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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

BOOK: Etruscans
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“The Serpent People could not outfight the Children of the Bear but they were far more clever. In the fighting that followed, my ancestors were defeated. They fled their home forests and at last reached this region, only to find it was already inhabited by an ancient and venerable tribe who practiced a form of magic involving the spirits of the stones. They tolerated us as long as we respected their customs and did not desecrate their sacred sites.
“We were weary of running, so we stayed. A few of the Serpent People pursued us almost this far, but they would not go near the sacred sites of the stone-magicians.
Eventually they went back across the mountains to the land they had stolen from us. In the seasons that followed we waged constant war with the serpent folk, harrying them along the rivers that bordered the two lands. As time went by, they changed: they were no longer as cunning, no longer as fast or as deadly … but we had changed too; we were no longer powerful and virile. So there came a time when the descendants of the serpent folk simply disappeared from our lands. But by then there was no going back for us; we had become men and women. Our bear-spirits simply … faded away.” The hunter touched his scarred flesh. “Though bears are with us still,” he added somewhat ruefully.
Repana understood more of Wulv's simple tale than he knew. The Silver People had legends of their own origin that were not totally dissimilar, stories of an era when existence had been in a state of flux, with flesh and spirit interchangeable. The ancestors of the Etruscans had, of course, been nothing so crude as bears or serpents. In ancient times the Ais had invaded their bodies and minds, impregnating them with the divine. Thus the Etruscans became the embodiment of all that was fine and noble, avatars of love and war and wisdom transcending mortal limitations. They could interpenetrate the various planes of existence at will, wearing their flesh into the Otherworld or reclaiming their
hia
from the Netherworld.
Slowly, choosing her words with care, Repana tried to explain this to Wulv, so he would understand the natural superiority of herself and Vesi. But he had the sort of blunt and basic mind that kept asking irritating questions.
“Why can't you still do that?” he wanted to know. “If the Etruscans are almost gods, why can't you move instantly from place to place without needing either protection or a guide?”
“The
Ais
are easily bored,” Repana replied, speaking as patiently as to a child, “so all things change after a
time. For their own reasons the gods chose to alter the relationship between flesh and spirit. Some of our ancestral
hia
were permanently lodged in mortal form, becoming the tribes of Etruria. The best of them, of course, became the Rasne, my own people. Other
hia
retained an independent existence. They never put on flesh; they never accepted mortal limitations.
“The men and women of Etruria revered their ancestors, as they should. These were beings who had been almost gods. But this competing homage made the Ais jealous. By way of retaliation they caused some ancestral
hia
to embody all the vices of humankind but none of the virtues. Thus were the
siu
created, to keep us torn between good and evil.”
Repana glanced sidelong at her daughter. “And the
siu,
like the
Ais,
are with us always. Each cruelty, every crime, has, at its heart, a
siu
.”
At this the girl entered the conversation. “The people your ancestors found when they first came here—were they Etruscan?” she asked Wulv.
The Teumetian shook his head. “I don't think so. The Etruscans began somewhere to the east, or so the stories of my people claim. They settled here later. They are a very different race from the stone-magicians.”
“Then what happened to the stone-magicians?”
“I don't know. Some of our elders believe they simply melted into their stones,” Wulv concluded in a hushed voice. He glanced out into the night, fingers touching the bone amulets stitched into his clothing.
Silence filled the hut, a silence permeated with invisible beings who must be taken into account and ancient events that continued to affect the present. Only the little fire dared to hiss.
T
he five cloaked beings were not accustomed to running, but now they ran, seeking a place where they could learn the extent of their comrade's injuries in safety. There was always the chance that the Rasne might send armed warriors after them. The awe they had sought to exude through sheer mental power obviously did not work equally on all the Silver People, as the guard's action had shown.
If they fell, they would have failed Pythia. Then even death might not protect them from her anger.
