“These are wealthy men from Egypt, once Grecian citizens who now wish to return to their homeland,” explained the seafarer, nervous sweat dripping down a body misshapen by corpulence. “Egypt’s harsh sun has made their skin sensitive to light, so now they can only travel by nightfall.”
“We must see proof of this, sirs,” the leader of the pack retorted. “Romans wishing to escape persecution have tried to seek refuge here, but the people of Greece want no part in their civil unrest. We remain rightfully suspicious of every new arrival. Please, step down to the docks.”
Davius blinked only once before Lucius pounced. The mob of men cried out in unified terror as he tore through them, the sounds of snapping bones and ripping flesh reverberating down the shoreline.
Davius turned to the seaman, who was frozen in shock, and offered him a sad smile. “We appreciate your assistance,” he said, not unkindly, before sinking his teeth deep into the man’s neck. The blood released into his mouth, assaulting him with the man’s final thoughts, the strongest memories of his life. He had shocked even Lucius with the initial discovery of his psychic power, that human blood released its secrets to him in a stream of clairvoyance each time he fed. Lucius was pleasantly surprised, surmising that the ability was inherited through his father’s bloodline, dormant until his transformation.
Davius was now assailed by images of a brown-haired boy dancing excitedly on the beach as ships rolled into port, the brackish sea air, the heat of foreign summer sun. He saw the man’s family, felt the pain of losing a wife in childbirth, and the agony of years of loneliness, alleviated only by incessant voyages at sea. The man had yearned for death well before Davius’s fatal bite. He waited until the man’s heart gave one final shudder before he released him, wiping his lips as the cumbersome body fell to the ground with a thud.
“Are you ready, brother?” Lucius called up to him from below, standing the victor amongst a sea of fallen bodies.
“I am,” he replied, joining him on the bank. “However, it occurs to me that we killed them before they could unload our belongings,” he added, playfully.
Lucius’s smile tightened, and he cursed. “I suppose I shall have to travel to our dwelling and retrieve the slaves that are awaiting our arrival. Will you be joining me?”
Davius paused, thoughtfully, beholding glassy waters splashing the shoreline against the cloudless sky. “I would actually like to explore a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“As you wish,” Lucius nodded. “I will not be long.” He disappeared seamlessly into the shadows.
Davius left the docks, heading up towards the city. Their arrival and brief massacre had gone unnoticed, the streets empty as he walked. He was struck immediately by the graceful precision in the city’s construction. Unlike Rome, Grecians worked with the natural topography to assemble their capital, columns and fortitude climbing up and down the mountainous landscape, all the way to the great Acropolis that loomed miles ahead. Even in the sparse moonlight, he could see tendrils of plants crawling down the smooth marble buildings and sprouting out of magnificent vases that depicted Athena in battle. Statues of the goddess were abundant throughout the streets, her watchful eyes affixed to her namesake city. Intricately designed temples were erected just as plentifully, strong Doric columns holding up terracotta roofs, with decorative acroteria standing at each point of pediment. The city looked strong and foreboding, yet reflected the refined intellect of its people. Davius decided he approved of Lucius’s recommendation to reside there.
He headed back towards the beach, leaving the quiet metropolis behind him. The discarded bodies were still scattered across the rocky sand, the ocean waves that rolled over them threatening to drag them into the depths of her murky abyss. He assisted, lifting them one by one and placing them into the hungry sea. He watched as she swallowed the last of her meal, as a faint memory of water sacrifice surfaced in his mind.
It caused him to pause, realizing it had been long since he’d remembered anything distinctly from his human past. He pushed away the unwelcome thoughts, wondering instead what could be keeping his companion so long.
“Hello, Davius.”
Startled, he whipped around to confront the unfamiliar voice, furious to be caught unaware.
What appeared to be a man stood before him, yet Davius could smell, taste, and feel humanity, and this creature was certainly not that. His body was deformed, hunched over as if weighed down by an invisible stone. A pair of coarsely castrated stumps protruded not only from his spiny back, but from his forehead, as if he was once a creature with not only the wings of a bird, but the horns of a goat—both severed simultaneously in a single act of cruelty. He stared at Davius through one perfectly blue eye, the other clouded over by a white film, an angry scar interrupting its almond shape. What might have been soft golden hair now looked like straw, laying unkempt about his shoulders. He looked like a being who had seen many battles, an aged warrior carrying the weight of a lifetime's worth of war.
“Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Davius demanded.
“I have visited you once before, in another one of my guises.”
“The boar,” Davius suddenly remembered, recalling the peculiarity of his eyes.
The creature smiled, revealing a set of sharp teeth similar to Davius, which took him aback. “My name is Libraean,” he said, “I help preserve the balance between two worlds. I have much to tell you before your master comes.”
Davius laughed at his audacity. “I have no master.”
The creature who called himself Libraean apologized with a humble nod. “My intention was not to insult you, Davius. I do not socialize much and often forget the connotations behind words. Please, come, follow me.”
