do. That is what I have been promised—as long as I continue to fight the battle against darkness, the less of a creature I will become.”
Davius sighed, rising to his feet and dusting himself free of the dirt from the cave floor. “I think I have heard quite enough.”
“Please wait, there is more,” Libraean pleaded. “Do you remember Gaia, who you loved so deeply as a mortal man?”
Davius froze, a sudden wave of sorrow settling over him like morning frost. It was a foreign sensation to him in this life, an old familiar pain reacquainted. “How do you know of Gaia?”
“My records,” the creature replied excitedly, pulling out scrolls from underneath his improvised table and sending the loose sheets of papyrus flying around the cave floor. “Not only do I slay daemons, but I keep extensive records of all that transpires between the earthly and spiritual realms. Every god, every goddess, every cult, every creature. Your coming was foretold to me and I have been watching you for quite some time.”
“Rather invasive,” Davius remarked.
“I apologize,” Libraean faltered, realizing he’d gotten ahead of himself, and he shoved the scrolls back under the table. “My point is, you chose to become like Lucius to avenge her death. Yet five years have passed and her captor still lives. You have the power of an immortal, yet you waste it on gluttony and avarice.”
Davius felt his anger rise. “Who are you to judge me on things you cannot possibly understand.”
“I do not mean to upset you, Davius, only to beseech you,” the creature pleaded, rising up to meet him, awkward on his cloven feet. “You may not feel the same sorrow you did as a human, but you will. And it will be this that will inevitably drive you to madness. You must return to Rome, find Nirus, and avenge the death of the mother of your child. You must, or it will haunt you for eternity.”
Davius felt as if he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. “The mother of my child?” he repeated incredulously.
Libraean’s clear eye widened, his face paling with apprehension. “You did not know?”
“What? What did I not know?” Emotion overcame him, raw, visceral sensations he had not felt for a half a decade. He faltered on his feet, fluctuating between sorrow and inundated rage.
Libraean flew to him, taking his hands in his. The kind gesture surprised Davius, but he gratefully accepted it, the creature's warm touch calming him. His unmarred eye swam with sympathy as he spoke. “Davius, she was with child when she died. It was yours...no other man had a chance to take her.”
Davius fell to his knees. His mind raced, distant memories now painfully vivid—he could smell her, taste the sweetness of her skin, see the gentle bounce of her rose golden hair. He recalled his shattered dreams of a lifetime together, children they would never bear frolicking through the countryside, running into his arms. Liquid amassed around his eyes, and when he wiped them, he realized he was not crying tears, but the hideous black blood that now ran through his cadaverous veins. He swept them away in disgust.
“You must avenge her, Davius,” Libraean’s gentle voice broke through. “It is the only way. I am so sorry to have brought you this pain.”
Davius met his eyes, too heavy-hearted to make words.
“There is one last thing I must tell you, for your new companion is the master of lies. He will tell you that only he can create others like you, but you have that same power. You are able to do exactly as he, but do not succumb to the temptation. For creating another blood drinker will only bring more pain and suffering in the end, for not all beings can withstand and bear the metamorphosis like you could. Avenge your love, Davius,” he pressed. “Free yourself of his presence.”
“I must go,” Davius suddenly decided. He didn’t wish to hear anything else out of the creature’s mouth. Libraean tried to protest, but Davius dove from the mouth of the cave, darting over the churning ocean and back to the docks in a single, flying swoop. He fell to his knees as he landed on the sand.
Above he could hear the call of seagulls, a sound that was eerily similar to the screech of crows.
He looked down the beach to see their ship, where dozens of revenant slaves were unloading their belongings. He rose to his feet, heading towards them.
Lucius, who had been quietly supervising, turned to greet him. He frowned at his disheveled appearance. “Davius, whatever is the matter?”
“I am not sure where to begin,” he replied with a sigh.
“Come,” Lucius beckoned with concern. “Allow me to show you our new dwelling, then we can talk.”
Lucius’s home was far from what Davius had imagined. It was large, yet not overwhelming, constructed of humble mud brick and topped by a plain stucco roof. Its facade was entirely barren, the smooth exterior concrete interrupted only by a single door and two windows that had been boarded up with pine. It was nestled behind several tall, unused buildings to provide shade during daylight hours.
The inside, however, revealed the uninhibited extravagance he had become accustomed to with his friend. Every tile that lined the floors had been arranged into dizzying patterns, frescoes depicting both the Greek and Egyptian gods covered each wall in fantastically vivid colors, an usual mix of hieroglyphics and Latin scrawled beneath each depiction. The rooms were filled with empty tables plated with gold, patiently waiting to be adorned by Lucius’s extensive pottery collection. The revenants had already unpacked many of their belongings, adding modern flavor to the Grecian finery Lucius had left behind. Davius explored the rooms, noticing that the addition of Roman busts and vases complimented his eclectic miscellany nicely.
His conversation with Libraean and the emotion that it evoked drifted away easily as he moved through the house, the familiar comforts of home bringing him back to his reality. He was calm again, watching the light of a hundred silver wall sconces dance across the ghostly slaves as they gradually pieced the house together. Lucius appeared, handing him a goblet similar to his, brimming with blood infused wine.
Davius sipped it gratefully, for it had been hours since he’d fed.
“Well, what do you think?” Lucius asked him.
“I noticed you took great pains to assure that we would remain hidden,” Davius commented.
Lucius frowned, thinking he was disappointed. “Come now,” he said, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. “I know this is not how we lived in Rome, but we must make do. When I lived here many years ago, I wanted to remain hidden. Unfortunately, we must live that way again, lest we bring any unnecessary attention to our presence.”
“I know, my dear brother, I was only chiding you,” Davius patted his hand reassuringly.
Lucius looked relieved. “Come, let me show off the dining hall. You will love it—it will remind you of Rome.”
He led him down the main corridor to a vast chamber lined with couches, creating a rectangular border around a single elongated table. Candelabras set in gold cluttered every corner, draped with deep purple fabric. The table left no room for platters of food, but was instead covered with exquisite ivory carvings of daemonic creatures and glossy black pottery. Davius lifted a sculpture of a particularly repulsive looking beast, its face a distortion of manic laughter, with a lengthy, protruding tongue flopping out of its mouth and oddly situated, bulging eyes. He laughed at the absurdity of it. “Where on earth did you find something like this?”
“It is from my past, far before we met. Is it not lovely?” He lifted the sculpture out of his hands to admire it himself, before setting it down lovingly amongst the other oddities. “Come, there is more.” He gestured for Davius to follow as he maneuvered down the hallway.
Davius complied, surprised that the farther they walked, the larger the home seemed to be. Room after room unfolded until they reached a final hallway that led to a sizable unopened door. Lucius paused before he pushed it open, adding exaggerated flourish as he revealed what was hidden behind it.
Davius gasped in spite of himself. It was a garden so exquisite that it rivaled any that he could remember in Rome, save for the absence of the customary open atrium that allowed sunlight to stream through. Instead, the ceiling was covered with translucid fabric, permitting enough moonlight to filter through to coax the plethora of nocturnal plants below it into blossom. At the center of the garden stretched an enormous pool, tendrils of bougainvillea wrapping its lovely fingers around the granite borders. Bursts of exotic jasmine complimented the two great fountains that flanked the pool, both fashioned after the Greek god Pan, two chubby little nymphs with mischievous smiles and horned foreheads, complete with tiny cloven feet. They poured water into the pool from smooth black vases, the streams catching the speckled starlight that peeked through from above.
Davius couldn’t help but grin, recalling a conversation he once had with Lucius, where he made the comment that although they were wealthy enough to partake, they would never be able to use the customary Roman bath houses, lest they burst into flames. How it must have pained Lucius to keep such a secret from him.
“Shall we?” Lucius grinned.
He nodded, and slaves appeared at Lucius’s beckoning. They undressed, draping their garments over the outstretched arms of the exsanguinous, vacant-eyed slaves before entering the steaming bath. It was large enough that they could sit across from each other comfortably, the water churning around them pleasantly tepid.
Lucius stretched as one of the revenants retrieved his goblet of blood wine. Tendrils of long black hair slithered in the water around him.
Davius relaxed, enjoying the sensation of warm water against the chill of his skin. Steam soon rose up copiously around them, threatening to smother the inflorescent plants that crowded the room. A single bud of jasmine fell from one of the bushes, becoming a dancing white star as it chased the swirls of moonlight sparkling across the water’s surface. Davius caught it in his hand, examining its tender construct as he inhaled its sweet scent. He frowned, the aroma wrenching the memory back into the forefront of his mind, the smell of Gaia’s skin, the sound of her twinkling laughter. He threw the flower away from him in frustration.
