Spell of the Beast: Book 1: Shape Shifters of Rome

by M. A. Mott

  Marcus yelped, and lunged at Maximus, gnashing at him, howling in fury.

  Maximus heard the dogs rushing through grasses of the field outside the compound. His time was up. He turned away from the snarling creature that had been the Questor and dove to the ground, running with a speed he never thought possible. He galloped with the length of his whole body, the ground passing beneath him faster than he ever remembered, even riding a horse. Behind him, he heard the dogs quicken, and the demon howl, now hurt and angry, of the Questor from where he stood on the rock.

  “Turn, my love. Run to the water.”

  He did so. Maximus soon smelled the stream, which had swelled from recent rains, running through the environs around the compound. He knew the hounds were close behind, barking and snarling. How many did Marcus have in his pack? There had to be at least twenty. He knew they now chased their one-time patron, howling for his blood. Then he saw it ahead. The stream glittered in the moonlight.

  “That’s good, my love. Leap as far into it as you can, then swim downstream. You will see a willow arching above. Climb up its roots.”

  Maximus leaped into the water with a splash. The cold was not harsh on his new body. He swam, sweeping huge pawfuls of water, swimming fast. He heard the barking hounds growing closer to the bank he’d left. Down the stream he went, the current carrying him around a bend, through a gully, at last coming out to a place where he saw the willow. It was old and huge. Its roots stuck out from the bank into the stream. He clawed his way up them from the water.

  “Now, up the tree,” said Tanit’s voice inside. “Up a man’s length, then leap away from it to the ground.”

  He did so, galloping through the brush, putting the stream behind him. He paused at a clearing. Behind, he could hear the hounds at the bank of the stream, barking and howling.

  “My love, I am in a hidden place in the hills. Follow the moon toward me. When you reach the rocks, climb upward toward the summit of the tallest of them. I await you.”

  He ran. Through the clearing, into the woods on the far side. In the moonlight, the white-stone hills shown ahead, their feet about a mile from him. He ran with all his might. In the distance, he heard a hunting horn of his legion. They were mounting a party. They could catch him on horseback. He would need to reach the crags of the hills before that. And yet, he knew he could with his new body. It was long, supple, and strong. With such a body, he could even take down a man and horse. But if he tried to confront those chasing him, he would end up dead at the end of a spear. He knew how many would join the fight once they sorted out the mess he’d created at the fort. He ran.

  He saw a ravine scattered with boulders. Soon, he took to it, leaving the flat plain behind. He bounded from ledge to ledge. He...smelled something. Something powerful. He knew it was her. She was higher up. He climbed.

  Chapter 12

  PEERING FROM THE CURTAINS in the antechamber of her goddess, Oohlat watched the fray unfold. The men crashed into one another, smashing the things in the room. The Romans! Brawling in her house of worship! From the edge of the room, she turned back to face the statue of Tanit. The guttered light from the doorway played upon the stone features of the goddess, her blank eyes staring out at the dancing fires.

  “Oh, Goddess,” she whispered. “What am I to do? I will strive for your will. Please, give me an answer, oh my heart.”

  “Take our sisters into the tunnel, my priestess. It is time!” The voice...seemed to come from the statue, under which smoldered the scented punk she and the acolytes had long ago prepared. “Go now! They plan to crucify you!”

  Crucify? She looked fearfully back to the curtained chamber beyond where she stood. Her acolytes? Not even slavery, but...the horrible, slow death on a cross. Yes! Of course. Now is the time to run, as they had planned long ago.

  Looking out at the smoky brawl, she drew back from the doorway and went across the room into the curtained sanctuary where huddled the frightened acolytes.

  The oldest girl, perhaps 17, Genisha, looked at her beseechingly. “My priestess—what is happening?”

  “Take the girls down the stairs now! We go to the bottom room. No, wait...you and Aleena must accompany me. The rest of you, go! All our lives, and that of our Goddess, depends on you all now. Go, do not tarry.”

