Shadow of Hope

by Elsye Harwood

  ***

  Shelpa and Cimon left Rome the next day. The female Rabisu had been annoyed but eventually she saw the sense of their leaving. Cyrus had been amused when Cimon stayed impassive throughout her tantrums; her protégé was clearly used to such behaviour from her.

  The matter came to a head three nights later. Julia had used her connections to locate the place where the wielders resided She’d discovered that there were three of them and that they were staying in different places but would meet up every night in various taverns. Julia’s mortal friends had followed the wielders from one of their watering- holes and now the three were being trailed to their various places of rest.

  Cyrus followed Julia’s man to an old tenement building in a poor part of the city. Outside the building his guide stopped and looked back. Cyrus was only a few strides behind and so, his job done, the man nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

  The dark tenement loomed up before Cyrus; it wasn’t a nice place to visit, but it was a good place to go to ground. With that thought, he entered the dilapidated building.

  It was dark and very narrow. Certainly not built for muscular and tall men like him. All his senses told him that the old, dry wood was a death trap; even without residents this place was dangerous. But the building was crowded with people. Behind every door he could sense there were whole families living in poverty. This was an ideal place for a wielder to hide in. No Rabisu with their heightened strength of smell would willingly come here. Thankfully, despite the stench, he could still taste the odour of the wielder. He didn’t taste like any other man he’d encountered, and that made him easy to follow. He wondered if Julia and Dio were finding it so easy to track their prey.

  The trail led up some narrow and creaky stairs and along a dank corridor to a room at the end. He listened carefully at the door, trying to drown out the cries and voices of the other residents of the building. Eventually he was able to pick out a droning male voice. It seemed to be saying the same thing over and over again, almost like a prayer. Cyrus smiled in the gloom; the wielder was probably feeling safe enough to try to meditate. It would be an ideal opportunity. After several minutes the voice became softer and less rhythmical, quite often a sign of a trancelike state. As quietly as possible he opened the door to the room.

  The man was sitting crossed-legged on the floor, holding something in his hands. The weapons of his trade were arranged neatly on the bed beside him. From the array of weapons it was evident that the wielder hunted every kind of unnatural creature that walked the earth.

  Quietly Cyrus closed the door behind him, so as not to attract any unwanted attention from other residents. Then with murder in mind he sprang on the unsuspecting man.

  The wielder was well trained, there was no denying it, and he put up a real fight, but Cyrus soon had him flat on the floor whereupon he breathed on him to paralyse him before draining his essence.

  But to his amazement it had no effect on the man who continued to flay and kick at him for all he was worth. Cyrus tried again, but the man remained conscious. He’d never come across this before so he would have to do this the hard way without pacifying him first. He gripped the man’s face and prised open his jaw, and tried again. This time, there was a slight reduction in the resistance. But he’d a new strategy and he tried to bite and tear at Cyrus’s face.

  With extra effort Cyrus forced the man’s head still and pulled at his life force from a safe distance. After the initial usual hesitation it came flooding out, but immediately Cyrus pulled back in distaste. It was revolting, truly horrific. He stared down in confusion at the wielder who grinned back in triumph. It was obviously deliberate, and Cyrus realised at that point, that they had been prepared for any eventuality. He would have to do this the messy way then. He smiled back at the wielder in recognition of his small victory then he lifted his head and swiftly broke the man’s neck.

  Not wanting to risk being seen, he climbed out of the small first-storey window, jumped down into the empty back street and returned to Julia’s where they had agreed to meet.

  Cyrus waited in Julia’s garden admiring the night-scented flowers, but he was worried. The others should’ve been back long before now. They had obviously run into similar difficulties and maybe they had been overcome. He’d never seen men like that before. Wielders who were immune to the paralysis induced by his breath and who tasted foul. They must have been prepared and fully trained for fighting Rabisu. No wonder they had killed at least six hunters in the short time they’d been here.

  Suddenly he heard a noise and looked up. Julia was coming through the side gate. Her matronly stola was torn and dirty, but she was smiling.

