Page 8 of I Will Always Find You
The young lovers had no way of knowing how swiftly everything was about to change.
“By Hecate!” the Romani witch gasped as he heard screams coming down the pathway; shrieks of terror echoed from their village.
“What is happening?” Rufus shouted, releasing his lover’s hand from his grip. “The village! Is that smoke? It must be under attack! We have to help!”
“Aeneas, wait!”
But Rufus was already racing down the path toward his village, which appeared to him to be under an unknown siege. He did not hear his lover calling out to him—by another name.
Damn it, Aeneas! You act too impulsively for your own good, running into the fray to help before thinking of your safety, just like always!
Quickly placing his hands on his thighs, the Romani witch whispered a prayer to his grandmother and then shouted, “Celeritas! Veloces haec crura facito!” [“Speed! Make these legs fast!”]
An immediate surge of strength coursed through his youthful body; he felt the robust growth and tightening of his stomach, thigh, and calf muscles, all without pain.
With a burst of energy, the Romani witch launched down the winding dirt path toward the village, running with incredible speed. He was a blur, swift and graceful, sailing past Rufus like an arrow released from the taut string of a master bowman. The wind whipped through his long, black hair, and the earthy scentof the path filled his lungs, fueling his stride as he raced toward the village.
On his way to aid his fellow townspeople, he barely had time to consider what lay ahead, knowing he would encounter danger at any moment. But ponder for a brief instant, he did.
Who is this enemy? The Hibernians? The Caledonians and Picts, or even the blasted Romans?! And with Gian away!
The Romani witch understood that without the mighty immortal to eliminate this looming threat, he was the only hope for his village’s salvation; these people were mostly farmers and fishermen, hardly warriors. Neither was he, but he was a proud and powerful witch of the Roma. Unlike his beloved Aeneas, he would use his arcane knowledge and uncanny gifts for violence if necessary.
For all time, he would do everything in his power to prevent what happened to his family from happening to others.
As he slowed his momentum upon entering the village center, calling back the magic empowering his spell, the Romani witch was unprepared for what his eyes now beheld. The carnage was everywhere. Bloodied and beaten-to-death bodies lined the streets. Some looked torn to shreds, as if an animal had viciously mauled them. But there were no wolves about. And there was no army or raiding party before him either.
There was no group of men at all.
In fact, the Romani witch did not believe this solitary villain before him was even human. His very presence exuded a vile, disquieting aura as if he were a creature born of dark sorcery.His pallor is as pale as death, and his eyes are black as midnight, as ebon onyx! Those eyes are like Gian’s when he wills them to be so.
The figure wore a regal dress, a tunic designed in the Grecian style, which appeared to be made of silk damask, although it was now horribly stained with blood and gore. The man’s hairwas as black as pitch, even darker than his eyes, which seemed impossible but was nonetheless true. The hair also possessed a shimmering tint of blue, an unnatural colour that captivated and deeply disturbed the Romani witch.
He understood that this was anunnaturalman.
Hecate, protect me! This is no mere man. This is an immortal!
“Everyone, run to the forest!” the Romani witch shouted at the top of his voice. “Flee for your lives!” He knew he had to stop the fiend’s murderous rampage quickly, one that had no provocation!These peaceful people here could not have done anything to anger this strange, foreign god. You will not carry out your perverted pleasures here, monster!
Without another word or thought wasted, the Romani witch moved to action. Pointing at the immortal, he shouted, “Aer densatur—prohibere movere!” [“The air thickens—stop moving!”]
The terrifying being turned its black, soulless eyes in his direction; rivulets of blood were splashed across his pale, marble-like face. The Romani witch caught sight of sharp, glistening fangs jutting menacingly from the immortal’s sneering mouth.
A blood-drinker! Hecate, grant me strength!“Prohibere movere!” the Romani witch shouted again, pointing with intention. Sweat built upon his brow as he concentrated, focusing on the desired target of his spellwork.
Just as the immortal began to glide toward the magical threat with an air of malevolent intent, poised to strike and kill the spellcaster, he suddenly felt an overpowering inertia come over him as if ensnared in a thick cocoon of viscous honey. Each movement, each stretch, was like wading through quicksand.
The Romani witch’s spell had finally immobilized his foe, rendering the immortal helpless, rooted to the spot.
“Beloved!” Rufus cried out amid the din and confusion. “Where are you?!” He worried that his voice would be drowned out by the scores of shouting men, screaming women, and crying children attempting to escape the massacre.
“Over here!” the Romani witch yelled, waving his hands in the air.
Entering the chaos, Rufus was stunned by the butchery and devastation that defiled his once-beautiful home. The men he knew to be strong and virile all lay dead upon the ground, their hardly used iron weapons, whether sword, axe or spear, all broken and strewn around their corpses. Fires blazed everywhere, consuming buildings and leaving destruction in their wake. Even his and Gian’s tavern was on the verge of collapse, engulfed by the relentless, unforgiving flames.
“Who could have done this?” Rufus gasped in horror and disbelief.
The Romani witch watched from across the village centre as his beloved stood frozen in place, weeping at the death and devastation all around him. This was his Aeneas, his soul shining through, a man with a gentle heart and a profound abhorrence of hatred and violence.