“Davius, you must tell me what troubles you so,” Lucius implored him, observing the shift in his mood.
Davius cast his eyes downward, unsure of how to proceed. He decided upon honesty. “I met Libraean.”
Lucius’s eyes widened with surprise. “I have not heard that name in many years.”
“So, what he says is true? That I was not your first successful protege, it was actually him?”
Lucius sighed, setting his goblet on the edge of the pool. “He was not a success.”
Davius stared at him wordlessly, an intentional gesture meant for him to continue.
“I told you that I tried to make others like us, but could never quite achieve it. Libraean was not a human when I met him, he was a halfling, a beast with the attributes of a man, like a centaur or the god Pan,” he gestured to the statues behind them. “He was like that before I transformed him with my blood, and I believe that was a part of my failure.”
“He seems to think his disfigurement is a penance for his transgressions.”
Lucius snorted in disgust. “He was always carrying on about good and evil, how feeding on humans was the epitome of immorality. There is no stark dichotomy in this realm or any other, those polar oppositions are an inconsistent human construct. If he chooses to live his immortal days as a self-righteous martyr, then that is his business. I have no room in my life for erroneous absolutes.” The water around him began to bubble, heat expelling from his skin as he spat out his words. “Did he tell you that he kills daemons? That he serves a god of light? I am sure he filled your head with all sorts of nonsense. The god of light is another foolish concept, a being who has never taken corporeal form. The idea of it, apparently, is beneath him. But although he holds himself in such high esteem, he is just as capable of flaws and egotism as any other manmade god. God of light, indeed,” he snorted.
“He said that you created daemons as a way of punishing humans for worshipping that god, instead of you.”
“Utter nonsense! Daemons and angels, nymphs and centaurs, dragons and harpies, chimeras and sirens—they are all manifested out of the minds of humans. No god creates an otherworldly creature. They align themselves however they wish. Fortunately, most of them align themselves with me.”
“So, my creation is not part of some vendetta between you and this god whom you oppose?” Davius pressed.
Lucius’s golden eyes smoldered against the dense haze surrounding them. “Absolutely not, I have yet to even meet him. I really wish you would have alerted me to this conversation you were having in my absence.”
Davius didn’t respond. He retrieved his own goblet from where it stood and sipped it, wincing slightly as he realized it had cooled. “He also told me something about Gaia.”
“Oh?” Lucius relaxed, grateful for the change in subject. “You have not spoken of her in years.”
Davius swallowed, hoping the human emotions plaguing him earlier would remain buried. He finished his glass, trusting the blood would help him keep his wits about him. “He told me that she was with child when she died...my child.”
“Is it true?”
“I do not know. It could very well be. He also mentioned the gods of my youth. He said the reason that I am able to bear the power you have given me is because I am the Daghda, reincarnated.”
Lucius looked at him solemnly. “That I believe to be true. It is what your father supposed, which is why he offered you to me so easily. He believed that by me granting you immortality that it would empower your gods, carrying them into many generations to follow, eventually leading to eternal power for your people.”
Davius was stunned. “I never felt like a reincarnated god when I was human.”
Lucius laughed. “Of course not. Humans have a strange way of ignoring the obvious. Your father did not have time to teach you the secrets of the Druids, but you know sorcery all the same. You bent the weather to your will and invoked the protection of the Morrigan as a child. You have always been powerful, even before I gifted this new power to you.”
Davius let the information settle before he offered his thoughts. “I think I would like to avenge Gaia’s death,” he said finally. “I believe that murdering her assailants will help me to put my human life behind me. I have no interest in anything the halfling said. He seemed misguided by his own wayward bias. Please understand, I have fully embraced this path and believe our life is wonderful, but I do not think I can rest until I have tasted the flesh of that wretch that calls himself Nirus.”
Lucius nodded, surprising Davius with his easy persuasion. “Then we shall,” he agreed. “But returning to Rome is out of the question. We cannot risk another voyage, Davius.”
“I know you do not enjoy the speed by which we can travel on foot, but there may be another way. I have an idea, if you would be open to it.”
“Of course.”
Davius sat forward, sending a wave across the bath. “If what you have told me is true, I have brought the Celtic gods here simply by my presence, since I am a Druid, the most spiritual sect of my people, the truest believers. I should be able to invoke the Morrigan, the shapeshifting goddess, as I did long ago when I arrived in Rome, and ask her if she will aid us in our journey.”
“Amazing.” Lucius was genuinely impressed.
Davius’s heart began to pump excitedly at the notion, grateful for Lucius’s compliance.
“What will we need?”
“We must wait until the Dark Moon, the evening before the moon transitions into her New Phase,” he explained. “We will need the blood of our foes, dozens of crow feathers, and as many red and black stained candles as can be found. We can call her here, right in this bath, for water arouses her interest.”
“You remember this alchemy from your childhood?” Lucius asked, mystified.
“These rituals, these ideas...they live deep in my mind, as if I have always known them. They never disappeared with my transformation, but remain dormant until I have use for them.”
Lucius clapped his hands together, the sharp crack echoing throughout the steamy chamber. “Then it is settled! We shall have your ritual, Davius. I do hope it works. I have not seen the Dark Goddess in many eons. I look forward to her presence once more.”
* * *
“He wakes.”
“He is no longer human.”
“Disgusting.”
“Stop, he will hear you.”
Davius opened his eyes to a collection of images distorted by blurred vision. He blinked, realizing his mind was just as muddled, a fog of disarray preventing his senses from grasping his surroundings. A dream? He hadn’t dreamt since his transformation.
He suddenly realized both his arms and legs were shackled to a post erected at the crux of a giant wheel. Furious, he pulled at his bounds, but his strength, supernatural as it was, failed him. As throes of frustration burned the cobwebs from his mind, his eyes adjusted, and he was able to make out four creatures surrounding him in each direction.
“You are in the astral plane, an intermediary space between the realms,” a luminescent man with white wings explained to him, a trace smile at his lips. He held a book lovingly in his arms. The word angel came to mind, Davius recognizing the term from his conversation with Libraean.
“We brought you here to help you,” an enlarged eagle to the right of the man continued, staring at him earnestly with warm ochre eyes.
“To offer you the tools you will need for your spell,” chimed in a lion to the right of him, his own set of wings stretching out behind his flaxen mane.
“For you invoking the Morrigan’s aid is but a part of a greater plan,” finished a similarly bewinged bull who brought the circle of extraordinary beings to a close.
An incandescent blue surrounded them all, interrupted only by swirling pearls of clouds, as if they all hovered weightlessly in the zenith of the sky. The wheel at his feet was a smooth, sparkling amethyst reminiscent of polished marble, gilded lettering corrupting its immaculate surface. Davius was unable to decipher the symbols, the language foreign to him. He watched as one of the ideograms began to move, coiling itself into the shape of a snake, its thin body rippling as it made its way to where he stood.
“You do not need to understand the words. You are a monster, anyway,” it hissed, a tiny bifurcated tongue flitting out towards him with derisive disdain.
“Enough, Typhon,” sighed another creature who also seemed to materialize from the symbols etched on the wheel. It moved towards Davius, a box grasped between his hands.
Davius had never seen a creature like it before, presenting the muscular body of a man but with the head of a coal black jackal. Radiant jewels lay on his chest and gold wrapped his arms. “I am Anubis,” he offered, holding up the box for Davius to see. “Within this chest holds the power that you were promised, one of the six elements required to manifest ultimate power on the earthly realm. Your father has already endowed you with four. Since you have heeded the advice of the Libraean, we have decided to honor your father’s dying request and offer you this.”
Davius observed the same glowing script scrawled across the box as the floor, this one in a shape resembling a cross but with a loop replacing the top arm.
“I know we are not the gods you are accustomed to, but our motives are the same,” the mouth on the jackal face stretched upwards into a grin, a gesture intended to be friendly, but giving the opposite effect as it revealed acute carnivorous teeth.
“Do not be afraid,” the shimmering man said in his soft voice.
“We all work together here,” the lion assured him.
Davius was too dumbfounded to struggle as Anubis edged closer. The snake Typhon hissed his displeasure as the jackal man before him slowly pulled the jaws of the box apart. It opened with a wail, black smoke escaping from its prison with gusto before assaulting the creature before it. Davius choked as the piceous vapor forced its way into his lungs through his mouth and nose, smothering him with its invasion. He was powerless to stop it, succumbing to its assault as the creatures and the wheel vanished, and darkness enveloped every one of his senses.