  “Any word from Dio?” she asked immediately. Cyrus shook his head. They stared at each other for a minute. Then she spoke again. “Did he give you trouble?”

  “You could say,” Cyrus replied. “Do we know any more about them?”

  “Not a thing. They’ve not even acknowledged the other wielders in Rome. But tomorrow when the authorities are called in I’ll get my men to rummage through their belongings.”

  He nodded. “The man was meditating, and holding something, but I didn’t see what. It might give us some clue as to their faith and creed.”

  Julia went over to the pavilion. “There’s wine here. Didn’t you see it?” she asked. Cyrus shook his head, so she poured them both cup.

  “I had the advantage of him thinking I was weak woman.” She smiled. “He was in for a shock. For once I’m glad that my merging is this way around.” She paused. “The paralysis didn’t work for me. Did it work for you?”

  “Only on the third attempt. And he tasted disgusting when I tried to drain him. Have you ever…?”

  Julia shook her head. “If you haven’t then I won’t have. Mine was foul also; I can only think that it must have been deliberate. I broke his neck, what did you do?”

  Cyrus answered as he poured another cup for them. “The same. It was quicker and easiest. The man grinned when I couldn’t drain him.”

  Julia looked at him. “So did mine.” The thought hung in the air for a few minutes.

  Eventually Cyrus spoke. “I’ll write to some friends in the east; see if they know anything,”

  Julia nodded, but she was biting her lip. “Dio’s very late. You don’t think…?”

  Cyrus touched her shoulder. “You sound like a woman now. He’ll be fine.” She smiled anxiously back at him.

  They waited in the stillness of the darkest part of the night, becoming increasingly worried for their friend.

  “Where did you say you served?” Cyrus asked Julia to break the tension. She started, taken by surprise at the unexpected question.

  “With Philip of Macedon. Alexander’s father. I was one of his bodyguards,” she replied.

  “Wasn’t he assassinated by one of them?” he asked softly.

  “It was necessary,” Julia replied. Cyrus nodded.

  “I’m sure they were good reasons at the time.”

  “They still are,” she replied ending the conversation.

  They heard the scrabbling at the same time and looked across at the stone wall. Suddenly Dio’s head popped up from behind it. He grinned and clamoured over.

  “Dio, there’s a side door,” Julia informed him as he scrambled down inside the garden. She glanced at Cyrus who shook his head, just glad that he’d made it back.

  The several-hundred-year-old Rabisu shrugged. “Sorry, I forgot.” He looked around. “Well what can I say? I’ve never dealt with anything like that before. Fortunately, the wielder couldn’t get past this childlike form, so it wasn’t fair really. What the hell were they, Julia?”

  “I’ve yet to find out,” she replied, “but I will, you can be sure of that.”

  Chapter Nine

  Antinious leapt out of the small boat and splashed through the shallow water dragging the boat behind him. Once it was secure and out of the sway of the tide he stood to get his bearings. It was moon dark, so
there was no light at all, but that didn’t bother him, he’d practised this so many times that he knew the steps by heart. He strode through the shale to the tunnel in the cliff. His outstretched hands hit the smooth side of the tunnel telling him that he was directly on track. He grinned to himself and continued to walk at the same pace but with one hand out trailing the left side of the wall. After thirty strides he stopped, turned left and walked up the smaller side tunnel. At the end was a locked door, which he had the key for. He’d leave it here now as he wouldn’t have any further need for it after tonight.

  Cautiously he opened the door and he stared into the dimly lit corridor. There was a solitary guard who looked as if he was almost asleep on his feet. He’d deal with him in no time. He closed the door quietly and locked it, then turned his attention to the guard at the end of the passage. The man didn’t even hear him coming, and he fell with one stroke. Antinious pulled the dead man a little to one side so as not to attract the attention of any one glancing up the passage. Then he walked casually towards the outer wall of the fort. Another guard challenged him just as he came to the fork of the outer perimeter. He smiled in greeting and reached inside his cloak whilst the guard waited. Still smiling, Antinious whipped out his short sword and gutted the guard with one strike. He stepped aside as the man collapsed to the floor and lay still. He kicked the guard’s feet to get him out of the line of vision, then continued along the outer perimeter until he came to the external door. Once again he rummaged in his cloak, until he found what he was looking for. He removed another key, checked that it was the right one and put it in the lock. The door opened with a reluctant creak, and with a little more force he was able to push it right open. The inky black night swallowed up the light from the passage, so he found a torch and waved it around just outside the opening. Satisfied that he’d fulfilled his contract he moved away from the entrance in the black night.

