The Return (22 page)

"I wanted to destroy you," he spat. "Like you destroyed me."

"Katrin destroyed us all, Arturius. Not me."

"If it wasn't for you, I would still be human." He pushed her up against the wall, her head cracking on the brickwork, his hand around her neck. Pushing
himself
into her, she felt his lips against the skin of her neck.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said, the warning clear in her voice.

He brought his head up, his eyes glaring into hers.

"Where is Gabby?" She didn't falter. She could kill him now if she chose.

Arturius let his grip slacken and he dropped her, her feet touching the ground. "You've become a monster, Aeriaya. What would your precious Celestines say if they were still alive to see you?"

"I'm no longer a Celestine," she said, the emotion dropping from her voice. "You saw to that the day you snapped my neck."

Arturius snorted, taking a few steps back. He ran his hands over his face and took a few sharp breaths. She'd gotten under his skin and she didn't care in the slightest.

"We can feel when one of us dies. That was the only reason you escaped that night. When you killed Titus, none of us understood what was happening until we found what was left of him. It was then that Katrin ordered us to kill your family." He seemed to be trying to make it better.

"You're talking to me like an old friend, Arturius. What do you want? Sympathy?"

"You think everything we do is about you," he sneered, his eyes darkening. "There are bigger things at stake than a rouge hybrid."

"Like what?"

He remained silent, eyeing her with distaste. What were they up to? "I know I won't survive you. Whether it be tomorrow or in a thousand years… But damned if I let you kill me before I'm ready." He turned his back to her, dropping his head. She found it insulting, that he thought he had all the power. "I haven't decided what to do with you yet.
"
he murmured. "That depends on my friends upstairs."

"Lucky me," she said.

He looked back at her, a frown creasing his brow. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?' she asked, knowing he meant how she had killed the other founders.

"Titus, Marcus, Octavia… Caius."

"When you made me, not all parts of my old self withered and died."

"Though, time has," he said absently. It was this comment that made Aya understand. He knew that her power had faltered when she'd killed Caius. He thought it was all gone.

She didn't say anything, instead waiting to hear what he would say next. It would all be over if he found out. Arturius would kill everyone she'd come to care about in a heartbeat if he knew even a drop of the truth. And Zac would be the first. He would be dead and she would be imprisoned for eternity.

He sighed, looking back down at Zac before walking towards the door. He paused, his hand on the knob and looked back over his shoulder at her. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your brother." Aya stiffened at his admission. She went to speak, but he continued, "I died a hero, but I lived long enough to become a villain. Don't make the same mistake I did."

"Poor you," she rolled her eyes, not believing him for a second.

"No," he said. "Poor
you
."

The Roman strode back across the room and hauled up Zac's unconscious body, hooking his arms under his shoulders. Aya stood, ready to do whatever it took to stop the Roman from taking him, but he shot her a warning glare that stopped her in her tracks.

"Don't think about it Aeriaya. If you want him to live, you will not lift a finger to harm me."

Aya backed up against the wall, her gaze cutting straight into him as he dragged Zac out of the room, the door closing heavily behind them, leaving her to her imprisonment alone. If he did anything to harm Zac, she would stop at nothing to tear Arturius to pieces. And she would enjoy every moment of his torment.

Dorset, United Kingdom

43AD

L
ucius Arturius Quintillus was a man to be reckoned with.

He was typical for a centaur of the Roman Legion. Broad shouldered, heavily muscled and imposing. His men would follow him to the bowels of the underworld or suffer at the end of his blade. They feared and respected him and never questioned his logic. His men came back alive. That's what made him the best.

It was this new crusade that had the entire Legion rattled. Cesar had ordered the expansion of the empire into Britannia. Wild lands that lay across the channel. 

Stories about the Britons, ferocious tribes of men stained with blue war paint, had the younger more unseasoned soldiers nervous. Julius Caesar had tried to conquer them some eighty years before without success, but this time it would be different. This time they understood their enemy.

Arturius' legion, II 
Augusta
, was lead by General Vespasian. While the other legions travelled northwards into the wilds, they were tasked with the capture of the
south west
.
Old country that the tribes held sacred and fought fiercely to protect.
They were battle hardy men and the only ones that were fit to conquer this stretch of land.

On the morn of the eleventh day they marched upon a small castle, nestled upon a green hillock. It was hard for them not to be aware of the Legion's approach, so when they crested the rise and saw the castle for the first time, they were greeted with the sight of a group of Briton's amassed on the hillside. They stood to defend their homes, but Arturius knew they only stood to face their deaths.

