After, Taras and Theron: Beyond Jerusalem (bachiyr)

by David McAfee

  The fire reached his feet, burning through his boots and licking at his ankles. Still he pounded, even as the skin of his knuckles tore and the flesh turned to a red, pasty mush. He focused his energies on keeping the bones in his hand whole. If they broke, he would have no chance of escape at all.

  A satisfying crack sounded under his hand, and a thin jet of seawater shot into the hold. It turned to steam before it hit the floor, but it was a start. Theron punched the wall again, and another crack sounded through the hold. By now his fists were little more than bloody masses of pulp, and the pain of the fire at his feet made him dizzy.

  His next blow went through the wood and into the water beyond, cooling the torn skin of his left hand and sending a large stream of water into his chest. The force of the water staggered him backward into the flames, but the fire sizzled and went out as the water poured over it. Theron forced his way back to the hull and punched it again, widening the hole and letting in more water. He did this several more times until the hole in the ship’s belly was big enough to accommodate his form. It would be his escape when the water pressure inside the hull evened out, but for now the cool fluid rolled through too fast for him to escape.

  Theron relaxed and allowed the water to soothe his blistered skin. As the hold flooded, the fires went out, and a heavy cloud of steam replaced the smoke. He took advantage of the respite to heal his skin, which used up a great deal of his stored blood. He would need to feed again tonight to replace it, which might be a bit of a problem.

  He didn’t believe for a second that the fire was an accident. He’d missed something the night before when he stopped and checked his surroundings. Someone had been watching him, and he had led that someone right to his hiding place. It couldn’t have been Ramah. The Blood Letter would never resort to fire. Though deadly even to his kind, fire was notoriously unreliable as a means of assassination. Who did that leave? Taras, perhaps? The tall Roman legionary he’d inadvertently turned in Jerusalem? Theron rejected the idea almost as soon as he thought it. Taras was an experienced assassin in his own right. He would have tried something a little less dicey.

  Whoever it was, they obviously knew he was here. Which meant they were one step ahead of him. Theron would have to catch up, and soon.

  ***

  He broke the surface of the water about an hour later. It had taken that long for the hull to flood enough to bring the ship down. Once the hull filled, he was able to swim through the hole he created. The water in front of him sparkled with bright orange points of light. Theron turned around and watched as the ship continued to burn even as it sank. The flames had reached the main mast and enveloped the deck from stem to stern, reaching up toward the sky and spewing sparks in every direction.

  On the docks, men yelled as they ran back and forth. Several of them pointed at the burning wreckage and moaned about their lost cargo while others, mostly women, wailed about their husbands or family that were still on board. A few thought to fight the fire with buckets, but the ship was too far out and too engulfed for such a tactic to be effective. There was nothing anyone could do. The ship was lost. Two men cut the ropes securing the ship so it would not set the docks alight and the ship drifted out into the harbor, sliding lower into the water as it went. As the water reached the flames, it hissed and sent up clouds of steam, which mingled with the smoke and the sparks. Then the ship was gone, and only the tip of the mast could be seen, burning like a candle on the sea.

  A few other men swam in the water around him, and he recognized the faces of some of the crewmen. He did not see the captain, which meant he had either not been aboard when the fire started or he had died on the ship. It also meant he would not have to pay him, not that he could. All his belongings, including most of the gold he brought with him from Jerusalem, now lay at the bottom of the harbor.

  The money did not worry him. He still had enough in his purse to meet his needs, and he could replace what he lost easily enough with a few choice victims. In any case he had little need to purchase anything. Blood was free, and he could scrounge clothing from those upon whom he fed. He had lived quite well in Athens by using such methods nine hundred years ago, and he could do it again.

  More troublesome was the fact that whoever had set the fire was most certainly watching the ship and the water around it, probably checking to see if he survived. Had they spotted him already? He hoped not. Just in case, he sank under the surface and began to swim for shore. He was able to stay hidden the entire way because he did not need to come up for air, so he chose a long route that would bring him up a few hundred yards away from the docks. If his adversary was watching, he or she would not see him leave the water.

