Etruscans

by Morgan Llywelyn

  Horatius found the door ajar. Stepping inside, he discovered one small room furnished with bits of rubbish scavenged from the waste ground. A cracked amphora contained the dregs of sour wine, but there was no sign of food. The place was much poorer than Wulv’s old hut. The thought of his mother in such squalid surroundings sickened him. Vesi, who had already been through so much. His throat burned with grief for her sake.

  He was almost relieved to find her gone.

  A faint trace of her scent remained, however, lingering in spite of the pervasive odor of burnt cloth. A pile of rags in the corner was smoldering where a lamp had been hastily overturned.

  “Is she here?” asked a voice from the doorway.

  “I’m afraid not, Khebet. See for yourself.”

  The fastidious Aegyptian had no intention of entering the shack. Pressing his perfumed sleeve to his nose and mouth, he swept his eyes around the interior but remained resolutely outside. “Was she ever here?”

  “Yes, and quite recently too.”

  “You were deliberately prevented from getting to her in time,” said Khebet. “But I wonder why they did not overwhelm you when they had a chance.”

  “You mean the rats and scorpions? Who could make vermin obey them?”

  The Aegyptian allowed himself a modest smile. “With the aid of Anubis I was able to make the bodies of the dead obey my will. Magic is all around you, Horatius. You yourself have more than one shadow.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  But before Khebet could reply, another being finally succeeded in making himself heard.

  From the smoke of the smoldering rags that had once been Justine’s bed, Pepan formed a body. It was not much of a body, hardly substantial enough to exist for more than a few moments, but by using all his strength he was able to give it a voice. Vesi, he said, forcing a simulation of sound through a simulated throat.

  Horatius whirled around to confront a shadowy figure vaguely resembling a man, a man with a face he remembered. Had it been only that morning? In the mirror?

  Vesi, said Pepan again.

  “I tried to find my mother and make her safe, as you said. I fought to get here only to find her gone. She should have known I would come,” Horatius complained to the creature of smoke. “She should have waited!”

  Khebet thought Horatius sounded surprisingly like a small boy who has just discovered that the world is not fair and one’s best effort is not always rewarded. He liked the young man better for it. But the image in the smoke said, Do not be unreasonable; she could not wait for you. They have taken her to the caves.

  “What caves?”

  The Caverns of Spasio, east of Rome. If you follow her, there is grave danger to yourself. You must be on your guard every moment. Use the protections I have given you. It is not Vesi he wants, but you.

  “Who? Who is doing this?”

  Before Pepan could reply, the tiny fire that fueled the smoke finally died.

  Horatius turned to Khebet. “Was that what you meant about my having other shadows?”

  “He is but one of many, not all of them benign.”

  “Why are they following me?”

  “I can only speculate. Some may have something to share with you; others may want something of you. As a priest, I find your situation most intriguing.”

  Horatius felt his temper fraying like old rope. “My situation isn’t important; it’s my mother I’m worried about! Those caves he mentioned—have you ever heard of them by any chance?”

  “As a priest,” Khebet repeated with emphasis, “I know a lot about the Caverns of Spasio. They are believed to be one of the entrances to the Netherworld. I had not been long in Rome before I made a point of seeing them—from the outside only, of course.”

  “Take me there, Khebet. Please!”

  The Aegyptian shook his head. “I knew you were going to say that. Revelation and excitement,” he added cryptically.

  Later, four inhuman hunters crowded together at the doorway of the shack, peering in. The atmosphere inside still trembled with vibrations but he had gone. Yet at last they were closing in on him. The long hunt would soon be over.

  Pythia would be pleased.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The country was rocky and rough, the trackway all but invisible. They were walking single file along the path, with herself in the lead and Vesi in the middle. From the rear his voice guided, “Left here. Now up through that defile, then off to your right. Move faster. I want to reach our destination while there is still enough light for him to follow.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He responded with the familiar, demonic chuckle that had nothing of Lars Porsena in it. “My plan is simplicity itself, dear child. We are taking the mother to a place where the son can only follow by dying.”

  Suddenly Justine knew. Her stomach contracted with terror. “The Caverns of Spasio!”

  “And through them to the Netherworld,” he replied.

  “You can’t take me with you; I wouldn’t …”

  “Survive? Not under normal circumstances, no. But with sufficient power I can keep both you and this woman alive in the Netherworld for a time, just as I can maintain this body. I merely need a little nourishment. We spoke before about my nourishment, remember? That is why I need to keep you with me—even there.”

  Half-fainting with fear, Justine felt her knees give way beneath her. Then to her astonishment the mindless woman behind her reached out and caught her. “Courage,” she whispered in a voice only Justine could hear.

  “What can he possibly intend to do with my mother, Khebet?” Horatius asked over his shoulder as he trotted along the road the Aegyptian had indicated.

  Khebet was struggling to keep up. He was a lean, fit man, as Aegyptian priests were inclined to be, but Horatius’s speed and stamina excelled his. “I cannot say, but he is evil, Horatius, evil. Whatever he means to do can only harm her.”

  “Yet the face in the smoke said it was me he wants.”

