Davius looked down to see that Lucius was right, his wounds were fading away from his skin as if they were water evaporating into an arid sky. The building windstorm had no patience for this revelation, sending one of Lucius’s statues soaring across the room. It landed with a violent crash, shattering into pieces.
“Go, now!” Lucius yelled over its roar.
Davius threw off his bedding, startled by his newfound strength. He bolted from Lucius’s chambers into the heart of the raging storm. Branches and rocks lashed at him, gusts pummeling his skin as he sprinted towards the House of Nirus. The city was in a state of pandemonium, Romans racing for shelter from the viciously forceful gales. Citizens slammed closed their shutters, securing their loose possessions and bolting their doors.
Beyond the congested stacks of insulae apartments and their frantic occupants, the house suddenly appeared, a massive architectural fortification ominous against the turbulent sky. The storm had forced its guards inside, allowing him to reach the windows easily, their wooden shutters recklessly open and flailing.
He peered inside them with caution, sheltered from the storm by the sloping roof. He observed a feast in progress, easily picking out Nirus’s lopsided frame amongst a dozen jovial soldiers, all in various stages of gluttony. Several emaciated slave girls pressed themselves against the surrounding walls, fear painted across their gaunt faces and shining in their eyes.
The mere sight of the man enraged Davius. His pointed features and splotched, grey skin gave him the appearance of an overgrown rat, his eyes black and beady. His progressing disease not only ravaged his face, but had caused the muscles of his legs and arms to atrophy, several fingers missing from a hand wrapped awkwardly around his glass.
“Quite the storm raging outside,” one of the men commented, his voice barely audible over the celebration.
Nirus snorted. “We feast until daybreak.”
“Nirus! We are running low on drink,” one called to him over the table.
“Bitch! Come to me now!” He shouted behind his shoulder.
Davius stared in horror as Gaia emerged. Her lovely curves had already deflated, her once supple skin hanging waxen off an alarmingly narrow frame. She was barely clothed, only her breasts and her womanhood shrouded in thin purple fabric. Wrapped in her arms was a swollen decanter of wine.
Davius nearly leapt from where he was perched, fury threatening to choke the sanity from his mind, but something outside of himself willed him to pause.
One of the soldiers lunged at her, but Nirus slammed his fist down upon the table, toppling over several half-filled glasses. “There are plenty of girls here for your satisfaction, but this one is mine. I just bought her from Eridus the Winemaker, one of his prized possessions. She has proven very difficult to break, which intrigues me.” He reached up to pinch her cheek in mock affection.
Gaia’s face was stone, her eyes burning with hatred. “As long as you are intrigued,” she said flatly.
Nirus bellowed with laughter. “She really is something, is she not?” he asked the crowd. “Fill up everyone’s glasses now before I lose my patience.”
She started around the table, sloshing wine into every open cup. The soldiers continued to eye her longingly, one so visibly frustrated that he grabbed one of the other girls leaning against the wall. He pushed up her tunic, forcing her to bend against the table. His comrades roared with laughter. The poor girl cried in fear as her assailant reached clumsily beneath his toga.
Suddenly, Gaia whipped around, overturning the decanter and, with unusual strength, smashed it against the soldier’s head, sending wine and glass spraying. Stunned, the man fell, blood pouring from his wound. The room exploded with chaos.
On cue, Davius dove through the window, wielding his knife with unrestrained savagery. The stupefied soldiers had little time to grab their weapons before he found a neglected sword to brandish. It moved easily in his hands, the power he had inadvertently invoked still coursing through him as he connected with every target. Furious squalls of wind tore the room apart, as gore sputtered from the wounds of rapidly falling soldiers. Davius slashed without mercy, a perfect vessel of carnage, the reincarnation of warriors come before him. He abandoned himself completely, his body dodging their swords as he tore through each one of them with cold, unrelenting calculation.
“Davius!”
