Leif swung a narrow sword over his right shoulder. His arm streamed through the air as he held the metal as if it had always been there. His body flowed as a melody would if it possessed physical form. He flipped the hilt of the sword in his hand and thrust the point toward the ground, stopping an inch before it pierced the wood floor.

   "This is a glaudius. Bloody good one. It's steel," Leif explained. "It can't kill us. Most of these weapons are made of hard metals— bronze, iron or steel."

   "They are meant to withstand brute force in battle," Ezra continued. "But the most it can do is slow us down. If you want to kill an Avati, you have to use silver."

   "Silver? Isn't that a bit cliché?"

   Leif huffed. "Of course it is. Silver is strewn throughout thousands of years of mythology for a reason."

   "But silver is a soft metal and won't be of much use against any one of these," Ezra said gesturing toward his wall of weaponry. It looked like a shiny wall of death.

   I considered the showcase of weapons before me. "So if a mortal were to stab one of us with silver what would happen?"

   "Nothing," he answered. "Oh, it would hurt like hell but no more than any other metal. Silver is highly conductive. It's the most conductive metal for electrical current. Electricity is our life force; it's in every cell in our bodies. To kill an Avati, the electrical impulses that sustain us must be interrupted. Drained."

   He picked up the gladius feeling the balance of weight in his hand. An expression I'd never seen before flitted across his features for an instant and then disappeared. "The electrical current from the attacker's body travels through the silver and arcs with the victim's. Then the attacker's body..." he paused, searching for something. "I don't know how to describe it... It acts as a kind of sieve."

   Leif continued, "Their energy surges into the silver and through the attacker's body like a conduit. The more fatal the injury, the faster the person's energy is drained and absorbed into the earth."

   "It's excruciating. More than you can imagine. The death of an Avati is very rare," Ezra said, he sounded like he was trying to be reassuring. "And not just because of the pain. There's always a cost. When the energy from the victim's body is drained, it takes some of the attacker's with it. The older and more powerful the Avati is the more energy they lose, the greater the risk. That's the price. It takes weeks or months to fully recover if it doesn't kill them outright. Sometimes both die. No Avati would put themselves in such risk unless they had no other choice."

   Leif nodded. "That is when we are most vulnerable if we have any enemies."

   "We don't attack or kill each other lightly or without considerable cause," Ezra said.

   Considerable cause? The words sounded reasonable and yet toothless. What is considerable cause? What is one man's weighed against another's, or a society's? What about from civilization to civilization? I wasn't sure what kind of answer I was searching for.

   I stood and approached Ezra's blades. I picked up a long wooden carving. It was about a foot long and carved like some kind of fish, resting on ornately designed metal fins. There were two metal pins at the top. I pushed one of them down and slid out a long curved knife. The opposite end revealed a deadly two-pronged fork.

   "Wood handles won't work, or bone. You can't use spears or bullets either," Ezra explained as he watched my hand tilt the blade in the sunlight. "It would have to be cast entirely of silver and maintain constant contact with the user's skin to complete the current."

    "Have either of you ever killed another Avati?" My eyes shifting from one to the other. Leif shook his head no.

   Ezra's looked from Leif to me. He nodded once, "One."

   Instinct told me that was as far as Ezra was going to go in explanations for the day. "So, what now?" I asked.

   "You should start to learn to fight," Leif quickly answered. "It might help against any mortals who attack you."

   "But it won't..." Ezra began

   "Protect me against an Avati. I know."

   Ezra walked to me and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. "But it may help you borrow some time. You're not worried, are you? I got you into this. I'd do anything in my power to keep you safe."

   Leif took the glaudius and placed it back on the wall. "I'd love to see someone try to get past you." We smiled at each other until Leif groaned.

   "I think I'll head home now," he mumbled, heading for the door. Ezra shrugged, and we followed him outside.

   Leif slid into the driver's seat of his car. "Combat lessons. This should be fun. I've learned a few new tricks since we last sparred, Old Man."

   Ezra chuckled like a little boy.

   "You know, it's not just about strength, Brother."

