Davius frowned. “Why are you telling me all of this? I have no loyalty to a god of light. Besides, nothing in this world is truly good nor truly evil. So, what if Lucius is a dark demigod in human likeness, he has told me all of this before.”
“Did he tell you that you are the Daghda reincarnated? One of the most powerful gods in the Celtic pantheon? It is why you were able to manifest weather storms as a human. It is why you were strong enough to bear Lucius’s forceful transformation.”
“You speak of gods I have long forgotten,” Davius murmured. For a moment, he saw the autumnal breeze tossing red and amber leaves around the forest floor, a circle of Druids dancing in celebration of a bountiful harvest.
Libraean nodded. “You have forgotten much in your conversion, but that does not negate the accuracy of my words. Gods reborn as humans do not recall their past lives, it is the curious law of this land. You are now an earthbound blood drinker, but you have the perfect strength of an incarnate god that can withstand the dark power that was given to you. That divine strength creates balance within you, your light combating your dark. You can tip the scales whichever way you decide. If you choose light, you will be the one to restore true balance to this earth, enabling its creatures to survive by sending Lucius back to his degenerate realm. You have a fortitude where I do not.”
Davius scowled. “You are wasting your time. I have no desire to harm my friend.”
“Did he tell you that you need not take a human life? That you can drink from them enough to satiate you, leaving them so disoriented that when they heal, they will not remember what has transpired?”
Davius blinked in surprise before finding his rebuttal. “I have accepted taking the life of humans. I feel no pity for them—they are prey, as the deer is to the wolf. Neither the wolf nor the deer are wrong or right, it is simply the natural cycle of life.”
“That does not make it right,” Libraean countered. “You are still bound by the same morality as us all.”
“You speak to me of morality, yet you are the one who turned against the one who empowered you, who cherished you as his family,” Davius snorted.
“I do not expect you to understand my motives, Davius. I only hoped to share with you my story. I know you have been plagued by blood dreams, the same I once had. You saw Lucius’s realm and his hideous denizens, a glimpse of who he truly is. But I know you are too new of a creature to feel as I do. I have suffered long as a result of my transgressions, for allowing the bloodlust to consume me. My work upon this earth is now to cast daemons out from it, restoring this realm’s intended balance as best I can. It is the only way for my redemption. I wish to spare you my torment,” the creature explained. “My early memories were also dim at first,” he added. “But yours will come back, I assure you, and then you will be at a crossroads, as was I.”
“How do you survive if you do not feed?” Davius interjected.
“You once saw me in the form that I take to eat. The boar seeks its prey in the form of small animals, not humans, a true part of nature’s cycle, as you brought up, and therefore, acceptable. Soon I hope to eat real food again like humans do. That is what I have been promised—as long as I continue to fight the battle against darkness, the less of a creature I will become.”
Davius sighed, rising to his feet and dusting himself free of the dirt from the cave floor. “I think I have heard quite enough.”
“Please wait, there is more,” Libraean pleaded. “Do you remember Gaia, who you loved so deeply as a mortal man?”
Davius froze, a sudden wave of sorrow settling over him like morning frost. It was a foreign sensation to him in this life, an old familiar pain reacquainted. “How do you know of Gaia?”
“My records,” the creature replied excitedly, pulling out scrolls from underneath his improvised table and sending the loose sheets of papyrus flying around the cave floor. “Not only do I slay daemons, but I keep extensive records of all that transpires between the earthly and spiritual realms. Every god, every goddess, every cult, every creature. Your coming was foretold to me and I have been watching you for quite some time.”
“Rather invasive,” Davius remarked.
“I apologize,” Libraean faltered, realizing he’d gotten ahead of himself, and he shoved the scrolls back under the table. “My point is, you chose to become like Lucius to avenge her death. Yet five years have passed and her captor still lives. You have the power of an immortal, yet you waste it on gluttony and avarice.”
Davius felt his anger rise. “Who are you to judge me on things you cannot possibly understand.”
