Shadow of Hope

by Elsye Harwood

  “The only way I know it’s her is because the heartbeat in my body says so. But what if I don’t like her, or if she hates me? I can’t even speak to her. What’s the point?” He sat back and then leant forward again. “I’d pinned everything on finding her again and when it happens, I don’t know what to do, or even if I want to do anything. And this was promised a long time ago, things are different now, I’ve changed.” He was quiet, but when he spoke again his voice was filled with hopeless disappointment. “She’s not Callie.”

  Cyrus reached over and gripped his shoulder. “Not yet maybe, but she’s the same soul; it will get easier, you’ll find a connection.”

  Cimon shook his head. “I’ve been looking for redemption, but I don’t want to give it up in one lifetime. I like being stronger and powerful. I don’t want to throw it all away for one girl that I don’t even know.”

  “You don’t need to ask her this lifetime, you’ll have chances to find your wife again and to find redemption. And I wouldn’t want you to go just yet. We’ve only had a few years together. A mere drop in my ocean. Live and enjoy, be as good as you can be, but be true to yourself.” Cyrus looked across at the younger Rabisu. “Shelpa wouldn’t forgive you either, she’ll be left with Agis.” Cimon smiled at that.

  ***

  The blue stone was still there, she could see it from this distance on the boulder, a constant reminder that Goodman was no longer with them. Inga felt like crying. Why had he gone and left them. He was always back by now; maybe the other gods wouldn’t let him come to them?

  Dejectedly, she turned back and made her way slowly with a heavy heart across the grass. She didn’t have the dreams any more either. She was stuck in this place, working hard and getting old like her mother and her mother before her. She wasn’t pretty like her sister, as her mother liked to remind her. Katya had already had several offers of marriage, which their father was considering. She wouldn’t be married yet, but an agreement would be reached soon and then her sister would be betrothed but still at home with them. It would be her turn next. She might not be as pretty, but she was a good worker and reliable, so her father had already said that he didn’t foresee any problems with her finding a husband.

  Hopefully, she’d be lucky and have a nice man who treated her well. And her father was well respected so most hunters would treat his daughter properly, otherwise he could appeal to the leader and annul the marriage and that would be embarrassing for everyone concerned.

  But Inga believed that there was more to life than work and children and for a brief moment with Goodman around she’d believed it was possible. And she’d had those tantalising dreams of a glimpse of something else, another world beyond her small valley with a man she’d actually chosen herself and loved.

  But that was all gone now and in the past. The magic was over, real life was back, the god had left them to their own sad lives and Inga to her fate to be just another cog in the chain. A cold wind blew then and she pulled the cloak further around herself seeking some small comfort from its desolate chill.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cimon had no intention of returning to Germania for the time being. A few times he’d thought guiltily of the people in the north who would be deep into winter by now, but they had coped before and they would again. The one thing he didn’t feel happy about was leaving Inga with that hunter who’d some very dirty colours around his body, but there were plenty of people to protect her, so he tried to block it from his mind.

  He didn’t want redemption yet. He wanted to live and enjoy who he was. If he’d remained mortal, he would either have been dead or very old and decrepit, but he wasn’t, he was alive and still young. There was so much to enjoy and many lifetimes to do it in.

  He’d proved that he could take care of himself and live alone; Cimon the shepherd was long gone, as was the mercenary. He was a composite of both of them now, stronger, smarter, ruthless and capable, but still with compassion, empathy and even some kindness. He tried to stick to his rule of taking only the wicked, but sometimes the hunger was stronger than his self-control and the sweetness too addictive. When they moved to a different place he would set himself up as a healer and practise medicine, but he was always careful not to draw attention to himself.

  He would’ve stayed like that for years if events hadn’t broken him out of this indolent way of life.

  They were in Caesarea. Cyrus had rented a villa in the centre of the city and Mardonius had found an exquisite establishment of pleasure outside of town and had persuaded Cimon to go with him.

  After sampling all the delights on offer, Mardonius had found himself a beautiful young man whom he was loath to leave, but Cimon decided he would go back to town to feed as he felt this “pleasure palace” was too obvious. He’d taken a little from most of his companions, but now only the whole life force would satisfy his hunger and he didn’t want to risk drawing attention to himself here.