   "How strong are you?" I asked Ezra.

   He reached over and pushed with his right hand against the door of Leif's car. A large dent sank beneath his palm. I gasped. Leif's jaw flew open. He leaned out the window and gaped at the deep impression in the door.

   "You... I..."

   Ezra cocked an eyebrow in Leif's direction. "Next time, knock."

   Weeks turned into months as we settled into a rhythm of research and defense lessons— we, the three immortals of Portland.

   Leif had me standing on a steep hill in an attempt to get me accustomed to uneven terrain. My job was to try to grab his arm as it swung toward me while stepping forward on the ball of my left foot. Then I had to connect the shin of my right leg to the back of his calf striking his Achilles tendon in an attempt to sweep him off his feet. I was able to make contact so far, but I'd been unable to get close to knocking him over. I was never athletic, and the short bursts of strength was a new, unaccustomed feeling.

   Ezra stood a few feet behind me, watching with both intensity and amusement. Fortunately, he didn't try to jump in with helpful comments every time I made a failed kick, as men so often like to do. This was difficult enough.

   Leif swept his arm through the air and down toward my neck. I grabbed his arm and swept hard with my right foot. My shin connected with the back of his calf and swept his foot off the ground several inches but he steadied quickly and didn't fall. Damn.

   Leif grinned at me, "Better." I suppressed the urge to grumble.

   I stepped back a few inches and before blocking his arm as it flew at me again. I shifted my weight to the ball of my left foot and swung with my right. Leif suddenly swiveled clockwise away from me. My foot met with air where his leg had been less than a second before. I twisted and landed hard on my foot unbalanced. The steep hill worked against me as my leg slipped on the loose dirt and I pitched backwards. I flung my arms out as I tried to catch myself.

   Leif's hands flew out to catch me, grabbing me inches before I hit the ground.

    The sharp stench of vinegar followed almost a putrid rank smell. I turned and blinked as I saw what looked like clumps of sawdust scattered along the floor. Next to me on a small table was a bowl of vinegar with a small lump of something soaking in it... a small sponge or rag. I heard someone make a rough gulping sound and I turned in its direction. Leif was on his back on some kind of a small platform. I hesitate to describe it as a bed, but clearly, that's what it was intended to be. A thin filthy blanket covered his body, and his blond hair was dark with sweat. Deep purple festering blisters marred his usually smooth skin.

   The smell was overwhelming, feces and sweat mixed with rotting meat. Behind me, a woman knitted quietly in a hard-backed chair. She wore a rose-colored cloth over her hair that draped down below her shoulders.

   I felt Leif tighten his grip on my upper arms as he pulled me upright.

   I jumped as the door was thrust open, and two men strode noisily into the room. They glanced around quickly and walked toward Leif. The taller man nodded to the other as he bent down to grab Leif' s ankles. The second man reached under his shoulders and hoisted him up by his arms.

   The woman leapt to her feet in outrage. "He's not dead yet!"

   The first man grunted as he lifted Leif, straining from his dead weight. "No," he answered, "but he will be. We'll take him now." They carried him through the door and tossed him into a small wooden wagon already loaded with two other bodies.

  I felt my feet rest on solid ground and a sharp pain shot up through my ankle. I blinked in surprise, and the vision vanished. My stomach lurched as the memory of the smell lingered. Ezra was standing next to me, his gaze on my raised foot. Leif's eyes were on my face.

   "Sorry, sudden impulse," he uttered after a quick pause. "What did you see?" he asked a touch too eagerly with a sharp quiver of excitement in his voice. Ezra shot up in surprise.

   I shook my head. "There was a plague. You looked awful. Some men came in and took you away even though you weren't dead yet. They threw you in a cart. Were they going to bury you alive?"

   Leif nodded and shrugged. "Tours, France. Not my best moment. They buried me in a mass grave with the rest of the bodies. There were dozens of bodies littering the streets. It was the best way to deal with them."

   My heart drummed then stopped as I unwillingly imagined Leif sweating and gasping for air beneath dozens of rotting, festering corpses. My stomach lurched again.