They set out toward the nearest river, the Tiber, to seek aid. Water was sacred to Pythia. Certain rivers had special powers, not the least of which was the ability to cure followers of the dark goddess. Or so her acolytes believed. The time had come to put that belief to the test.
The one they dragged made no sound. He might already be dead, but was at least beyond feeling pain.
They stopped long enough to shoulder him like a sack of meal, then hurried on. The last in line kept turning back to watch for the pursuit that never came.
As he recovered from the shock he had endured, the being in the cave grew increasingly hungry. He was now afraid to return to the Otherworld; she was surely waiting there to exact her punishment. But if he remained in the Earthworld, the flesh he had acquired at such cost must be nourished.
He began to lust for food.
He allowed his consciousness to roam into the forest beyond the cave, seeking a developed life-form. He could subsist off the flesh and spirits of birds and beasts, but they provided insufficient energy. He needed richer fare.
Gradually he became aware of the existence of the six. Though still some distance away they were headed in his direction and one was seriously wounded. Its life force was bleeding away.
Gathering himself, the
siu
left the cave. Sustenance must not be wasted.
By the time the five reached the river, all semblance of life had left their comrade. Without hesitation they plunged down the bank anyway, intending to immerse the body in the water and beseech holy Tiber to restore him. But the task that awaited them was not an easy one. Yesterday's storm had swollen the Tiber to flood strength and now it rushed headlong between its banks, hissing like an angry serpent. The five struggled to keep their footing on the muddy bank while lowering their companion into the river.
Abruptly, his robe ballooned as water flowed beneath the fabric. Within moments he was torn from their
grasp. The rampaging river whirled the body away, tossing it like a log in the current, sending it spinning down the river course to disappear around the nearest bend.
Only a short distance below the bend, the being from the cave trotted along the riverbank, anxious eyes searching.
He stopped abruptly and scanned the river.
The Tiber was carrying an appalling mass of tree branches and uprooted bushes toward him. The
siu
ignored the debris, his attention arrested by someone caught in the flood. As he watched, the river tossed the body of its helpless victim to and fro. The flailing limbs provided a spurious life that excited the
siu
almost beyond bearing. He began to run along the bank in hot pursuit. Food!
Energy!
The river course narrowed, the water boiling white through a defile. The body tumbled in the rapids and then paused, snagged on an outcropping of stone. To the
siu
watching anxiously from the riverbank, it appeared as if the figure in the water had caught hold of the rocks to save itself.
The
siu
eagerly waded into the river to claim his prize.
The pure water of the Tiber shrank from his glaucous flesh. But he managed to catch one end of the sodden robe and drag the body onto shore, hauling it through mud and briars with apparent ease. Grinning, the
siu
crouched to examine his catch.
The corpse's hood had become dislodged. A thin patina of serpentine scales covered his flattened, almost triangular skull.
The
siu
spat in disgust. He knew these creatures of old and considered them abominations. He should cast this one back into the river. But he hungered, hungered desperately for the life he thought the body still contained.
Losing control of his greed, he tore off gobbets of flesh and thrust them into his mouth while he dug for the
heart. It was not the meat he craved, but the living essence. He chewed perfunctorily, then gulped, swallowing hard … and gagged violently as a shudder ran through him.
There was no essence of life.
The only essence was death.
He had ingested dead fesh!
Abandoning his prey, he staggered away from the river. Twice in a short period of time the
siu
had joined himself not with life but with death. First with the boar, now with this creature. Slow black waves rolled through his body, battering at his consciousness, leaching away his personality, his memories.
He was …
He was …
He …
As the madness claimed him, the violence of his derangement sent a shrill discord jangling through the Otherworld. Those who heard and understood the sound laughed at his pain.
Thoughts flowed around Pepan; he swam through them as through water. He had a sense of millions of swarming intellects, some sparkling like fireflies, others as dull and muddy as frog spawn. This was a plane separate from, yet impinging upon, the reality he knew. The consciousness of Earthworld trees and plants cast constantly changing reflections here, and the movement of every Earthworld animal caused a parallel vibration in the invisible realm.
