Vulcan's Descent: The Lifeblood Saga, #2

By James R. Johnson

Following the revelation that Marcus Tegerius Castimus is not immortal after all, he becomes obsessed with his own immortality: children.  He returns to Rome to discover that the city is gripped with fear as pregnant women are apprehended across the city.  His pregnant wife included. Nestor Priscus, overwhelmed with the news that his love is forever lost, maniacally pursues the Gershenah horde with rigid vigor.  He puts his endgame plan into action; the reason the five mortals have been assembled. Castimus and his band struggle in the face of mounting evidence that their immortal guide is no longer serving their best interest.  Erratic behavior and wild accusation force the band doubt his trustworthiness.  All seems lost when Priscus and Gershenah seemingly both seek their death.

 

When does fact become too fantastic to believe?  The perspective of the incredible can take many shades of reality.  The line in the sand between fact and fantasy is drawn in different places for different people. Hidden beneath the hunt for balance is the issue of security in reality.  Threats to the belief one has can come from any direction and take many faces.  When evidence questions the tightly held fact, the real test shows if the line in the sand remains.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James R. Johnson
• Release date: Oct 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215341216

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The crowded streets of Rome in the afternoon swelled on market days. People bustled from here to there as they made their weekly purchases and scheduled sacrifices to the multitude of deities protecting their family and household. Since market days were only every ninth day, each one was to be used to the fullest.

The bright sunlight sifted its way through the throbbing organism that is the mob of Roman citizens. Kneeling face down on the dingy street with her arms held outstretched and palms upturned, an inconspicuous woman made her prayers at a shrine. Orbona was not a very important goddess in the grand scheme of Roman pantheism, but to those people who sought her divine influence, she couldn’t be more important. Orbona didn’t have her own temple; priestesses would erect shrines along the street for citizens to use.

The young woman lifted her head and looked hopely into the eyes of the priestess taking station next to the shrine. The priestess smiled to her. She beamed with joy and stood up. The protruding belly under her tunic left no wonder why she was praying to Orbona, the goddess of children and new parents. She reached into her basket and pulled another coin from her purse as an additional offering.

Her prayers apparently heard from Orbona she took her basket with a small exhale from the effort. She then turned back toward the Forum and made her way through the stream of people moving like the life-giving flow of blood into the heart of the city. The woman turned a corner and made her way toward the Temple of Janus.

Her mood couldn’t have been better. Orbona smiled on her and the joy she felt at that moment was like pure sunshine coursing through her body. She even saw that the dirty, decaying city around her looked brighter and more cheerful. She couldn’t help but relish the detritus in the grimy streets, the flaking paint on the sides of buildings, the missing bricks and cobblestones in nearly every direction. No, the city was grand and this day was almost perfect. Only one thing could make it absolutely perfect now; the smile of Janus treasured alongside the smile of Orbona.

The temple was the most popular second only to the Temple of Saturn. As any Roman would attest, there was never a new venture in or around the city without a sacrifice to the god Janus. The woman climbed the steps and found a ready priest. The eager look in her eye must have signaled something to the old priest.

What is your business, Child, the priest hissed as he lumbered toward the mother-to-be.

The woman adjusted her basket to more clearly reveal the purpose of her visit. The priest cooed and dramatically took her belly in both of his hands. Fear momentarily streaked her face at the touch of the old priest. The soothing thoughts of the Orbona priestess’s smile calmed her fear.

What is your name, Child, the priest asked bending low still with her protruding belly in his hands.

Catula, the expectant woman said mildly.

Catula, the priest breathed. What is your sacrifice, Catula of the Child? His question fell flat of emotion as business inserted itself.

Catula reached into her basket and retrieved the coin purse. The priest stood tall again and pulled his long, boney fingers through Catula’s dark, wavy hair. She pulled three coins from the purse and held them out the priest. He looked at the coins briefly before returning his attention to her long hair. Catula pulled two more coins from the purse.

Please, this the last, she pleaded. Her nervous smile displayed her faith.

Fret not, Child. Janus looks favorably upon your venture and your new life.

Catula nearly dropped the basket of market day purchases as she thanked the priest. He watched her turn and depart the temple while he slipped the handful of coins beneath his robe.