  He hoped.

  ***

  He pulled himself up on the shore thirty minutes after leaving the boat. He could have surfaced sooner, but he didn’t want to be seen. Now, as he dripped seawater onto the wooden docks, he stared down the coast at the place where his ship, and his temporary sanctuary, had been. All that could be seen of the boat was the charred tip of the main mast, barely visible in the night’s gloom as it poked a few feet out of the water.

  Captain Helos, if he still lived, would not be pleased.

  He turned away from the sunken boat and walked into the city. No help for it now, he would have to find a meal and fortify a new sanctuary to wait out the day. Fortunately, there was no shortage of suitable victims in Athens. Theron looked back at the mast one more time. Whoever set the fire was probably watching the wreckage even now, waiting for him to surface. He should go back, try to see if he could figure out who was trying to kill him. But what if they weren’t there? Or what if they saw him first? With no safe place in the city to hide he would be exposed and vulnerable to their attack. Better to set up his sanctuary as soon as possible. He’d already lost an hour and a half of dark, so he would need to get to work. It would be a busy night. Once he had his sanctuary fortified and ready he would hunt down his pursuers and make them pay for his injuries.

  The fire had cost him a great deal of blood. He’d used much of it to break free, and still more to heal his burns. He would have to find more before he could work his protective psalms over his new tunnel home. With that in mind, he took a longer route through the tavern district, looking for a drunkard or a prostitute. There were plenty of both in Athens.

  Theron passed by a modest three-story structure. The front sported a wide veranda covered by a triangular roof. The veranda was built to emulate the big Parthenon building on Acropolis, with six wide fluted pillars supporting the roof. Beneath the roof was an open area with chairs, tables, and of course, women. A dozen of them sat languidly in the evening air, fanning themselves or simply removing layers of clothing to keep cool.

  Several called to him as he walked by, but he paid them no attention. A brothel whore was the exception to the general ease of feeding on prostitutes. When a brothel woman disappeared, they were almost always missed. An angry madam could be a tenacious pest. The best kind of prostitute to feed upon was the unattached sort, one with no ties to anything or anyone, or even a regular clientele.

  Those sorts could usually be found closer to the taverns, walking the streets looking for drunken men who needed a release. By and large, they were less attractive and dirtier than the brothel ladies, but they were cheaper. Besides, Theron didn’t choose them for how they looked or smelled, he just wanted their blood. Any of them would do.

  He found a likely woman walking alone on the street near a loud and bawdy tavern. The noise of the men and women drinking inside masked the sound of her hard sandals clicking on the paved street, but there was no hiding the woman’s garish attire. Her black hair was tied back with a bright yellow scarf which hung past her shoulders, occasionally fluttering in the light breeze. A thin red blouse did little to hide her small but perky breasts. Her skirt, which matched her scarf, was cut on the side all the way to her crotch, allowing him a glimpse of her shapely buttocks every time she took a step.

  In all,
a very nice catch.

  Theron approached her from behind, swaying just a little, and plastered a lopsided smile on his face, hoping she would take him for a drunk. “Hello,” he said, a bit slurred.

  She turned to face him, a smile on her dark, lovely face. “Good evening, sir. Do you like what you see?” Her lips were stained red and smelled of berries, and her eyes shone a deep sapphire blue even in the moonlight. This close, he could see the curve of her breasts as her thin, filmy blouse struggled to cover them. A flowery smell surrounded her. Jasmine, perhaps. Or maybe Lavender. She was beautiful. Perhaps too beautiful for her profession, but that was not his concern. He nodded.

  “I do, Lady,” he replied. “The street is hardly a place for one such as you. May I escort you somewhere more…comfortable?”

  “Yes, provided you show me the coin first.”

  Theron reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold shekel. It was an ungodly sum for one night’s pleasure, but he didn’t have anything smaller. In any case, she would only be in possession of it long enough for him to kill her, then he intended to take it back. He placed it in her palm, grinning, and wished he’d taken the time to moisten his mouth with wine so he would smell like a drunk, as well. “Here, Lady,” he said. “Will this do?”