* * *
He awakened to see Lucius standing above him, watching him intently. He looked past where he stood, the length of the surrounding candles revealing that it was well into the evening. Davius threw off his silk blankets, an unusual grogginess disorienting him as he tried to move.
“You still dream?” Lucius asked curiously, stepping backwards to offer him room to pull himself together. It appeared that he had been perched over him for quite some time, like a patient bird of prey, his goblet in one hand and a slender candle in the other, dripping wax in tiny pools on the floor. Davius noticed he was oddly well-groomed for the late hour, his curls neatly combed and fastened at the nape of his neck, his rich violet robes pressed and clean, accented by silver hardware.
“I have not dreamt until this night,” Davius replied, the events of his strange experience slowly trickling back into his consciousness.
“Interesting.” Lucius handed him the goblet that was in his hand, which he gulped down hastily, grateful it still had its warmth. “Are you ready for our ritual?” he asked when he finished, an air of excitement buzzing around him.
Suddenly, Davius remembered their plan. It was the night of the dark moon. He sprang up from his bed, hastily draping around his frame the toga he’d laid out prior. He shook the persistent fogginess from his mind.
“I prepared everything as you instructed,” Lucius informed him as the two hurried down the hall. The house was fully illuminated in preparation for their guest, revenant slaves standing idly in each hallway, awaiting instruction. Two had been situated at the entryway to the bathhouse, and they tugged open the giant door at the sight of their approach.
The room scintillated from the flames of dozens of black and crimson candles, set in standing candelabras that surrounded the length of the onyx pool. The flickering light animated the twin Pan fountains, whose playful smiles stretched into manic grins, their marble eyes glittering in wicked delight.
Davius caught the scent of human blood, mixing pleasantly with the aroma of flowering jasmine. It drew his eyes to the forefront of the chamber where an altar had been stationed. It was draped with red fabric and crow feathers, with a silver bowl, knife, and cup resting upon it, patiently awaiting use. Tied to a post near the altar was a trembling man, stripped completely nude.
His terrified eyes caught theirs and his body instinctively recoiled. Davius recognized him immediately. It was one of Nirus’s soldiers, the exact one who had stabbed Gaia, years ago. Amazed, he spun around to look at Lucius. “However, did you find him?”
“I petitioned a daemon,” he explained, proud of his guile. “Although their guise is convincing, daemons are not corporeal beings; they can dissolve from one place and appear in another. It makes them the perfect tool for transporting desired items.”
“Good to know,” Davius commented. He laid an affectionate hand on Lucius’s narrow shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”
“Please—please let me go,” the man interrupted them. “I did not mean to kill all those girls—they were only slaves—I would never hurt a real woman.”
“We should silence him,” Davius suggested.
Lucius snapped his bony fingers together and one of the slaves moved to gag their cowering captive. He turned back to Davius. “Shall we begin?”
Davius nodded.
He lowered himself to his knees before the altar, memories of past sacrifices surfacing, moments in time surrounded by the hum of nature. Anticipation gripped him as he wondered if he could still invoke his power as he once did so long ago, the happenings of his dream filling him with doubt.
He closed his eyes and inhaled, quieting his racing mind. He sharpened his ears to the muffled pleading of the gagged man, the trickling water fountains, the seasonal locusts singing outside the walls. He imagined the fields of Gaul, the lush and fragrant woods, the cool wet grass beneath his feet. He saw the stars painted across the sky, the shrill call of cicadas, moonbeams, and roasting fires. He saw the burning wickerman, its flames licking the sky, while Druid priests, cloaked in white, chanted in harmony with the circling crows, who cawed in anticipation of fresh carrion.
He was there.
Power reverberated in him more intensely than ever before, extending outwards, air rushing around them as if a tiny storm waged within the chamber. It threatened to extinguish the surrounding flames, but Lucius hurried to keep them lit with his own endowment of fire. The bath water churned, funneling into a massive whirlpool, ripping the flowers off their vines with its intensity, scattering the crow feathers across the room.
“The Morrigan!” Davius called out, the strength of his voice matching the raging wind. “I summon you upon this night. I hail you for your ferocity and beauty, she who destroys her enemies without mercy, come to your humble denizen!” He envisioned her magnificent violence through a child’s eyes, standing amongst a beach of shredded corpses, her black dress and raven hair billowing behind her. He recalled her voice, the brilliance of her crystal blue eyes. She smiled in his memory, as crows circled their mother in a perfect spiral dance.
Davius rose to his feet in a trance, calmly taking the cowering prisoner by the neck with one hand. He lifted him high, slicing his throat with the fingernails of the opposite hand. Blood poured from the wound profusely, splattering his altar and gathering in the cup and bowl. “For you, my love,” he whispered, tossing the draining corpse into the open mouth of the churning watery vortex.
Suddenly, the bathhouse was alive with hundreds of ravens that seemed to materialize out of nothingness, their sleek obsidian bodies a whirling tornado, blackening out the entire chamber in a flurry of feathers. Davius maintained his composure amongst the turbulence, silently focusing on the dark funnel the water created until it opened to reveal a silhouette that rose out of the swirling mere. The corvids circled in closer, conglomerating into the sinuous shape of a woman.
Then, in an instant, all was silent.
The upended objects which had joined the wind storm fell to the ground, the flowerless plants relaxed, and the pool lay still. Blossoms and feathers slowly drifted downwards from the torn open ceiling.
The Morrigan stood, in her maiden aspect, before them. She presented a stunning figure wrapped in a thin black dress, sharp collarbones exposed, thick waves of raven hair pouring down her shoulders and curling at her breasts. A delicate diadem of corvid bones lay across her forehead, the beak of a crow skull resting between a pair of brilliant azure eyes. Her bare arms were artfully sculpted and wrapped in silver bracelets, thin black tattoos interrupting her creamy alabaster skin. Her face was hard and narrow, high sculpted cheekbones softened only slightly by the radiant sparkle of her eyes and her long black lashes. Her lips were a moist blood red, pursed in annoyance as she spoke. “Yes?” she asked, impatiently.
Davius realized he had been staring rudely, completely transfixed by her image.
“Morrigan,” Lucius’s voice broke the silence to greet her, moving forward from his stance behind Davius. “Welcome, Dark Goddess.”
“You,” she startled upon recognition of him. “You accomplished what could not be.”
“I have,” he said proudly.
“What is this place?” She looked around her as the rain of feathers finally ceased, a few landing peacefully on the blanket of her hair.
“My home in Greece. The bathhouse, more specifically.” Lucius moved closer, keeping steady as his feet slid on the blood smeared marble.
Davius watched her gaze move away from Lucius and lock onto him, her eyes widening in similar astonishment. “And you.” A smile slid her swollen lips upwards. “I remember you.”
Her bewitching gaze disarmed him, the residual power from his sorcery still twitching throughout his body, his muscles in gentle spasm. “You look different than I remember,” he commented, wondering why he had never noticed her allure before.
She laughed, the pitch reminiscent of her beloved crows. “I can shift into many forms, sweet Daghda. I am certain some dormant part of you remembers.”
Davius blushed in spite of himself, still unable to peel his eyes away from her.
“Perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable,” Lucius interrupted, blatantly eager to have her attention back on him.
“Why have you summoned me?” she ignored him, her eyes still fixed upon Davius. “Most do not call upon me unless it is to aid them in battle. There is no war here. I have traveled a long way at your command.”
Davius faltered only slightly before finding his words. “We need your help to exact revenge.”
“Wonderful,” she cooed with satisfaction, approaching him with careful footsteps. Her pale thighs flashed through the open slit of her wrapped dress, her feet bare, absorbing the carmine spillage from the floor.
He could smell her now, the raw scent of heated skin, the autumn woods, and the smoky embers of a dying fire. He felt as if he’d known her long before this lifetime, once kissed her earth-caked lips and caressed her narrow curves.
She reached out to touch his face, her hand warm against the coolness of his skin. “You are not human,” she observed.
Lucius interjected once more, visibly dismayed by their interaction. “He is my creation, an immortal human graced with the power of a god. He is like I am, my companion in this world.”
“Companion,” she echoed, finally tearing her eyes away from Davius, studying Lucius now with equal curiosity. “You have found a way for a god to become flesh, but still maintain our power. Impressive.”
Lucius beamed. “Well, there are a few stipulations, but yes, I have. Please, let us be freed from this chamber,” he urged. “Let us enjoy the night air.”
