Bachiyr Omnibus

by David McAfee

  Well, she thought, nothing to do about it now. I’ve come too far to turn back.

  She would just have to trust that nature would provide what she needed. There were several streams near the mountain, and plenty of fruit. She should be fine. She would be fine.

  Caelina yawned. Had it really been only 24 hours since she last slept? It felt like much longer. Her limbs felt heavy and slow, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. The warm, sticky air in the forest didn’t help, and soon enough her thoughts turned to sleep. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Filo might be waiting.

  Eventually, she came to the rocky base of Vesuvius. The mountain towered over her, disappearing into the overcast sky, its peak obscured by gray, angry clouds. Within the clouds, a bolt of lightning flashed, hidden from view by the graying gloom. A low rumble of thunder followed, rolling across the forest like a sad wind. The weather would not be her ally this afternoon, it seemed. No matter, she would not let a summer storm stop her. Rains in Pompeii came and went with regularity, especially in summer. While the sky looked angry at the moment, it would probably clear up by evening. All she had to do was wait.

  Exhausted, she started to look around for a place to lay down. Luck was with her, and she soon came to a shallow depression in the side of the mountain. It was not a cave, but it was deep enough to offer some protection from the elements and hidden enough to offer some cover from anyone who might happen by. Additionally, the depression held a rocky shelf on the rear wall that allowed her to sleep up high. Hopefully, this would keep her dry during the coming storm.

  She entered the depression and climbed the back wall. When she reached the ledge, she stretched out, cradling the back of her head with her hands. Sadly, she thought of the baby birds and wondered if the mother bird felt any love for her lost children. An image of Filo’s smiling face came to her, and she shut her eyes against the pain.

  As the first drops of rain pattered the stone outside her tiny sanctuary, she fell asleep.

  ***

  At about the time Caelina entered the woods outside of Pompeii, a young boy found Jarek’s broken and bloody corpse laying in the street. He ran, screaming, back to his mother, but the noise alerted a pair of guardsmen on patrol, who were able to convince the boy to show them what he’d found.

  A short while later, a group of soldiers carried Jarek’s body back to his house in the center of Pompeii. Once there, they laid him on his bed and cleaned him up. Since he’d died in full uniform, they guessed that he’d been attacked by brigands, though none of the guards on duty could imagine what sort of weapon had caused the terrible wound in his throat.

  They left him in full uniform, but washed away the dirt and the blood. By the time they were finished, he looked clean and noble; the epitome of what a Roman soldier was supposed to be. All of them swore vows to find and punish his killer.

  Then the guards filed out, each of them stopping to pay their respects. In short order, other people began to visit Jarek’s corpse. News of his death traveled fast, and by noon, the entire city knew of the guardsman who’d selflessly given his life in defense of Pompeii’s streets.

  Nearly everyone had a story of something they had done with Jarek, some grand adventure the two had shared. The fact that only one night previous he’d been just an anonymous soldier seemed not to matter as more and more stories cropped up.

  “I met him in Rome, when we were stationed there,” one soldier said.

  “I knew him from Pompeii,” said another. “We used to hunt boar together.”

  It didn’t matter to anyone that Jarek had never been to Rome in his life, nor had he ever hunted boar. He’d died, seemingly in the line of duty, and was thus hailed as a fallen hero. Not even the stout quake that shook the city in the early afternoon could diminish the steady stream of visitors. Even when the thunderstorm hit and rain pelted the ground like pebbles, people still lined the streets outside Jarek’s home, wanting to see the hero.

  It wasn’t until evening fell that the tide of people began to slow. The grateful residents of Pompeii walked away from Jarek’s modest house, solemn but hungry, as all around the city people began to prepare for dinner. Many a glass was raised in toast to the brave man who’d fallen while protecting them from bandits or robbers or whatever scum had killed him. The fact that no one knew what Jarek had been protecting them from was never mentioned, and only rarely thought. He was a hero. The details didn’t matter.