Her voice broke him out of his battle trance as he narrowly avoided a blade that came down from behind him. Gaia shrieked with anger, bearing down with her own pilfered sword, cleanly severing his attacker’s head from his body. Davius froze, breathless, staring awestruck at her wild expression as blood sprayed up into her face.
“Davius, I am wounded, please…” she mouthed, shifting her left arm to reveal a vicious wound gaping at her stomach.
Davius shook out of his brief stupor, gathering her into his arms. He scanned the room for Nirus, but was unable to pick him out amongst the carnage of bodies. “I will kill you one day, you coward!” he called out to him. “I shall return for you!”
He hoisted Gaia against his chest, tearing away from the house and back into the restorative night air. The wind embraced him, fueling his trek as he streaked towards the forest, the only safe haven he could think of. Her frail body folded against him, silent as he hurdled over scores of fallen branches to his private copse.
He pulled away the branches and hurried inside, the thicket offering them shelter under its dense brush. He laid her delicately atop a pile of fallen leaves, pulling back her arm to study the wound. Alarmed by its severity, he ripped a piece off his tunic, pressing the fabric against it in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Gaia shivered uncontrollably, the moon casting its light across her trembling lips. He pulled her next to him, hoping the warmth of his body would quell her tremulous state. He gazed down at her, brushing her hair back from her dampened forehead.
Tears glistened around her eyes as she reached up to caress his face. “Forgive me,” she whispered, “that I could not survive.”
“Stop,” he said in panic, the truth of their predicament suddenly becoming clear. “They are just wounds, they will heal.”
“I am dying, sweet Davius,” she negated gently. “It is my time.” He was struck by how hallowed her face had become since he’d last seen her, its fullness lost under ashen skin. Her eyes had yellowed, her alluring olive irises dimmed to a murky brown.
He succumbed to the impending heartbreak, unable to stop a barrage of heavy tears from spilling down his cheeks. “Please,” he begged her. “Please just hold on.”
She offered him a small smile as her eyes closed. “I have seen our gods, Davius,” she murmured. “I have seen the Otherworld … it is beautiful, like eternal springtime.”
Davius sobbed, squeezing her tightly as if to will it away.
“Do not cry for me, my love. I have made peace with death. Danu will guide me home.” Her voice wavered as she spoke, gradually growing weaker. The gushing wound at her side soon blanketed them both in copious ichor. He let it flow, understanding there was nothing more he could do to stop its heartrending intention.
“She told me secrets,” she continued, her dry lips cracking with the effort. “About your destiny.”
He hovered over her so their faces were inches apart, taking her hand tightly in his. “How can I live without you?” he whispered.
Her eyes opened. “You will, and one day, you will become extraordinary. Do not let my death be your downfall, use it as your strength. I have seen so much...” Her words were interrupted by a violent cough, blood sputtering from her mouth. “Follow the gods always, Davius. They will not fail you. You will see me again, I promise. For the stars have declared you my husband and our souls will never part.”
And then, too quickly, she took a final breath and was gone.
A deep melancholy settled over the forest. The wind had ceased, the earth was still. He rested his head against her motionless chest, allowing himself time to weep. She had been his everything, his friend, his mother, his sister, his lover. He would never see her give birth to his children, never experience freedom together.
After some time, he lifted his moistened face away from her gradually cooling skin. She looked the perfect earth goddess in repose, her body engulfed by the clusters of plant life that surrounded her, welcoming their daughter home.
He decided to leave her where she lay, in his sacred copse, in the arms of her goddess namesake. He draped her with his robe, scattering over her body the herbs from his makeshift apothecary and flowers collected from the wood. He circled her body with stones so that he might find her again, etching one with the words: beatae memoriae, of blessed memory. He stammered through a eulogy in Gaulish, pausing at the end. He produced his knife, reopening the wound that had summoned his strength, letting the fresh droplets perforate her shroud. “I vow before all the gods, old and new, I will avenge this death, lest I never rest until I do.”
He swiftly brought the dagger down into the dirt, sealing the oath. He kissed her lips through the fabric, one final time. “Goodbye, my love.”
He withdrew in silence.
