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

by Iain Rob Wright

  The Gabali mumbled amongst themselves.

  “The stories are true,” said Carigo, more to himself than any other. “No!”

  Manius had recovered enough to get off his back, yet he didn’t try standing. He dragged himself along on his side until he was right beside the beast he had slain.

  Yet it was a beast no longer.

  Lying in the mud on a bed of broken twigs and leaves was a naked man, the likes of which Manius had never seen. His skin was white as purest marble and he lacked a single hair anywhere on his body. His dead eyes were yellow suns, clear even in darkness, and his ears curled up into points. Inside his open mouth were sharper fangs than a man had any right to own. This creature had been of the forest, a beast as much as a man.

  Carigo shook his head in disbelief. “The Lacuscii… The Lacuscii are real.”

  Manius was shaking his head too. “You didn’t tell me everything, did you, Optiones? So, tell me now.”

  Chapter 5

  “The stories about the Lacuscii are told to scare children and keep them from wandering too far into the woods,” explained Carigo. “Parents warn their sprogs about wolf men in the trees that will eat them. No one believes it's true.”

  “I believe it,” said Manius, the Gabali stood in a huddle behind him. His slaying of the beast had elevated him in their eyes. “Tell me the stories in full.”

  Carigo looked at the dead tribesman lying on the ground and nodded. “They are changers. Men by day and monsters by night. They descend from a human male named Luscus and the great white she-wolf Vuluptra. For generations, they have preyed on those entering their forests, breeding carefully to keep their numbers down. They are a quiet people, knowing the world would hunt them down if they were deemed a threat. I never believed the stories, Centurion, but I think we may have entered their grove. If that’s the case, we need to leave right now. There’s a reason no game exists in this forest. The Lucuscii hunt here.”

  Manius hated to admit it, but he believed it all, Jupiter forgive him. Yet, he was on a mission for Caesar himself. “We are soldiers, Optiones. These Lucuscii might have the taint of the wolf in them, but they can be killed. What would you do if we were bested by Bellovaci?”

  “I would say give me a sword and a place to stick it.”

  “Exactly. Men fear the unknown, but with your explanation, the Lacuscii are not unknown. They are a tribe in hiding, but tonight they killed subjects of Rome. It is not something that may go unanswered.”

  Carigo looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Where’s the man who promised not to lead us to pointless deaths in the name of Rome?”

  “You would have us flee like children?”

  “I would have us live. Rome does not know all, Manius Furia. Some things no civilised man can understand. This grove is of the Gauls, and it does not care about the glory of Rome.”

  Manius looked at the Gabali. Their fearlessness had evaporated, and they now looked like frail senators surrounded on the steps of the Forum by torch wielding plebs. These men had families they wanted to get back to. That poor Bellovaci farmer had a wife and child waiting for him back at the homestead, trusting in the word of a Roman. Manius’s word was already broken, and the glory of Rome had been diminished. Were the losses worth the risk? Was punishing a forgotten tribe for crimes against the Republic more important than completing the mission Caesar gave them?

  Manius stood gingerly, ribs aching. With a shaking right hand, he clutched his gladius and yanked it out of the Lacuscii warrior’s chest. A gout of blood spewed forth and pattered the leaves on the ground. With a snarl on his face, he turned to his men with the bloody sword raised high. “I am a centurion of Rome, and a son of Caesar. You are the Cloaked Eagles, tough men and servants of Rome. Tonight, we have been beset by a foul enemy. An enemy who attacks sleeping men in the night without warning. Gabali men litter this forest, their lives cut short by abominations born of man and beast. Yet, I would ask no man here to risk his life for something not tasked of him by Rome itself. I lack Imperium, and such cannot speak for Rome. Caesar has asked us to scout the tribes of Gaul, and this is one of them. He did not ask us to fight them. That will come later. Therefore, our report will include the Lacuscii as a tribe hostile to Rome. We will return of a day to raze this wretched forest to the ground, and every beast within it. But not tonight. Tonight, we flee, for not to would be foolhardy. Let us pack up, Eagles. We are leaving.”