  Gareth had his doubts. He knew Jarek, and his fallen comrade was not likely to die to save anyone else. More likely he had stumbled onto a group of people who were doing something that they did not want a guardsman to know about. Nevertheless, he kept his doubts to himself, knowing that to cast any shadow on Jarek’s apparent heroism would only serve to mark him as jealous, or worse. As such, he declared that Jarek would lie in state for five days, and ordered an honor guard of two soldiers to stand at the entrance to Jarek’s home. He placed a gold coin in Jarek’s mouth, a gift for the Ferryman, and left, saluting to the two men stationed at the door.

  Jarek’s loss was troubling. Not because Jarek was a great soldier, but because it meant that someone in the city had attacked and killed a member of the City Guard. That was bad for everyone. Gareth would have to see to it that the culprit was captured and publicly—and painfully—executed, lest the other undesirables in the city think they could start killing soldiers with impunity.

  As troubling as that thought was, he had a greater problem, one far more personal than Jarek’s death. Caelina had never returned after their argument. As luck or coincidence would have it, she was last seen in the vicinity of where Jarek’s body was found, which did not make him feel any better. He returned to his quarters, where he found one of his lieutenants waiting for him, an eager expression on his youthful face.

  “Sir,” the lieutenant said, saluting, “You have a guest.”

  “I am in no mood for guests, Weilus,” the captain said as he pushed open the door to his office. “Tell them to return tomorrow.”

  “Begging your pardon, Captain,” Weilus said as he followed him into the room, “but this person says he saw your wife leave the city early this morning.”

  Gareth stopped and turned to face Weilus. “She left the city? Alone?”

  Weilus nodded. “So it would seem.”

  Could it be true? Caelina left Pompeii? Why? Where would she go? He thought back to their argument the night before. Filo is dead, Caelina! He’d regretted his words the moment he had said them. His hand rose, unbidden, to his cheek, where he could still feel her hand’s harsh touch. True, the fight had been a bad one, and she had threatened to leave and never return, but he never imagined she would actually go through with it.

  “Did he say in which direction she went?” he asked, dropping his hand to his side again.

  “I thought it wise to let you question him, Captain.”

  Gareth nodded. Good. “Very well,” he said. “Send him in.”

  Weilus saluted and left the room. He returned a few moments later, followed by a short, shabbily dressed man who looked and smelled like he’d not bathed in weeks. The man introduced himself as Tathos and launched into his story without prompting from Gareth.

  By the time he finished speaking, Gareth had a good idea just where his wife was going, even if he could not figure out why. But the why was not as important as the where, in this case. He would find her, then he would ask her what she was doing.

  Right after he asked her for her forgiveness.

  “Thank you, Tathos,” he said. “You can go now.”

  Tathos bowed and left the room, carrying a few more coins in his pocket than he’d entered with. All of them silver. He would probably drink it all away in one tavern or another before the day was out, but that was not Gareth’s concern.

  What do you want with the mountain, Caelina? he thought. What could Vesuvius possibly have that you want?

  Then it came to him, and he bolted to his feet.

  �
�Weilus,” he shouted. “Gather a dozen guardsmen. Tell them to pack for the woods. That means water, and plenty of it, as well as food enough for four days. I want them assembled and ready outside my quarters in one hour. Not a second more.”

  “Yes, sir,” Weilus said, snapping a salute to his captain. The lieutenant turned and walked outside, shouting orders as he went. He never even asked where they were going.

  Gareth nodded. Weilus was a good soldier. He would have the men ready to go soon enough. Evening was not the best time to brave the woods around Pompeii. However, there were very few predators that would attack such a large group of men and no bandits would dare move against an armed company of Pompeii’s guards. They should have no trouble reaching the mountain. Of course, once they arrived at Vesuvius they would have to fan out in search of Caelina, but he would worry about that when they got there. He’d ordered the men to pack food for four days. It would take one day to reach Vesuvius, and one day to return. That left two days to search for his wife. Hopefully, it would be enough time to find her and stop her from doing what she planned.