  She took the coin and brought it to her eye, inspecting it in the weak light. To his surprise, her eyes did not grow at the glint of gold in her fingers. She shook her head and handed it back to him. “This is not enough. A pity.”

  Theron’s smile faltered. Not enough? He scanned her face, looking for some sign of a jest, but her expression remained guarded and distant. He removed another gold shekel from his pouch and placed both in her hands. What did it matter, anyway? Two gold would be enough to buy a horse in any city in the world, it should be enough for her.

  “If that is not enough, Lady,” he said. “Then you can keep walking.” He had more gold, but it would look better if he seemed angry.

  She looked at the two coins in her hand, smiled, and put them in a pouch between her breasts. “This will do,” she said. “You must have a powerful need tonight.”

  “For two gold shekels, you had better be able to satisfy it,” he replied.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, turning her back to him and walking down the street. She waggled her finger at him, indicating he should follow.“You will not be disappointed.”

  Theron looked at the olive skin of her neck, and the graceful curve of her skin as her veins pulsed just beneath the surface. “I’m sure I won’t,” he said.

  She led him to a modest two story building near the market district. As they climbed the stairs to her door, he watched her skirt sway back and forth. Several times it moved to the side just enough for him to see everything underneath, and he realized it had been a very long time since he’d lain with a woman.

  She opened her door and stepped aside. “Please come in.”

  Theron walked into the room and noted the lavish settee, the thick rugs on the floor, and the many cushions scattered around the main room. In the center was an oaken table flanked by a pair of red-cushioned chairs. In the far corner sat a large bed, with thick mattresses and sheets of red silk. Half a dozen pillows covered the bed. Elegant tapestries hung from three of the four walls, depicting various scenes in nature. On the left wall was a thick wooden door, which probably led to the rest of her dwelling.

  She obviously did quite well, as evidenced by the fact that gold was not enough. Theron started to wonder if perhaps she might be missed, after all. If her customers were so affluent, odds were good her disappearance would not go unnoticed, which would be very bad for him. Perhaps he should leave now and find other prey.

  He turned around just in time to duck her clawed hand. He fell to the floor and rolled to his right as she aimed another blow at his head. Once he bumped into the far wall, he shot to his feet and turned to face his adversary.

  The woman he’d thought was a whore advanced on him with her claws and fangs extended to their full length. Her eyes glowed red, casting her face in a fiery hue.

  “You’re a Bachiyr,” Theron said stupidly. Now he understood why such a woman was wandering the area around the taverns. She must have been looking for victims, too.

  “Very astute, Theron of Macedonia,” she replied, circling.

  “You know me?”

  “All Bachiyr know you. The Council has promised a position in the Halls to anyone who brings you to justice. I mean to claim it for myself.” She stepped forward, waving her claws in the air in an obvious attempt to distract him. “Tonight I will leave Athens forever and carry your head to the Council as a trophy.”

  Theron watched her claws and smiled. The trick was so basic, it barely merited his attention. “You overestimate yourself,” he replied, allowing his own claws to extend. He would get to feed tonight, after all.

  “We shall see,” she replied. She sprang forward, fast as a cobra, her claws extended in a straightforward thrust that would have impaled him if he hadn’t seen the move a thousand times before. Theron stepped to the right and brought the claws of his right hand down in a swipe intended to remove her hand from her arm, but she dodged aside just in time, twisting her body as she passed so that his claws cut only air.

  Before she could right heself, Theron planted a boot in the small of her back and launched her into the wall. She hit with a thud, tearing one of the tapestries and knocking it to the floor. It fell over her like a net, but she ripped her way free in seconds and shot to her feet, a look of pure fury on her face and a thin line of blood leaking from a cut in her head.