Morrigan acquiesced, and a raven that had been perched on one of the fountain statues swooped down to land on her shoulder, its intense black eyes affixed on them both.
Lucius led them out into the courtyard, the warm summer air trickling through the garden flora. The absent moon allowed the stars to sparkle brilliantly in the dark sky, freckling the ground with their glow. He gestured for them to sit on engraved stone benches, upholstered with patterned fabric stuffed with wool. A few revenants appeared, lighting the torches around them. One handed Lucius his signature goblet before bowing back into the shadows.
Davius noticed that Morrigan was translucent in the light, not the solid form he had originally understood her to be. He wondered how he had been able to smell her and feel her caress, as if she were physically standing before him.
Regardless of her solidity, she sat gracefully on the bench, her thin legs popping out of her skirt as she crossed them. Her delicate feet were still stained with crimson, and he suddenly found himself imagining the act of running his tongue along their slender arches, lapping up the remains. She smiled, noticing his gaze.
“Now to business,” Lucius declared, after taking a sip of his brimming cup. “Morrigan, my companion has called upon you to ask if you would aid us in exacting revenge against a man called Nirus. He resides in Rome, many miles away from here by sea. Currently, Rome is a treacherous place for us, so we humbly ask for your guidance regarding shape-shifting, as your abilities transcend any other god among us.”
She enjoyed the compliment, pondering his request. “Do you wish to travel as ravens?”
Lucius nodded. “If possible. We need to enter Rome unseen, end the human’s life, and leave hastily without arousing suspicion or causing any unneeded disturbance.”
She considered his words. “And what exactly are you now? Are you bound by human laws?”
“We are immortal blood drinkers, earthbound gods, if you will,” Lucius replied. “We can move with the speed of lightning and our strength exceeds that of ten men. Our only imperfections are that we cannot withstand sunlight and we must feed off the blood of living creatures to survive.”
“Fascinating.”
Davius observed the slightest hint of color blushing his friend’s hollow cheeks.
“I can will the element of fire at my command,” he continued, “while Davius seems to have dominion over the wind.”
She nodded, turning towards Davius with adoring appraisal. “Aye, Daghda has always been the master of weather.”
“Ah, yes,” Lucius cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “So, to answer your question, we do have our select godly powers, but are bound by a few earthly restrictions.”
Morrigan shifted in her seat, the raven at her shoulder suddenly flying off to survey their new perch. “You were quite brazen to turn one of ours, Lucius,” she remarked, gesturing with her eyes towards Davius. “You are lucky Lugh knows nothing of this.”
“He was given to me by one of your shamans, Morrigan. The boy’s father.”
“But still,” she sighed. “And you, Daghda, do you ever speak?”
Davius, who had been perfectly content remaining silent as he observed their exchange, cleared his own throat. “I do.”
“Then what do you have to say about what is being proposed?”
“Years ago, I was a mortal man, happily in love,” he began. “However, my lover and I were both bound to slavery, and when our affair was discovered by our master, he nearly murdered me and sold my lover to a vile human being with a lustful penchant for torture. It was in his home that my love met her demise. I swore a blood oath over her grave that I would one day have my revenge. As you can probably guess, much has transpired since that night.”
She nodded as she listened, her lovely eyes swimming with empathy.
“I regret having called upon you for something so trivial. An immortal soul should not feel lingering human emotion, but I still do. I fear I will never be whole, never able to fully embrace this new life unless I honor the oath I made.”
She gave him a gentle smile. “You do not have to apologize to me for matters of the heart, sweet Daghda. I understand these things much more than is known.” She turned to face Lucius. “What made you this way, what turned you into earthbound immortals?”
Lucius perked up, grateful to have the focus back on him. “It was a very dear friend of mine, the most powerful spellcaster on earth, long ago in a land that they now call Dacia. She summoned me with her sorcery and I rose to earth in the guise of a dragon. It took formidable manifestation on her behalf to deliver me out of that form into one that was human, but she was able. Well, something like a human, anyway.”
“And how did she accomplish it?” Morrigan pressed.
Lucius stole a glance at Davius, mindful of his words. “She lured a man into the cave where she kept me hidden, ridding him of his human soul so that mine could enter. And here I am.” He made a gesture of satisfaction.
Morrigan looked thoughtful, linking her fingers together at her knee as she weighed her decision. “I will honor your request,” she said, finally. “Yet, after it is done, and your vengeance is satisfied, I want to be made into one of you.”
Lucius let out a sound of surprise. “Why would you want such a thing?” he asked, incredulously. “You are a perfect goddess, adored by your followers.”
Suddenly her face hardened, the slight clench of her jaw increasing the severity of her angular features. “I am summoned to war, yet I am never a part of it. I soar above the battlefields, inhaling the carrion soured air and blood-soaked earth, but never can I touch it. I long to walk amongst them, to feel the true exertion of a violent campaign.”
“My dear, you sound very much as I once did,” Lucius said adoringly.
“Then you will honor my request.”
“We shall,” Davius replied firmly for him.
Morrigan’s eyes flickered in his direction.
“But we do not have the means to do so,” Lucius objected. “My friend has long since passed, and it would take time to trace her bloodline. And even so, it is a gamble whether any of her children developed into a sorceress as powerful as she.”
“I will do it,” Davius declared. “I can easily work magic, as a human or as an immortal, and if I truly am the reincarnation of a god, then I am far more powerful than any common spellcaster. We will honor the Morrigan’s request.”
Lucius stared at him, speechless.
Morrigan grinned and rose to her feet, beckoning her crow with a shrill caw. It swooped down to her, landing gracefully on her extended arm. It arched up its wings obediently, allowing her to gently remove two long feathers from its slender shape. She handed them to Lucius, who had been sitting in silence, an expression of defeat painted across his face.
“Upon the night of your vengeance, you will each hold one of my feathers close,” she instructed them. “Envision the raven, feel the air pummeling your face as you soar the vast and empty skies. Your body will transform and you will maintain your new appearance for as long as you wish. But do not lose this feather, for if you do, you will not be able to evoke the magic again to bring you back home.”
Davius took one of her hands, her skin still warm, but slippery as it began to lose its tangibility. “Thank you.”
Morrigan smiled as she slowly pulled away. Her apparition was fading, the foliage of the courtyard now visible through her form. “Our lands call to me, Daghda, and I must listen. Remember your promise to me. It is a great honor that I have just gifted you.”
“You have my eternal gratitude,” he replied earnestly.
The wind picked up around them and she stepped backwards, letting it lift and twirl her skirts and hair until it created a swirling shroud of black around her. Her companion crow shrieked and was joined by the rest of its murder, their piercing calls resounding throughout the courtyard. She left the two creatures with one final smile before her figure dissolved into dozens of tiny black bodies, joining the rest to disappear seamlessly into the night.
“And she is gone once more,” Davius commented softly, watching the night sky absorb the corvidian cloud. He turned to look at Lucius.
His expression startled him, his handsome features distorted into a menacing grimace. “You promised her what we cannot give,” he admonished scornfully.
“I will work the magic,” Davius assured him, surprised at his venom.
“You may be powerful, Davius, but your hubris has blinded you. You cannot create immortals as I can. I have told you, they must be human first or terrible things can occur. We cannot just go about making other gods corporeal—it is madness!”
Davius was silent. The events of his dream danced in his mind, creating a tarantella along with the recollection of Libraean’s words. Ah, dear brother, but I can create others as you, he thought.
Lucius rose to his feet, angrily sweeping the trails of his robes behind him. His eyes burned a ferocious gold as he glared at him. “This is your mistake. This will be yours to resolve. You can invoke the wrath of the Morrigan by disappointing her all by yourself. I want no part of it.” He stormed into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.
Davius sighed. He looked up, noticing the brilliance of the stars had peaked, signaling the approach of dawn. His body was tired, the power that had risen in him earlier now dissipated entirely. He found himself unsettled that Libraean’s unsolicited presaging had come true. Although he had no distinct memories of it, if he was a reincarnated god, that meant he was an equal counterpart to Lucius, with the same abilities and power. Lucius was blatantly lying to him. Perhaps the notion of impartiality threatened him, provoking his visceral, furious response. He sighed again, rising to his feet. Daylight approached and his body called for rest.
LONDON, 1857
Rain hammered on the rooftops, running in streams down the ashen windows of the parlor. Thunder grumbled in the distance, the occasional crack of lightning flashing ominously over the plot of gravestones below. David moved back from the window, crossing over the room to where she sat.
