Bachiyr Omnibus

by David McAfee

  Now, however, as he wandered through the streets of Pompeii, the old anger began to bubble to the surface again. Maybe Baella had done him a favor by bringing him here. Maybe he would enjoy killing Theron, after all. The thought did not displease him as much as he thought it might. Perhaps that was his Bachiyr nature emerging from the shadows again.

  Or perhaps he was just evil.

  The tips of his fingers itched and stung, a sure sign that his claws had begun to grow. Worse, his upper jaw tingled, and he soon felt the telltale bulge of his lengthened canines poking from between his lips.

  Mary had been more than simply murdered. She had been brutally savaged. When Taras stumbled across her body, it was almost unrecognizable. What was left of her face had been just enough to show him the truth. The rest was a mess of blood, skin, and entrails.

  Why? Why had Theron needed to do that? Couldn’t he have just drained her and left her whole?

  His vision had begun to blur, and his hands clenched and unclenched. His claws dug painfully into his palms, sending droplets of blood onto his clothes and the dusty street. His thoughts turned dark and murderous.

  And that was his state of mind when he came upon the couple fighting in the street.

  ***

  “Release me, Jarek!” Caelina screamed just before he stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth. The guardsman had come upon her as she was walking, sneaking up from behind and grabbing her before she realized he was there. Now he was trying to drag her into an alley. She had no idea why, but she was certain it could not be a good thing.

  Jarek said nothing. He grunted with effort and pushed her closer to the alley. Caelina struggled and fought back, but Jarek seemed to have the strength of ten men. No matter how hard she tried, she could not break free. The alley loomed ahead, dark and ominous. What would he do to her? Rape her? Kill her? Both? What would her husband say when she did not come home? Would he assume she made good on her threat? Would he send out the city guard to look for her? Would they find her? Or would she simply disappear, as Filo had?

  No!

  She twisted and squirmed, then slammed her head into Jarek’s nose. She heard a sharp crack and a grunt of pain, and his arms loosened slightly. It was enough for her to plant her feet and twist away, breaking his grip. As she turned to face him, she launched a kick at his groin. It connected, and she had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt in pain again as he staggered back a step or two.

  She spat out the dirty rag and glared at him. “I hope you don’t want children,” she said.

  Caelina was trying to decide whether to fight or run when Jarek stopped staggering and looked at her. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the smile on his face. She had broken his nose and blood poured from both nostrils, making the lower half of his face glint redly in the starlight. His teeth, too, looked red. It gave the appearance of a predator fresh from a kill. A madman’s face, she thought.

  But it was his eyes that truly caught her breath. The stars were not particularly bright that night, and the moon was hidden behind a bank of clouds, otherwise she might have been tempted to dismiss what she saw when Jarek’s eyes settled on her.

  They glowed. Just slightly, to be sure. Had the moonlight been stronger she might not have noticed it, but in the cloudy, starless night the dull red glow of Jarek’s eyes was plain to see. It formed a slight halo around the top half of his face and seemed to make the shadows deeper by comparison.

  “By the gods,” she breathed. “What has happened to you, Jarek?”

  “The gods had nothing to do with this,” he said, and launched himself at her. He moved as a blur, faster than any man had a right to move. Caelina tried to turn and run, but he was on her before she could plant her feet.

  Arms like iron clamped around her chest and started to squeeze. She tried to worm her way free, but Jarek just squeezed harder. Already her vision was dimming as she struggled to breathe. An audible snap accompanied by a sudden sharp pain in her chest told her that Jarek had broken one of her ribs. The world around her grew dark, and she said a silent prayer to the gods, asking them to reunite her with Filo.

  Then the pressure on her chest vanished. Extinguished, as suddenly as a clap of thunder. She fell to the street, unable to hold herself up and unprepared for the sudden lack of support. She sucked in several noisy lungfuls of air, coughing and gagging between breaths, trying to regain her sense of self. As the stars receded from her vision and oxygen returned to her body, she sat up, turning her head slowly to the side to see what had happened. On her left, she caught sight of her savior.