He darted off with speed similar to what Davius had grown accustomed to using. Davius considered his request for only a moment before dashing after him. Within minutes, they arrived at a cave nestled in the rugged mountains, its mouth high above the roaring sea where no human being could hope to enter. The waters crashed against the jagged rocks below, sending up a soft spray of salty mist upon their faces.
Libraean gestured him inside.
The womb of the cave was warm and inviting, a low fire still burning between a cozy heap of blankets and a table laden with eating utensils. The walls were bare, the light from the flames casting shadows against the russet-colored rock.
Libraean moved to stoke it, and Davius noticed the shabbiness of his tunic underneath his fraying cloak. His feet were wrapped in makeshift boots of winding leather straps that seemed far too bulky for comfort.
“This is your dwelling?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Libraean nodded. “It is quiet here, a comfortable place to pass the time. As you may guess, I do not see much daylight. But I am content to be alone with my books.” He gestured to a heap of loose parchment and handcrafted scrolls nestled under the shelf. They lay near a handmade stylus and a small clay jar of writing ink. “I write here, as well,” he added.
He hobbled towards his bedding, procuring a pallet of sheepskin. He laid it out next to the fire, across from where he sat. “Please, sit,” he invited, settling down onto his heap of blankets.
Davius accepted, his near proximity and the growing flames offering a better view of the unusual creature before him. Besides the peculiarity of his eyes and his blunted horns, he could have passed for human, his weathered face once undeniably handsome. “Why have you brought me here?” he asked him.
Libraean sighed, gazing into the fire. “I warned you once before about Lucius, but you failed to heed my plea. Now that you are one of us, I must elaborate further.”
“One of us? You are an immortal?”
“I was once exactly what you are. Now I am simply this creature, the bitter manifestation of my failures.” He looked down, unwinding the straps of his boots. He pulled one off, revealing not a human’s foot, but a large cloven hoof. “My deformities are my penance in this world.”
Davius peered at him curiously. “Who created you?”
“None other than Lucius,” he replied, pulling off the other boot and reclining so that his hooves warmed by the crackling fire.
Davius was shocked.
“You were not the first creation as Lucius claims,” he continued. “He once told you of his true nature, but he did not divulge everything. Lucius was a dark god as he said, but what he left out was that there is also a god of light, a god who transcended him in power. This humans’ preference of this other god infuriated Lucius, who began a campaign to realign the loyalties of an evolving populace back towards him. He created daemons, their sole purpose to stalk the earth creating chaos and misery, while compelling mages to wreak havoc in his name. Yet all of Lucius’s efforts were in vain. The more fearful their world became, the more humans turned towards the god of light, the exact opposite reaction of what Lucius desired.
“Frustrated by his antics, the god of light banished him from the realm they both shared. The split forced two separate domains to be, one light and one dark, a summerland and an underworld, the latter where Lucius’s spirit roamed, resentfully brainstorming a plan to be released. He longed to join the earthly plane, to be close to his cherished humanity. Many years passed before a woman was born with magic so powerful that she could raise his spirit into corporeal form. He came into this world imperfect, a daemonic, beastly creature who breathed fire, and it took masterful sorcery to transform him into something that could pass for human. When they finally succeeded, he immediately set out to create others in his image.
“I was his first attempt, but I was deeply flawed. In the beginning I acted just as you do now, Lucius’s loyal, doting companion. Yet our era was not as civilized as it is now; I followed him through the blood-soaked battles and the violent massacres that waged between tribes. Lucius found pleasure in war, realizing that no greater thrill could be had by an abominable creature than spilling the blood of men in droves. We were unstoppable warriors, he and I, feared by humans who were forced to honor his name. Yet as time passed, my creation proved to be his ultimate failure. As more time lapsed, my nature reversed. Humanity crept back into my body, my soul started to clear. I felt pain, guilt, shame, remorse—human emotions and feelings. I could no longer bear to take innocent lives to fuel my own. I refused to leave our dwelling, fraught with painful memories and guilt over the pain I caused others. Disgusted and furious, Lucius eventually abandoned me.
“I knew I would not die quickly, for I was made so strong that it would take days of painful sunlight to rid the earth of my existence. But I was willing, wrapping myself around the trunk of a tree to await the dawn and my excruciating demise. But what came to me then was not the hellish burn of sunlight, but an angel, a creature that is the opposite of a daemon, who brings peace to mankind. They align themselves with the god of light. Where a daemon is shrouded in darkness, often deformed and antlered with the protruding bones of a starving animal, these angels glow with sublime radiance, their only deformity a pair of wings that enables them to soar through the skies like beautiful ethereal birds. This particular angel called himself Gabriel, and told me that if I should rebuke Lucius and his ways by working to restore the balance of good and evil upon earth, then I may die a peaceful death and spend eternity in the heavenly realm with the angels.” He paused to smile at the memory. “The broken horns and ripped wings remind me of my own constant battle, for as much as the daemonic part of my body still yearns for the blood of humans, my soul must stay pure and on the path of goodness and light. They remind me I am part angel, part daemon for the rest of my days.”
