The World's Last Breaths: Final Winter, Animal Kingdom, and The Peeling

by Iain Rob Wright

  Some of the Gabali in the water chattered, calling out to one another.

  Men splashed. Others on the riverbank cried out.

  Manius leapt to his feet. His stomach clenched. Objects bumped against his shins.

  Corpses.

  The stream was full of corpses. Nothing too large—rats, squirrels, and maybe a half-dozen fox cubs—but the bloody flotsam came in an endless wave. The water was red with animal blood.

  Manius rushed to the water’s edge and climbed the bank, almost slipping in the silt. A dozen Gabali did the same, a tide of shouting men.

  Once on dry land, Manius demanded an explanation. “What could cause such an ungodly thing?”

  Carigo held a hand against his chin, watching the stream as more corpses floated by. It didn’t seem shocking to the Remi man, but instead profoundly interesting. While others screwed their faces in disgust, Carigo seemed only thoughtful. Manius approached his optiones and demanded answers again, even though it was not his fault. The big man gave no reply, kept on standing there with a thoughtful expression.

  The Bellovaci farmer roused from his unconsciousness at the water’s edge, now fully awake. He muttered and mumbled at first, his fear slowly rising in the tone of his voice. The last thing Manius needed. “Quiet that man before I gut him myself. I will have no more noise from him.”

  One of the Gabali grabbed the young Gaul by the scruff of the neck and shoved him away from the stream. The roughness was enough to shut him up for now.

  Finally having enough of Carigo’s silence, Manius demanded his input a final time. Carigo moved his hand away from his chin and looked at the Centurion. “If you were to ask the Bellovaci lad, he'd tell you this was the work of the Ancient Grove. A warning that we step into a land not ours. But we are all servants of Rome now, ay? And Romans tread wherever they please.”

  Manius frowned. “Do you hold stock in the farmer’s warnings?”

  “Do I believe in gods and monsters? No, Centurion, I do not. The only monsters I know are men, and the only Gods are kings. Both commit foul deeds.”

  “Glad to hear you have sense. We continue onwards then, but what of this odd occurrence? It is a poor omen surely?”

  Carigo gave his characteristic half-smirk. “Omens are for Rome. This is not Rome. The only thing here is the known and the unknown. Do I know what would cause a stream to carry corpses of a hundred dead animals? No, I do not. But if we continue onwards, then perhaps we shall learn.”

  Manius studied the Gabali men. They were unnerved by the occurrence, but it left them pugnacious rather than afraid. These were men who did not tolerate the bizarre. In that way, they were as Romans. Rome also did not tolerate ignorance.

  “Let’s move, Optiones. I want to cross the river as soon as possible so we may find safe camp on the other side.”

  So, the Cloaked Eagles marched on, ascending the largest hill that would lead them back towards the river on the other side.

  Chapter 3

  Atop the hill, Manius watched the sun slip behind the clouds. A light drizzle had started, which he feared would turn ferocious. The river lay North-West, two miles distant, and a mile further than that, it narrowed by two-thirds. That was the place to cross. But to make camp early here and cross tomorrow, or try to make it across the river first… which was wisest?

  Manius decided to make camp on this side of the river. They could sleep knowing their backs were safe whereas on the other side of the river they could be attacked and pinned against the water’s edge. Better to have a full day’s march on the other side so they could take time to scout a safe spot. They'd lose time overall, but keeping to this side of the river until tomorrow made most sense.

  “Optiones, we will descend the hill, and camp in that forest beside the river. We shall cross tomorrow.”

  The young Bellovaci acted up again, and this time tried to make a run for it. A Gabali kicked his legs from under him and sent him sprawling into jagged rocks. Carigo winced and then laughed.

  Manius, however, did not laugh. “What is that cunni shouting about now?”

  “Says thatthere forest is the sacred grove he spoke of. The hunting grounds of the Lacuscii.”

  “You mean the tribe you say is a myth and most have never heard of? A tribe that has no reason to oppose a centuria of Roman scouts just passing through?”