Immediately outside the Temple of Janus was a merchant selling fabrics and ribbons. Catula, full of elation, stopped and admired the wares. She wished she hadn’t had to spend the rest of her money on at the Temple of Janus, a ribbon would have been a fine finale to the day’s activities. The merchant smiled as he noticed her condition, then the blue ribbon she was caressing between her fingers. Surprisingly, he tied the ribbon around her wrist. Catula was amazed not only at the generosity of the merchant, but at the loss of revenue the ribbon cost him.

This was indeed a great day.

The streets were packed with busy people going about their business. Moving through the crowd of grumbling people and like her attitude reflected, she went against the flow of the mob. Catula felt serene and safe after her visit with the gods. They had promised peace and health for her new family. However, the feeling of dread and fear permeated the mob on the street.

The public fighting between the dueling consuls had the city on edge. The odor of civil war was ripe in the nostrils of the populace. Fear was seen everywhere. But not by Catula. The security she placed in the hands of the gods had brought her a blinding peace. Her family was going to be secure according to those who influenced all their lives. The fears of the people and the actions of politicians she couldn’t control had little effect on her this day. All that mattered was the preparations for her new child.

She walked through the dirty streets with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. She made her way toward her home where she would continue her nesting. As she weaved her way through her neighborhood, she saw that the herald was proclaiming more news of doom between Consuls Nepos and Didius. She stopped like many of the other citizens to hear.

The herald waved his arms dramatically as he told of battles between the armies of Didius and Nepos. He graphically described the treasonous actions of Consul Nepos and how the brave and heroic Didius fought for justice against his co-consul.

Catula wasn’t in the mood for frivolous politics and moved on toward her apartment. She weaved her way passed gawkers listening to the herald, bouncing as she went. No, nothing could dampen her spirits, at least not until the herald said something that caught her attention. She stopped in her tracks and turned back around.

A balding young man next to her adjusted his tunic while folding his arms and gave her an appraisal. I’d listen to this, love. If I were you, I mean, the bald man said.

Catula saw the heaviness in his youthful face. She decided to heed his suggestion and gave her focus to the herald and his wide gestures.

Magistrates throughout the city are directing all women with child to remain indoors. Efforts are being made to find those individuals responsible for these heinous acts. Please tell your pregnant women to stay off the streets. Be aware.

The herald gave his plate to an aid and stepped off the proclamation platform. The man was tiny by Roman standards, but he had a forceful voice that traveled far. The projection of his voice echoed in Catula’s mind. She heard about the abductions, of course. But the news was now official having come from the herald. The security she grasped in her gods weakened. She knew it was a fact that pregnant women were abducted in some of the other neighborhoods on her hill, but her community was so close and tight that outsiders would have been seen and watched very closely.

Her attention immediately turned back to the unfamiliar young, bald man, but he wasn’t there. The crowd listening to the herald dispersed when he stepped off the platform. Fear heightened as her feet made a quick path to her home. She would be safe there. She would be alone of course since her husband worked in one of the butcher shops off the Forum. But her door could be locked.

As she entered the courtyard in the center of her insulae, her apartment building, she slowed her pace and the words of the priest returned to her. Her heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm. She saw the eyes of her neighbors watching her as she watched them. She was home and she was safe.

The gods always come through, she said to her child as she patted the side of her aching belly. The pain from her sprint to the courtyard permeated her entire midsection, radiating from her lower back. As Catula sighed in relief, she headed up the stairs to her apartment where she planned on laying down to relax her back.

Upon entering her home, she placed the basket of goods on the table that took up most of the room. She closed her door and placed the locking board in place. Sweat was dripping from her brow and her mouth was dry. Catula walked over to her water amphora and poured herself a cup. The warm water had little effect on the dryness she felt.

Thinking the reaction in her mouth and the sweat was a sign, she went over to the Lararium shrine in the corner. She knelt down with some difficulty and held her hands out, palms up, in front of her and lowered her head. The lars familiaris for her family would protect her from harm. The protective spirit had saved her husband many times in the past. She could count on it to see her safely through to the delivery of her baby. Especially with the blessings of Orbona and Janus.

The amphora of water shattered on the floor startling Catula. She spun around as quickly as her aching body would allow. Sitting on the floor, resting against the shrine, she held her hand up to her mouth as she sobbed. The fear was overwhelming. Water quickly seeped through the floorboards and rained down in the apartment below. She could hear Servia cursing beneath.