  I won’t let you give yourself to the volcano, Caelina, he thought. I won’t!

  Chapter Ten

  FILO runs through the field of tall grass, laughing and calling to his friends, who are not fast enough to keep up with him. She watches, smiling, knowing Filo is holding back, just a little, so the other children do not get too frustrated. A fine runner, her boy. He will certainly grow tall, strong, and lean, just like his father.

  As he runs, the sky grows dark. Angry gray clouds move in to obscure the sun. The clouds move much faster than she would imagine possible, and soon the sound of thunder booms. His friends all stop to look up at the sky, then one by one, they turn and run to their homes. Soon only Filo is left standing in the field, watching as his friends leave.

  “Mother,” he calls. “Mother!”

  She tries to tell him she is here, but no sound comes from her throat, only a hoarse croak that she can barely hear herself above the wind and the rumble of thunder. She tries again, but with the same result.

  “Mother? Where are you?”

  She tries to run forward, to scoop Filo in her arms and carry him home where they will be safe, but her legs will not move. She is frozen, her legs glued to the ground by something she cannot see. She is also silent. Her voice continues to die somewhere between her mind and her lips. She waves her hands, desperate to get his attention, and finally, he turns toward her.

  His eyes wander, passing right over her as if she is not there. He looks around, calling for her, and she realizes he cannot see her.

  “I’m here!” she tries to scream. “I’m right here!” If Filo notices, he gives no sign of it.

  The rain begins. Large, fat drops that plummet to earth with the force of small stones. They strike Filo in the head and shoulders, making tiny cracking sounds that are quickly swallowed up by thunder. He falls to his knees, his head swiveling this way and that, looking for her but not seeing her.

  I’m right here! she screams, but the words are only in her head. I’m right here! See me, Filo! Please, see me! Hear me!

  “Mother!” he calls again, holding his arm over his head to shield himself from the punishing rain. “Help me, Mother!”

  The rain pelts him with enough force to cut his precious skin, and tiny rivulets of red mix with the rainwater pouring off his head. He is getting weaker, his cries softer. The tall grass is gone now, replaced by mud. Filo whimpers, then lays face down in the mud. A small red stain begins to spread around his body, barely visible in the darkening gloom.

  The thunder is louder now, more insistent. The rain falls harder and faster. It feels like pebbles striking her skin. The earth begins to buck and jump, or maybe it has been doing so for several minutes and she is just now noticing. She shakes her head, numb from fear and pain. It doesn’t matter. Filo matters. Only Filo. She can barely see him now, the world is so dark. But she can still hear him. His cries are soft now. Weak.

  Her boy. Her poor, precious boy.

  “Mother…why won’t you help me?”

  ***

  Caelina bolted upright, banging her head on the stone ceiling of the small depression. She swore loudly as the pain exploded in her head, and she rolled off the ledge to the ground some five or six feet below, landing in a patch of thick, soft grass. As she rubbed the rising bump on her forehead, she struggled to fight back her tears, not all of which were cause by the sudden influx of pain.

  A dream! It had seemed so real. The rain, Filo’s screams, the sound of thunder…

  It took her a moment to realize that the sound of thunder had not abated when she awoke. If anything, it had gotten louder, rumbling through the air with authority. Even worse, the earth really was shaking. Hard. It rolled and bucked underneath her as though the stone itself was alive and in pain. As violent as the earlier quake had been, this one was much worse. Several large rocks rolled from somewhere up the slope of Vesuvius and bounced down around the entrance to her little depression. A steady rain of small rocks pelted her from the ceiling, cutting her skin in places and drawing blood.

  I can’t stay in here, she realized. If this thing collapses I’ll be crushed!

