Empire Of The Undead (19 page)

CHAPTER XXI

Rome: 88 CE, Winter

If Hyacinthus thought their owner’s abrupt departure was odd, he said nothing of it. Felix said nothing either. Though he was a man grown for a long time now, he still felt half-a-child around the big Greek. It was good seeing him again, but it felt odd. They had not yet developed a relationship based on the men they had become.

They stood outside their master’s litter. He had been summoned by the Emperor, and then disappeared. That had been increasingly long ago, and Felix was bored. There was nothing to do this close to the palace, and the only people to pass them were guards, Senators, or slaves. They were all coming or going, and none of these doors were guarded. They were too far into the inner-sanctum for that. Even the slaves who had carried the litter had left, awaiting their summons in their dark rooms. Standing there made Felix anxious. He didn’t belong here, so far from the hippodrome, and he suspected that everyone knew it.

“When I brought you to our first master, you promised to buy your freedom by thirty,” Hyacinthus said suddenly. “Do you remember?”

“I do not remember,” Felix said with a small laugh. “But I had many follies as a child.”

“So you have not saved enough money?”

Felix laughed. “I have enough money, thrice over. And I will have that much again, by the time I am old enough to become free. Should I live that long,” he added. He stretched his arms into the dusty air and yawned elaborately. “But the cap is for fools. There are more starving freedman in the city than even you can count, and yet every
servus
gets meals and shelter.”

“You are growing wiser,” Hyacinthus conceded. “Yet, there is something you are missing.”

He ended his sentence abruptly as a man stumbled from the door before them. Felix knew him almost instantly, it was the actor Paris. He was infamous throughout the city. Like his namesake, he habitually stole women from men of higher rank than him. It had taken, rumor had it, a patron placed very highly indeed to keep him alive.

“What is he doing here?” he asked.

Hyacinthus shushed him. “Look,” he hissed.

It only took half a second for Felix to realize that the man was not drunk. He was not, in fact, a man any longer. His white eyes, lacking pupils, swept the street before him. His neck had been bitten savagely, as a clotted mess of blood attested to. He walked with the same shuffling gate that the monster in the amphitheatre had.

Felix instinctively grabbed for his
falx, but
when his hand closed on air, he felt conspicuously unarmed. His stomach leaped into his mouth and he suppressed the urge to vomit. It had been disturbing to see the thing from afar. This close, however, the wrongness of it shouted at him, blinded him, and nauseated him. The smell of carnage and rotting death assailed his nostrils, and the sound of its shuffling feet made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

His real father’s words suddenly came back to him, for the first time in a decade.
You can recognize evil from the very sight of it.
The thing that had been Paris was not far from them, but they were on the other side of the litter from it. It would stumble past and not see them.

“We must kill it,” Felix whispered. “It is evil. We must kill it.”

“Evil perhaps, but it is dangerous,” said the Greek man. “How can we stop it?  You saw what the other one did to the two gladiators.”

“I do not know,” said Felix, “but it must die.”

“Wait. We can call the guards,” he said.

It was too late. Felix was running directly at the thing that had been Paris. “Follow me!” he shouted as he rushed the monster. Paris was just reacting to the new presence, confronting the man, when it was punched in the head. Felix wasn’t strong in the way that some gladiators and praetorians were strong. His muscles did not ripple, but he had a wiry strength born from restraining a thousand horses through a thousand tight turns.

Paris’ head jerked back from the force of the blow. Its arms flew up as one foot swung clumsily behind. Felix hooked his foot behind Paris’ and pushed the thing down to the ground.

“Now!” he yelled to Hyacinthus. “Sit on this thing.”  The lifeless was on its back but it was already struggling to rise. The young man placed both his hands on the creature’s chest.

“That is foolish,” Hyacinthus said, taking a step back. “I don’t want to turn into one.”

“They only attack through biting,” Felix said. That seemed to be true from the earlier fight, but there was no way to be certain.

The creature flung Felix’s arms off and began to rise. Felix punched it in the nose, three times in quick succession, and then put his hands back on its chest.

“We don’t know that, Felix. And I’m not willing to take the chance.”

