Valley of the Shadow

by Michael Gardner

Klinge took a gulp of wine. “I’ll try,” he said.

  Solomon pulled the cork from the amphorae and refilled Klinge’s goblet. “Do you mind if I call you by your true name?”

  Klinge shrugged. “I suppose there’s no need to protect it now.”

  “Thank you... Erfinder.”

  * * *

  As promised, Solomon left Klinge’s door unlocked. Klinge wasn’t ready to leave. They spoke more. He found it peculiar to be called by his true name as he’d grown accustomed to his new one. He recalled the look in Cloelia’s eyes when he’d told her what ‘Klinge’ meant. Her eyelids had fluttered and her hand had brushed his groin, perhaps to see if there was a direct connection. Klinge knew women like Cloelia were trained in the seductive arts but he had enjoyed it all the same.

  Solomon offered him Cloelia again. Klinge admitted he was tempted but refused. He had much to do. When the time came, he would live out his life as a normal man with as many women as he wanted before he was released. He was now certain he understood his mission and felt honoured Phylasso had trusted him with this noble purpose.

  ~ Chapter 18 ~

  Gallia Aquitania (Southern France under the Roman Empire)

  260 AD

  Raven braced himself for the ordeal of birth. He’d never heard another Khryseoi speak of the passage from life to death and back again, only about the drawing of a new breath. Although he still couldn’t see, he knew he was no longer in the Valley of the Shadow. He felt his new flesh, the blood rushing through his veins, the warmth of the womb. His new mother wasn’t alone. He could hear muffled but urgent voices. It was time. He endured the constriction, the sense of suffocation and fought to emerge. Suddenly he was aware of his mother rather than himself. Her heartbeat was weak and she was burning with a fever. The voices urged her to push. She tried but her strength was almost spent. Raven’s need to breathe made his whole body ache. The sound of rushing blood was like the restless wind in the Valley of the Shadow and for a moment, he wondered if he was returning there.

  His mother found her strength and pushed hard. Raven felt his head emerge. He let his new lungs bellow. It felt good to test them out. After his last experience as a child, he knew his parents would be expecting their baby to cry. Satisfied with his wailing, he blinked and looked around as best he could. The room was dark and warm; a bright orange blur to one side was most likely a fire. He wondered where he had been born this time. He felt his mother give a final push and he emerged fully into the world. He was taken by enormous fingers and laid on a soft blanket. He felt a brief sting of pain as the umbilical cord was cut.

  “You have a boy.” A woman held him up in her arms. She didn’t give him to his mother. He heard his mother softly sobbing; joy, relief... he wasn’t sure. “He’s perfectly formed,” said the woman, still holding him. “There’s no sign of the plague.”

  He smacked his lips, suddenly feeling hungry.

  “Let me hold him, please, just once,” sobbed his mother quietly. He was passed into her arms and felt the warmth of her body, wet with sweat from the exertion. He felt her rough, dimpled hand touch his face. “Thank you,” she said.

  The first woman took him back and cradled him in the crook of her arm. “I’ll take good care of him, I promise.” She seemed familiar now they were close. Still unable to see properly, Raven used his nose. Her skin had a delicate scent. It took him a moment to recognise what it reminded him of: strawberries. She looked down and her face filled his vision: almond shaped eyes, flat nose, small full lips. Windsong.

  * * *

  Raven didn’t fight the desire to sleep and eat. He allowed himself to do both as much as he needed. Windsong fed him small sips of milk from a thimble. He remembered the strong sweet flavour of goat’s milk from his days growing up with Charis and Basileios. Whenever Charis had milked the goats to make cheese, she had given him a tiny cup. He remembered her as clearly as if they’d been separated for only a short time. He wondered how many years had passed, how long he had been in the Valley of the Shadow. He tried to speak but Windsong shushed him softly. “You need sleep, Raven,” she said, nestling him in a crib.