  After a few strides he heard the clanking of armour and the creak of leather. The captain and his men were coming. He stopped and waited. Out of the night and in the dim light emitting from the door he was able to see the men emerge from the rocks around the fort. He watched as the captain came up to him. He was holding out a heavy bag of gold coins.

  He looked at the captain; he didn’t need to check the coins. No one would try and trick him, as they knew that they’d get a knife in their back if they tried. He nodded to the commander and took the bag, then moved off into the darkness of the night to return to his boat.

  ***

  Cimon woke in the early dawn light. It was another of those dreams. He lay awake staring into space. He called them dreams but they were memories. Recollections, of the other soul that stayed with him. He sat up; the casual killing of the guards and lust for money remained like an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He looked across at Shelpa who was still sleeping, oblivious to his disquiet.

  Over the last few months he had learnt more about the soul. He’d been a soldier, but if the recent memories were anything to go by, he’d become a mercenary. Though there was no questioning his bravery and he always seemed to keep his word. But Cimon had no idea who his people were, what family he had and who he’d been fighting for. All he knew was that he’d been Greek. He didn’t even know his real name.

  Knowing that he wouldn’t sleep now, Cimon pulled a tunic on and decided to go out into the countryside around Cyrus’s substantial villa in Antioch and enjoy the peace and quiet of the morning alone.

  They had arrived at the villa last night from Caesarea. This was his favourite of Cyrus’s residences. The grounds were spacious with large ornamental gardens and semi-wild ones. All of which was surrounded by many acres of farmland, which Cyrus also owned. It made for a safe haven away from the crush of the city, but not too far away to be inaccessible.

  Cimon poured some water from the jug and went out of the room and wandered through the corridors to the garden. Just as he was about to cross the terrace, a voice called out to him.

  “You’ve missed the sunrise. It was rather pleasant. I could describe it for you?” Cimon stopped and looked over to the stone bench where the voice was coming from. On it was a young man with dark black hair, naked except for a pair of Persian leather cavalry trousers. He was obviously Rabisu.

  “I don’t think we’ve met,” Cimon answered. The young man sat up and studied him.

  “You’re Shelpa’s boy, the Greek shepherd. Cimon, isn’t it? Are you named for the Athenian statesman?”

  Cimon was a little taken back. “I don’t think so. I’m from Boeotia and we don’t really get on with the Athenians. It’s just a name.”

  “Ah, but it’s your name, and he was good man. So it’s a good name. I’m Mardonius. Sorry I missed your arrival last night but I was out entertaining clients and the like. I just got back.”

  Cimon was curious. “But I thought we weren’t allowed to meet other Rabisu whilst we were still merging.”

  Mardonius laughed. “You’re not, officially, which is why we haven’t met before. But Cyrus has decided you’re mature enough to meet me. And as he’s the oldest one in the Empire he can more or less do what he likes. Plus I’m the entertainment.”

  “Entertainment?” Cimon was confused.

  Mardonius smiled. “I’m here to take you out and look after you when Shelpa and Cyrus are, shall we say, otherwise engaged.”

  “I know Antioch. I don’t need a guide or someone to look after me,” Cimon replied, a little affronted.

  “I understand. But sometimes it’s nicer to go with someone. And I could do with the company.”

  Suddenly Cimon realised something about the young man. “Are you drunk?” Mardonius threw his head back and laughed happily. “But we don’t get drunk.”