  The youths vacated the room through the back doorway, with a quite rustle of their linen cloaks. The two she had singled out stood, trembling.

  “Quickly, we must fetch the chest from our Goddess’s bedroom. Follow me.” She led them up the winding stone stairway.

  Outside the room stood the two guards from Maximus’ personal detail. They looked pensive, hands resting on their swords as they looked at Oolaht and her two acolytes.

  “You must help us,” she said in a commanding tone. “Your lord is under attack. Quickly, we must fetch his medicines.”

  They glanced at one another questioningly. She could see they hesitated to trust her.

  “I am your commander’s surgeon now,” she said in a low voice. “Do as I say. Your lord’s life depends on you.”

  Their faces melted into resolve. They nodded, turned, open the door and entered the bedroom, followed by her. She directed them to pick up the carved chest. “That,” she said. She grabbed the pitcher, a blanket, and a gourd. “You there, those candles. And you, that pot. Now!”

  Soon, all the party carried something. “Now follow me!” she commanded.

  The disheveled group shuffled to the stairs, and down, down, until they reached a dark basement. The lantern born by one of her acolytes played across the white linen robes of the other gathered there.

  She laid down the items she carried, picked up a lit oil lamp from the table, then strode over to the wall. The catch was there somewhere...yes. She pushed a stone in the wall, which in turn sprung an opening in the wall, which slid open just enough to reveal a seam. She pushed against it. It was heavy.

  “You there,” she said, gesturing toward one of the guards. “Help me push.”

  The larger of the two men carrying the chest stepped forward and laid his shoulder against the wall. It slid along an axis, grating against the stones. Eventually, an opening appeared.

  “In!” she commanded. “Now, run along this corridor.”

  A dank smell wafted from the stone corridor beyond, the smell of decay and mold.

  “But...priestess,” complained one of the acolytes.

  “Do as I say!” she snapped. She picked up what she had carried in a bundle, then tucked it under one arm.

  The girls entered, followed by her, with the two Roman guardsmen bringing up the rear, lugging the wooden chest, looking doubtful. The stones of the walls soon ceased, with only rough-hewn rocks for the tunnel’s rounded walls. Old, dry timbers held up the ceiling. They walked, then clambered over uneven ground. The tunnel’s width grew smaller, the misshapen walls tightening around them.

  Oh, my goddess, Oolaht thought. Where now do we find ourselves? She remembered how they’d come to the citadel years before, on a trip to Spain from the mother city for a pilgrimage to the god-cave. Even then, Tanit had known. “My priestess, my faithful friend. I think we may come here to live, and you should know about this tunnel.”

  Oohlaht had remembered questioning this. “Why? Why leave Carthage?” she asked.

  “My love,” she said, laying her hand on Oolaht’s arm. “Carthage is leaving us. I have seen it. She will go, and will only live in our hearts. We must leave.”

  A weight fell on Oolaht’s heart that day. Carthage, gone! Salissa, gone, the temple, gone! Tears burst from her at that moment, when they stood together so long ago. Her Goddess embraced her, held her, and their tears mingled, clutching one another as if the day had already come.

  Then, Tanit had leaned back, kissed her, and looked deeply into her eyes. “Oh, my beautiful sister, my love, my child. We come here so that our visions may never fade, that we may together find the path. You will walk this path to me, and find me, and tend to our new future.
My faithful heart. I will give you everything that may be. Please, do not give in to your sorrow. We shall greet the sunrise from the mountaintop, and Carthage, and Salissa will live in us and grow and feed us and our children.” She took her hand, and kept walking. “Walk with me now. This path will take you to that place.”

  And so, now it was. But would they make it? They would exit this cave near the river, cross the river, and trek into the mountains. They might have to swim. Wasn’t there a shallow ford near the entrance?

  They approached the entrance with the fall of night. A half-moon shone through the gap in the rocks as they emerged. She left the lamp just inside the entrance of the tunnel, and beckoned the two soldiers to emerge with her. The three carefully scrambled out the opening.