Looking down at himself, Pepan discovered that an image of his body continued to cling to his spirit like the afterimage of the sun on one's eyeballs. He also became aware that his
hia
was sending out an auditory signal as distinctive as birdsong, a deep, musical ululation that echoed through the Otherworld. This was the song of his soul.
Pepan's call was soon answered. A dense cloud materialized in the distance, pulsing with a rhythmic beat as familiar as his own heartbeat had been. Without even thinking about it, he recognized the sound and knew its source, listened as his own sound melded and became part of the greater symphony. His ancestors were coming for him …
Abruptly Pepan's attention was distracted by a faint and very different signal coming from the opposite direction.
A mere thread of music, lyrical and heartbreakingly sweet, it evoked a powerful response in Pepan.
Three strains in delicate harmony, soaring together. They were not his family, yet he recognized them with a loving heart.
Repana.
Vesi.
And the child!
The child already quickened within her then. So soon …
Separated from them by death, Pepan felt more concerned about them than ever. In the Otherworld everything touched upon everything else, so perhaps he could continue to have influence on their lives. Perhaps he could finish what he had set out to do: protect Repana and Vesi … and the baby.
With this thought uppermost he hurried to intercept his escort, eager to explain what he required of them.
“T
he child is growing far too fast,” Wulv told Repana. “I have had little experience in such matters, but I know a woman should not swell like that. Not so soon, so quickly.”
Repana cast a critical eye toward her daughter. The Teumetian was right; he had confirmed what she had only suspected. After only a few days Vesi's belly was already large enough to contain a seven months' child. Had it been the siring of a human father such development would have been frighteningly abnormal.
The father was not human.
But she did not want to admit this to Wulv. How could she admit to this primitive woodsman that her daughter was carrying a demon's child? Such an admission to one's inferior would be extremely embarrassing. And who knew how he might react? Those like him were superstitious brutes. He might slay them out of hand; she dare not take the chance. “My daughter has
probably been pregnant for longer than anyone thought,” she said. “It is easy to misjudge such events.”
Wulv was saying, “Only yesterday her belly was almost flat.”
“Sometimes that happens,” Repana replied with a calm she did not feel. “Infants grow in spurts, you know.”
He looked dubious. “I've watched the breeding of animals. The unborn inside them grow slow and steady.”
“My daughter is not some beast!” Repana snapped. “I ask you to remember that she is Rasne.” The woman turned away before Wulv could ask any more awkward questions.
Vesi was aware of the child's extraordinary swelling within her. She knew she should feel terror at the very thought, but onrushing motherhood produced a calming effect. Whatever the baby's sire, the unborn was also part of her and she could not fear part of her own self. Sometimes she just sat beside the fire with her fingers laced across her rounded stomach and crooned to the child inside, promising to love it no matter what its nature might be.
Watching her, Repana wanted to cry, remembering the times she had sat before a fire, cradling her own stomach, murmuring to the infant Vesi within. She had wanted so much for her only daughter, had promised her so much. Now those dreams and promises would come to naught because of another child … the demon's child.
At night she lay on the bed of boughs and held her daughter in her arms. “There are ways,” she whispered, “of getting rid of the child if you want to. Herbal preparations I can concoct for you or a diffusion of hazel bark with …”
Vesi stiffened. “No. It is my child.”
“But …”
“No!”
“It might be a monster. You know that.”
“If I had been deformed in your womb—and you knew it—would you have gotten rid of me?”
By way of answer Repana simply clutched Vesi harder, unwilling to answer. The Rasne worshipped beauty. No mother ever wanted to be forced to use her sacrificial knife.
Traveling, Pepan discovered, was not the same in the Otherworld. Time and distance were measured differently. But that did not mean his
hia
enjoyed unhampered freedom of movement. As he tried to reach his ancestors, a peculiar viscosity wrapped itself around him, forming a barrier that he thrust against until it gave like a weakened membrane. He slipped through to find himself in what appeared to be a long tunnel. Translucent walls surrounded him, yet when he reached out to try to touch one he felt nothing.