She had finished her meal and was now curled up on the loveseat nearest to the fireplace, completely wrapped in the wool blanket he provided for her earlier. Color had crept back into her face, the narrow slant of her jawline barely visible above the blanket’s folds. David was once again struck by her unusual beauty, imprisoned by ravaging sickness. Her expression was fixed with intrigue as she peered up at him with wide, grey-blue eyes. “Did you do it?” she asked. “Did you shapeshift into ravens?”
He nodded, moving towards a glass decanter of scotch situated on the end table, a purposeless arrangement he kept up for appearance’s sake. He removed the glass stopper and sniffed it, hoping it hadn’t grown rancid with neglect. Satisfied, he drained the amber liquid into a glass and handed it to her.
She accepted it wordlessly, her slender arm snaking out from beneath the thick blanket.
He resumed his seat across from her, his eyes following the swirling floral patterns of the parlor’s claret wallpaper. “I cannot find words to accurately describe the sensation of shifting into a body that is not your own,” he said honestly, resuming his tale. “It was nearly as painful as my vampiric transformation, yet it was a dull and throbbing pain, a sensation very much like being squeezed. Once the process was over, however, Lucius and I soared easily through the skies, our travel only lasting a mere handful of hours. It was both strange and wonderful to see the sun again, to bask in its warmth without fearing the flame. Once we arrived in Rome, we perched and waited until nightfall before returning to our former residence. We found our home much like the rest of the city, in shambles. What little furnishings Lucius had been able to part with when we left had either been stolen or shattered to pieces.
“She was waiting for us when we arrived, draped across a pile of tapestries that our ransacking thieves had apparently deemed invaluable. She collected us lovingly to her chest, whispering incantations until our bodies shifted back into their rightful proportions.”
“Morrigan waited for you there?”
“Yes. She neglected to inform us of that part during our conversation. Apparently, she had decided we required supervision. We were grateful for it, for both of us ached from the exertion, Lucius collapsing to the ground, gasping for breath. She waited patiently for us to regain our senses before offering us the clothing she had found around the house. I could still taste the salty air in my mouth, my senses still buzzing with avian intensity.”
“My God,” she murmured, taking a sip from her glass. A thought occurred to her suddenly. “Do you require rest?”
David smiled. “I don’t need much sleep, but I will indulge in it during the daylight hours to pass the time. At the current moment, I have your company for that.”
Satisfied with his response, she returned the smile, reaching for the end table to procure one of his rolled cigarettes. “Please continue then.”
“Rome, as I mentioned before, was in complete disarray. Weeks of rioting had ruined her aesthetic beauty, the aftermath of Caesar's assassination settling over the city like a malevolent fog that choked its citizens, many of whom stowed away in fear that chaos would erupt again. The Roman Republic was shattered, the furious and grief-stricken lower class now a force to be reckoned with. Roman patricians with no overt political affiliations maintained their daily affairs quietly in the background, those who either criticized or supported Caesar were nowhere to be found. Many, like us, found refuge in Greece, others in Rome’s many territories.
“Nirus, an open supporter of Caesar, was hidden in the home of his daughter, Delicia, who usurped him in his weakness as head of his estate. It only took a little digging to discover his whereabouts, for the household still demanded its frequent supply of fresh slave girls from the local trader.
“Although we were surprised at Morrigan’s initial appearance, she left us alone to our conspiring, her specter fading in and out over the course of the next few days, playing the part of the perpetual overseer.
“Although Delicia’s gender rendered many weary, she soon won over most of Rome’s affluent society, obstinately throwing dinner parties in the wake of the recent disaster. She chose to inhabit the home of none other than Eridus, whose murder had never been solved. With no heir nor family to claim his estate, the purchase price was reasonable, and Nirus had snatched it up expeditiously in the hopes of running his own lucrative winery. He ended up being unsuccessful, the once lush vineyards a desert of brambles and shriveled vines stretching beyond the desolating property. Upon his spurious disappearance shortly after, Delicia assumed complete authority of the villa, eager to bring to life the rich soil that had once proven so fruitful.
“She called a meeting of investors and the quiet allies of her father to her home, with the promise of a grand Roman feast, the likes of which hadn’t been seen for months. It piqued the interest of many an affluent Roman who had grown tired of the perpetual gloom that had settled over the city. It was during this event that we decided to strike.”
David stood and headed back towards the window. He watched as the onslaught of continuous rain created pools in the consecrated earth below. He envisioned the rats who lived inside the dilapidating Lardone crypt, scurrying frantically as the water rising rapidly around them rendered them immobile. Their beady eyes reminded him of Nirus’s, hideous black orbs trapped within a face disfigured by the advanced stages of disease, a disgusting specimen rotting away by his own determination. Although many years had passed, David found himself still shuddering at the thought of him.
ANCIENT ROME, 44 B.C.
The night fell later than usual with the approaching vernal equinox, dusk settling around Davius as he dressed for the feast. Its soft orange glow filled chambers which had been haphazardly furnished to accommodate their brief stay.
Davius was unable to place his mood, consumed by a purposeful melancholy that haunted his typical detachment. As the tumultuous events of the past few days settled, he’d succumbed to morbid contemplation. Memories of Gaia were becoming increasingly vivid, the devastation of her loss prying its nimble fingers into his mind. He sat on one of the stone benches, unable to peel his eyes away from the frescoes he had once worked so painstakingly on. The image of the lovers, tangled in each other’s arms, seemed to dance in the warm citrus hues of sunset.
He wouldn’t let himself believe that Gaia’s womb swelled with life as she died. Eternal life had robbed him of the ability to produce offspring, a thought which hadn’t occurred to him prior to his transformation. He would never know a paternal bond, never feel a child’s tiny hand wrapped around his finger. Lucius had positioned himself as his only family. Even so, Davius was beginning to question his intentions and loyalty. Lucius openly pined for Morrigan, who did not return the sentiment, preening about like a cat when she made her brief appearances. He grew increasingly bothered by her obvious preference for Davius, whom she continued to lovingly refer to as “her Daghda.”
The endowment frustrated Davius as well. He was still unable to recall any memories of past lives before his human one, visions of that life consuming his mind. Yet, as discouraged as he was, he allowed their invasion, hoping the fresh taste of agony would transmute itself into the powerful energy he needed, not only to destroy his enemy, but to rebirth their new ally, the Morrigan.
His thoughts were interrupted by the swish of Lucius’s robes as he appeared in the doorway. “Well?” he asked. “Do I look the part of an inconspicuous Roman?”
Davius startled at his appearance, realizing he had shorn off his thick, spiraling locks, leaving a patch of black curls clustered at the top of his forehead in a perfect imitation of an authentic Roman hairstyle. The absence of his long mane accentuated his slender frame, exposing his long pale neck and dramatic facial structure. “You look so different,” he remarked.
Lucius smiled, the exaggerated size of his teeth dominating his angular face. Davius thought immediately of a snake, its large head beholding slanted eyes and striking teeth. “I know better than to ask if you will do the same,” he remarked, wryly.
Davius snorted, a smile creeping across his face as he raked his fingers through his beloved unkempt curls. “Highly unlikely.”
“So I assumed.” Lucius joined him where he sat, following his eyes towards the image of the embracing lovers. “Soon, my friend. Soon you will have your vengeance and we can move on from this place for good.”
As if on cue, Morrigan surfaced from the shadows. Davius could still smell the aroma of wet earth each time she grew near, her scent now filling the room as she approached with one of her birds on her shoulder. Its beady eyes met his in silent greeting; a strange camaraderie had evolved between them ever since he had shifted into corvidian form.
“Why did you cut your hair?” she addressed Lucius in surprise. “It was your one beauty.”
He reddened, the color creeping up his exposed neck. “It will grow back by tomorrow’s nightfall. It is another one of the curious laws we are bound by. Our appearances will never change, no matter the esthetic alterations.”
She frowned. “So I will forever keep the form of the body you find for me?”
Lucius sighed. “I honestly do not know. You are a shapeshifting goddess. You may be allowed to retain your power after you transform. We will only know once you have turned.”
She nodded, though her face looked visibly perplexed. Their exchange was interrupted by a loud rapping at the door. Morrigan disappeared as quickly as she came. Davius rose to his feet as Lucius opened it.
The litter they requested had arrived, the decorated wooden plank dressed in luxurious beige fabric. Four shirtless slaves held each corner on their shoulders, patiently awaiting command.
“I will need it back before daybreak,” the owner reminded Lucius as he paid him, eyeing them both suspiciously.
“Absolutely, sir, thank you again,” Lucius soothed, pressing a few extra coins into his palm to pacify any lingering apprehension.