  “What better way to lure you into a trap than this?”

  “I don’t care if it’s a trap,” Horatius said stubbornly. “I have to go to her; I don’t have any choice. No one else can help her.”

  His fiercely possessive attitude toward his mother once again reminded the Aegyptian of a small boy. When boys became men and found women of their own that emotion was tempered. But although Horatius had a man’s body, the spirit within was still immature.

  “Look sharp,” Khebet said aloud. “Somewhere up ahead there is a turnoff. Watch for a narrow path partially obscured by hemlock and cedar.”

  No mortal was needed to guide the four. That fragment of Pythia which possessed Vesi provided a sufficient beacon. They were hampered by a lack of physical speed, but they were relentless. They would eventually catch up with their quarry.

  Four cloaked and hooded figures glided along a Roman road, speaking to no one. When they encountered a man on a horse the animal shied so violently it threw its rider, who sat cursing in the dirt and shaking his fist at them. They never stopped, never even looked around.

  The dark goddess was waiting.

  In the late afternoon sunlight Justine looked deep into Vesi’s eyes, just for a moment. Then Lars Porsena gave them an impatient shove from behind. “Go on, go on! We are almost there.”

  “I thought I was going to faint.”

  “Gather your courage, dear child. I expect better of you than fainting. What is about to befall you is a simple transaction, nothing more. You need only think of something else and it will soon be over. Surely in your former line of work you were accustomed to thinking of something else during business transactions?”

  Justine shuddered. His insinuating voice tore the scabs off old wounds.

  The Caverns of Spasio were a series of interlinked caves extending into the bowels of the earth. Initially very large, they became smaller as they went deeper. Unlike other caves, a constant flow of air moved through them, claimed by the Romans to be
the breath of the Netherworld. Through the caverns wound a river of black water. In its lightless depths no fish swam. The Romans believed that it was a tributary of the Styx.

  Everyone knew the caverns had been fashioned by the gods at the dawn of the world. No human had ever explored the caves fully; no sane human wanted to. The few who did—brave or foolhardy, drunk or mad—had never returned. One cave led to another, then to another, all the way to the Kingdom of the Dead. If one went too far, one could never get back.

  The entrance to the foremost cave was screened by scrub cedar and a tangle of white-flowered hemlock. Lars Porsena caught the hemlock and drew its blossoms to his face, inhaling the fragrance. “Wonderful,” he breathed. Then he pushed the shrubbery aside to reveal a great dark cavern like a gaping mouth waiting to devour Justine.

  “I can’t.” She screwed her eyes shut and clutched Vesi’s arm. “I can’t. I’m too afraid!”

  “You can,” insisted the demon’s implacable voice. “Step inside, Justine. I grow impatient for my meal.”

  Pepan stayed close to Horatius and Khebet. He found no further way to communicate; so many restrictions applied to a disembodied hia in the Earthworld. Yet he remained within an arm’s length of Vesi’s son at all times, hoping Horatius would somehow sense him there and draw strength from his presence.

  As they drew nearer the caves, his anxiety increased. First he heard a ripping noise and then a shrill screech, the unmistakable sound of pain transmitted through the Otherworld. Shortly thereafter, Vesi’s identifying sound began to grow faint; fainter …

  Hurry, Pepan urged Horatius, hurry, before it is too late!

  But he feared it might already be too late. Death was only the least of what might happen to Vesi.

  By the time Horatius and Khebet reached the caverns the daylight was beginning to fade. Peering through the opening into the first cave, they saw only darkness until their eyes adjusted. Even then the interior of the cave was grimly shadowed.

  Horatius drew a deep breath. “I smell my mother’s scent; she was here recently. Now her trail leads deeper into the caverns. She’s going away from me all the time, Khebet; what shall I do?” he asked in the voice of a desperate child who expects adults to have all the answers.

  “She has led you to a very dangerous place, Horatius. I most urgently suggest we turn back.”

  But no sooner did the Aegyptian speak than Horatius felt the familiar singing in his blood, filling him with knowledge and certainty.

  We never turn back, he replied.

  It was not his voice.

  Khebet closed his eyes in a moment’s silent prayer. Great Anubis, he thought, do not desert me. I am in the presence of wonders. “Horatius, please listen to me. We cannot pursue her through these caves. They lead to the Netherworld. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I do understand. But if that’s where they’ve taken my mother, that’s where I must go. Now you can come with me or stay here. It’s all the same to me. You have a choice. I do not.” The young man shoved his way through the shrubbery and disappeared into the cavern.

  “Nor do I,” Khebet murmured. Perhaps this was a punishment, though he could not recall any deed of his so heinous. Some unpropitiated crime in a previous life perhaps? “The only way I know to enter the Netherworld is through death,” he argued as he reluctantly followed. “The ka must leave its body in order to cross the Styx. If your mother has been taken that far she is already dead, so there is no point in your …”

  Horatius turned to face him. In the dimly lighted cave he stood with his hands on his hips and his feet wide apart. “I won’t let her be dead,” he said stubbornly.

  “You have no choice!” the Aegyptian cried in exasperation.