“Hyacinthus!” Felix thundered. “Sit on this creature right now!”

His tone brooked no disapproval. The big Greek man moved over and hefted his bulk over the struggling creature.

He sat down with oomph, as his large arse pinned the lifeless creature’s torso to the ground. Felix held its arms together above its head. It gnashed teeth at them, groaning miserably, but it could do nothing.

Felix laughed. “It worked. It actually worked.”

The Greek man glowered at him, “You didn’t think it would?”

“I was not entirely sure. I had a hope.”  He smiled at his friend, and it was the smile that had won him friends and maidens, but it was not effective now.

“You had a hope?  If I turn into one of these drooling creatures, the first thing I will do is come for you and kill you,” Hyacinthus said.

“You’ll have to catch me first. You might be the first lifeless that is too slow to catch its own food.”

Hyacinthus grunted. "That might be true. Which is all the more reason for me not to get bitten."

Felix was still smiling until he looked at the thing below them. “Its eyes … what’s wrong with its eyes?”

“How can it see?” Hyacinthus asked. “Moreover, how can it live?  There is much to study here.”

Another voice interrupted them. “What are you two doing?” Rufus asked, as he walked from Emperor’s chambers. He was accompanied by two Praetorians.

Felix and Hyacinthus looked quickly at one another and then back to their master. “Already we excel at the mission you have set before us, master,” the Greek man quickly said. “We have captured a lifeless creature for you.”

“Here?  This close to the palace?” Rufus moved closer, peering at the pinned creature who struggled helplessly against the weight of the big man. “He looks familiar.”

“It’s Paris, Senator,” Felix said, “the actor.”

“The actor,” Rufus said, his voice flat. He stopped still for a moment, and then motioned to the Praetorians. They stepped up, drawing their short swords in unison. “Kill it,” he said. “Aim for the head.”

They stabbed it through the head without hesitation. “Senator,” Hyacinthus protested, “there is much to learn from these creatures.”

Rufus barked out a single laugh. “Ever the man of learning. Not to worry, there will be more inside.”

“How do you know?” Hyacinthus asked.

“This one was meant to be in a cell. If it escaped, the other did as well. And any who got in their way. It’s time to go hunting.”

****

“There were many,” Felix said defensively. “Perhaps I killed them all.”

The stern captain beside him said nothing. He was flanked by a score of men, all of whom had leaped to attention when Felix and Hyacinthus had burst into their room. Since then, they had followed the littered trail of corpses back, but had not seen any of them still capable of movement.

He had killed six of them on the journey there, and there did not seem to be more, but it was nearly impossible to be certain. It didn’t take much skill to kill them, which was indeed fortunate. Felix had borrowed a sword from one of the Praetorians, and he was able to use it to good effect, but there were already too many of the creatures. It was stunning to think what one creature could do.

Four of the lifeless had been prisoners, but two had been guards. The Praetorian Captain was a seasoned veteran, but Felix knew that the tales he’d been told were wildly difficult to believe. Once dead, there was little clue that they had even been monsters. If he could not show them a marauding lifeless, or the Senator, soon, he could be in trouble.

They found Senator Rufus and both Praetorians standing out in the cool evening air. Rufus sent the Praetorian Captain to look after the Emperor and then returned to the others. He had a look of disgust on his face. “I can’t stand the way they smell,” he said. “Did you see many?”

“The lad killed half a dozen,” Hyacinthus answered. “But we have not seen any for some time.”

The Senator nodded. “We found only three, including the gladiator. They will not walk again, but I mistrust this city—there are too many people, living too closely to one another. We will leave tonight.”

“So soon?”  Felix blurted out. “What about our training?”

The Senator laughed his single syllable laugh again. “You will have training enough before long, young man. More than enough.”

CHAPTER XXII

Dacia: 88 CE, Winter

High in the mountains there was a cave. The alchemist had slept in it several times over the years, when he was collecting roots and herbs in the late summer or early autumn. It was not well-hidden and there were always signs of others--charred remnants of fires and small animal bones deep in the cave. He had always had it to himself, though, and so he did again.