Vespasian ordered Arturius to take his men and deal with the savages. The Britons had amassed a mere one hundred men and boys to defend the fort and eighty of the best and brightest Roman legionaries would slaughter them in minutes. Here, skill would prevail over numbers.

"Don't disappoint me, Arturius," Vespasian said, gesturing down the hill. "You are one of my best 
primius pilus
, are you not?" He was one of the best and that meant knowing that the general just wanted to sit back and be entertained by the bloodshed.

He hesitated a moment. This seemed wrong. They were just a group of old men and children, not seasoned warriors. They would hardly have a chance to defend themselves or even surrender before the Legion squashed them. "But, Sir. It will be a massacre."

Vespasian turned and glared at him, his gaze cutting straight through to his bones. "Are you questioning your orders, Arturius? If you are, know that you are replaceable." He gave him a look that suggested his replacement would put him in the ground.

"No, sir," he said, quickly covering his doubt.

"You have your orders, now go and execute them. For the glory of Rome." The general clapped a fist over his heart.

It was the first time he had questioned his superior and Arturius suddenly felt sick. He had always followed orders unquestioned, trusting he was doing the right thing for Rome and the gods. And he had always known he was replaceable, but how replaceable was now glaringly apparent. To speak out to his general was treason and his sentence would be waiting for him at the end of a sword. He hoped that he could make up for his slip. He had to.

"Yes, sir," he said sharply, clapping a fist over his own heart. If it
was
a spectacle Vespasian wanted, then he would get one grander than the Gladiators of Rome could ever hope to put on and he would be the star.

As Arturius marched forward with his men, he couldn't help but scoff at the sight before him. The Britons were all over the place, their line haphazard and weak, their vanguard full of old men and children. They had no idea what they were doing. It was a stark contrast to the Roman formation, which suggested order, precision and training. It
would
be a senseless slaughter, but Arturius was more interested in saving himself.

His attention was pulled back to his own front line as he saw the man to the left veer too far from his shield-mate. "Titus, keep in formation," he barked at the soldier. He didn't care to know all of their names, but this one was a particularly bloodthirsty fighter. Along with Marcus, Paius and Augustus. These men he'd made his elite.
His brothers in arms.

As the two forces met in a clash of steel, Arturius surged forward with a roar, bringing his sword down on a stout man, his face and chest smeared with blue paint, willing himself not to think about what he was doing. The man had no hope of escaping the Roman's blade and it sunk deep. Wrenching it away in a shower of hot blood, he crashed into the next man, slashing upwards. His victim stumbled forward in surprise at the sudden pain, exposing his back. Arturius didn't hesitate. He plunged his blade clean through his heart.
For the glory of Rome.

There was a savage roar behind him as the dead weight of the man slumping to the ground freed his blade. Pivoting on his heel, Arturius was a fraction too late lifting his sword to parry the axe that was arcing towards his face. Everything seemed to slow down as he stumbled backwards, trying to arc his head out of the way, but it wasn't quite enough. The sun glinted off the crudely forged iron weapon as it sliced into his face, narrowly missing his right eye.

Arturius was stunned for a second as the Briton heaved the axe back to swing again. He blinked hard as blood began to drip into his eye. Eyesight intact, he grimaced, cutting his blade upwards and sliced cleanly into the man's weapon arm. He dropped the axe with a wail as blood began to soak his crude shirt and Arturius kicked him viscously in the stomach. He doubled
over,
the air pushed from his lungs, and was tripped backwards, falling hard on his back.

Then, it was as if Arturius was overcome by some demon. Straddling the man who had tried to hack his skull open, he brought his sword down hard into his chest, narrowly missing his heart. Pulling it out, blood began to pour from the wound at an alarming rate, but he wasn't done at all. As his own blood ran from his face, blinding his right eye, he sunk his hands into the Briton's chest and tore, digging straight into his chest cavity. As his hand came into contact with his still beating heart, Arturius paused. It was insane what he was doing, but he felt
powerful
.

With a guttural roar, he ripped out the man's heart and tossed it aside, his chest heaving.

His head snapped up as he caught sight of two Briton's staring down at him with looks of horror on their faces. Before they could turn and run, he grasped his sword and cut them down with swift, efficient blows to the heart and neck.

He cut down three more men before he realized that there were no more. His men had made short work of the Britons. All they had left to do was to enter the castle and establish order. There would be women and younger children inside who would be put to work. The castle would be rebuilt.

