Instantly, his perspective shifted so that he saw out of the creature’s eyes, his mouth tingling with the taste of the woman’s blood as if he’d been feeding on her. She offered no resistance, hanging limply in its taloned claws. He didn’t want to see her face, trying not to move his eyes past the gaping wound at her neck, that poured its gore down the plane of her freckled skin, staining her strawberry blonde hair.
He could hear the creature’s laughter echoing in his ears as his human self finally screamed, the eyes of his love staring lifelessly ahead.
Davius sprang from slumber, drenched in sweat. He pitched himself up fast enough to vomit out his bedroom window, the sharp bile burning his throat. He paused there, gasping for air. The mild breeze of early morning tickled his damp forehead, lovingly attempting to soothe his distress.
The sun peeked out from above the trees, its rays bringing brilliance to the cloudless skies. He realized he had slept well into the morning. Reality slowly came back to him. It was only a dream.
He threw his blanket off him, jumping up from his bed. It had been only two days since he had fallen asleep with Gaia by his side. He smiled as he recalled her soft skin against his, her warm breath on his face. The terror of his nightmare slowly faded away.
He dressed quickly, exiting his room in equal haste. The temperature of the countryside had already begun its balmy ascent, the morning stirring with wildlife. He traveled down the familiar dirt path that stretched beyond the vineyards to the stables where he worked. They were filled to capacity with Eridus’s prized horses, an array of heavily muscular bodies and sturdy legs, slapping their long tails against biting flies. He didn’t mind the routine of feeding them, greeted each morning with the sweet and sour smell of clean straw and pungent waste. The day was hotter than Davius expected, and he let his tunic fall around his hips to expose his chest. He pushed the dream far from his head, deciding to worship the beauty of morning instead.
The horses whinnied happily at the sight of him. He smiled, gliding his fingers down their smooth bodies as he filled their troughs with meal. His work consumed what was left of the morning into the afternoon, ceasing only after the straw was fresh, the drinking trough refilled, and the horses’ coats gleamed. He filled his own drinking pouch with water before heading back towards the vineyards. Slaves toiled diligently, plucking juicy grapes from their vines and collecting them in barrels for the grape-crushing shack. He once enjoyed such a task when he first arrived at the villa, before he earned Eridus’s trust, and he fondly recalled the sensation of pulp squishing between his toes.
Down past the vineyards was the property’s vast lake, where a couple slave girls took turns bathing in its cool waters as they laundered loads of the household’s soiled clothing. Their soaked tunics clung to their bodies as they slapped the linen on the rocks, ridding them of excess water before setting them out to dry in the sun. He snuck past them, continuing his journey further into the forest where he maneuvered cautiously around the brush and fallen trees. After he’d traveled quite a distance, he paused to wipe his brow, taking a generous sip of water.
Suddenly, he heard a rustle in the trees, and immediately went still. He heard the squirrel nibbling, mere footsteps from where he stood. He focused on the sound as he slowly slipped the tunic off his waist. He paused, naked, pulling the cloth taut in his hands. The squirrel sensed him and prepared to flee, but without hesitation, Davius lunged.
Tiny claws ripped at his skin as the squirrel screeched and struggled, frantically trying to free itself. He doubled the tunic cloth around it tightly, preventing any opportunity for escape. He continued on into the heart of the forest, stopping only when he reached a fallen tree with symbols carved alongside its broad trunk. Its dead branches varied enough in size to create a thicket, hidden from plain sight. He pushed a few of them aside, revealing a cleared space which he stepped into without hesitation.
His altar greeted him, the stone slab-stained maroon from his last sacrifice. Rocks surrounded the makeshift table in a circle, garnished with various flowers and herbs. He moved towards it, holding the ensnared squirrel in one hand. With the other, he unsheathed the handmade knife he wore strapped to his thigh. The marble shard glinted in the light that streamed down through the canopy of trees. He knelt, placing the squirming squirrel on the altar. He bowed his head, Druid prayers he hadn’t forgotten spilling from his lips. He let the words move him as the sounds of the forest chimed in unison. He imagined the Tuatha De Danann drumming in the distance as a circle of Druids spun around fires built in their honor. He recalled the sweet herbal scent of his mother’s skin, the sight of his father’s stern face, the damp earth beneath his feet. He pictured Gaia moving freely amongst his tribe as they celebrated, his way of asking the gods to bless their future union.
He continued his chant in ascending fervor, freeing the squirrel from the bundled tunic. Its black eyes bore into his, an equal mix of fear and hatred. Davius thanked it for its service, and swiftly brought the knife down to sever its tiny throat. The squirrel had no time to register pain, its body jerking with finality as its blood pooled beneath it. Davius thanked the gods and rose to his feet, when suddenly, it hit him. He doubled forward, the knife falling from his hand. Heart hammering in his chest, he struggled to collect himself, but his vision had blurred. All he could see was an ocean of red, as if the blood from his dream now swam in his mind, obscuring all else. He clawed at his eyes in panic, the forest around him melting away. He could taste the metallic horror in his mouth again, feel the waves of revulsion.
The vision vanished as quickly as it had come. He realized he was panting.