  He knocked quietly on the wall then pulled the heavy curtain aside.

  “Donus, are you there. Are you awake?” he called quietly into the darkened room.

  “It had better be good, Greek,” was the sluggish reply.

  Cimon grinned and stepped into the room heavy with scent of incense, which even then couldn’t disguise the smell of sex and sweat. “I’m going back. Do you want me to wait for you or shall I go alone?”

  Mardonius propped himself up onto one elbow and whispered, “Shush, try not to wake my rather experienced friend here. He’s finally sleeping. It was exhausting, wearing him out.”

  Cimon grinned. “Sorry, I’ll let you sleep. I just wanted you to know that I’m going back to the polis. I need to feed.”

  Mardonius smiled languidly. “No, I’ll stay. In fact I might never leave. No joy with your companions?”

  “They were fine, but obviously not as good as your boy.”

  “He is rather special. I’m thinking of merging him.” Cimon raised an eyebrow at that.

  “Your first child, well, he must be good. I’ll wait to meet him, but he does have a nice backside.”

  Mardonius grinned and studied the naked posterior, which was sticking out from the covers. “It’s a good feature, but not his best, I assure you.” He paused. “I’m just thinking. I might buy him first and get to know him; I don’t want to create another Agis, you see.”

  Cimon smiled. “No, you mustn’t do that. I’ll see you when I see you.” Mardonius waved his hand and flopped back onto the bed and Cimon closed the heavy curtain and made his way out of the building.

  Fortunately there was a carriage ready waiting to go back into Caesarea. Cimon paid the money and settled inside. There was room for more customers, but the driver seemed impatient, so after only a few moments the carriage lurched forward on the short journey to the town.

  They had travelled no more than a hundred metres when a huge explosion shattered the calm of the night. Moments after that, the screams and shouts began. Cimon leapt out of the carriage as it was stopping and stared in shock at the pleasure palace, which was now ablaze with people streaming out of the doors and windows.

  All he could think about was that Mardonius was still in there, so he sprinted back along the dusty road to join the other bewildered people. He searched the survivors to see if his friend was one of them, but it was hard to see as too many people were milling around in confusion. Mardonius could survive fire, but it would be painful. Cimon was about to try and get inside to search for his friend, when a large section of the building collapsed, causing the flames to subside briefly, and in that moment another person staggered out, ablaze with flames and yet somehow still alive.

  Cimon watched mesmerised, then reacted. It was Mardonius, swathed in a burning sheet which was stuck to his body. Cimon raced towards him disregarding the protests of the people who swarmed around him. As he got to his friend, he saw to his horror that there was a Wielder’s spike sticking out of his chest. By all rights, Mardonius should’ve been dead, his spirit
split in two, torn apart and sent back to Hades. Yet, somehow, he was still alive and Cimon had to get the fire out without pushing the spike in deeper.

  With an effort he eased Mardonius on to the ground and beat at the flames on the sheet. People gathered around asking if he needed anything. Cimon ignored them concentrating on his friend.

  “Ci, it was my boy. My beautiful boy. He did this, he fooled me,” Mardonius managed to croak between cracked lips.

  “Ssh, don’t worry. I’ve got to get this out. Tell me later.” Cimon tried to get a purchase on the spike so he could remove it cleanly in one go.

  “I don’t want to die, Cimon. Don’t let me die. I can see Kur. I can see the desert and the rocks, the outcrops. I’m going to go. Torn, two parts…” Mardonius’s voice became weaker until he was quiet.

  “Hold on, Donus, hold on. I’m going to…” with those words Cimon pulled the bronze spike from his friend’s body. But Mardonius didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t breathe, he just lay still on the ground. “No! Wake up, Donus, it’s out,” Cimon called to him and then instinctively put his face to his friend’s, opened his lips and breathed some essence into his mouth. There was no response, so he tried again, and then again, but his friend still didn’t move. Cimon refused to give up on Mardonius and tried repeatedly to revive him.