Arturius stood in the aftermath of the battle, hardly aware that the general had approached him, stepping over the carnage to come congratulate him.

Vespasian clapped him on the shoulder. "That was quite something, Arturius."

"Thank you, sir," he muttered, wiping the back of his hand across his face. He hissed when he remembered that he had a gash running the length of it.

Vespasian turned towards his entourage and barked an order to them. "Take the castle and secure it's people. I want this place ready to be built upon as soon as possible." The general regarded Arturius a moment and said, "Get your face seen to, Arturius. And have a rest. You deserve it."

Arturius nodded and knew he had been dismissed. It seemed he had won back Vespasian's favor.
For now, at least.

Instead of following his orders right way, he collected his men from around the field, offering words of encouragement. Other soldiers had advanced from the opposite rise and had already begun dragging the corpses away to a ditch at the edge of a tilled field that ran along the side of the hillock.

Marcus clapped him on the shoulder and pointed up to the castle. "We will see to them. Return to your tent, Titus will go and fetch Magnus."

Arturius only grunted and turned to make his way back to their camp. Magnus was their
medici
, he would see to his wounds before they could fester. He left the carnage he and his men had wrought behind him without a second thought. Dwelling on these things… between duty and honor… it would destroy him if he let it. He liked his life too much for that to ever happen.

Maiden Castle was the name the Britons had given to their construction and it was by no means a palace. To the Romans it was little more than an outhouse, only suitable for an outpost. They began work immediately, building stronger walls, a temple at one end and improving defensive positions. This would make a fine mid-point for their journey
south-west
. The Britons were living in the past and would herald their conquerors and the knowledge they brought. All of their lives would improve drastically.

Arturius was ordered bed rest for several days. His face throbbed, but he refused to let them sew up the gash. It would serve as an impressive scar and instill fear in his men.
Fear that would keep them under his thumb.
Especially after he had only cut down two men before he was wounded. It hadn't stopped him continuing, but he felt ashamed at his weakness. To keep himself occupied, he worked hard to keep the wound clean, despite the pain that shot through him when the tinctures and salves Magnus had concocted were slathered on his face to prevent infection.

He had little else to do but contemplate their next journey. There were many miles to cover until they had secured their portion of this wild place. What he tried not to dwell on was the moment he tore a man's heart from his chest while it was still beating. He had gone too far and wondered if the gods would punish him.

The next evening, Arturius lay in his makeshift cot, staring at the roof of his tent, thinking about home. He was rich enough to own land and a villa if he so chose and the Legion would certainly not oppose it. He was devout in his religion and loyal to Rome.
In every way a model citizen.
After he had served his time in Brittania, he would go back to Rome and make a home for himself and take a wife. It was all he wanted. He dreamed of a white washed villa on a sun-soaked hillside, the field below dotted with olive trees, horses grazing in the warmth of the afternoon light… A son to
raise
into a strong and honorable warrior, taught by his own hand. A beautiful wife to make love to… drinking wine together under the stars…

Yes, that was the life he wanted for himself.
A good life.
A quiet life.

When the flap to his tent was pulled aside, he sat up sharply as he caught the sight of a woman entering. The coarse material swung back into place as she stood there staring at him. He couldn't help but to think to
himself
that she was beautiful in a otherworldly kind of way. She was tall and slender, skin that was as pale as milk and hair that was as rich and wild as honey. She did not look to be at all Roman or from any one of the lands they had conquered, but she was dressed in the way of one.

"How did you get in here?" he barked at her. If she was here for his entertainment, she could go away. He wasn't in the mood for that tonight.

The woman ignored his question. "I've come to offer you a gift, centurion."

"A gift? Why?"

"You've proved yourself to be one of worth."

He glared at her, raking his eyes over her body, not caring if she took offence. "What are you offering, woman?"

"I'm offering immortality, power and strength beyond reckoning."

"What do you mean, immortality? I am no god." He said it like she was offering blasphemy. The gods would punish him for being tempted by this… witch. This had to be a test of his faith, for what he had done on the battlefield.
The man's heart.
There was no other explanation for this intrusion.

She laughed, her voice filtering through the tent like music. "Not a god," she said. "But you will feel like one. All will cower before you and you will rain death and destruction as easily as you will light and love."

"You want to turn me into a demon?"

The woman narrowed her eyes, a sly smile playing at her soft lips. "But, you already like killing, don't you Arturius?"