   "That was when we met. Thirteen forty... something. Maybe later." Leif looked nostalgic. Ezra chuckled lightly. "I had to dig through dozens of bodies to get to him. You're welcome by the way."

   "Wait, was that the third time you had been buried alive?" I asked, remembering our discussion about digging out of graves.

   He nodded. "And the last."

   Ezra bent back down to examine my ankle. I winced as his fingers probed the soft tissue. He clucked his tongue, "It will take at least a couple days to heal. Enough lessons for a while."

   I was reading the book of Hungarian legends, my swollen foot propped up on a pillow on Ezra's lap. His hand absentmindedly rubbed along my lower leg on occasion.

   Ezra and Leif had the rubbing of the inscription Leif brought back from Athens spread out on the table before them. They had already spent the past two days examining the digital photograph of the stone. Now, they were pouring over the text and debating the translation... again. This time Ezra was comparing it to a fifteenth-century text of something from his library.

   Asclepius had risen from a mortal to become the god of medicine in ancient Greece. He had a miraculous talent for healing until Zeus executed him in anger. Acolytes had erected healing temples dedicated to Asclepius across the ancient world.

   The legend of Asclepius was well known among the Avati. Devotion to mortals and interest in medicine was unusual for the time. It had raised a few eyebrows, mainly since immortals had no use for medicine. Known as a recluse, most considered him to be an eccentric hermit and left him alone. Asclepius had dropped out of Avati society and disappeared before the reign of Alexander the Great.

   Leif sighed as he leaned back into his chair. He reached over and pulled out a metal flask from the coat flung over the arm of the sofa. He unscrewed the cap and moaned softly as he breathed in the scent.

   "This is the last of my Macallan 1926." He brought the flask to his nose and inhaled again. "There are few things better in the world than a truly fine scotch."

   His voice dripped with longing as he emptied the contents into his glass. He set the whiskey gently on the table, and he returned the flask to his coat pocket.

   I casually reached over and picked up the glass, throwing my head back as I downed the drink in one gulp. Leif froze. The only part of him that moved was his mouth, ever-widening.

   "What. Did. You. Just. Do?" He spat, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

   "Sorry," I shrugged. "Sudden impulse." Ezra's shoulders shook as he bent over the table in front of him.

   Leif picked up the empty glass and peered desperately into its bottom. "She drank all my scotch." He mourned pitifully then rubbed his finger along the inside of the glass and put it in his mouth to suck on. He turned his eyes on me and glowered menacingly. Ezra's shoulders shook harder. Leif huffed at us and stood up, walking toward the library door.

   "I'm drinking your Cheval Blanc." Ezra's head shot up in Leif's direction.

   "Not the '47!"

   "You know that's going to be the first one he grabs," I said.

   Ezra leaned over and kissed me toothily while he laughed. "It's worth it."

   Leif came back in with the 1947 wine bottle and three glasses. He pulled the cork out with his teeth before pouring liberally. They both took a drink before bending over the text again.   

   I sipped the wine and listened vaguely as they discussed the nuances of each word in Greek and the translation. As a professional translator, I knew I should be actively interested in the discussion, but I wasn't. I'd heard it before. Their voices disappeared into the background as I buried myself in a chapter about Göncöl the táltos. I was familiar with the legend of the mystic's transformation into a constellation.

   As I continued to read down the page, my pulse quickened, my heart drumming wildly from my chest and radiating out to the rest of my limbs. Ezra looked at me, his brow heavy with concern. "What's wrong?"

   I sat up. "Táltos!"

   "What?" Leif asked with a shake of his head.

   "Táltos,"

   "Who is Táltos?" Leif demanded, still confused. Ezra gave him a look of disbelief and pity. "What? I don't know Hungarian folklore. I spent most of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in England."

   "A táltos is a kind of mystical holy man or shaman," I explained, "but more powerful. They had direct communication with God before they are born and had an extraordinary knowledge of healing and medicine as well as treasure hunting. They were raised in secret and educated by shamans. They never settled down but spent their entire lives traveling from village to village."