Though it kept the worst of the wind and snow from him, it was cold and miserably wet. The rocky walls of the cave were constantly damp and dripping. The ground was the worst, however; uneven, rocky, and always numbingly frigid. Zuste tried not to complain. He was lucky to be out of the winter weather. It rained often, but it snowed just as much. Finding the cave had been a stroke of luck. Even luckier, he had not seen any lifeless this high up in the mountains.

When he’d left the Dacians’ camp, he hadn’t even said farewell to Rowanna. He had wanted nothing more than see her again, but he couldn’t face her. It was he who had killed her son, along with so many others. She could never have forgiven him. He didn’t know that he could face her hatred, knowing all the while that he had earned it. Without Rowanna there, he hated himself enough for the both of them, enough for the world.

He knew that they had meant for him to die. Because he was fat, because he wasn’t a warrior, they had forgotten that he was a woodsman. None, not even Natopurus, knew better than he did, what herbs and roots one could survive by. He had as much knowledge of the area as any man, even when it was swathed in mist and snow. Giving little thought to survival at first, he’d remained alive more from habit than desire. These mountains normally had shepherds, some even in the winter, but they were free of men now. Living men, at least. There had been few lifeless—most had been killed in the battle, and a single man drew far less attention than a camp of hundreds. Twice he’d killed one in a panic—clubbing their heads with a great branch he’d dragged halfway up the mountain.

The cloak of solitude was not new to him, but after the companionship of the Roman camp, he wore it heavily. He surprised himself several times by finding tears slipping down his cheeks. Ever and always, he considered death, but the urge to live, even this miserably, was too strong.

He wasn’t eating much, but he had enough herb lore to get by, even in the winter. His clothing felt looser on him and he was losing a great amount of weight. He didn’t even have to shit much anymore, which was kind of a relief. A man was never as vulnerable as when he was squatting over a small hole in the ground, and with the lifeless around, it was a real danger. His beard, which had always been full, kept growing. There were streaks of grey in the coarse black hair. He was getting old. He began mumbling to himself and occasionally realized that lucidity was perhaps slipping away from him.

There was no room for sanity left in the world now, and that was entirely his fault. If only he had known. He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. Something foreign, though he’d looked like a Roman. He had said he hated the Romans too, more even than Zuste. The joke was that he had not even hinted that it would hurt anyone other than the Romans. Still, the alchemist should have known. He had been blinded by the lure of the money, and the man had paid him several fortunes.

The alchemist laughed at that. Silence fled timidly as the cave filled with the sudden sound. All the gold that was buried under his home in Sarmizegetusa. It was sure to have been burned down now, the money discovered and taken. He hoped so. Even if he could make it back, he wouldn’t ever be able to spend that money. That blood money. Not that, he suspected, he would he be willing to give it up if given a choice.

The wind howled, wolf-like, and even in his furs, Zuste shivered. He could picture the man who’d paid him as clearly as if he were sitting in the cave next to him. He’d been so focused, and he had not been wrong, the alchemist realized. The Romans had killed his people, killed all peoples. The lifeless killed because it was their nature. The Romans killed because they were greedy, cruel, and savage. They were the threat. He’d almost forgotten that. He would have to take care not to do so again.

"The empty headed traveler will sing in the presence of a robber," he muttered, his voice hoarse from disuse. The cave swallowed his words as though they'd never been spoken at all. A chill ran down his neck, and without knowing why, he looked up.

At the mouth of the cave, three pairs of yellow eyes stared at him.

“Zalmoxis,” he whispered. He had not built his fire yet this night, and though he had a large stick, it was not sharpened. It was a club suitable for killing lifeless, the baneful, but he’d never intended on using it against wolves.

Nonetheless, he knew a show of strength was his only hope. As the creatures drew cautiously further into his cave, he leaped to his feet. He grabbed his club and brandished it, banging it on the walls and floor. “Come on in!  You want to eat old Zuste?  Well, just try it, you furry fucks!” He shouted this and other inanities at them, barely conscious of anything other than the need to make noise.

