David McAfee - After, Taras and Theron - Beyond Jerusalem

Of course, blending in was difficult to do with blood all over his clothes. He would need to replace them, and soon. He scanned the street, looking for a suitable candidate. After locating several men who had a height and build similar to his own, he settled on a drunkard weaving his way through the streets in the direction of Acropolis. Judging by his shabby clothes, the man was not on his way home. Only the wealthy lived in the shadow of the great hill. He was probably headed for the taverns. It didn’t matter. Wherever the man was going, he would not get there.

Theron would see to that.

Thirty minutes later, Theron walked through the city in his new clothes. He had not spilled a single drop of his victim’s blood on them and he blended in perfectly with the handful of people already in the street. The drunkard even had a few coins on him, which Theron took, realizing too late that he’d left two gold shekels behind in the woman’s home. He hated to lose that much money, but he wasn’t going to go back for it. By now the place would be crawling with the city guard, and probably a handful of Bachiyr, as well.

A group of guardsmen tromped by in orderly rows, the moonlight glinting off their steel helmets and the tips of their spears. Theron watched them go. Their tight ranks reminded him a bit of the Roman Legionaries who patrolled the streets of Jerusalem, though the Romans kept tighter formations and wore red cloaks instead of white. The Athenians were no less formidable, however, and he kept a safe distance. He heard a few snippets of hushed conversation as they passed by.

“…eight feet tall.”

“I heard it was ten.”

“…set the damned thing on fire.”

…still fought…”

“…jumped into the ocean…”

So, the giant had made it to the water, after all. Theron smiled. The big fellow was even tougher than he thought. He would be in bad shape when he surfaced, however. The burns he suffered would take time to heal, and even then it would be impossible for a being that size to hide for long now that the city guard was looking for him. Theron would not be the only one leaving Athens as soon as possible. If the giant had any sense, he would leave tonight.

For that matter, Theron should leave tonight, as well. He was rested, healed, and had plenty of blood. There was no reason to spend another day in the city. He had planned to stop by his tomb-if it still existed-and see how it had fared over the centuries, but it would make more sense to leave the city while there was still enough night to find a secure place to spend the day.

He turned north, using Acropolis as a guide. He would travel inland, away from the coast and the highly populated cities that lay by the water. The bigger cities were bound to have plenty of Bachiyr. If he could reach the countryside, he would have a better chance of outdistancing any who were hunting for him. As a bonus, his route through the city would take him close to his tomb. Maybe he would have time to visit, after all.

The building, though showing signs of age and wear, stood tall and straight on the spot where his father buried him. It was a massive structure, several stories tall and at least a hundred paces wide. Probably the home of some wealthy merchant. He should have known his tomb would be gone. There was no one left in the city to wonder where he had gone. His father had probably died not long after Theron joined the Bachiyr, leaving no one left alive to mourn him.

Theron stared at the walls, trying to remember what his place of rest had looked like. Back then, it was little more than a hole in the stone, covered by a slab of rock. The surrounding grounds had been bare save for a handful of other tombs, much like his own. Over the centuries, the dead must have lost their power to preserve their final resting place and the living had moved in. Where had they put the bodies? Theron wondered. And what must they have thought when they opened his tomb and found it empty? A smile found its way to his face. He would have liked to have seen that.

“I knew you would come here,” a voice behind him said. It had been nine hundred years since he’d heard it last, but he would recognize it anywhere. The smell of jasmine drifted through the night, confirming what he already knew. He turned, allowing his claws to grow for the second time that evening.

She looked the same as he remembered, with dark, almost black hair that reached down to her waist. Her skin was the color of oak ashes, gray and dark at the same time. The deep brown of her eyes glared at him from a face he had remembered many times over the last nine centuries. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was, and something stirred within him as he recalled their past together. Not love, certainly. He had no place for that. But something pleasant, like finding something you lost long ago. Adonia’s full, thick lips turned up in a smile. He remembered how they had looked with blood dripping from them to roll down her chin.

Good times.

“Adonia,” he said. “I had hoped to avoid this.”

“I’m sure you did,” she replied. “You know the Council has put a bounty on your head.”

“So I heard. The last I recall, you had little regard for the Council.”

“That was before they offered a place in the Halls for whoever kills you.” Adonia’s smile vanished, and her eyes glittered in the shadows of her face. “That post should have been mine. I was older. I was stronger. I was far more suited to battle, and yet they offered everything to you, instead.”

Theron had heard this all before. Nine hundred years ago, to be exact. Adonia’s anger was part of the reason he’d never returned to Athens. “You spoke of the Council as though they were a group of old fools even then. You could not even mention Herris’ name without spitting on the ground. They chose me because they wanted someone loyal.”

“So they did,” she replied. “And I have waited centuries for you to fall out of their favor. Centuries of hearing stories about your glorious rise through the ranks of the Enforcers. Years spent listening to other Bachiyr speak your name in hushed tones, all the while knowing I was the one they should be fearing. My name they should revere, if not for some twist of the Council’s desire that put you above me.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to kill you, Adonia.”

Adonia snorted. “This is long overdue, Theron.” She dropped into a crouch, bringing her hands up to guard her face and torso but leaving her legs free to move. Theron remembered this stance, he’d seen it numerous times during their nights together. Her legs, deceptively fast, could strike from under the guard of her hands at any time, flashing forward like a snake. The tips of her boots bore three-inch wooden spikes, making them that much more dangerous.

“So it is,” he said, and brought his hands to waist level. From there, he could better block strikes from above and below, and keeping his hands low helped his center of gravity.

She came at him, a whirling, spinning dance of claws, feet and teeth. She had taught him this move nine centuries ago, and even now there simply was no good way to block her as she rained blows at him from every angle. There was a time when he would have dived in, accepting the wounds as he tried to close with her, but many scars and gallons of lost blood had taught him otherwise. Rather than try to engage, Theron moved a few paces back, putting himself out of reach of her numerous weapons.

Soon after he backed away, she stopped her spin, planting both feet flat on the ground about shoulder-width apart and slightly bent at the knees. “You still remember,” she said.

“That and more.”

“But not this.” She launched herself at him, leading with her claws. It was so bold and amateur an attack that he had not expected it from her, and he barely got his arms up in time to deflect her claws. The impact knocked him to the ground, and she landed on top of him, digging with her claws and snapping at his throat. He tried to grab her wrists but that left him exposed to her bite, so he focused on trying to dislodge her, instead. The two rolled and grappled in the street, sending up small clouds of dust.