Just ahead he could see the cloud that contained his kinsmen, but reaching them required a complex set of trial-and-error maneuvers. It was like learning to walk all over again, and he was elated at each small success.
Nearing the cloud, he tried to get some idea of its size. But its opaque mass constantly expanded and contracted. At the end of one of these contractions a form emerged.
My son
, said a voice without words.
The form flickered and … Pepan found himself gazing upon the face of his father, Zivas, former Lord of the Silver People. A gifted linguist, Zivas had studied and mastered the languages of a dozen other tribes, even those in Latium, for no reason other than the joy of learning. He displayed the characteristic long-lidded eyes and aquiline nose that marked their family, but his visage was slightly faded, like mosaic tiles that had been too long in the sun.
Is it really you?
Pepan wanted to know, reaching out. Then he peered eagerly over his father's shoulder.
Is Mother with you?
Zivas gestured toward the cloud behind him.
Only one from each generation of the bloodline responds to a Dying. Your mother is safe with Veno in the Kingdom of the Dead. Come now; she is eager to welcome you.
Pepan strove to understand the details of this new existence.
If one from each generation is with you, does that mean your sire, and your grandsire, and …
By way of answer his father moved backward and the cloud swallowed him, expanded, contracted, and a new figure emerged. These features also bore the familial stamp, only more faded still.
I am your grandfather's grandfather. Within our bloodlines is carried the history of the Rasne. My immortal spirit is that of the warrior I once was when under my command Etrurians stood shoulder to shoulder with allies from the Attic nations and beat the Carthaginians to their knees. I returned home in triumph only to discover an invasion force from Latium had attacked our city in my absence. After I had driven them away, we held a festival of celebration and sacrificed to the
Ais.
Then we rebuilt our
spura
on undefiled ground according to the plans long ago set forth by my revered ancestor … .
The cloud convulsed, another figure replaced his and went on, the words blending into a lyrical paean
.
I am the Planner. From the talents the gods gave me sprang the great cities of Etruria, during the glory days when we spread out across this land. Whenever our warriors claimed new territory, I oversaw preparation of the most auspicious site the priests could identify, then laid out streets and drainage systems, designed buildings, and selected construction materials. In the blink of an eye I could envision an elaborate plan and know just how to bring it to fruition. So it was that the
mark of the Silver People was carved into the very stones of this country, as long ago foreseen by …
Almost instantly he was replaced by yet another form, one so faint Pepan could scarcely see it at all. In the tones of a woman this new image told him
, I am the Prophet. In my day the
Ais
spoke directly to us. We were not so proud then as we later became,
the voice added regretfully
. We were willing to listen.
In the reign of
Atys,
Son of Ghosts, the place in which we lived suffered a great famine. But by following the direction of the gods we were led out of starvation to this much more fertile region, where we grew and prospered. Life became more pleasant; we no longer had to struggle just to survive.
Then the
Ais
encouraged us to develop a sense of beauty so we could appreciate them more fully. Under their tutelage we developed our arts until eventually we became known as the Silver People.
Another voice interjected,
Generations of craftsmen such as myself have captured stunning images of the
Ais
in sculpture—some no larger than a thumb. We have designed jewelry beyond compare for our beautiful women; we have decorated our tombs with images of the dear dead so lifelike they almost breathe. Far beyond our borders the Rasne are famed for luxury and elegance. But all that we achieve is simply a gift from the gods, who love us.
The gods who love us,
echoed the Prophet.
Marveling, Pepan realized he was in the presence of the most able of his race. Just when he needed them
.
Using his new-found ability to speak without words, he struggled to communicate his problem
. There are two exiled women, Repana and her daughter, Vesi, who are very dear to me and are in great trouble. I want to help them, but I am new to this state of being, I do not know what abilities I may possess here. I ask you, my ancestors, to teach me. Help me to help my friends.