  Soon his eyesight cleared and his hearing sharpened. He watched her sometimes; when his body allowed him to stay awake for long enough. Her face seemed the same as it always had but Raven thought she looked subtly different. He noticed she didn’t smile often. More time passed and he couldn’t do much more than kick his legs and flap his arms. He never had to cry out. She knew when he was hungry and always had a cup of warm milk ready in her hand.

  “We have to stay in one place until you are a small boy,” she said, feeding him a sip at a time. “It would be unwise for a woman with a baby to travel alone. The world has changed since you’ve been gone. We live in troubled times. Do you understand?”

  Raven blinked instead of nodding. His head was still too heavy for his neck. He lifted his arms, forcing them to do his bidding. I can’t speak, he managed to sign with his tiny, pudgy fingers. I feel sorry for Tak.

  “His dumbness is self-imposed.”

  Where are we?

  “Gallia Aquitania,” she said. “Many centuries have passed since you died on Solomon’s mountain. The Romans have prospered and spread their Empire across the land. It has been astonishing to witness the rise of their civilisation. The world has changed forever. Much of it is good but there has also been war and suffering. Those who have resisted Roman rule have been conquered and taken as slaves. This village, Cambono, has been ravaged by plague, so the Romans won’t come here. The woman who gave birth to you... lived only long enough to do so. She wouldn’t have survived the birth if she had been carrying a mortal child.”

  Raven asked for her name, which Windsong said had been Jacinthe. Just an ordinary village woman, her desire to be a mother had been powerful but she been unable to carry a baby to term. Eventually, the local midwife had told her she thought she was too old to carry a child.

  “She told me she’d dreamed of a river,” said Windsong. “She couldn’t resist the urge to bathe in it. As she waded belly deep into the water, she felt your life force inside her. The Gods had blessed her. Then she laughed and told me, because the will of the Gods is unclear, that perhaps they’d wanted to prove the midwife wrong.”

  Windsong stared into the distance as she spoke and Raven watched her. Then she lowered her lids to look down at him and smiled. He was unsure how he felt about being mothered by her. There were too many conflicting thoughts and feelings. At the same time, he didn’t want to be anywhere but in her arms.

  How did you find me?

  “I knew when and where you would return. I can’t explain it.”

  Raven wanted to know more but an involuntary yawn escaped his mouth. She returned him to his crib, resting him on a nest of blankets. “No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone.”

  * * *

  264 AD

  Once Raven could walk again, he explored their surroundings. They lived in a small wooden hut, poorly built and draughty. He needed to run but as soon as he had built up speed, he crashed into the opposite wall.

  “Why don’t you go outside and run around with the other children,” said Windsong. He heard a note of exasperation in her voice. She was pounding wheat in a shallow bowl with a flat stone.

  “I’m not like other children,” said Raven. “It’s better if I remain with you.” She raised her eyebrows briefly and resumed her task.

  “Is it safe? Do you think they’ll know I’m different? They did last time.” He flopped onto the floor and buried his face in his hands. She slowed her work as she listened to him.

  “I’ve died twice now and both times I’ve remembered... or dreamed... or been aware of taking the journey through the Valley of the Shadow. Both times I spoke to a spirit there. Last time, he said I was The Enigma.”

  She stopped her task. “I’ve never heard any Khryseoi talk of remembering the journey from death to life. Who was this spirit? What did he want?”

  “I
don’t know... but I don’t think he meant me harm. Both times, he helped me return to this world.”

  She started grinding the flour again. “It’s as Tak likes to remind us; there is much we don’t understand about what lies beyond.”

  Raven sighed heavily. “Well I wish I did know more, if only to avoid going through childhood with each new life. How do you cope? It’s a nightmare!”

  “I always enjoy the chance to be a child again, the absence of responsibility for however long it lasts. Life as an adult returns much too soon!”

  “Where’s Phylasso when you need him?” Raven heard Windsong snort softly. He smiled, relieved to see her express her feelings, even in a small way. She continued to pound the wheat without looking up. “Did I ever tell you about the time I saw him die?”

  “I didn’t think he could be killed... at least, not by The Forsaken.”