  He had never seen the Gabali move so fast. They swept through the clearing like hunted hares, gathering up their bedrolls and abandoning any belongings that rolled away from them. Carigo studied Manius and, when caught looking, gave a respectful nod. Then he left to gather up his own belongings.

  Manius gathered his scutum and moved over to the fallen Bellovaci. The young, blond Gaul wore a woven braid around his neck, a thing made with a woman’s delicate craft. Manius plucked it free and placed it inside his belt. Little would stem his woman’s grief, but she deserved back what was hers. He would also see she received payment from Rome, if she accepted such an offer.

  “We lost five men,” Carigo reported moments later. “Plus the Bellovaci lad. One Lacuscii did that. You’re a wise man, Manius Furia.”

  Manius nodded, although some part of him still nagged that his 'rational decision' to leave was really cowardice and fear. “We still need to cross the river, Optiones. We still need to scout the Bellovaci and the Nervii. If we return to Caesar without...”

  “By day,” said Carigo. “Once we’re back on the hill we need only wait for daylight. The Lacuscii are only men in the glare of sunlight. We can cross the river at dawn while the beast inside of them sleeps.”

  Manius nodded.

  The Gabali formed up, carrying their dead amongst them. Manius had no intention of keeping them for a single second, so he led the way back out of the forest, sword unsheathed and scutum held firm in front of him. The wound on his stomach burned, but the pain only made him move faster, a reminder of what he was leaving behind. The darkness seemed to have blackened further and the trees, both ahead and behind them, swayed with renewed life. Several times, Manius thought he saw shadows move from one place to another. Several times he thought he saw something watching.

  “How deep did we travel into the forest?” Manius asked Carigo.

  “We came in about half a mile, I’d say, but I’m not positive we’re heading in the exact same direction. Either way, we’ll be out soon enough. Just keep moving.”

  Twigs broke as the men hurried through the trees, but when twigs broke up ahead, Manius called a halt.

  “What do you hear, Centurion?”

  “We’re being watched. Something has looped around in front of us. They want to keep us from leaving. But why?”

  Carigo readied his spear. “Because we’re meat.”

  Manius groaned as he thought about the lack of game in the forest. “We’re the largest prey they’ve had in years. Men! Form a shield wall. Leave our fallen behind, lest we join them.”

  Such a manoeuvre was difficult in the cramped forest, but the Gabali did a decent enough job of clumping together and raising their shields. Some wielded spears, like Carigo, but most adopted the gladius given to them by Rome. It made the shield wall unbalanced and awkward. Fighting this way was not why the Cloaked Eagles existed.

  Carigo tilted his head and whispered. “Centurion, shadows, up ahead.”

  Manius nodded. He had already seen the shapes flittering in the darkness, twenty yards ahead. “Men! Forward march, half-time. Those cunni want to dash themselves against our shields then we shall let them.”

  The Gabali moved forward, feet tangling the weeds and roots that tripped them constantly and made the whole formation waver. Shields on the flanks moved forward, pointing towards the enemy.

  The shadows remained ahead, multiplying in number.

  “I count at least a dozen,” said Carigo.

  Manius nodded silently, focusing on where he was putting his feet. A man beside him trip
ped, and he had to reach out and steady him.

  Step, step, step.

  The formation moved forwards, keeping as tight as it could, shields locked together.

  The shadows remained in place, ready to meet them. Within seconds, the two groups would clash.

  “Shields forward,” Manius shouted.

  Any shields still facing the flanks now turned to clink against their neighbours, forming an impenetrable shield in front of them. The Lacuscii could not break through, Manius was sure of it. His men would cut their way out of this forest and gain revenge for their fallen brothers.

  “Ready!”

  The men breathed heavily, steeling themselves for battle. Swords and spears slid through the gaps in the wall.

  Manius locked his jaw. Clenched his sword.

  Something caught the corner of his eye.

  Shadows to the left, sliding out from between the trees.

  The enemy had sprung a trap.

  Carigo realised it too. A smirk crossed his face, visible even in the darkness. “Clever boys!”