The man nodded, snapping his fingers at the entourage who immediately fell to their knees so the two of them could enter. The litter was fitted with ornate pillows stuffed with lamb’s wool, and both men reclined on the plank comfortably. They were lifted smoothly into the air, the transition barely disturbing the elegant beige drapery that surrounded them on each side. Although they were concealed, Davius found solace in knowing the night was still and they could move through the city undisturbed. Lucius was uncharacteristically quiet, staring off into nothingness, apparently lost in his thoughts.
“Please forgive me for making the promise to Morrigan,” Davius broke the silence. “You have not been the same since.”
Lucius turned to him, surprised. “Humanity seems to be creeping back in you after all.”
“I only wish to make peace with you, Lucius,” Davies explained. “You are the only family I have in this world.” His entreatment was only partially earnest; he was still wary of Lucius’s motives, but preferred not to be at odds with his maker.
He sighed, but Davius could tell he was secretly pleased. “This is true. And soon our family will grow by one more as the Morrigan joins us, although one can only speculate how those events might unfold.”
Davius shifted in discomfort. “Do you think it will work?”
“I do not know,” he replied honestly. “When the spellcaster brought me to life, I was a beast. I shudder to imagine what might transpire when an intense deity such as the Morrigan attempts to possess a human body.” He turned towards him, his face suddenly severe as he changed the subject. “You are my protege, Davius. My brother in this life. We embark on this mission of vengeance because I care for you, but this is the last time I will entertain such things. These human inklings have no place in our lives. After tonight, we will return to Greece and plan our travels moving forward. You must allow me that.”
“Absolutely,” Davius responded, though he was slightly taken aback. “I am grateful for your support,” he added.
Lucius resumed his reclined position, satisfied with his answer. “Of course. I do appreciate a good killing anyway.”
The litter came to a halt. They exited through curtains that opened to reveal dozens of armed guards poised to greet them. They accepted their arrival without question, leading them through the front door of what was once Eridus’s villa. A chill settled over Davius as he re-entered his former home. The interior had been completely transformed, rendering him curiously impressed. Not only did its new occupant restore the villa to its former glory, but surpassed it in extravagant decor.
The entire atrium was now laid with imported white marble, the deep reds that once draped every window and chair exchanged for a scale of rich purples and soft lilacs. The masculine busts Eridus once favored were replaced by smooth polished statues of the fiercely independent Diana and the curious triple-faceted Hecate. Each candelabra and lighting fixture was fashioned in bright silver, while intricate tapestries draped the walls and woven rugs lined the floors.
The dining room they soon entered mirrored the entryway in concept. Gone were the dining couches boasting the jolly face of Bacchus, the plain white marble benches that replaced them giving the room a look of sterile elegance. Frescoes depicting tales of the Greek goddesses covered each wall. Davius’s eyes pulled immediately towards the front of the room to the scene of Arachne transforming into a spider, her eternal punishment for her hubristic challenge of the goddess Athena. Her shriveling frame cowered beneath the war goddess, who stood fierce and unwavering. Delicia was seated directly underneath the painting, her choice in position a blatant warning to all who might follow in such footsteps.
She was preoccupied by conversation, offering them a distracted nod as they found empty spaces at the long, oversized table. Her apathy towards their presence allowed Davius a few moments to observe her. Although the mousy girl he had once seen at the Roman Circus had grown into a woman, she was still small and delicate, wrapped in a lilac toga with silver adornments, as if strategically matched to her preferred decor. It hung awkwardly against her tiny frame, silver earrings dangling beneath the mousy brown hair piled loosely atop her head. Her slightness offered the illusion of attractiveness, but her face was quite plain. She had inherited her father’s beady eyes, though they glimmered a pleasant brown rather than cold ebony. They darted around the room as she feigned interest in those who spoke to her, making it appear as if she hunted rather than entertained.
Davius seated himself, quietly taking in the room. It felt as if an eternity had passed since he’d last witnessed a Roman feast. Delicia spared no expense in spoiling her guests, the spread before them an endless compilation of obscure foods. Along with the customary fresh fruit and bread platters, she had somehow managed to acquire ostrich from Africa’s northern boundaries, pickled peacock brain, and a platter of exotic flamingo tongues boiled in red wine. Yet the peculiarity of the victuals were apparently lost on the party; the exotic menu and sophisticated room did little to deter them from their gluttonous imbibing. They thought nothing of slamming around their beverages until they sloshed over the lid onto the floor, spit running down their chins as they licked greasy fingers.
Their host seemed unperturbed as she delicately sipped her drink and picked at her plate, but Davius sensed her vehement displeasure. Her eyes caught his for a moment, revealing a burning intensity carefully concealed behind her stony exterior. He offered her a pleasant, close-mouthed smile, which brought the briefest warmth to her cheeks before she hardened and promptly turned away.
Conversation rolled smoothly throughout the evening, the musicians Delicia had hired drowning out most of the idle chatter from Davius’s ears. Lucius was at ease playing the part of a Roman aristocrat, but Davius remained quiet and still, save for when he was forced to laugh when appropriate or when he pretended to swallow bits of food which were secretly discarded into his napkin. He was unprepared for how delectable the scent of so many humans near him would be, grateful that Lucius had brought a flask of blood to pass between them under the table.
The night pressed on mercilessly as Davius struggled to maintain his pleasant facade, when at last someone spoke the words he had been waiting to hear. A voice shouted out over the clamor, “And where is our elusive Nirus tonight?”
Delicia cleared her throat, waving her hand to silence the instrumentals. “My father is not well, as you all know,” she replied.
“Bring him out, you are among friends here!” another man called.
Her smooth face offered no emotion, yet Davius once again sensed her growing displeasure. This was her house, her party, and she hadn’t intended on sharing the spotlight. After a moment of consideration, she called to one of her slaves, a meager looking young woman with eyes rimmed in charcoal. She whispered in her ear, the girl nodding nervously before disappearing into the folds of the house.
Delicia took a sip of her wine. “I will remind you once again of my father's illness, and the fact that I have taken great pains to keep him hidden from those who would enjoy seeing him jailed for conspiracy,” she said. Her voice was soft but strong, with the regal air of a monarch. “His weakened state would see him dead in such conditions. I ask that you remember that I am now head of his estate and the negotiations made tonight are strictly of my own affairs. I am willing to have him join us as a courtesy to you all, an extension of good will in our dealings, but know that his authority here has ended.”
The men surrounding the table nodded, murmuring acquiescence, one raising up his glass towards her in a gesture of respect.
Davius was struck by the fierceness of her eyes as the men surrounding her agreed to her terms, an expression similar to that of the Morrigan. He smiled to himself, briefly wondering where their guardian goddess had wandered off to.
And then he appeared.
A gasp floated about the room as a shriveled creature appeared at the doorway, leaning heavily on a slave girl who could barely handle his weight. His right leg was completely mangled, hanging uselessly from his body as he limped forward, favoring his left. His beady black eyes bulged from their sockets, his face a swollen map of purple bruises and oozing sores, sloppily covered with flesh colored oil paints that only enhanced their grotesqueness rather than concealed it. He was completely bald, which magnified the misshapenness of his skull and the hideous absence of his formerly elongated nose. It seemed to have shrunk back into his head, leaving two large nostrils exposed as they pulled at his upper lip to reveal less than a dozen teeth hanging hopelessly to his skull. Even from across the room, he reeked heavily of alcohol and decay.
“Romans! How I have missed you so,” he managed through his deformity, spittle flying from his desiccated lips.
The dinner party managed to hide their horrified surprise, cheering his presence with extended glasses.
“How is he still alive?” a man on Davius’s left mouthed in an inaudible whisper, one that only an immortal could hear.
Nirus slumped down onto one of the open couches, greedily slugging down the cup of wine before him. “More!” he demanded, slamming it back down on the table, sending his dishes flying.
Delicia looked perfectly mortified.
His personal slave girl hurried to refill his cup. A sense of satisfaction gripped Davius as he watched Nirus struggle to put it back to his lips, both his drunkenness and his disease rendering him utterly pitiful.
“You must listen to my daughter, you fools!” he roared. “I have never been prouder to have her by my side.”
Delicia forced a thin smile. “Thank you, father.”
“The only child I ever bore! Born to a real cunt of a mother, though, who did not last very long in my employ, if you catch my meaning. I am glad she inherited her brains from me at least.” He erupted in laughter, spit and wine flying freely from his rotting mouth.