  Carigo shrugged his wide shoulders. “Even if they are real, we should have enough men for them to keep their distance. No point picking a fight for the thrill of it. If they do exist, they are surely a shy people, more likely to hide than confront. If I’m wrong, then at least we’ll have a good fight on our hands. I’m not a fan of dying, but killing… well, that thickens the blood. Makes me hungry.”

  “Everything makes you hungry, Carigo.”

  “Aye, which is why I'm all for making camp early. The forest will shield us from any Bellovaci on the other side of the river, so the Gabali can use the extra hours to hunt and relax. Nothing better to settle a tribesman’s nerves than a big hunt.”

  Manius cleared his throat and briefly watched the men. “You think the Gabali are anxious?”

  “In a way, Centurion, yes. They think the scene back at the stream was some kind of threat. Set their minds to a useful task and they will relax themselves ready for bed.”

  “So be it, Optiones. Have the men strike camp inside the forest first, then they may hunt until two hours past nightfall. I wish to cross the river as early as possible come the new day.”

  “Ay, Centurion.”

  Manius remained on the hill’s summit as the Gabali filtered down its side. He wanted to keep his view of the land as long as possible, so not to be caught unawares. Would they truly find a lost tribe inside the forest? The thick expanse of trees went on for miles, so much so they might not even see any tribesmen, even if they existed.

  And what of the grove itself? The young Bellovaci seemed to think the place was touched by death, a dangerous place.

  Pah, primitive superstition. Even Rome once held unsavoury beliefs, human sacrifice for one. Something intolerable to today's Romans. These Gauls just needed to catch up with the rest of the civilised world.

  Once the Gabali disappeared into the woods, Manius went in after them, but he kept his hand on the hilt of his Gladius as he descended the hill.

  Once camp had been struck, in a small clearing between trees, that Carigo informed were Silver Firs, all was peaceful and quiet. Thoughts of unexplained danger went away. Even the young Bellovaci farmer had calmed, sitting cross-legged on the floor and staying quiet. A good thing too, because Manius had reached the conclusion that the man must be killed, but if he remained calm, he might still get to see his woman and child again. Manius would like that very much. The boy deserved a father.

  And may the young farmer pass on my clemency to the Bellovaci and show them Rome does not wish to fight. Rome wishes only to uplift the whole of Gaul and bring it into the great tapestry of nations.

  Roughly half the Gabali had gone deeper into the forest to hunt deer and rabbit, which left the camp quieter than usual. Manius tried to enjoy it, but hustle and bustle was the background to a soldier’s life, and it was unsettling to hear so little. In fact, the forest itself was more silent than he would have expected. Where were the birds, the squirrels, the insects?

  Carigo came and sat beside Manius on the ground. He chomped on salted fish and offered a part. Manius took it and thanked him. “No problem, Centurion. Got to enjoy these little moments. Superstition might have kept the Bellovaci away from this place, but it means we get to enjoy it in peace. It’s an honour. We are nature’s guests here. You may wish to sacrifice a fatted boar to Camulos. Let him know your gratitude.”

  “If we find a boar, you may do so, yet I see none here.”

  “Ay. Well, let’s see what the Gabali bring back. Those mountain men were made for hunting.”

  “Living in the mountains leaves little option not to be, I'd expect. Do you never yearn for a permanent home,
Carigo? After your campaigning is through, will you take a wife?”

  The big Remi man seemed to think on this, as if it were a real consideration. Eventually, he shrugged, as if any answer he gave could not be certain. “Why stick to one place with one woman when the whole world is on offer? Men are like wolves, Centurion. It’s in our blood to roam. Your Romans identify yourself by a city, instead of the people you are. You expand throughout the world, yet you always go running home every time. Why? All of your problems lie in Rome—your politics, your wars. Men are not meant to rot in place. Move on and your problems fade to dust. Stay in one place and they gather like flies.”

  Rather than object, Manius allowed the man’s words to gestate. “There’s wisdom in which you speak, yet I would not give up my wife or daughter for anything.”

  “You’ve been with whores?”