  The moonlight showed white against the chalky Caledonian rocks and boulders scattered about the crags. In the distance glimmered the stream. From their vantage point, the water had light ripples—swift but shallow. They could cross it with slight difficulty.

  In the distance came the sounds of hounds, baying. They all turned at once.

  “That sounds like our wardogs,” said one of the soldiers. “Maybe all of them.”

  All of them? Oolaht recalled seeing the pack of dogs, pack-leaders wearing actual armor, tearing at their men during the attack on Carthage. Had they already tracked her and the Acolytes? They already knew she had come this way? Was this the end, then, to be torn to shreds by Roman dogs?

  The animals bayed barked and whined as they raced through the brush. They were hot on the trail. Suddenly, the pack turned up stream, stopped at the edge from its sounds, then splashed into the creek and to its other side.

  So, it was not her and her women the dogs were chasing.

  “They are after somethin’ hot,” grunted the soldier.

  Oolaht had to seize the moment. “We must not tarry. I have a plan. Get the chest and come with me.”

  The men looked at one another, again, doubtfully.

  “Trust me when I say your master now depends on you,” she said.

  One of the soldiers glowered at her. “So you say,” he said.

  The second turned to the first. “Commander Maximus has been good to us. I heard him arguing with that Questor. It was for our booty.”

  “Yeah? Well, where is the Commander? He’s been howlin’ mad for the last five days.”

  “You heard him. He was arguing before the Hound of Lucullus for our portion.” He looked up and, spying the acolytes, nodded his head in their direction. “The Hound would have us put all them to the sword. Her too,” he said, indicating Oolaht with another nod of his head. “And she even saved him with medicine. You saw it.”

  The first soldier looked glum. “I saw it. And he’s been a good Commander. But what will happen now? If we follow her, will we ever see our unit again?” He looked at her thoughtfully.

  “I expect you will soon rejoin your unit,” she answered quickly. “He lives, you will see him.” She turned away and walked briskly to where the acolytes gathered, then, taking up her lamp, led them toward the ford.

  “How so?” the soldier asked, a little loudly now that she had walked away. She turned and made a “shush” motion, finger to her lips. She walked back to him and leaned in. “Because he will need you when he returns to command the unit. Soon.” She walked back. She looked at the women, waving her hand in a motion to which they formed in a line, and then marched to the stream, lamp held high.

  The two men looked at one another, shrugged, then walked on past them and waded into the stream. They walked across, testing the footing, then back into the center.

  “This way,” said the first soldier congenially, standing in the shallows. The other soon positioned himself in a similar position. The two men waved the women forward. One by one they hitched up their robes, stepped into the water, and stumbled across the stream

  Further up from them, they heard the hounds baying and barking. They were traveling away now from the stream, bent upon some prey. Holding her lamp, Oolaht wondered at it. She hadn’t seen Maximus emerge from the fight, nor the one called the Hound. Could it be...she feared it...could it be the dogs now hunted their commander? Had he changed into his cat form? If that, then if they caught him, he would be lost—and so would her Goddess’ bid for a mate, and perhaps their chances of a new life. If their quarry wasn’t Maximus, then what was? Would whatever they chased hold the attention of the dogs long enough for her, her acolytes, and two wayward Roman soldiers to make it to the causeway in the mountains?

  “Once the garrison is under control, they’re going to figure out we are missing,” said one of the soldiers. “A party will be sent to sally.”

  “What is your name?” Oolaht asked.

  The solider paused. “Well...I’m Tichus, ma’am. And this here’s Quintus.” He rattled off a unit number, rank, the sorts of things Oolaht found non-important at the moment.

  “Tichus,” she said. “Are you and Quintus, pledged with me to save your commander?”

  The two men stood at attention and saluted in the Roman fashion. “Yes ma’am,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Won’t you be in mutiny against your governor, the one they call Lucullus?”

  The two looked at one another, shrugged. “No, we don’t think so,” Tichus said. “Maximus is still in charge, by all the rules.”

  “I thought the one called Marcus was relieving him.”