He looked down. The squirrel hadn’t stirred, its wound clotted in death. He grabbed his knife from the forest floor and dumped out his water onto the altar, washing the carnage away. He gathered the rest of his things, withdrawing from his copse with haste.
The warm sun welcomed him back into its kind light, and he closed his eyes briefly to savor it. His mind drifted to the Morrigan. Was it she who haunted him now? Whatever it was, it felt different than her, as if these visions were coming from somewhere other than his gods. Could it be Pluto, the Roman god of the Underworld? The night goddess Nyx? He shivered, although the air around him was pleasantly tepid.
He suddenly longed to see Gaia.
Eridus’s villa appeared in the distance, which he gratefully entered.
“Davius!”
Relief flooded him as he recognized her voice. He disregarded his usual apprehension of onlookers, scooping her into his arms. She batted him away, but the act was half-hearted. “Where have you been? You are lucky Eridus left early this morning. We are having more guests tomorrow, he told me. Apparently, his dinner was such a success that more patrons wish to do business with the winery. Which is horrendously timed, because I am beside myself with exhaustion.”
As she spoke, he noticed the lack of sparkle in her eyes and the grey shadows that collected underneath them, contrasting against an unusual pallor. “What is the matter?” he asked with concern.
Gaia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Last night, one of the slaves fell ill after being wounded—it was Moira. I have never seen anything like it. Her face is sallow and she trembles without cease. When she is not moaning in agony, she mutters strange words over and over as if she were in some sort of trance. I cannot help but worry that it is more than a simple sickness. Yet her agonies are not enough to convince Eridus to postpone his dinner plans,” she added, wryly.
“What does she say?”
“I think she speaks in the old language, but I cannot decipher it. You should see her, Davius, maybe you can translate her words. I have never witnessed a person in such a state, let alone someone so close to us.”
“For you, I will,” he promised, taking her hands in his.
She kissed his cheek gratefully. They lingered together for a moment before he reluctantly let her slip away, watching as she disappeared in a blur of rose gold.
The subsequent dinner party was not as raucous as the night before, the house unusually subdued. The evening had brought a gentle summer rain which tapped softly at the rooftop, muffled Davius’s footsteps as he crept to the guest quarters where Moira lay. The household was preoccupied, allowing him to enter the room unnoticed.
The sight of her immediately troubled him. It looked like she was starving, though she had only been sick a few days, her body motionless on the bed with rib bones protruding out of her stomach. Her skin had taken on a ghostly shade, marred by clusters of violet bruises. She struggled to breathe, emitting a croaking wheeze with each labored effort.
“Moira?” he whispered.
She gave no sign that she noticed his presence. Her thin fingers were folded at her chest as if they had already begun preparing her body for funeral pyre.
He bent down next to her, placing his hand on hers to observe it was cool to the touch. He noticed her neck was wrapped in bandages, tarnished by rust colored splotches from her wound. Curious, he began to unravel them, grateful that she remained still as he gingerly lifted away each soiled layer. He hesitated with the last piece, steadying himself before pulling up the damp cloth to reveal what lay beneath.
He jumped to his feet in alarm. A chunk of flesh had been torn out of her neck as if she had been attacked by a ravenous animal. The glistening wound pulsated, her weakened heart pumping out the last few gasps of her life force. He forced himself to rewrap the bandages with shaking hands, images of his nightmare threatening to surface.
A cold hand suddenly clamped down on his arm.
Moira’s eyes bore into his, entirely black as if the pupil stretched beyond its iris. It made her look inhuman, her auburn hair wild around her ghastly face. Her mouth opened with the slow creak of a corroded iron box, her throat croaking out a voice that was not hers, speaking in perfect Gaulish, her words ending in reptilian hiss, “House of the Lost Godsssss…”
David flew from the room in horror.
Memories from his first few months as a slave assailed his mind as he tore down the corridor, the old abandoned town house, tucked behind the dilapidated buildings left ignored in the less desirable part of Rome. He had been exploring the streets only to discover he was lost, immediately drawn to the crumbling architecture that stood out among its skeletal counterparts. Upon closer inspection, the open windows revealed fading frescoes hidden within its walls. Intrigued, he found a way in, discovering a myriad of illustrations, telling tales of gods worshipped long before the advent of Greek religion. Much of the paint had chipped away, the walls in various stages of decomposition. He later learned that the temple, and the buildings clustered around it, had been built before the advancement of stone masonry and left to decompose. It smelled of old earth, aging moss crawling up its walls, unapologetically obscuring patches of artwork, nature reclaiming what was meant to be hers.
Young Davius ran his fingers over the moldering images, enthralled by the pictorial tales of blood and violence, sex and love, life and death. He paused at the image of a half man/half beast, towering over frightened peasants with a bleeding corpse in his jaws. Warriors stood at its taloned feet, their bows and arrows aimed up at him as the surrounding flames threatened to devour them all.
It was dusk before he pulled himself away, racing back to the villa before his absence was noticed. For years, he wanted to return, but was never able to find the mysterious, perishing temple again. In his mind, he called it the House of the Lost Gods, a name he breathed to no one, and like so many events in his life, the memory of it had faded with time.
Yet the beast from the temple had come to life, nestling itself in his dreams, taunting him.