  “I… of course.”

  Carigo chuckled. “Romans want it all. To roam and war, fuck and steal, but return home at the end of the day to the bosoms of your wives and the comfort of your villas. The Germans have it right. They take what they want and never stay in place—they have no illusions of civility like the Romans.”

  “Careful, Optiones. You are a loyal subject of Rome, yet you speak like a traitor.”

  “Is it treachery to speak one’s mind? If I were the great weakling, Cicero, I could slander all and sundry under the guise of satire.”

  “I hold no great love for Tulius Cicero, for the man holds enough for himself, yet he is a Roman citizen. A Consular.”

  Carigo smirked. “And so, we get to the crux of the argument. You label me a Roman in ways only that suit you. I am less than you, yet must act even more Roman than a true Roman. I do not love your glorious Republic, Manius Furia, and I never will. If you wish to execute me for that, then do so now.”

  Manius realised his fists had clenched, yet it felt more instinct than actual offence. As much as the Remi man’s words were anathema, he couldn’t help but like the man. “I ask only one thing of you, Carigo.”

  “Yes, Centurion?”

  “Do not speak your mind in front of any other Roman but I.”

  “Long as I can speak my full mind to you, Manius Furia, then I will keep it in your care.”

  Manius nodded and the two of them grabbed forearms, an ironically Roman gesture.

  “It’s getting dark, Centurion. I’ll have the Gabali still in camp get some rest, so they may keep watch tonight while the hunters sleep.”

  “I shall join them,” said Manius. “I have a feeling tomorrow will ask more of us than days prior.”

  Carigo patted him on the arm and smiled, fish bits dotting his scraggly brown beard. “Long as the Lacuscii don’t come slaughter us in the night, aye?”

  Manius swallowed, but felt stupid once Carigo released a belly laugh so loud it shook the leaves from the trees.

  Chapter 4

  That night, Manius wasn’t awoken by shouting, but by the sound of breathing. As soon as he opened his eyes, he sensed a presence right beside him. Hot, fishy air on his face. Before he could cry out an alert, a meaty hand clamped over his mouth. He tried to struggle, but another hand held him down.

  “Quiet, Centurion!”

  Manius blinked twice and Carigo’s face revealed itself in the darkness. He was lying on his belly and leaning over Manius, but his eyes were pointed elsewhere. When he removed his hand from Manius’s mouth, he did so slowly.

  Manius understood enough to keep quiet and whisper. “What is happening?”

  “Something’s in the camp. I thought I noticed something in the trees when night first fell, but when I went into the forest, there was nothing there. Whatever it was I saw in the trees, it's back. It’s in the camp.”

  “Then raise the alarm.”

  Carigo shook his head. “Wait! Let’s see what we’re up against.”

  Manius rolled onto his side, looking where Carigo did. Sure enough, a shadow moved through camp, slinking between tents. It made no sound, or so little it was covered by Gabali snores. The shadow belonged to no man, that Manius could imagine, for it was large and low to the ground. A beast.

  “It’s a wolf,” whispered Carigo.

  Someone in camp got up in the darkness. They did not scream at the shadow nor alert others in the camp. In fact, Manius didn’t think they were even aware of the shadow's presence. Was one of the Gabali getting up to take a piss?

  When the man’s slender frame finally took shape, it became clear who it was. “It’s the Bellovaci farmer,” said Manius. “He’s planning on making a run for it.”

  “Blasted imbecile,” said Carigo.

  “We have to get to him.”

  Carigo nodded, then started shuffling towards the centre of camp on his belly. Manius grabbed his sword and started after his Optiones, both men in the dirt like slugs. The young Bellovaci crept between sleeping Gabali, careful not to step on any of them and ruin his chance at escape.

  The shadow moved towards the unaware farmer.

  Faced with the need of urgency, Carigo heaved from his belly into a crouch. He hissed a warning to the young Bellovaci, but it only succeeded in startling him. Realising his silent escape had been foiled, he turned and ran.

  Right into the shadow.