  If he could be called that.

  A strange, tall man with wild yellow hair and eyes that glowed like embers had apparently tackled Jarek and was now wrestling him to the ground. The newcomer grabbed Jarek’s wrists and pinned them to the street with an ease that she could hardly believe, given those same wrists were only moments ago squeezing the life from her with a strength that did not seem humanly possible. Once the blond stranger had Jarek’s limbs secured, he looked up. Caelina gasped at the sight of his teeth, which were long and sharp.

  “Go,” the man commanded. But he did not bother to watch and see if she followed his instructions. Instead, he turned back to Jarek, who was looking up at the man with undisguised contempt. Caelina would have expected fear, but Jarek’s face showed no sign of it. This seemed to surprise the newcomer, as well.

  “Yes,” Jarek whispered. “I know who you are, Taras.”

  The stranger flinched, as though Jarek’s words caused him physical pain. “How…”

  Jarek smiled. In the moonlight, with blood over the lower half of his face, his smile looked sinister. Evil. As though Jarek had come to be somehow less than human.

  “Theron told me all about you,” Jarek said.

  The stranger’s confused expression vanished. His eyes narrowed, and the glow behind them intensified. His mouth curled into a snarl so vile that hairs on Caelina’s skin stood on end. She could almost feel the waves of hate flowing from the newcomer.

  “Theron!” he spat. He gripped Jarek by the throat and began to squeeze. “What do you know about Theron?”

  “I know what he is,” Jarek said, his voice tight. “I know where he is.”

  Taras inhaled deeply, and his frown deepened. “You have been helping him, haven’t you? I can smell his stench in your blood.”

  Jarek nodded. “Of course.”

  “He paid you in blood, didn’t he?”

  Blood? Paid in blood? What the hell…

  Jarek nodded again. “And he paid me well,” he replied, his smile growing more smug by the moment.

  Taras man slammed Jarek’s head into the ground with the force of a crashing boulder. Caelina, her feet glued to the street, did not believe the guardsman could survive such a blow. She expected his skull to rupture, spewing bits of brain and blood into the night air, but nothing of the sort occurred. Indeed, Jarek appeared none the worse for wear. The stone cobbles beneath his head, however, had cracked.

  What in the name of the gods is going on here?

  “I should kill you,” the blond man said. “How many children have you sacrificed to Theron for your stolen blood?”

  Children? Caelina thought. Did he say children?

  Jarek laughed. “You should kill me, but you won’t.”

  Taras growled. “Where is he?”

  Jarek coughed. “Why would I tell you?”

  In response, the stranger squeezed harder. “Tell me where he is and I will kill you quickly, which is much more than you deserve.”

  Jarek choked, but the smile never left his face. “Kill me,” he croaked, “and you will never find him.” He looked up at his attacker, his smirk telling Caelina he knew he had the upper hand.

  But rather than ease his grip, Taras laughed and shook his head. “You think I need you?” Taras asked. “Theron’s stench is all over the city. I can find him without your help. It will simply take a little longer.”

  At his words, Jarek’
s smile faltered. “But you don’t know where—”

  “No,” Taras agreed. “I don’t. But I can find him.”

  “But…”

  “Enough,” Taras said, interrupting him. “You will delay me no longer. Make peace with the gods, because the time has come for you to meet them.” With that, the creature called Taras bit into Jarek’s throat.

  Jarek’s body stiffened and he began to make a strangled, gurgling noise from deep in his throat. The guardsman flailed wildly, trying to punch and kick at his attacker, but if Taras felt any of the blows, he gave no indication. After a minute or so, Jarek’s struggles slowed, and the gurgling cry turned into a low whine.

  Caelina stood rooted to the spot, unable to move or even look away.

  Children? she thought again. Did he say children?

  “Wait!” Caelina cried, not quite believing the word as it left her lips. “Leave him. Please.”