  By the time she freed herself he was already on her. His clawed left hand punched through her belly while his right caught her arm and pinned it to the wall. He turned his body to the side, pinning her other arm with his shoulder and dodging a kick at the same time.

  “The Council will never know what happened to you,” he promised, a wicked grin on his face. “They will never find your ashes, if they bother to look at all.” Knowing the Council, they probably wouldn’t. This vampire was no one special. The council most likely didn’t even know she existed, which made her a good choice for feeding, as well.

  But instead of asking for mercy or cowering in fear, she laughed at him. Theron stared at her amused expression, wondering what was happening. He had all the leverage. He was stronger, faster, and far more experienced. By rights, she should be pleading for her life, not laughing in his face.

  When a hand clamped around his shoulder and threw him backwards into another wall, he figured it out.

  He hit the wall hard enough to crack it, and then sank to the floor. His head spun, and a touch of nausea threatened to drop him back to the ground, but he forced his body upright just in time to catch a blow to the chin that slammed his head back into the wall. Stars exploded in his field of vision, but he retained enough presence of mind to duck.

  Above his head, part of the wall cracked under another blow. He’d gotten out of the way just in time. Acting on instinct, he thrust his hand forward and was rewarded as his claws sank into a seeming wall of flesh, which shuddered at the blow. A grunt of pain sounded above his head and he pulled his bloodied claws out and stabbed them forward a second time, spraying bright red ichor all over the walls and his face.

  The mountain of flesh retreated half a step, giving Theron time to move aside and reorient his thoughts. Now that he could focus, he noted the largest Bachiyr he’d ever seen standing a few feet away. The giant stood at least seven and a half feet tall, and probably weighed as many as three Therons. His bushy eyebrows sprang from a hairless forehead, and sat atop glittering black eyes set deep within his face. A sparse, shaggy beard hung halfway down his chest, but Theron could clearly see the fangs jutting from his upper lip.

  At the moment, the giant stood staring at the holes in his belly. Behind him, the woman had regained her feet and was walking toward the big one.

  “Not the brightest of the lot, is he?” Theron teased.


  The giant’s head snapped up, and he lunged so fast Theron barely had time to jump aside. He caught a glancing blow to the head from the giant’s right hand that nonetheless sent him flying toward the far wall. When he landed, the woman was laughing again.

  “He doesn’t have to be,” she said.

  “I guess not,” Theron admitted.

  The giant, meanwhile, had turned around to face him again. The wall behind him had so many thin cracks it reminded Theron of a spider’s web. Every time the behemoth slammed into a wall the whole building shuddered. And the noise! Soon the city guard would descend upon them if he didn’t do something to end this quick.

  Theron looked at the cracks in the wall, and he had an idea.

  He dodged aside as the giant came again, this time he jumped toward the woman, who tried to step away to the left but failed as he wrapped his arms around her neck. Theron jerked her head to the side and jabbed his claws into her lower back. She screamed at the pain, and the giant turned around again, growling something Theron could not understand.

  The two circled, Theron holding the woman between them as a shield, using the claws in her back to prod her in the desired direction. She grunted in pain and tried to rake her claws across his body, but Theron swallowed the pain and kept his hold on her. He would heal the wounds soon enough. The giant seemed unwilling to attack while his mistress was so vulnerable. Perfect.

  Once in position, Theron twisted his claws, making the woman scream in pain. The giant stood for a moment, indecision stamped on his face, then he lunged again. Theron tossed the woman at the giant’s feet and leapt aside as the two tumbled over each other. The giant crashed into the weakened wall and smashed right through it. He fell into the street below and right into the waiting arms of the city guard, who immediately tried to place him under arrest.

  Theron heard the shouts of pain from the humans in the street. It would not take long for the giant to kill them all, so he didn’t have much time. He grabbed the woman, who squirmed in pain on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, and pulled her to her feet. She wobbled, and he realized that both her legs were broken. So much the better. He pulled her close and sank his fangs into her throat, drinking deeply. She groaned and swatted at him with her right hand, but it was a weak and ineffective attempt. She had lost too much blood.