   Ezra finished for me when I paused, staring at the book again. "They are identified by being born with teeth or with extra fingers." 

   My excitement was rising. I don't know why I hadn't seen it before. "Göncöl was one of the most powerful táltoses ever to exist. His knowledge of healing was infinite. He traveled with a cart filled with magical remedies for any ailment. One day he disappeared. The legend says he journeyed to the stars and became a constellation. The Big Dipper is Göncöl's Cart."   

   Ezra nodded, "The legend could be about an Avati."

   "It's not just that." I wasn't explaining this very well. "Asclepius was the god of medicine." I pointed to the rubbing of the inscription they had been discussing. "He was rescued from his mother's womb by Apollo and raised by Chiron the centaur. He was a healer. He had incredible skill in medicine, so skilled he could even bring the dead back to life. After he died, he was transformed into a god and became a constellation in the sky."

   Leif and Ezra looked at each other. I continued, "Both were born human. Both were taken away as infants and raised in secret by powerful mystics who oversaw their education. Both were masters of healing and medicine who traveled the world devoting their lives to helping the sick and dying. Both became constellations in the night sky."

   I took a deep breath. "It's the same story. It's the same person."

   "Could be. If it is the same person, who is immortal and lived part of his life in secret..." Leif began. Ezra finished his thought, "...and if he truly does have some kind of supernatural ability to heal mortals, then he could be like Kaja."

   Leif laughed and winked at me. "Whatever she is."

   I smiled to myself. "I think we found who we've been looking for."

   Ezra frowned. "The question is, who is he?"

     My ankle continued to swell over the next few hours until Ezra insisted on taking  me to the hospital. I protested. I hated hospitals and didn't relish the idea of spending hours in a waiting room, but eventually I had to relent. Despite Leif and Ezra's best intentions, they had very little skill at first aid and no painkillers in the house. Why would they? Even the plague was a minor inconvenience.

   Hours later, I was waiting near the entrance of the hospital, ankle expertly bandages and a bottle of anti-inflammatory drugs for the swelling. As I waited for Ezra to bring the car, I tested my ankle, gently twisting it from side to side. Electricity bloomed across my cheekbones and around my ears to my neck. I looked out the glass doors expectantly but didn't see Ezra. I turned and looked back the opposite way down the hallway but still nothing. I stood up, hobbling to the doors, and saw Ezra round the corner and pull the car to a stop in front of me.

   As Ezra bundled me into the car, I suggested we just go to my apartment. It was only a few blocks away, and I was too exhausted to make the forty-five-minute trip back to his house.

   I stepped out of the car a few minutes later in front of my apartment, balancing on one foot. Ezra moved to pick me up as I made my way to the building's main door.

    "I got it," I said as I slipped my key into the lock. He backed up and watched me shift my weight to pull the door open. I jumped a few steps to the stairs, braced myself on the bannister and I hopped with one foot to the first step.

    "You don't have to hop the whole way. I can carry you."

    "No, thank you. I'm doing alright." I braced myself and hopped a couple more steps.

   "Would you like a cane?" he asked in a snarky voice. "I could whittle one out of a tree branch for you before you managed to reach the top."   

    "That would be great. Why don't you go do that?"

   Ezra climbed a few steps behind me and groan with an exasperated sigh. "How about some inspirational music?"

    "Aren't you supposed to be whittling something?" I clutched the rail and pulled myself up another step.

   Another sigh. "I know I'm not ageing, but at this rate, I might." He followed me up a couple more steps. "Kaja, why don't you just let me carry you?"

    "Because it's more fun not to."

   I heard a low growl. Ezra grabbed my arm and swung me effortlessly over his shoulder. "You'll just have to learn to live with the disappointment."

   I laughed as I tried to keep balanced on his shoulder. The angle was a bit unsettling, but his grip was firm on my legs as he sped up three flights of stairs. Once inside my apartment, he gently lowered me to the floor, leaving his hands at my waist.

    "You're a barbarian." 

    "Yes. You are Avati-married to a man from the stone age."

