18. CORIOLANUS

CORIOLANUS

The Past

S INCE Olympius’ departure, Coriolanus walked much of the crumbling city, surveying the destruction and revelling in his army’s victory. He had given the order to fall back and regroup at their designated meeting place at the north edge of the valley; they had won the day, their statement of formidableness made.

Rome was their primary target.

Even the incorrigible ones who wished for continued glorious battle fell in line after being confronted by their leader, Gaius , whose charisma and intensity made short work of their insubordinate disposition. No man had the temerity to question his authority; the soldiers admired and respected their bold leader.

Just as he was about to take to the sky and return to the hill to await Olympius’ return, Coriolanus heard a piercing cry of pain ring out into the night. It sounded familiar, like one he had induced in a particular person earlier.

It was Aufidius, and he was screaming Coriolanus’ name repeatedly. But it was a howl not steeped in rage or condemnation but in abject terror. It was a desperate plea for help.

Why is Aufidius crying out for me? It made no sense, but the god’s interest peaked; he had to investigate to assuage his curiosity. Coriolanus could not see himself aiding his betrayer for any reason; not even his mother deserved his help should she also require assistance—this was the warrior-god’s unwavering stance. However, he was highly perplexed as to why, of all avenues, including well-paid guards and obedient servants, Aufidius would seek him out, the former lover he now saw as a demon.

Without further internal debate, curiosity urging him on, Coriolanus took to the sky and whisked himself over to the home of his former mortal lover. But upon entering through the window of Aufidius’ private chambers once again, the god was unprepared for what awaited him.

Coriolanus saw his mother’s corpse lying on the blood-smeared marble floor, her heart ripped from her chest, though the organ was nowhere in the visible vicinity. Her battered face, horribly discoloured from bruising and what looked to be strangulation marks, was a death mask of pure fright and disbelief, a horrific expression frozen in place.

Upon the lectus, atop blood-soaked linens, once the finest of wares, lay Aufidius, gasping for breath, his once massive, robust body savaged beyond belief. Far worse had been done to him than the broken limbs and bashed face the warrior-god had left him with earlier.

Coriolanus figured a small contingent of his men, the more brutal ones, must have got past the guards stationed at the front gate of the domus. But the savagery of the situation had him questioning that hypothesis. What kind of mortal man possessed the strength to rip out a heart from a human body? And torn out it was. Coriolanus scrutinized the gaping wound with his godly eyes and saw no evidence of cut marks made by a sword or dagger.

Realizing that Aufidius was in his death throes, Coriolanus raced over to the lectus. He brought his betrayer’s brutalized face up to meet him. The barely alive man had no nose or eyes; nothing was displayed but black emptiness, bone, and gore. Aufidius could not speak, his jaw horribly dislocated, but the god did not need a mortal’s speech to relay information. Coriolanus connected to his former lover’s mind before the man gave up his final breath.

And the god quickly wished he had not!

Jerking back violently, he immediately severed the mental connection to the now corpse. A jolt of intense, bitter coldness had pierced through his body like a spear when Aufidius’ dying mind, with its chaotic memories, revealed the face of the one who perpetrated this violence. It was the last face he expected to see.

Olympius, what have you done?

Coriolanus was stunned and overwhelmed by this undesirable information. He desperately wanted to distrust his senses, his mind’s power, and especially the dying mortal’s fractured memories. Believing his Maker had gone behind his back and done what he felt was right—to rectify a supposed poor decision made by his progeny—was something too unthinkable to Coriolanus. It was too painful to accept.

Why would you do this? I do not understand. I told you why I let them live. It was not forgiveness or compassion. It was to let them suffer with memory and regret. You disagreed, yes, yet stated I was not a puppet. You sought to understand my individuality and my choices. Was it all a lie?

“It was my choice, Olympius, and you took that from me!”

Coriolanus, in a moment of madness brought on by rage and hurt, grossly reminded of how others had betrayed his trust, picked up the chamber bed with Aufidius’ corpse atop it and hurled it through the north-facing wall; it plummeted to the courtyard below, shattered stone, wood, and marble trailing behind it.

Though the aggressive act did little to quell his outrage, Coriolanus held on to his intellect and reigned in his more impulsive urges to lash out further. It would get him nothing to punish dead bodies. If not for Aufidius’ pathetic cry for aid, Coriolanus would never have discovered this betrayal of trust .

The god considered whether confronting Olympius with this discovery would get him anything. He turned to the decrepit, lifeless shell of his mother, staring at her in disgust.

“He will never admit to it, Mother,” Coriolanus huffed. “Like you, he thinks he knows what is best in all things. And the Romans are arrogant?! His conceit in being older, more experienced and wiser will be his silent justification for overruling my decision.

“And asking to peer into his mind is pointless, Mother, for he is too powerful. He could easily block those memories without me sensing it. Even the merging of our souls has never been enough to break through the many closed doors in Olympius’ mind.”

Coriolanus felt powerless and furious, but ultimately, he was saddened and disappointed. He was deeply in love with Olympius, and although he was willing to forgive and keep quiet about what had happened, as he saw no other option to avoid unpleasantness with his Maker, he would never forget this moment and, regretfully, be more cautious and guarded going forward.

A crack had formed in the foundation of their relationship. It was tiny but evident, and it had the potential to expand should The Fates be cruel.

In the distance, having returned from his sojourn, Olympius waited impatiently at the hill for his beloved. Suddenly, coming from somewhere in the distance and from a direction even his godly hearing could not pinpoint, he swore he heard the faint sound of laughter.