  She found her feet and sprinted out into the woods, running as fast as she could over the unsteady ground and dodging falling rocks as she went. Once outside, she turned and watched as a number of large stones rolled down the slope toward her, several as large as oxen. One huge boulder the size of a small house tumbled down the mountain and headed straight toward her hiding place in the trees. She stepped quickly to the side as it rolled past, crushing everything in its path. It rumbled to a stop a short distance away, leaving a trail of splintered trees and flattened brush behind it, and the earth continued to shake.

  All around her, trees cracked and fell. Occasionally the shrill cry of a wounded animal sounded through the forest, adding to the general cacophony. Caelina stood underneath a large oak and waited, sure that this would be the end. Vesuvius was about to spew her anger out into the world, and Caelina would not likely see the light of another day.

  “I’m sorry, Filo,” she whispered. “I failed.” She closed her eyes and waited for death, hoping it would be swift.

  After perhaps another minute, the rumbling of the earth began to slow, and soon stopped altogether. Unconvinced, Caelina clung to the trunk of her oak, refusing to open her eyes until she heard the birds sing again. It took much longer for them to return this time, and when they did their songs were muted and thin, as though most of them had left and those who remained were too frightened to sing properly.

  In the distance, she heard the distressed, pain-filled squeal of a wild hog. She could follow that sound to what was likely a dying animal and thus have an easy meal, but that last quake had scared her almost as badly as it had the animals. All she wanted to do now was go up and find whatever cave the tall Roman had spoken of. Deep in her heart, she doubted Filo would be there, but she had to at least look for herself, otherwise she would wonder about it for the rest of her life.

  Which might not be much longer, she thought. Vesuvius is angry.

  She looked up the side of the mountain. It was much taller than it looked from Pompeii, but she had not come all this way and dodged rocks the size of livestock to stop now. Somewhere on the side of this mountain was a cave that housed someone who might be able to tell her about her missing son, and by the gods, she meant to find it or die trying.

  Caelina clenched her jaw and started to climb.

  ***

  Jarek opened his eyes and found himself in his own house, lying on his bed in his private chambers. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to recall exactly what led him to be here. What time was it? Was he late? Should he be out on patrol? Or did he have a meeting with Theron tonight? And why was he so hungry? When was the last time he’d eaten anything? He couldn’t remember.

  There was something in his mouth. It tasted like metal. He reached up an
d spat the object into his hand, then brought it to his face to get a better look at it.

  A gold coin.

  But…that meant…

  Jarek sprang from his bed and reached for his mirror, which he kept on a shelf in his chambers. He brought the mirror up and looked at his reflection, noting the pale skin and red, bloodshot eyes. He opened his mouth and watched as his canines extended, which coincided with another sharp pang of hunger. He closed his mouth and smiled as the memory of the previous night began to return, along with a sense of triumph.

  He’d done it!

  By all the gods, he had done it!

  Jarek had become Bachiyr.

  But his triumph was interrupted by a sharp, piercing pain in his belly.

  So hungry! he thought.

  Would it always be like this? He hadn’t expected it to be so painful. The hunger twisted in his gut like a live thing, coiling around his innards and squeezing until all he could do was gasp for breath that would never come again.

  He forced himself to calm down. This was probably normal, his body responding to its new status as an apex predator. He knew how to calm the hunger pangs, he just needed to find a victim. There should be no shortage of those in Pompeii.

  He felt a slight tremor in the ground. Nothing like the ones that had shaken the city in the last few days. Perhaps the mountain was calming? Not that it mattered to him. The city was far enough away from Vesuvius that it should be safe from harm, and he couldn’t die, anyway.

  Jarek left his bedchamber, feeling invincible. When he entered the main room of his home, he heard voices.

  “…shame about Gareth’s wife,” a voice said. “Do you think he’ll find her?”

  “I don’t know,” said another voice. “But if you ask me, it’s a strange coincidence that she disappeared the same night Jarek died.”