    "Men from the stone age weren't barbarians."

    "You're right," he smiled. "Just me."

   A few months ago, the very idea of being married would have sent me spinning into a panic. Maybe I just didn't register it, given the cultural differences of the Avati from my generation. I marveled at how much could change in a few short weeks.

   He bent down to kiss me deeply. My body had a mind of its own and needed no encouragement from me and pressed against his. His hands drifted up to my neck before cupping themselves on either side of my face.

   I don't know how long it took us to reach the bedroom, five minutes, maybe an hour. Ezra's mouth trailed expertly down my neck sending shivers cascading down my right side as the tips of his fingers explored my skin. His hand slowly moved down to unbutton my jeans. His fingers moved between my legs spreading heat up through my abdomen. My heart thrummed in a rapid staccato.

   The ground vibrated slightly beneath my feet. In the distance, I heard men shouting and women screaming. Another woman nearby was wailing frantically. Something was wrong. I flattened against a wall in a panic, searching for the source. I was in a room with rough wooden walls, and a small fire was burning in a clay fire pit. Tension and terror permeated the room. Straw and cumin wafted toward me, followed by the smell of smoke. Ezra stood a few feet away, and I felt a wash of relief sweep over me. He had long hair tied away from his face and a short sword in his right hand. His left hand was tightened around the throat of a man kneeling in front of him. Ezra lifted the sword and sank it smoothly into the man's chest. The sword made a wet scratching sound as it dug into the man's ribs. The man groaned, and blood gurgled with a wet popping sound out of his mouth.   

   I threw myself into the corner of the room, confusion and terror taking control. Ezra pushed the man away from him. The top of his head landed in the cooking fire. I heard a soft whimpering to my right. I turned to see a woman burying herself into the corner, her position mirroring my own. She trembled as her breath came out in short gasps.

   Ezra walked toward her easily, casually. He transferred the sword to his left hand and pulled out a bronze dagger with his right. He stood in front of her for a moment, her eyes burrowed into his, and arced the blade across her throat. He turned away from her before her body slumped to the ground. I gasped in disbelief then felt the muscles in my thighs shake.  

   A soft squawk emanated from a pile of cloth under a short wooden table, and I turned in horror to the mound of fabric. There was a soft hiccup followed by a tiny whimper. Ezra froze near the pile. His head didn't move; only his eyes turned toward the sound.

   I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn't stop trembling. My throat clenched, closing off the air to my lungs as I watched Ezra's unmoving body stand like a sentry in the room, listening.

   Ezra's hand move gently along my stomach under my shirt, and I flinched away from him. Ezra pulled back from me, resting on his knees as the vision disappeared. His brows knit in confusion. I squirmed in terror away from him, pressing myself against the headboard.

   His confusion vanished, and he backed away from me with a look of finality.

    "You..." I gasped. My throat was still clenched. "I..." my mind wouldn't allow what I had seen to form into coherent thoughts.

   I tried to breathe. "What did you do?" He didn't answer. "You killed them."

   He closed his eyes and lowered his head. The muscles in his shoulders and arms grew rigid, both hands clutched around the blanket.

    "Why?" I finally asked.

    "Because I could. Because I was strong, and they were weak. Because there was nothing they could do to stop me."

   I didn't understand.

    "Because I could," he repeated slowly. "They were small and helpless. I spent lifetime after lifetime wiping their mouths and cleaning up their shit. Hundreds of years of having my throat slit because the meat wasn't spiced enough." His voice, his face, his hands, everything radiated hostility. "They were weak. They were mortals, and I was a god!"

    "You are not a god."

   "Ask me the question you really want to know."

   I didn't speak. I didn't move.

   "Did I enjoy it?" he said slowly, stressing every word. I watched his face change as a rapid stream of emotions washed over him... all of them mocking, bitter, and fierce.

   His drew his eyebrows up a fraction as he leaned toward me. "Yes."

    "Get out."

   He watched me for a couple more seconds before he got off the bed and slowly walked out the door.

Well, that didn't go over too well, did it?

TEASER: "You can't hide. I can feel you."