“I do not mean to upset you, Davius, only to beseech you,” the creature pleaded, rising up to meet him, awkward on his cloven feet. “You may not feel the same sorrow you did as a human, but you will. And it will be this that will inevitably drive you to madness. You must return to Rome, find Nirus, and avenge the death of the mother of your child. You must, or it will haunt you for eternity.”
Davius felt as if he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. “The mother of my child?” he repeated incredulously.
Libraean’s clear eye widened, his face paling with apprehension. “You did not know?”
“What? What did I not know?” Emotion overcame him, raw, visceral sensations he had not felt for a half a decade. He faltered on his feet, fluctuating between sorrow and inundated rage.
Libraean flew to him, taking his hands in his. The kind gesture surprised Davius, but he gratefully accepted it, the creature's warm touch calming him. His unmarred eye swam with sympathy as he spoke. “Davius, she was with child when she died. It was yours...no other man had a chance to take her.”
Davius fell to his knees. His mind raced, distant memories now painfully vivid—he could smell her, taste the sweetness of her skin, see the gentle bounce of her rose golden hair. He recalled his shattered dreams of a lifetime together, children they would never bear frolicking through the countryside, running into his arms. Liquid amassed around his eyes, and when he wiped them, he realized he was not crying tears, but the hideous black blood that now ran through his cadaverous veins. He swept them away in disgust.
“You must avenge her, Davius,” Libraean’s gentle voice broke through. “It is the only way. I am so sorry to have brought you this pain.”
Davius met his eyes, too heavy-hearted to make words.
“There is one last thing I must tell you, for your new companion is the master of lies. He will tell you that only he can create others like you, but you have that same power. You are able to do exactly as he, but do not succumb to the temptation. For creating another blood drinker will only bring more pain and suffering in the end, for not all beings can withstand and bear the metamorphosis like you could. Avenge your love, Davius,” he pressed. “Free yourself of his presence.”
“I must go,” Davius suddenly decided. He didn’t wish to hear anything else out of the creature’s mouth. Libraean tried to protest, but Davius dove from the mouth of the cave, darting over the churning ocean and back to the docks in a single, flying swoop. He fell to his knees as he landed on the sand.
Above he could hear the call of seagulls, a sound that was eerily similar to the screech of crows.
He looked down the beach to see their ship, where dozens of revenant slaves were unloading their belongings. He rose to his feet, heading towards them.
Lucius, who had been quietly supervising, turned to greet him. He frowned at his disheveled appearance. “Davius, whatever is the matter?”
“I am not sure where to begin,” he replied with a sigh.
“Come,” Lucius beckoned with concern. “Allow me to show you our new dwelling, then we can talk.”
Lucius’s home was far from what Davius had imagined. It was large, yet not overwhelming, constructed of humble mud brick and topped by a plain stucco roof. Its facade was entirely barren, the smooth exterior concrete interrupted only by a single door and two windows that had been boarded up with pine. It was nestled behind several tall, unused buildings to provide shade during daylight hours.
The inside, however, revealed the uninhibited extravagance he had become accustomed to with his friend. Every tile that lined the floors had been arranged into dizzying patterns, frescoes depicting both the Greek and Egyptian gods covered each wall in fantastically vivid colors, an usual mix of hieroglyphics and Latin scrawled beneath each depiction. The rooms were filled with empty tables plated with gold, patiently waiting to be adorned by Lucius’s extensive pottery collection. The revenants had already unpacked many of their belongings, adding modern flavor to the Grecian finery Lucius had left behind. Davius explored the rooms, noticing that the addition of Roman busts and vases complimented his eclectic miscellany nicely.
His conversation with Libraean and the emotion that it evoked drifted away easily as he moved through the house, the familiar comforts of home bringing him back to his reality. He was calm again, watching the light of a hundred silver wall sconces dance across the ghostly slaves as they gradually pieced the house together. Lucius appeared, handing him a goblet similar to his, brimming with blood infused wine.
Davius sipped it gratefully, for it had been hours since he’d fed.
“Well, what do you think?” Lucius asked him.
“I noticed you took great pains to assure that we would remain hidden,” Davius commented.