  The beast leapt up and devoured the young Bellovaci, tearing into him on the ground. His screams woke the camp and eighty Gabali leapt from their bedrolls. Chaos erupted.

  Manius leapt up and raced towards the centre of camp. The young Bellovaci's screams ceased, replaced by the shouts of confused Gabali. The shadow flitted between tents, somehow avoiding the reach of the men. Swords swung at empty darkness and Gallic curse words filled the forest. Carigo yelled to the men, trying to keep them from doing anything stupid like stabbing each other. The man had his spear in front of him and used it to slap any man making too much noise. Meanwhile, Manius kept his eyes on the shadow. Slowly, taking each step carefully, he crept towards the beast.

  Could it be a mere wolf?

  The thing was as large as a man. Larger.

  The first Gabali fell. The shadow rose three feet and came down on top of the man as he looked in the opposite direction. His screams lasted seconds. One of his brothers came to aid but became the shadow's next victim. Once both men were dead, the beast dashed between tents, vanishing from the spot where the panicked Gabali converged. Manius still had the shadow in his sights though, and he continued towards it.

  He told himself to stay back, to let his men confront this thing, but he could not. Why?

  Because these were his men, and they were dying.

  He would gut the bloody wolf himself and use its pelt as a coat.

  The shadow took down another man, forcing Manius to move faster. He almost tripped over a sinewy rope attached to a tent, and his stumble announced his presence to the enemy. The shadow focused on him.

  It slunk towards him, a living part of the darkness.

  Mars, help me slay this beast.

  Manius gripped his sword tightly and wished he had grabbed his scutum.

  The shadow rose in front of him, two feet taller than he.

  Manius did not flee. To turn his back now would be his end. Instead, he held his sword in front of him.

  As the shadow edged closer, its odour filled his nostrils—an earthy stink. Its features came into view.

  Pointed ears, bristle of fur, yellow, lupine eyes.

  And a human face.

  Manius felt his heart stop, and in that instant the beast pounced. It felt like the forest itself was falling down on him, and all he could do was thrust his sword out in front of him. The weight that collided with him was too much to bare. He fell backwards into the mud. The huge beast crushed the life out of him.

  Manius lay there in agony, waiting to be torn asunder.

  The moment never came.

  Hotness covered his chest. Blood, or something else?

  Carigo’s shouts filled the forest, and the Gabali fell silent. Manius tried to call for help, but
he could not breathe, the weight on his chest too great. Seconds passed and the pressure in his lungs grew until he saw stars. His life ebbed away. Oh, Jupiter, take what you will for a single, glorious breath. Just one more breath to fight off the darkness.

  Chest threatening to explode, Manius felt lightheaded and then dizzy. Suffocation was not the way he thought to die. Where was the honour? Was this Mars' plan for him?

  Then the weight shifted and Manius seized half a breath. When the weight fell away completely, he sucked at the air wildly, gasping and coughing, wailing and choking. A meaty hand clamped his shoulder. “That’s it, Centurion, get your fill. You’re all right. Get some air. It’s right there.”

  Manius nodded his head to let his Optiones know he was hearing him, but he concentrated only on the glorious air filling his lungs. It took some time before he finally got a hold of himself. He sat there on the ground, covered in blood, and pawed at his shirt while wondering where it had all come from. A wound crossed his belly, a thick scratch, but not enough to account for all of the blood.

  “You gutted the bastard,” said Carigo, pointing at the shadow on the ground. Manius's sword stuck up out of its middle. “Not bad for a Roman.”

  Manius was too beaten to laugh. He shook his head in confusion. “That thing. It’s not a wolf. It’s a man.”

  “You get a bonk on the head, Centurion. It’s a wolf. I told you the things run big in these parts. No wonder there’s no game in these woods. I couldn’t believe it when the hunters came back empty handed. It nearly made me wake you.”

  “I’m telling you, Carigo! Look at that wretched thing. I swear it by Jupiter and Mars both.”

  Carigo tutted and sighed, clearly humouring him, but when he turned his head towards the shadow, he froze.