  “It happened during the skirmishes. My company had been separated from the rest. We were surrounded by The Forsaken and hopelessly outnumbered. He appeared as if from nowhere, hacking a path with his great sword through The Forsaken. Once he’d broken through, he gave me his sword and told me to look after it. I was so tired I could barely lift it. He took another sword from a fallen Khryseoi and told us to retreat. He stood and fought in our place until he was completely overwhelmed. I saw him fall. The Forsaken mutilated him... in their unique way. Once we had recovered from the shock, we were saddened beyond tears. I didn’t know what I’d say or what to expect as we returned to the wall. I certainly didn’t expect to see him standing at the gate, a full-grown man without a scratch on his body. He welcomed us back and took back his sword.”

  “Is that true or told merely for my amusement?”

  “It’s true. Every word.”

  “Well, what did he say when you gave him back his sword?”

  “He said, ‘Thank you.’ ” She met Raven’s eye. “You’ve been wriggling the whole time I was telling you that story. Why don’t you go and run around with the other children?”

  “All right, then!” Raven stood on his toes and reached up with both arms to open the door. “When I return, I expect I’ll need a bath.”

  The people of Cambono were farmers and peasants. The village sat on a rise surrounded by woodland and fields. When war reached their borders they had built walls. The Romans had since broken them down and now only rotten posts remained. The plague followed, killing more than half the villagers in the first outbreak. There were many empty huts, orphans and widows. The people lived in fear of the plague’s return. Feral children, dressed in rags, played in the muddy spaces between the houses. Their faces were covered in sores. They smiled when Raven asked if he could join them. He ran until his legs were tired and his lungs were burning. He learnt to play knuckle bones and relished the challenge, as his only advantage was the quickness of his hands.

  Windsong cared for the sick. She showed the people how to raise crops and care for animals. They looked up to her and accepted her as one of their own. She told them she was barren and wanted a child of her own. She told them the chance to look after an orphan was all she needed as recompense for her help. Raven often heard them praising her, saying she was an angel. It was a rare acknowledgement. Khryseoi were always refugees, drifting out of place and time. It felt a privilege to have a home and a sense of belonging for any length of time.

  “We’ll leave Cambono when you believe you’re ready,” said Windsong to Raven one evening. “Perhaps when you can use a bow. We will have need of it on the road.”

  He nodded. “If I tell you what I need, I can start making some arrows too. I’d like to keep busy.” He looked around their tiny home. “And if you can arrange to get some buckets of clay and some straw, I’ll see to sealing the walls.”

  Her lips stretched into her rare smile. “You’ll need another item.”

  “What have I forgotten?”

  “A ladder.”

  Life carried on. She told him about her life since escaping Solomon’s mountain, the places she had been and about her tree. She was happy to talk when she was working with her hands. He noticed she had taken up embroidery and had become very skilled, painting elaborate pictures one stitch at a time.

  “It feels good to be amongst people again,” she said. “I’ve spent too long alone. I wondered, many times if any of you were going to return at all. The day Tak reappeared will remain in my memory forever.”

  “Has he said anything about his secret?”

  She shook her head. He looked up at her and cleared his throat. She glanced over her embroidery and smiled briefly.

  “What is it, Raven?”

  Raven saw his feet shuffling as if they had a mind of their own. “Before the mountain...”

  “Yes?”

  “By the lake...”

  Windsong pulled a stitch tight. “Out with it!”

  “We never had a chance to speak... after the lake,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. A crease appeared above her nose as she frowned in thought. She put the needle into the fabric and pulled it slowly through, keeping half an eye on him. “I don’t remember. Even the details of what happened in Solomon’s cave are vague. It was a long time ago.”

  Raven drew a slow breath. “I saw you, washing... by the lake. I’m sorry.”

  She pursed her lips, her chin quivered but a laugh forced its way out of her.

  “What’s so funny?” he said. “I’m trying to apologise for disturbing you. I need to know what has happened between us!” She clasped her hand over her mouth to suppress her chuckles. He planted his hands on his hips, astonished by her reaction.