Delicia’s eyes burned with hatred, yet her pleasant countenance was unwavering. “Do you need more drink, father?”
“I need music! I need whores! Come now, I haven’t had a proper feast in years.”
The party chimed in accord, the music recommencing as the Romans resumed their festivities.
Lucius studied Nirus as he awkwardly chugged another tall cup of wine, letting the roar of the party rise to its original intensity before murmuring to Davius, “He suffers so already. Perhaps there are worse fates than death.”
“I made a vow,” Davius reminded him.
It was not long before the intoxication of Nirus overshadowed any hopes for constructive talk of business. He fell twice from his dining couch, resituated only to slosh his wine about his place setting like a defiant child. Delicia was now openly furious, her eyes pleading with her father’s friends in the hopes someone would help discourage his antics.
Finally, it was Davius who stood, smoothing his robes before approaching the spectacle before him.
Delicia watched him curiously.
“Drink! Bring me more drink!” Nirus slurred as he came up behind him.
“Hello, sir,” Davius interrupted, bending at the waist to match his level. “My name is Marcus Athenus, my father fought with you in the wars before his passing.”
“Ah, yes,” Nirus nodded enthusiastically, feigning recognition.
“I have always been interested in winemaking as a business venture,” Davius continued. He gestured towards Lucius, who had decided to follow. “My associate here once owned a successful winery in Greece. We came here tonight in the hopes of making arrangements with your lovely daughter, for our resources are vast. I also hoped you would be willing to let us tour your wine cellars. I am sure you have more than ample provisions stowed away,” he winked at him.
Delicia opened her mouth in protest before she realized what he was doing for her. She nodded gratefully. “Yes, Father, I think that would be a wonderful idea. Take him to the eastern cellars, where your wine is stored.”
Davius beamed at her. “Wonderful. My associate, Greyus, can speak with you regarding our interests in my absence.”
Lucius appeared in the seat next to Delicia, taking her hand in his. “It is wonderful to meet you, Madame.”
“Yes—more drink!” Nirus struggled to rise to his feet. “A tour we shall have!”
Davius bent to offer him balance, masking his revulsion at the putrid, slimy skin that rubbed against his own. The stench exuding off him was positively revolting, the scent of his blood similar to that of curdled milk.
Davius struggled to keep him upright as they left the dining room, entering the familiar household. He navigated effortlessly through the hallways towards the press room, where he knew beneath the cellars lie. Nirus did not question him, far too drunk to do anything but allow Davius to carry him down the hall. His besotted state prompted his credulity, easily convinced that Davius’s father was once one of his most trusted comrades, even referring to Davius as his brother while clapping his back with joyous intimacy.
Davius maintained the charade as he observed the villa, struck by how still it was, the bustle of slaves he had once lived amongst eerily absent from its halls. Torches still lined each wall, their flames now catching in the silver pottery Delicia had added intermittently below.
“This is not right,” Nirus protested suddenly, realizing where they were. “We are headed towards the wrong cellar.”
“Nonsense,” Davius assured him. “Right this way.” He ushered him faster, the man helpless against both Davius’s immortal strength and the vulnerability of his intoxication. Davius threw open the back door to reveal the neglected west yard, overgrown vines spiraling around the cracked and misplaced stones. The cylinder-shaped building that once served as a press room loomed before them.
“No, please! We cannot go in there!” Nirus began to panic.
Davius dragged him towards it, noticing the front door had been barricaded with chains. He tore through them easily, throwing open the door with such force that the wood slapped against the inner wall with an angry thud.
He immediately stopped in his tracks, the reveal of what was behind it taking him utterly by surprise.
Although the room hadn’t been used in years, the reek of fermentation still hung heavy in the air, now mixed with the tantalizing aroma of blood. He realized the room had been turned into a makeshift torture chamber, rusted chains hanging from the walls, the floors painted with viscera. There were tables laden with various tools and sharp instruments, and a dresser devoted entirely to knives positioned against the far wall.
Nirus found his footing at last, and began to pull away from him. “This is not my room!” he insisted. “I love a good tussle with a slave girl, but she is the one who cuts and drains them! She thinks their blood will preserve her youth and beauty—I tell her it is madness but she does not listen!”
Davius noticed that the giant iron vat once used for pressing grapes was as equally smeared in crimson as the floorboards, a metal slab suspended by two chains hanging above it. The previously established stairs that led up to its mouth now included a table on its landing where fresh towels had been recently stacked. “She bathes in it,” he deduced, incredulous at the thought.
His moment of clarity allowed Nirus the opportunity to wriggle out of his grasp. He slipped around the floors towards the entrance, his attempts to stand useless. Davius did not rush to retrieve him, assured he wouldn’t make it to the door. He continued to inspect his grotesque discovery, heading behind the repurposed pressing cauldron.
He noticed a figure hanging limply against the far wall, partially concealed in shadow. The memory of his captivity immediately resurfaced, shuddering as he recalled the agony of chains. Alarmed that he hadn’t been able to smell a human being in the room, he approached the figure carefully. As he grew closer, he could see the soft blonde hair of a woman and the angles of her emaciated frame. He was mere footsteps away before he realized that despite her protruding skeletal bones, her stomach swelled with child.
He rushed towards Gaia as her sweet face looked up to greet him with relieved elation. He took it in his hands, his body awash with emotion. She was as lovely as he remembered, her olive eyes swimming with adoration as her rose colored lips turned upwards into a smile.
Somewhere inside, he knew she was only a specter, but he embraced her regardless, his nose filling with the aroma of jasmine as her skin warmed his. He wanted to remain eternally in the moment, her fruitful curve pressing against his stomach as he smothered her face in unabating kisses.
“Davius…” her voice came out in a whisper but seemed to fill his head.
“No,” he murmured, his lips grazing her cheeks. “Please do not ask me to leave you.”
“Davius…”
“No…” He repeated, aware of the hollowness of the word as he reached up to rip down her chains.
Hands now free, she grabbed his face, forcing him to see the fire in her eyes. “Kill him, Davius!” she hissed.
The intensity behind her words broke him free of his astonished stupor. He whipped around and lunged at Nirus, who had no chance to register his attack. Davius twisted his head backwards and plunged his teeth deep in his neck, nidorous blood surging from the interrupted vein into his mouth. He slurped it down his throat feverishly, regardless of its putrid taste, as he was accosted by visions of the man’s vile life: the wails of women he’d beaten and raped, the image of Gaia’s face burning with hatred as he loomed above her, whip in hand.
When Davius could not bear to drink any longer, he threw him to the floor, smashing his hideous face with his fist over and over, until his eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw cracked away from his face, his voice gurgling as it tried to plead for mercy. He stopped only to position the mangled creature onto its back. He lifted his own wrist to his mouth, severing his radial artery and releasing black rivulets of immortal blood down his arms. He mounted the pulp that was Nirus’s body, positioning his dripping wrist directly over its gaping mouth.
Gaia appeared next to him as he allowed his blood to pour from him. Her hand on his shoulder signaled him to stop and he withdrew obediently, the two watching in silent satisfaction as Nirus writhed on the floor in agony.
“It is done,” her apparition said softly, when the body temporarily ceased its struggle.
Davius turned towards her, the sight of her beautiful, heart-shaped face with its garden of freckles flooding him with nostalgia. Regret twisted painfully his core as he wiped the taste of rancid blood from his lips. He knew remnants of the gore still streaked his face and neck as she gazed at him. “My love,” he whispered, full of shame. “I have become a monster.” He hung his head, unable to look into her eyes.
She tenderly lifted his face with her hands, the smell of jasmine so strong that it masked the horrors around them. “For now,” she whispered. “Stay the course, my sweet Davius. There is so much more that will be revealed to you.”
He felt tears fall from his eyes, horrified to think they would look as decayed as his blood. Yet Gaia was not affected, placing his hand where it could caress her belly while she pressed her lips once more against his.
And then, without another word, she dissipated, the vision of her trickling away like fragments of dust caught in rays of sunlight. He felt her warmth throughout his body as if her soul passed through him. He fought to keep the vision of her fresh in his mind, imagining her returning to the emerald grass of Gaul where she ran joyous and free, keeping pace with a sandy haired bairn who skipped alongside her.
The anguish of her departure settled over him, slowly bringing him back to the present. He looked down at the lifeless creature at his feet. He moved quickly, hoisting it up against the wall and clasping Gaia’s former chains around each wrist. He watched as Nirus’s soul returned to its new form, its beady eyes wrenching open in violent resurrection.