One of the wolves growled. None of them retreated. Zuste swallowed his bitter fear as his mind spun in panic. Wolves were not natural predators of men, but they were strong and quick enough to kill a man. It was only their temperaments that kept their jaws from the throats of vulnerable people. With the lifeless prowling their haunts, it would be enough to make them aggressive, to forget their timidity, and to ensure their rampant bestiality.

The wolves moved deeper into the cave. He wasn’t sure if there were more behind the three or the late evening light was playing tricks on his eyes. Regardless, he had to act now.

Zuste charged. He raised the branch above his head and brought it down in the middle of the wolves.

They scattered and his branch missed them entirely, hitting the floor. The force of the attack broke the stick in half and he cursed. There was at least one wolf behind him now, as well, and he whirled. The broken, pointy stick felt like a sword in his hand, and he waved it ferociously.

The wolves were all deeper in the cave than him now. They drew together and one of them whined. There was something so plaintive about that sound that he lowered his stick. “What is wrong?” he asked.

Claws on stone drew his attention back to the front of the cave. More wolves stood there. Many more. Their eyes did not shine with any color at all. They were, in fact, white. Pupiless.

The alchemist wasted no time. He charged the lifeless wolves, his stick raised once more. Like their human counterparts, the animals were listless, slow. His first hit cracked down solidly on the shambling wolf, but it did not seem to notice. Trying to picture what Iullianus would do, Zuste spun into action like a warrior-god.

His left foot caught his right as he spun, and he toppled into a heap. His weapon skittered off across the cave floor. It felt right, to have his world end in an isolated cave, and his death was in the form of a weapon of his own making. The justice of it relaxed him as the undead wolves surrounded him.

He could not close his eyes, however. That final surrender was not available to him, justice or not. He could smell rotting meat on the teeth of the nearest wolf. Zuste leaned his head back, offering his throat and hoping for a quick death.

Then the wolf was gone. Beside him, yipping and snarling, were the three wolves that had first entered his cave. Zuste rose, bewildered, but joined in the fight. Lacking his branch, he clasped his fists together and brought them down on the undead beasts’ heads. When that didn’t work, he jabbed his fingers into their eyes. That slowed them down and the other wolves ripped them apart.

One of the living wolves was split open and the remaining two were hobbling. Zuste, feeling ridiculous, offered them shelter with words and gestures. They slinked out. He worked for some time in the darkness, removing the bloated bodies of the lifeless wolves. The floor would have to wait until the morning, when he could bring up some water from the river, but his home felt like his again. The moon was high in the sky at this point. It was later than he’d stayed up for some time.

He felt giddy. Not only had he survived, but he had also come to a decision. He wanted to live. He needed to live, and to stay here was tantamount to suicide. Eventually, he would not survive the marauding lifeless. When the weather grew better, he’d return to Sarmizegetusa. Though he risked death, it was better than this limbo in which he now dwelled.

****

The next week was a busy one. He collected fibers, bark and other ingredients. Though his hands froze to blue, and he wasted long hours sifting through the snow to find nothing beneath, at last he had enough material to make a net.

He had found other useful plants as well. The roots of the plant the Romans called Amoracia, which could cure coughs and infections alike. The main root he kept, but the branching ones he planted back in the ground, so that the plants would continue to grow. Even if humanity failed, it was his duty to keep nature’s state as perfect as he could. He found several spindly willow trees and carefully removed several long strips of bark. Properly prepared, they could reduce fever and ease pains.

Some would make their ropes and nets out of catgut or sinew, but plant fibers were not only more abundant and easier to create, but they could stand getting wet as well. It took some time, as he had to extract and prepare. He had collected what he needed and had a collection of elm, flax, white oak, and willow. From there, he slowly twined the cords together. It took two weeks, but at the end of it, he had a net and several long lengths of very basic rope.

The first thing he did was tie a low piece of rope so that it hung at the entrance of the cave. His worry was that a group of lifeless would enter and trap him. The rope might trip the clumsy bastards, or at least give him some warning. So far, he hadn’t seen any lifeless on his excursions, but he still whirled at the smallest sound. The snow continued to pile and Zuste worked slowly and meticulously as it grew colder and whiter.