  Taras looked up, and Caelina’s knees nearly buckled. Jarek’s eyes had been glowing a faint red color, but the stranger’s eyes were bright and red, like embers in a dying campfire. His two canines were long and sharp. As she watched, a thin thread of blood stretched between one of Taras’s teeth and a wound in Jarek’s neck.

  “What are you?” Caelina asked.

  “Tell her, Bachiyr,” Jarek said in a hoarse croak. “Tell her what you are. She has already seen too much, hasn’t she?”

  Seen too much? What is he talking about?

  Taras’s eyes shifted to a point behind her and his expression changed.

  “That’s right,” a new voice said at her back. “She has seen too much.”

  A pair of hands clamped onto her throat from behind and started to squeeze.

  Chapter Seven

  THERON walked through the opening in the side of Vesuvius that led into his cavern, the child following sheepishly at his heels. He hadn’t bothered to camouflage the entrance, in part because very few people ever ventured this far up the slope, but also because he felt safe enough in the knowledge that he could defeat anyone who did manage to locate his hiding place. The remoteness of the location seemed to have worked. In over a decade on the mountain, he’d never had a single other being in his caves who he didn’t bring there himself. This time, however, he stepped through the rough stone opening and froze.

  Someone was here. Another Bachiyr.

  Not Galle. He knew Galle by scent and by the sound of her never-ending attempts to cry. This was someone else. Someone familiar…a scent he recognized the moment it touched his nose. One he would never forget.

  “Baella,” he sneered, speaking into the darkness further down the tunnel. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Baella stepped out into the light a few yards ahead. Her form seemed to materialize from the shadows, as though the darkness itself presented her with a gateway. It was a neat trick. He would have to learn it himself some day, provided Baella would teach him, which she probably wouldn’t. Not without a price, at any rate.

  Of course, given the state of his advancement, he probably didn’t need her help, anyway.

  “So,” she purred, “you remember me, Theron. I’m touched.”

  “You are many things,” he replied. “Sentimental is not among them.”

  “You would be surprised, Theron.” She smiled. Her teeth were normal. She was trying to be non-threatening, he guessed. “There is a great deal you don’t know.”

  “And you are here to tell me, no doubt,” he said, unable to hide his venom. “If you have come to kill me, then have at me and be done with it. I have no time for your humor.”

  “Are you dead?” Baella asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then obviously I am not here to kill you,” she replied, winking.

  Theron bristled, but he could not deny the truth of her statement. Baella was the oldest renegade Bachiyr on record, and by far the most powerful. Some accounts placed her origins as long ago as the founding of the Bachiyr race. With over four thousand years to practice her skills, she would prove more than a match for all but the most powerful members of the Council. If she wanted to kill him, there was very little he could do to stop her.

  “Why are you here, Baella?” he asked, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I can think of nothing I have that you would value.” Not entirely true, of course. Theron’s current work with fire would prove invaluable to any Bachiyr, Baella included, but she did not need to know that.

  The ancient renegade strolled across the chamber toward a flat stone that Theron often used as a bench. Theron stared, momentarily captivated by the dark beauty and grace of her easy movements. As she walked across the chamber, her feet did not make a sound. Nor did they disturb the layers of dust on the stone floor. Theron looked at his own footprints, which crisscrossed the floor at various intervals, and silently conceded that Baella might have plenty of tricks yet to teach him. He would have to make such teaching a part of whatever deal she was here to strike.

  That she wanted to make a deal with him was obvious. But what could he have that she wanted? And did he dare trust her? One thing he knew about Baella was that she served her own interests exclusively, and damned if anyone but her could figure out what those were. After the way she betrayed him in Londinium, he would have to be very careful.

  “You are too easy to find here, Theron,” Baella said. “You are fortunate I found you first.”