Why should we involve ourselves? The women you name are not your wife and daughter
, his warrior ancestor pointed out.
They are not our bloodline. They have their own ancestors.
But they are Rasne,
Pepan argued
, so we must share common ancestors.
A multitude of voices debated among themselves. Then, sounding faintly amused, the female voice of the Prophet spoke from within the cloud.
Some of us had many children. All rivers are born from the same rain.
Pepan said eagerly,
You will do as I ask then?
Because you ask it,
his father's voice replied
, and I could never refuse my sons anything.
The voice of the Planner countered,
If we do this, will you come with us afterward?
Instinct told him he could not lie to the dead.
I cannot say. I only know I cannot go to the Netherworld leaving things as they are.
The Prophet intoned,
You would not be the first who remained behind to conclude unfinished business.
But will he come afterwards?
someone demanded to know
.
Possibly. He is guided by love. The ability to love even after death is common to all
hia
and is the one emotion no
siu
can feel. Pepan invokes the love we bear him and asks us to extend it to those he loves. I say we shall.
The cloud roiled and from its depths came the sounds of not three or four but hundreds of voices, some little more than animalistic grunts. Pepan could tell some mighty argument was taking place. He waited, unable to measure the passage of time in a world where time was not, until at last the Prophet spoke to him again.
All things happen as they should
, she said.
Lead us
.
It was easier to move now that he had had some practice. He still had no sense of direction however, and when the Prophet bade him to lead them he was momentarily
uncertain. Then he heard once more that lovely, distant music and followed it eagerly.
As he approached the glade, he discovered that the circle of stones continually emitted a humming sound. At close range the hum distorted the music that guided him and set up a disturbing vibration in the Otherworld. That vibration could repel many entities. Pepan forced himself to go on.
At his back pulsed the opaque cloud.
Wulv lay on the ground just outside the shelter he had built for the women. Clothed in leather and bearskin, he looked like a wild animal himself. Pepan hovered over him long enough to ascertain that he was sleeping peacefully, then entered the hut.
Walls were no longer a barrier. The
hia
of the dead Rasne passed effortlessly through interlaced branches and chinked mud. Inside he found Repana and Vesi lying in each other's arms. Each was contributing a note to the Otherworld music that had guided him this far. Repana's identifying sound was rich and melodious; Vesi had a higher, clearer note, achingly pure in spite of all that had happened to her.
But it was their physical voices that caught Pepan's attention. He arrived just in time to overhear the conversation between mother and daughter about the possibility of aborting the infant. To his surprise, he felt their pain as sharply as if it were his own. Since he had no flesh to serve as a buffer, their emotion came into him naked and raw.
Vesi obviously cherished the unborn infant, but Repana secretly regarded it with resentment amounting to loathing. The child would begin life with every possible disadvantage. Like its mother it would be an exile with no property, no status—and the added curse of a demon father. Only the
Ais
knew what face it would wear in the world or what deformities of body or spirit it might carry. Pepan could understand Repana's reservations,
but life was sacred, even this life. He must do what he could to ease the way.
Silently he called out to the unseen cloud that had taken up a position in the center of the circle of stones.
This is the woman I should have wed. This girl should have become my daughter. I did not give them enough of myself in life, but I would rectify that now. Help me. Help us.
It has never been done …
Never been done …
Never
… .
When the argument raged into silence, the Prophet said simply,
Put your hand on her belly.
Pepan protested,
I have no hands now.
His grandfather replied,
The memory of your earthly body is still strong and we will add all our force to yours. It will be enough.
Pepan did as he was instructed and approached Vesi. His fingers were as transparent as glass when he held them up to his face; through them he could dimly see Vesi's body, as if she were made of slightly thicker mist. When he laid his palm—delicately, tentatively—on her mounded flesh he had no sensation of solidity. There seemed nothing to keep him from reaching farther, from reaching inside her and actually putting his hand on the womb. As he stared at her belly, its flesh became translucent and he could see the shape of the baby within.

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