Catula was relieved that Servia would join her, regardless of her attitude. She may be yelling at Catula, but at least she would be here. Catula wouldn’t be alone.

Shouldn’t have set the jar so close to the edge, a hairy man said leering at Catula. He wore a simple, dirty tunic. His hair was well passed his shoulders and the beard was twisted. He was obviously not Roman as only foreigners and mourners kept beards. That’s how accidents happen.

Please, Catula heaved through her sobs.

What, the bearded man teased. I didn’t hear that.

Enough, another male voice said. Catula turned to see the young, bald man enter from her bedroom. No need to play with them.

The bald man turned toward Catula. I tried to tell you. He advanced and her sobs became stifled grunts. He helped her to stand up, but she fought. She dropped right back to the floor.

Perhaps if you had listened to the heralds and taken precautions instead of trusting in meaningless gods and fantasy, you’d be in a different place. Always trust your eyes and ears.

Servia banged on the door outside, shouting for Catula to explain why water was drenching everything she owned. The bearded man walked quickly to the door and withdrew a blade. Catula’s eyes bulged at the sight of the knife. She inhaled deeply for a scream that the bald man saw coming. He expertly slipped his hand over her mouth and gripped her forcibly.

The young, bald man eased his lips close to Catula. He whispered, I don’t like this any better than you do. But I have a job to do.

Servia moved to the window next to the door and reached in to move the curtain aside. As soon as she did the bearded man swiped at her with his blade. Servia stepped back, but not before seeing Catula in the clutches of a man not her husband. Servia screamed and headed down the stairs alarming the neighbors.

Don’t make this harder on yourself, the bald man continued. We won’t harm you, but you must come with us. Catula steadied herself and listened to him. Perhaps the gods were smiling after all.

She nodded her agreement and the young, bald man removed his hand.

Please don’t hurt my baby, Catula pleaded.

Of course not, the bald man said without looking at her as he walked toward the front door. He stood with his back to her as the bearded man smiled and ran to her. She felt the handle of his knife strike the top of her head and then darkness consumed her.

THE HARD, SLENDER MAN walked through debris left behind by battle. The huts that once occupied the land were crumpled and strewn across the valley basin. Nothing about the place resembled a community or village. But this place hadn’t been a home for centuries.

Galeo continued to walk, looking for something specific. He stepped through the shreds of planks and poles until he found the spot he was looking for. The ground was as hard as his mood. Sand lightly dusted the rock beneath his feet.

Did you find something, a voice behind Galeo asked. The slender gravedigger turned to see Videor approaching. Videor was a former Greek slave that had been freed in Rome. His height made him stand out amongst the others, as he was a head taller than most Romans. He was a man of great wisdom and with a fine heart. The man could find positivity in any situation and profit in any circumstance. He was truly an honorable man.

I used to live here, on this spot, Galeo responded in his gruff voice. He knelt down and with his sinewy arms brushed the sand away from the stony ground.

Coming home isn’t always what we expect, the foreigner stated. He remembered his own home in Greece. He remembered what he left there, whom he left there. Videor hung his head and laid a sympathetic hand on Galeo’s shoulder.

Videor walked off and found the thief, Vibius Clementimo, sitting on a rock outcropping. The little man was short in stature but fierce and full of strength. He lived by a code that tested the conventions in Rome. He was deceptively full of compassion and empathy, but he would never let anyone outside his close community see that.

Next to the thief was the Vestal Virgin, Aula Rutila. Videor admitted to himself that since the attack on this abandoned village they found themselves in she hadn’t been the same. Upon calling on Aula at the temple of Vesta, she had been full of faith and patience. Her goddess had called her on a journey she believed would test her faith and resolve. Videor believed that the battle wasn’t what she had in mind. Then there was the ordeal in the cave.

Vestales were the priestesses of Vesta. They were very important women in the hierarchy of Roman society. Their code was simple: they would not know a man until after their service to Vesta was complete, usually thirty years. Violation of this code condemned a Vestalis to a terrible fate. Blood could not be spilled within the pomerium, the sacred protective wall around Rome, so the criminal priestesses were buried alive for their trespass. Videor assumed that Aula panicked in the cave because of this harsh consequence she grew up fearing. He certainly felt the suffocating closeness of the walls in the cave during their previous encounter.