  The shadows leapt out from the forest and attacked on two fronts, one group striking the shield wall and locking the formation in place while the second group pounced upon their undefended left flank. The men there were not unprotected, their shields locked in front of them. They fell quickly, sides torn open by sharp claws glinting in the moonlight.

  For the second time that night, Gabali screams pierced the air.

  Manius growled. Jupiter fuck this grove.

  He wheeled to his left and leapt amongst his men, screaming for them to kill, kill, kill. To their credit, they rallied, and managed to unthread their weapons from the shield wall and turn them on the enemy. Carigo killed the first beast himself, driving his spear right through its groin, so deeply that the weapon was nearly lost to him. He had to place his foot on the creature to yank the hasta back out. The dead beast turned back into a man, pale fleshed and tainted by the wolf.

  More beasts fell to spears and sword, but the shield wall broke as men stumbled and tripped in the dark. Each time a man fell, another would try to fill the gap, but slowly the Lacuscii pushed them back and forced them to fall over their own feet. Shields got wrenched away and tossed aside.

  More men screamed.

  Manius leapt up in the air and plunged his sword into the neck of the nearest beast, grinning as its arterial blood spurted into his face. He felt the blood drip down his face and it sent him wild, made him a force of nature. He twirled, in a most un-Roman fashion, and impaled another foe. Leaping and kicking, he fought like the gladiators of Capua he had watched as a boy. His enemy was primal. So he became primal, and he matched their ferocity.

  Carigo bellowed. A creature grappled with him, and bit into his neck. He pulled his spear around and slid it up beneath the beast’s ribs. On its back legs, it looked as much a bear as a wolf, and even mortally wounded, it continued to attack. Carigo roared and shouted in Gallic, no doubt cursing the thing biting into his neck.

  Manius ducked under a swiping claw and made his way to his struggling Optiones. A few steps and he was there, thrusting his sword into the beast’s back and pulling it right out again. Then stabbing again. Over and over. Blood was everywhere. He breathed it in the air.

  His attacker now dead on its feet, Carigo shoved the beast aside. His spearhead had snapped off and his neck bled profusely. He clamped a hand against the wound and grinned at Manius. “Looks like you led me to my death, after all, Centurion.”

  Manius took hold of the fading Remi man. “My apologies, Optiones.”

  “Fuck it, I’m not dead yet.” He shoved Manius aside and threw himself at the nearest attacker, tackling it to the ground despite it being bigger. He pummelled the creature’s head until its skull cracked open then let out a belly laugh as loud as thunder. “Years from now,” he shouted, “the Lacuscii will be scaring their children with stories about me!”

  More shadows emerged and fell on top of the Remi man, but before they could envelop him, he grabbed the broken shaft of his spear and rammed it into his own eye socket, killing himself instantly. He remained there on his knees, dead but not fallen.

  The Gabali closed ranks. Those still holding shields did their best to form a wall. But it was no use. The shadows filled the forest and surrounded them on all sides. Every second, a beast leapt out to take a man, and the formation grew smaller, tighter. More vulnerable.

  Before long, Manius realised, with absolute horror, that only three Gabali still lived. Eighty men slaughtered in a single night.

  “I am sorry, Caesar. I have failed you.”

  Two of the three Gabali men fell, their deaths sickening and painful.

  Manius wished he could speak Gallic. Wished he could tell the lone soldier fighting beside him that he was sorry. But it would mean nothing. Within seconds, the Gabali warrior was yanked away into the night, screaming as he died.

  So Manius stood there alone, surrounded by an enemy not even the mighty Rome knew existed. A myth made real. Wolf men of the forest.

  A children’s story.

  Jupiter, forgive me. I ask you to look over my daughter. Provide Tarentia with a man greater than I.

  Tarentia! Oh, how I wish to gaze upon you before my death.

  The shadows moved in, took up space around Manius. But they did not attack. He could hear their breathing, smell their stench, yet they did not tear him apart. “What are you waiting for, you cunnis? You stink of shit and piss, so get it over with.”