  “I do. I’m going to go get her and bring her back.”

  Khebet rolled his eyes skyward. “Anubis help me!”

  “You help me, Khebet. You can work great magic. You brought the dead back to life.”

  “No, I did not. You saw dead bodies move, which is not the same thing. They were briefly animated through the power of Anubis, whose priest I am.”

  “Then when I bring my mother back from the Netherworld, you can do the same for her.”

  “You do not want an empty shell!”

  “There is little more than that of her now,” Horatius remarked ruefully. “I’m going after her, Khebet. Help me or not as you will.”

  The Aegyptian drew a deep breath. “Very well, I will do what I can. But if you have faith in my magic, you must obey me completely. Agreed?”

  Horatius hesitated. Wulv was the only man he had obeyed. At last he said in a low voice, “Agreed.”

  The Aegyptian began to pace back and forth, talking as much to himself as to Horatius. “We cannot let you attempt the journey in your physical body; it will have to remain here, so you have something to come back to. I will release your ka to travel to the Netherworld. First I will need hemlock from those bushes outside to make a potion and some of the niter from the walls of this cave. Then …”

  “Will you go with me?”

  Khebet shook his head. “I cannot. I must remain behind to stand guard over your untenanted body. There are many malign spirits who would possess it otherwise.”

  “When my spirit leaves my body, will I be dead?”

  “Not if the ritual works.” The Aegyptian hesitated. “But I must be honest with you, Horatius. I have never performed this ritual before. It was old when the world was young, and only the greatest of priests would ever dare attempt it. Alas, I am not the greatest of priests,” he added ruefully. “If I cannot reunite your ka with your body once you return from the Netherworld, you will be dead. Worse than dead, because while your ka wanders lost in the Otherworld, your body may be possessed by some foul spirit. There are many such who are always eager to seize uninhabited flesh. The gods alone know what crimes may be committed by something wearing your face and form.”

  Horatius shrugged. “I have no fear of death.” That much was true. The other horrors Khebet described however …

  He swallowed. Hard. “I trust you to bring me back,” he told the Aegyptian. “But if you cannot, then you must destroy my body so nothing can use it. Promise me this.”

  “I promise.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  At first the way through the caverns was all but lightless, yet Lars Porsena never faltered. With one hand locked on Vesi’s wrist and the other on Justine’s he plunged ahead, down and down and down, dragging the women with him.

  Beside them ran the river. Merely an inconsequential trickle along the floor of the first cave, it broadened with each cavern. Try as she might, Justine could not discover any tributaries feeding the river, yet it continued to gather strength as it descended until the caverns echoed with a mighty roar. The sound beat against her skull. The water gave off a foul, disgusting odor like rotten eggs.

  Once when Justine whimpered with pain, Lars Porsena pulled her to its very brink. “You can have a drink if you like,” he said.

  She turned her face away.

  He laughed. “Come then, we have a distance yet to go.”

  They went on; her pain did not lessen. He had hurt her very badly and she marveled that she was still able to walk. As if he read her mind, he remarked, “You can stand an extraordinary amount of pain, you know. You are young. And I chose you because you are strong. You had to be, to survive the life you led.” He chuckled. “If you think you suffer now, just wait until we cross to the other side of the river.”

  “I can’t cross that river; it’s the Styx.”

  “Have you so little faith in me? I told you—you will survive. You both will survive for as long as I need you to. Come now, dear child, do not scowl at me. I have restored your beauty. Why ruin it?”

  “What are you going to do to me after we … after we cross the river?”

  “I have not yet decided. The Netherworld offers many opportunities for pleasure; what I call pleasure, that is. You may not agree. But you will
be able to explore at first hand aspects of your sensual nature whose existence you have hidden even from yourself. Does the prospect not intrigue you?” he asked archly.

  “Of course not!” she shot back. Yet she was lying and he knew it.

  The dishonesty of her reply pleased him. As a reward he lessened the severity of his grip on her wrist. “All mortals lie,” he said. “Only the hopelessly mad, like our friend here,” he jerked his head in Vesi’s direction, “are innocent. Hers is the purity of mindlessness.”

  But Justine had looked deep into Vesi’s eyes. There was a mind behind them, a cold, calculating mind that watched everything—and understood.

  As they went deeper the caverns did not become darker. Instead a pale gray light, barely discernible at first, grew stronger as they progressed. By this light Justine was able to recognize a change in the life-forms within the caverns. At first there had been numerous common spiders scrabbling over the damp stone. Past a certain depth the spiders disappeared to be replaced by creatures that never saw the light of day. Translucent land crabs scuttled sideways at their approach, and albino bats hanging in packs from the ceilings mewled at them like cats or chewed the finger-thick white slugs that lurked in stony crevices.

  Deeper still, the shadows partially concealed beings of such frightful, distorted shape that Justine could not bear to look at them, but averted her eyes and hurried past. Bulbous forms leaped from the dark river and fell back with a squelch rather than a splash. Once or twice long, sinuous tentacles broke the surface and waved hungrily, questing in the air for a moment before retiring to the depths again. Once one brushed against Lars Porsena and recoiled with a hiss.