Since that time, Aula had been a new woman. Her standoffish attitude toward male advances had softened. Her fiercest suitor, Vibius, was the man that calmed her in the cave and supported her once she was freed. Whether her affinity for Vibius was out of gratitude or genuine affection, Videor was unclear. But he was sure Aula had begun questioning all she believed.

Still wandering, I see, Vibius teased reclining on the uncomfortable rock.

Getting a grasp of the mood, Videor replied joining the pair at the base of the foothill.

How much longer do we need to stay here, Aula asked.

I’m not certain. Metellus is in the area where the legion camped. Galeo is revisitng his childhood on the hard sand. And Priscus is still sitting in front of that pillar. Videor recalled the moment they returned to the village after collecting Galeo from Alexandria. Priscus had not skipped a stride as he made his way straight to the stone pillar they found hiding in a secret tunnel. Apparently, the stone held a truth that crushed Priscus. He sat in front of that message and hadn’t moved.

Well, they can stay all they like. I have work to do in Rome and need to return, the brigand announced.

I must say that I agree, Videor said surprising both Vibius and Aula. We returned on the pretense that Galeo needed to survey the condition of this village and Priscus to verify if all the writing left by the Sanii is truly destroyed. We know that there is a room in that cave full of writing, but he hasn’t made any indication that this is a priority.

The Sanii was the creator of the Lifebloods, the father of a race of immortals that lived quietly by themselves in the wilderness of Egypt centuries before. He had written many things on the walls of his dwelling. But the only message that seemed to matter to Priscus was the notion that the Sanii himself was not immortal like his children.

This trip is wasting valuable time. What more is there, Aula observed. Videor was again reminded of her new outlook on life.

Couldn’t have said it better myself, Vibius echoed through a smile to Aula.

Perhaps the best thing to do is wait, Videor recommended.

We’ve been waiting, Vibius snapped, failing to control his impatience. He leapt from the outcropping and weaved his way through the debris of the ancient homes toward Priscus.

This won’t be good, Aula observed as she too climbed off the rock outcropping to follow Vibius. Videor followed knowing he would mostly likely be needed to keep the peace.

Priscus was still kneeling before the stone pillar that he and Castimus pushed out of the cave. The trail of the stone was hard to see as the wind whipped at the sand. The airflow through the valley basin was strong and built upon itself. The more the wind blew, the harder the sand whipped, grinding everything in its path. It was a harsh environment, an environment that matched the tone of the group occupying it.

The old Lifeblood still had that air of authority. He still maintained the sense that he was the general in command. He was well built physically, but looked deflated and weak sitting before the rock. His short curly hair gave him the appearance of a disappointed child.

What is this, Vibius demanded upon reaching Priscus. Aula approached followed by the cautious Videor.

This is history, Priscus said cryptically. Videor understood the deeper meaning behind the woeful statement, looking around uncomfortably.

Priscus had lived for centuries in pursuit of the Gershenah army of Lifebloods. His driving force was the promise that he would be reunited with the woman he truly loved. This inspiration went by the name of Weshebini. Her father was believed to have been the recipient of the creator’s immortality, the Sanii’s gift of life eternal.

She had to flee their village before the Great Civil War ripped their community apart and drew dividing lines between them all. As a general leading the forces of Lifebloods loyal to the teaching of the Sanii, he couldn’t follow her. But he did promise that he would seek her out once the Gershenah threat was defeated.

Of course, that proved longer than he originally envisioned. The Gershenah were victorious in the war and the general was banished by the remaining loyal Lifebloods. He sought the downfall of the Gershenah for centuries driven by the moment he would be reunited with his love.

The message on the stone told of the mortal nature of the Sanii from the very beginning. Their creator never gave immortality to Weshebini father. His lost love was mortal and had been dead for centuries. She was a permanent part of their history and the most painful casualty of the Great War.

History is in the past. Let’s concentrate on the now, Vibius stated. Life goes on. So do we. We’re leaving.

Vibius started toward one of the exits out of the basin back up into the foothills leading to the vast Egyptian desert.

It isn’t finished.

Videor heard the weight in Priscus’s announcement. He had become a hard man since their initial departure from this place to collect Galeo. Compassion and patience were gone from him. Yes, this was a new Priscus. Videor wasn’t sure the change was for the better.