Davius stood back to observe him, satisfied that the transformation had not relieved him of his disfigurements. His eyes were masked by films of pus as they struggled to take in his surroundings, his jaw still broken and hanging slackly from his noseless face, its blackened tongue lolling pitiably with nothing to restrain it. His complexion had cleared and his leg seemed sturdy, but his shriveled scalp still boasted no hair and his skeletal frame was still contorted by his human deformity.
“Thirsty,” he slurred, his tongue trying unsuccessfully to reposition itself back into his mouth.
Davius smirked. “It is a thirst that will never be quenched for the rest of your miserable days.”
“Who are you?” the creature garbled.
“Surely you remember the slave boy who once stormed your feast.”
His clouded eyes widened in recognition. “What have you done to me?”
“You will live for endless days, hideous and thirsting, your eternal punishment for the murder of my wife and child,” Davius scathingly replied. “You will yearn for death, but it will never come to you for the rest of your wretched days as an immortal on this earth.”
Nirus fought his chains, but the attempt was futile, any immortal strength he might earn not yet evolved. “I need drink!” he screeched in desperation.
“What have you done?” A furious voice cut through the room.
Davius turned to see Lucius in blood smeared clothing, his face an equal mix of astonishment and rage. His fist was wrapped around the tiny wrist of Delicia, who wore an equally mortified expression. The scent of a human being in the room set the newly transformed blood drinker into a frenzy, his rattling chains echoing throughout the chamber. His fat wormy tongue protruded towards her as if it were an intelligent appendage, hideous as it lapped pitifully at the air.
“Father,” she whimpered, cowering beside Lucius, who kept his hold on her firm. Any ferocity from earlier had left her eyes completely, her frail, folded body giving her the appearance of a wounded gosling more than a ravenous bird of prey. She struggled unproductively against his grasp.
Lucius’s eyes, however, were black with anger, his alabaster skin mottled by heat.
“You said it yourself, there are some fates worse than death,” Davius offered before he spat, the taste of rancid blood still lingering in his mouth.
“Let my father go!” Delicia begged.
Lucius glared at her. “Oh, please, you detested the man. You should be as angered as I am that my imprudent counterpart decided to prolong his miserable existence.”
He turned back to Davius. “And what shall we do with him now? Do you want to be responsible for the care of a decrepit blood drinker whom you despise?”
Davius wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. “We can wall him up, right here in the cellar, where he can live in eternal torment. As you can see, his defects have not been resolved in the transformation.”
Lucius deflated slightly, intrigued by the idea. He let Delicia pull herself free from detainment and fly to the door, where she began to tug at it fruitlessly. He peered at Nirus who had grown incensed with hunger, thrashing in frenzied abandon. “My word, you are right. He still looks the perfect monster.”
“Fitting, is it not?”
Lucius tore his curious gaze away to glare at him once more. “Just because you have intrigued me does not mean that I am not irate with your blatant carelessness. You have attempted what only I have done and you have done it impulsively, without any foresight. We cannot go about this world creating creatures so carelessly—we have to protect ourselves! It is bad enough I had to kill every last remaining Roman patrician, even if we are fortunate that it is during a time of civil unrest. You have created a monstrosity that we now have to properly dispose of!”
“I told you, we can seal him up here. It seems our Delicia was quite the little deviant in her own right.” Davius gestured around him.
Lucius was taken aback, realizing for the first time where they stood. “My, you are a perfect specimen,” he called back to her in bemusement.
She continued to pound at the door, her hopeless screams for rescue reaching a fervent pitch.
“As befitting the notion of locking him away for an eternal life of torment may be, we cannot risk it. What if some day, some year, even centuries in the future, he is released? There is no telling what may occur. We have to end it, and do so properly,” Lucius decided.
Davius frowned. “How can a blood drinker suffer in death?”
There was a pause, as they both realized Delicia had stopped screaming.
They turned to see the Morrigan, holding the woman up by one hand clasped tightly around her neck. She struggled powerlessly against her. Morrigan slid towards them with her prize, her glistening eyes expressing her delight.
“Let me drink!” Nirus begged from his chains.
With a smile, Morrigan complied, tossing his daughter to him like a bone to a pack of wolves. Nirus finally broke free of his bounds, catching his terrified daughter in his arms and shoving his teeth into her neck, blood pouring sloppily from his disjointed mouth as he sucked from her unrestrained.
“I have found my vessel,” she explained to the surprised Lucius, who quickly sprang into action. He wrested Delicia away from Nirus, lest he consume the fatal drop, and with a flick of his wrist, caught the wretched being ablaze. He tore about the room in panic, his shrieks reverberating throughout the press chamber. Although he could not see her, Davius could feel the presence of Gaia surrounding him once again, quietly conveying to him her satisfaction. The charred remains finally collapsed in a cloud of black smoke, a few stubborn flames fighting to survive as what was left of Nirus wheezed for breath.
Meanwhile, Lucius had given his blood to Delicia, whose body began to transform. He loomed over her as she ripped at her hair, eyes wide and frantic as her body coiled in pain. He looked at Davius. “You must do it now before the transformation is complete.”
Morrigan slid next to him, her smooth skin brushing against his. “Please, Daghda,” she pleaded. “Make good on your promise.”
Davius nodded, closing his eyes as he pulled her into his arms. He pushed all that had transpired out of his mind, letting the apparition of Gaia slip away from his consciousness. His invocation of wind picked up as his mind cleared, swirling around them and sending their robes flailing. The screams of crows filled his ears as he immersed himself with thoughts of the Morrigan, drinking in her earthy scent, allowing her to consume him. Waves of pleasure rippled through his body as he suddenly recalled the first moment he saw her, a memory that was not his, of her bathing in one of the vast rivers of their homeland. He could feel her muscular body sliding against his in the water, the metallic taste of her mouth in his.
“I will always find you,” he had whispered to her in the rain, as the last of mother’s leaves fell around them, kissing away her tears as he brushed back her raven hair.
His eyes snapped open, for the memories faded and he had returned. He grabbed the moaning body of Delicia off the floor and kissed her, breathing into her body the soul of the Morrigan.
And then, all was still.
Across the room, Nirus’s glowing, charred remains crackled and popped.
Lucius stared at Davius in astonishment. “Did it work?” he whispered.
Davius looked down at the limp body draped in his arms. The woman who was once Delicia was still.
Suddenly her eyes burst open to reveal the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen, radiating out from porcelain skin. It was Morrigan. She beamed up at him, her lips pulling back to reveal two neatly pointed teeth.
Davius hadn't the chance to speak before her eyes shifted back to brown, and he was staring again at the mortified Delicia. Surprised, he dropped her, watching as once more, the eyes snapped back to icy blue.
“What is happening?” Lucius demanded.
“She fights me,” Morrigan managed to reply, trying to pull herself to her feet before crashing to the ground as if her body was under attack. Delicia pulled at her hair, sending Morrigan back with a howl, only to re-emerge moments later. “Her soul will not leave!” Morrigan cried out in frustration.
Davius stared helplessly at the struggling creature before him. “What should I do?”
“There is nothing to be done,” Lucius replied with sudden realization. “Their souls are braiding, forever bound together for as long as their physical body shall live. All we can do is wait until their contention is over.”
As if on cue, the body went limp.
Delicia/Morrigan rose to their feet in one eerily fluid motion. They stood for a moment before delicately sweeping the dust from their lavender robes. Their face was Delicia’s, but was sculpted by Morrigan’s hard beauty, one of the eyes a soft brown, the other perfectly blue. “You may call us Morgana, for we are Delicia, but the Morrigan commands us,” she declared.
Lucius flew up to her, taking her hand to give it a kiss. “We are honored to have you join us.”
Morgana smiled at him with delight.
Davius felt as if his legs would buckle beneath him, suddenly drained of energy. Morgana noticed immediately, rushing to his side. “Lucius, we must feed. For my new body and for the sake of poor Daghda.”
Lucius’s mouth twitched in annoyance at the persisting favoritism, but nodded. “Let us take our leave of this place. We are no longer bound to Rome—we can feed now before sunrise and leave immediately at the next nightfall.”
Morgana laughed. “Nonsense. We fly tonight—dinner will be had at home.”
Before he could reply, she shifted into a raven, opening her beak to give them a shrill, beckoning caw. Within moments, the chamber was filled with birds, circling them until their bodies shrunk back into their corvidian guise. They ascended into the skies, leaving the tragedy of Rome behind them. Davius hadn’t the time to put his thoughts together, nor time to consider what had just transpired, but he knew, as he soared over cities and landscapes, that his life moving forward would never be the same.