  Still, they did not attack.

  Instead, they backed away. Why?

  It wasn’t until the first thin shaft of light pierced the canopy of the trees that Manius realised the source of their retreat. Jupiter had sent the dawn. True daylight was still an hour away, but its impending arrival was enough to send these creatures back to their nests.

  Like a protective mother, the forest seemed to swallow up the Lacuscii until Manius was standing there alone. For a second, he wondered if they had even been there. Perhaps he suffered malaise, and this was all a fever dream. He certainly felt lightheaded. Would he wake up soon? Or die in his sleep?

  The sight of six dozen dead Gabali told him he was not dreaming.

  Manius staggered over to Carigo, a part of him needing confirmation that the big man could actually be killed. Of course, it was no surprise to find the man dead. The Remi was no Roman, but he had served with honour. Even in the face of his own death, he had fought for his brothers. Bravery was a most Roman virtue. Manius removed the broken spear shaft and lay his Optiones down beside a thick oak tree that matched the man himself. “I am sorry, Carigo, to leave you in such a cursed place. I shall return and find what remains of you, I give my word as a Roman.”

  With more daylight breaking through the trees, Manius made his way out of the forest. He felt nauseous and dizzy, the wound on his chest burning, but he was able to keep going by stopping at every tree to take a breath. An hour later, the small shafts of sunlight turned to great beams, and he was free.

  The grassy hill lay ahead, a place he had recently stood and watched for threats. He had found none, but how wrong he had been. Now the hill mocked him, not least because he lacked the energy to climb it. He ended up dragging himself on his belly, not knowing if he would ever make it to the modest summit. His head spun and his chest burned. Death lay behind him in the forest, but he wasn’t so sure it didn’t lay ahead of him too. He was a failure to Rome, crawling on his belly like a worm. But one thing kept him going.

  Tarentia.

  Manius opened his eyes beneath a wooden roof. That there were no screams to wake him was a comfort, yet his heart beat with fear. His body burned and his mind spun. Death all around him. Monsters. Blood. And shadows. He had taken himself to the underworld and left eighty good men behind.

  So where was he now? What Hell greeted him as just deserts?

  A familiar face watched over him. A woman.

  He spoke the answer the moment it came to him. “The farmer’s
wife. The Bellovaci.”

  “No, I am Helvetii. My husband was Bellovaci. The Nervii slaughtered my family when I was a child and I was taken in by the Bellovaci. My husband was a good man, but I was given to him as trade when my village went hungry and was unable to pay for his meat. He was a good man. He is dead?”

  Manius nodded. “Not at my hand.”

  “You went into the forest?”

  “I am sorry.”

  The woman nodded. She seemed upset by the news, but not broken as a good wife should be. “He always said that forest was cursed, that I must never let my boy enter.”

  “The boy was not his?”

  “No. Part of the reason I was traded as chattel. Nobody desires a woman with an unwanted child. Who will provide for him now, I wonder?”

  “I shall see that Rome pays its debt to you. Your husband’s death was in service to the Republic. How… if I may ask, do you know Latin?”

  “I not speak it so well, but I try. My father was a mercenary who fought with Quintus Sertorius in Hispania. He was recruited when great Roman pass across the Alps. My father make it back alive to raise me till I was eight, then Helvetii clashed with Nervii and he was slaughtered with the rest. A waste. My father was a good man. A servant of Rome.”

  Manius kept nodding his head. He realised it was a tremor in his neck and fought to stop it. Shivers wracked his entire body.

  “You are ill, Roman. The fever may yet kill you. I have done what I can, but wound on your chest festers.”

  He coughed and cleared mucus from his throat. “T-thank you. If I perish, send word to Rome that a centuria lies dead in the forest. They will reward you for your loyalty. Keep my body and they shall pay you handsomely for it too. I am a centurion.”

  She nodded. “You are lucky I found you, Centurion. Your body was at the top of the hill. The shield you carried caught the sunlight like a beacon. I saw it from a mile away while I was out playing with my boy.”

  “W-where is your boy now?”