It is for me. Look, Vibius began. I get that you lost something important to you. But our part of this is done. You needed us for this invasion, which I still don’t understand. You can have a great time chasing those other immortal freaks all you like. I have business to do. We all do. Vibius looked to Aula and Videor for some backup.

Priscus, Aula soothed as she approached the kneeling general. This isn’t our fight. We helped you and we failed. They got away and we need to return to our own lives. I must serve in the temple. We must return to Rome now.

After a pause, Priscus finally turned to look at them. But his gaze rested on Videor, the freed slave. And you? What’s your complaint?

I have always been along just for the fun, Videor answered without skipping a beat.

Aula smiled but tried to hide it. She held her hand up to her mouth with her arms folded across her chest.

Vibius responded curtly, ’along for the fun’ he says.

Videor smiled as well and walked away.

Vibius threw his hands in the air in resignation. This isn’t a laughing matter. I’m leaving.

No, you’re not, Priscus said rising to his feet. My need for you hasn’t been met yet. But I agree it is time to return to Rome. This fight is just getting started. Look around.

Vibius obediently surveyed the demolished remnants of the basin village. As though proving his own point, Vibius held his hands out and returned Priscus’s stare.

This is a place that has stood for centuries. This was a monument to the everlasting. Look at it now. This place is in shambles. It happened now, not in history. Things are changing today. Progress is being made today. And that progress isn’t our progress. We need to quickly catch up or face destruction much like what you see here.

Aula laid a hand on Vibius’s shoulder, conceding the argument. Vibius turned, but with reluctance.

THE LIGHT FLICKERED briefly on the runes carved on the wall from the single torch. Marcus Tegerius Castimus ran his fingers over an ancient symbol. It looked like a circle with three parallel lines passing through it at a diagonal angle. He had no idea what it meant, but the etchings under his fingers reminded him that he lived in a new world. This new world didn’t function under the same rules to which he was accustomed. These rules pointed to the extinction of all mankind. Including himself, he remembered numbly.

The drunkard Priscus had insisted Castimus was immortal. Of course, the realization of the truth hit Priscus harder than it had him. He was still human, still mortal, still lost.

Castimus stepped back from the wall of the small domed room. With a sweeping arch from his torch, he waved the light around and watched the shadows dance from the myriad symbols carved into the wall and knew that the wealth of information in this room was what had first tempted Priscus to risk the trip to the deserts of Egypt. This writing was the call, the answers to what Sedjet and his Gershenah horde were up to.

Priscus had yet to enter this room after their humble return.

Castimus couldn’t blame him for his humanity. Immortality brought a sadness, a loneliness that was more curse than delight. Seeing the ancient general broken with lost love made him want to flee in fear. If their strength and guide in this immortal world no longer cared, what hope did mankind have? What hope did they have of survival?

Castimus crawled through the tunnel exit. The hard ground under him gave way to the scorched sand of the main domed grotto. The evidence of the intense fire was everywhere. The chamber reeked of death and destruction, of finality.

Thoughts of his own mortality crept into his mind again. The thoughts he had of immortality were exciting and yet chilling. His life was consumed with leaving a legacy whether it was through works in public service or through a series of children. He dreamed of both but neither were realities.

His wife Aurelia immediately came to mind. The daughter of a Roman senator, she was the best hope he had. She was the key to a position in some quaestor’s office. But her father resisted giving Castimus his influence. An election with a senator’s backing was a sure thing. Senator Aurelius refused. It was as painful as the refusal Aurelia demonstrated when bearing him any children came up.

Castimus dropped his torch to the sand and walked through the gapping entrance into the sun of the valley village. Priscus still knelt down in front of his stone harbinger while the others save the soldier Metellus and the gravedigger surrounded him. Castimus walked in their direction though not intending to stop. He had other business to attend.

Priscus rose to address Vibius as Castimus drew near to them. With the wind whistling through the village, he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but it didn’t matter. What he needed to check was priority. Priscus and his plans came a distant second.

Progress is being made today. And that progress isn’t ours. We need to quickly catch up or face destruction much like what you see here. Castimus heard the words Priscus said as he leaned in toward Vibius.

What could you possibly use us for, Vibius asked.

Castimus could feel the eyes of all four of them as he walked past them.

See, Vibius began. Even your golden calf is tired of this.

Priscus called firmly, Castimus. The Lifeblood waited as impatiently as Vibius. Castimus came to a