  “No, ma’am. That was sorted out. Commander Maximus was still in charge. They argued about something else when the fight started.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “Um. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but about whether or not to kill you,” he glanced about, pointing at the acolytes, “...all of them. All your people there in the fort. Maximus wasn’t having it.”

  Oolaht fought her outrage, keeping her voice calm.

  “So, is it your duty to kill us?”

  He smiled cheerfully. “Oh, no ma’am. Our orders are to follow your orders. Them was the last orders we had from Maximus.”

  She nodded for a moment, looking down, then at her acolytes. Good. That was settled. Now to the job at hand.

  “What would you do to escape this search party you speak of?” she asked.

  He seemed to consider the question. “Well, ma’am. We’ve got a head start, but no horses. How far do we have to go?”

  “About a day’s march,” she said. She pointed. “Those hills. See that one in the middle? That’s where we want to go. To the top.”

  He looked at the peak in the distance. Then, considering, looked down at the chest they had carried. He indicated it.

  “This,” he said, pointing, “is his medicine, Ma’am?”

  She nodded. It had the last of the Salissa tree, as well as scores of other herbs, potions, medicines, unguents. Everything.

  He nodded in return. “Can’t leave it then. Means we need to find ourselves a cart.”

  “There’s that farm right over there, just over the hill,” said Quintus, finally speaking. “We could just go requisition his horse and cart.”

  Tichus shook his head. “That’ll leave a witness.”

  “We don’t have to tell him where we’re going,” Quintus offered.

  “Maybe,” Tichus said.

  “Tell them you are taking us to Nova Cartego,” Oolaht said. “To sell us.”

  Tichus’ sun-burned, ruddy face brightened. “Yes! That’s it. It’ll work. I’ll promise him part of the take for the loan of his cart.”

  “Good,” she said. “Do you think he will take the offer?”

  Tichus shrugged. “If he don’t, we’ll kill him.”

  Oolaht said nothing. Inside she seethed, but kept her silence. Many more would likely die before it ended. Including them.

  Chapter 13

  THE MOON SHONE ON THE meadow, and ahead Maximus could see the rocky ground grow ever rockier, and the grass and brush of the plain he’d run across meet the scrub trees of at the base of the hill. He f
elt thrilled. Powerful. He sniffed the air. The trees, the stream gurgling down the ravine he was to traverse...and yes, there it was. Her scent.

  Maximus considered that, even as he lithely clambered from rock to rock. Her voice to him had grown quieter. Perhaps she grew tired guiding him that way. Now that he’d made the foot of the hills on which she lay, she instead called to him with her scent. Or, maybe it was just natural—her animal way. His animal way. He felt fire, longing within him, to find her and...yes. That. She said he was her love, and he would now claim that title.

  Higher into the crags he climbed. Soon, he caught telltale signs—familiar sights and scents. Wasn’t this the place he’d seen in his dreams, where he took down the auroch? Yes. There was the bluff above the small mountain meadow he had perched on, then fell upon his prey. He padded over to it. Below it lay the scattered bones of an animal, dead for some time; weeks, even months. Had he done this? Perhaps it was her dream, and she shared it with him. He smelled the rock. Nothing. Many rains had fallen since that hunt. He climbed on.

  Farther and farther up, crag after rocky crag he climbed. The stony sides of the hill grew steep, even as it was overgrown. He glided through the trees quietly, occasionally startling birds or small animals that scattered into the brush. Eventually he came to the creek that trickled down the side of the ravine, which in times past had formed the wash through which he had stalked. He stopped and drank the cool liquid from the stream, lapping it up with his tongue. He drank until his thirst was slaked. Even so, the scent was stronger, intoxicating. He felt wild, desperate, and hungry for her. She had to be close now. Eventually, he found a trail. It snaked along the top of a cliff, sometimes hidden by trees, other times bare. He stopped. He crouched, watching it for signs of movement. After more than an hour, listening, watching, and smelling, he detected nothing. No one walked the path. No animal lurked along it.