  “This is a most unusual conversation to be having with a four-year-old boy,” she said.

  He hung his head to hide his tears. She set her embroidery aside. “Come here,” she said, scooping him into her arms and setting him on her knee. She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and held him close. “You’ve no need to apologise. I didn’t mind.” She rocked him gently in her arms and sang softly.

  Raven listened but couldn’t understand a word. “What are you singing about?”

  She looked like she was about to smile, but her face remained still. “Being here, now, with you, has been good for my soul. The more time goes by, the harder it becomes to offer your heart. No matter what happens, remember my heart is always yours.” She rocked him again and resumed her song. Raven relaxed and listened to her voice.

  * * *

  275 AD

  Raven could handle a longbow competently when he reached fifteen. His body needed to catch up with his mind. In a few years, he would regain the arm strength to handle a composite bow. Even with Windsong at his side, he still lacked the confidence he was physically ready to handle any situation. They discussed the matter often and she agreed.

  He left the village just after sunrise and walked into the woods, taking a single arrow with him. When he had crossed the grasslands, the sun had climbed high into the sky. He was grateful for the shade of trees and settled into the rhythm of the hunt, feeling the earth under his feet, tuning his eyes to everything that moved and his other senses to all that did not. He breathed slowly and deeply, enjoying the thrill of exercise. His skin prickled as the woodland animals became aware of his presence. Some would flee, others would fly and some would try to remain unnoticed. He nocked his arrow and held his bow ready.

  A bird raised its head over grass. It had mottled grey feathers, a fawn face and dark wings: a plump partridge. It looked at Raven for a second, scooted away at a speed that seemed implausible given its size and spread its wings. Raven closed his eyes and loosed the arrow.

  Returning home, he found Windsong sewing the seam of a black tunic. “I’m ready,” he said, raising the partridge skewered on the end of his arrow. “Here’s our departure feast.”

  She nodded. “Then you’ll have to cook.”

  He watched her while he plucked and gutted the bird. She vanished into the back room and returned with a spade. He hung the bird outsid
e, fetched a pot and filled it at the well. When he returned, he saw Windsong had moved his bed aside. She wedged the tip of the spade between the floorboards and prised three away. Stepping down, she began to dig. Raven started a fire and hung the pot in the hearth. He wanted to ask her what she was doing but he didn’t want to interrupt her. He waited until the pot boiled, scalded the bird, trussed it on a skewer and set it to roast over the flames. She carried on digging. Finally he heard a clunk. Windsong bent down, heaved up a long iron box and set it on the table. “First we eat,” she said, fetching a jug of water and a bowl to wash her hands.

  Raven roasted the partridge golden and served it with fresh bread and butter. They ate in silence. Once he had cleared away the plates, she opened the box. First, she took out Acabar’s black blade and presented it to him. Raven took the blade and felt its weight. Next Windsong took out a pendant. It shone dimly but not with reflected firelight. He took a moment to recognise the stone. He’d caught glimpses of it hanging around Solomon’s neck. There were bear claws hung either side of the stone. She held it out to him. “It’s a fragment from another world which came through the open rift. Solomon found it. The stone strengthens our connection with the spirit world. Solomon used it to increase his Sight. Now it’s yours.”

  Raven shook his head. “Tak is better suited to wield it. He has the strongest connection to the spirit world.”

  “He can’t... he won’t,” she said. “When he tried, he revealed himself to Acabar. His true name is known.”

  “And you?”

  Her cheeks were pale, even though the room was warm. “My name is known to him too.”

  Raven swallowed. “Yes, of course... the pile. I’ve forgotten much over the years, people, places, events... but never the pile.”

  “You shot me through the heart, but if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.” She offered the pendant again. “Here, take it!” He closed his hand around the stone. It was ice cold. “You’ll understand how to use it with time and study,” she said. “You’re the only Khryseoi who is safe from the enemy unless Acabar has acquired your name by some means we don’t know.”