  “Is someone else looking for me?” he asked, although he knew the answer already. The Council had been looking for him for better than forty years. Their “hunting parties” were little more than a nuisance, easily dealt with and just as easily forgotten. The last group that found him in the back alleys of Pompeii hadn’t lived long enough to report his location to the Council. Several of their skulls still decorated the chamber where he performed his experiments.

  “You and I both know the answer to that question, Theron,” she said, a smirk on her face. “Ramah will keep searching for you until one of you is dead.”

  True enough. “But he will not find me.”

  “I did,” she replied. “And I am not the only one.”

  “Who else is here?” Theron was tired of games.

  “Taras has discovered hints of your doings in Pompeii,” she said. “Even now he is stalking through the city, sniffing at the shadows. It is only a matter of time before he picks up your scent, if he hasn’t already.”

  Taras? In Pompeii? Why? The two had reached an agreement of sorts in Londinium, or so Theron had thought. He hadn’t had anything to do with the Roman in almost twenty years. Why would Taras come looking for him now?

  The answer, of course, was obvious.

  “He is here to kill me,” Theron asked. “Isn’t he?”

  “Why else would he be here?”

  “Damn,” Theron swore. “What makes him cling so desperately to his humanity? What did I do wrong? Were it just him, I could consider his case an anomaly, but Galle is the same way. She still treats humans with the same reverence she did in life. Clearly I am missing something, some key ingredient in the transformation, but what?”

  “You mean, you don’t know?” Baella asked.

  “And I suppose you do,” Theron said dryly.

  “Of course.”

  “I would ask you to tell me, but I am afraid of what you will want in return,” Theron said.

  “I only want one thing,” Baella replied, a slight smile across her lips. She pointed to Nona, who had stood still and silent during the entire conversation, frozen by the weight of Theron’s considerable will. “To watch.”

  ***

  Galle lay on the stone floor of her cell, trying and failing to keep still and quiet through the haze of pain. Her burns were extensive, and contrary to what she had been promised when her husband brought her to the monster, they hurt.

  “You will never hurt again, my love,” he had told her as he carried her twisted form up the slope. The disease that had bent her frame and stolen the use of her legs had also brou
ght with it levels of pain that she’d never imagined possible. She was willing to do anything to escape it. She had even tried to end own life, but he’d stopped her at the last minute.

  “Don’t do it, my love,” he’d said. “I know someone who can help us.”

  She chuckled, and several droplets of blood flew from her raw lips and spattered on the floor. Help us, she thought. Help you, is what you meant.

  “Jarek, my love,” she whispered to the stone floor, “you are a liar.”

  The door to her cell opened, and she turned her head to see Theron enter the cell. Behind him was yet another child. A girl again. Six or seven, by the look of her. Galle took in the dirty face and tattered clothes and immediately knew he’d gotten this one off the streets of Pompeii, just as before. It seemed there was no shortage of homeless urchins in the city.

  The girl’s blood sang to her from across the cell.

  Galle closed her eyes and turned her face away from the door, desperate to block out the sound of the girl’s blood as it pumped through her veins, but it didn’t do any good. She could still smell the girl’s clothes, her sweat, the dirt on her shins. Even her blood. Gods be damned, she could actually smell the girl’s blood under her pale, soft skin.

  “Take her away,” Galle pleaded. The hunger built inside her, driving her senses mad. All over her body, her nerves awakened at the thought of fresh blood in such close proximity. Her body wanted it, no matter how hard she tried to resist. If the girl stayed here, sooner or later Galle’s body would win, and she would kill that precious little child. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name. It had already happened more times than she could count. “Please, just…take her away.”

  “This will not do,” Theron said. “We should not be rude to our guest.”

  Guest? Did he actually call the little girl a guest? Victim, would be more appropriate.

  But then Galle noted something else.

  As much as she despised what she had become, her body had begun to adapt almost right away. Her strength had increased tenfold, and her body had healed itself of the Twisting Disease that had rotted her joints and ruined her limbs. Her senses magnified to levels no human could have dreamed, including her sense of smell, and it had not taken long for her to master the sudden influx of new sensory input.