  When Mardonius recovered he said, “You’re wrong, it’s possible, but we don’t let ourselves. Automatically we block its effect. But it’s such fun. One of the few things I miss about being mortal. I don’t get the headaches though, I’m not stupid.”

  Despite himself Cimon was beginning to be won over by the charm and easygoing nature of the man. “I’ll have to try it one day.”

  “You should. I’ll show you if you like. German beer is best. Have you tried it? It’s an acquired taste, but well worth cultivating.”

  “No, I haven’t. Can I ask how old you are?” Cimon asked abruptly.

  “You just have. Older then Shelpa but younger then Cyrus. I was a solider, and a small-time prince. Do you know anything about the other one yet?”

  Cimon was quiet. He looked away. Mardonius understood. “There’s a reason they were condemned to Kur. They were wrongdoers and sent there to be punished. It’s hard for all of us to deal with what they did. Well, that’s not true. Some deal with it better than others. It’s a good thing if you struggle with what you’ve learnt, makes you better for it.”

  Cimon glanced over at him.

  “Look, Cimon, you’re what, twelve or thirteen years? Enjoy yourself. That’s my advice. Avoid the wielders and don’t be mean and have fun!”

  “Don’t you worry about going back to Tartarus when you die?” Cimon asked. Shelpa had laughed the question off when he’d asked her and he’d never dared ask Cyrus.

  Mardonius chuckled again. “Cyrus said you were mature. I don’t worry, no, because I don’t intend to go yet. So I keep out of the way of wielders and avoid trouble. When I get bored of living I might give it some consideration. But not before.”

  Cimon shook his head. “I can’t think like that.” He shrugged and made to move out into the garden.

  “You’re young and didn’t kill your first victim. It makes a difference. Cyrus didn’t kill either. Part of you both is still human.”

  “Cyrus told you that?”

  Mardonius shrugged and nodded. “But I can see it for myself, you still have colours. You know what I mean by that?”

  “Yes, I know. Did you kill?” Cimon asked, curious.

  Mardonius stood up and walked slowly towards him. He was tal
l and well built, with slightly darker skin than the other Rabisu he’d met before. “Yes, I did. You see, Cimon, I didn’t know my victim. I hazard to guess that you did and I know that Cyrus did. It was his old tutor and realising that made him stop. That crucial moment when the flow falters and you have to pull harder, that’s the moment. If you know them, then you stop, and if you don’t you just blithely carry on. Unless of course you’re Shelpa, then you carry on regardless.”

  “She hated her father,” Cimon justified.

  Mardonius shrugged. “I know that she’d a good reason to kill him, but I still find it unnatural. But no one hates like Shelpa, she’s quite unique. But do you see, young Cimon, there’s a pattern, and it’s the same whoever you ask. It also goes some way to explaining why some want to heal like you and others don’t care.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Cimon admitted.

  “And that’s another good reason for us to be friends. I can tell you things that Cyrus doesn’t think you need to know and Shelpa doesn’t know or care about.” He grinned.

  “You don’t like her very much, do you?”

  “That’s not true. Of all Cyrus’s created children she’s the one I like the best. Though his youngest Artemnisia is sweet as well. But she doesn’t have her sister’s style. And we don’t see that much of her, she’s not as family orientated. Shelpa’s like a stepchild to me, and I’m very fond of her, but I know her failings. Though she’s redeemed herself with you, her greatest mistake.”

  Cimon rolled his eyes at that. “Please don’t roll out all the clichés of rough diamonds and judging by look alone.”

  Mardonius laughed. “I wasn’t going to, as it would annoy me as well. Unfortunately I’m sober again now and I need to sleep. So you go and enjoy the peace and quiet. I expect we’ll see each other later at a quiet meal for just the two of us.”

  Cimon smiled at that. Mardonuis gave him an impish grin and walked inside.

  ***

  Just as Mardonius had predicted, he and Cimon were soon spending a lot of time together. They often went alone into the city to seek their own entertainment, leaving Shelpa and Cyrus at home. The easy-going Rabisu also liked to discriminate between his victims and for Cimon it was a relief to be with someone who understood his natural inclination not to kill without any need.