  Then unexpectedly, just when he believed all was lost, the Rabisu gave a huge breath and opened his eyes. For a moment they stared at each other, then Mardonius spoke.

  “I was there. In the desert, beginning to be split. I could feel it happening.” He stopped and coughed. “My body being riven in two. The two souls began to separate. I could feel it, and then…”

  “It’s all right, Donus, you don’t need to say anything. I’ll get you back to Cyrus, we can heal you there. Please don’t worry. It’s…” Cimon was cut off by his friend.

  “Ci, I died, you saved me. I would be dead if it weren’t for you. I’d be back in hell for all time.” He clutched Cimon with his burnt hand. “We have to be good. We’re so close, Cimon, so close to hell. I have to believe that there’s another way.” Cimon searched his friend’s face for any further indication of what he was talking about. “Tep and Cyrus believe there is a way: redemption. I laughed, but maybe… Malek…” He stopped, the effort was too much, but he continued to study Cimon with bright eyes burning with a zealous light.

  “Let’s get you back and we can talk about it then.” But Cimon had understood what Mardonius was saying. Cyrus had said that he’d laughed at the story of Malek and his wife, but now he was rethinking the whole episode.

  Cimon sat up and looked around him. Carriages and groups of people were coming out of the polis to help with the injured. He called over to his driver from earlier who, by sheer luck, was standing close by, and promised him a rich reward if he’d take them back to the city. The man readily agreed, so Cimon bent down and picked up the now unconscious Mardonius and carried him through the throng of people and put him inside the compartment.

  ***

  Mardonius’s burns healed quickly but the psychological scars remained with him. Both Cimon and Cyrus listened time and time again, as he recounted how it had felt to be almost split in two and returned to hell. He was convinced that if Cimon hadn’t breathed the life force into him, then he would’ve died and been condemned to an eternity as a formless tormented spirit,fated to wander lost in Kur. The experience had frightened him, and his message was clear: being a little discriminating in who you killed wasn’t enough, it didn’t alter the scales so that they balanced in your favour. The merged soul had been condemned to hell, so it would take more than considered killing to shift the balance to the combined soul’s advantage. Something more drastic had to be actioned in life to take account of that.

  Time and time again, he asked Cyrus about the story of Malek, which he was now taking seriously. He researched and interviewed the Egyptian priests about the scales of justice and the judgement of the dead, where the heart of the deceased was weighed against the white feather of truth. He became obsessed with taking the confession and living his life to the highest ideals.

  Rather than healing, Mardonius turned to the law and fighting for the rights of the ordinary person. It was a way to use his considerable charm and charisma for a good cause. Night after night he pored over scrolls until he was fully proficient in the law. He wanted to be sure that he’d win when he took on his first cases.

  His obsession and drive affected Cyrus and Cimon. They were both troubled by their friend’s experience and it brought home how flimsy their existence was. For Cyrus it was something he’d been thinking about ever since he’s heard Malek’s story. He’d been alive for a long time and the disillusionment had set in many years ago. He realised that he had to live to his highest potential to achieve salvation and rebirth, and avoid eternal damnation which was the usual lot of a Rabisu.

  Cimon had similar thoughts. He’d deliberately embraced a Rabisu’s life and turned away from Inga, but now he was realising the myopic nature of his decision. His thoughts turned to the predatory hunter who’d shown an unhealthy interest in Inga and he knew that he’d been selfish and should’ve stayed to look after and protect her. It wasn’t enough to have left it to her own people; too often the ones closest didn’t notice what was going on under their own noses. He knew that he’d let her down and abandoned her for Shelpa, because she wasn’t Callie and he hadn’t been able to reconcile the change in his head. He realised now that he’d seen her as the cause for all his disappointment; she represented all he’d lost, so he’d turned his back and walked away. And for what? Shelpa had also turned her back, she was still with Agis, and seemed to be enjoying their volatile relationship.

  So he’d walked away from his salvation for nothing, the life he’d been determined to enjoy and embrace had gone sour and seemed now an empty charade, which could end at any moment, leading to eternal doom.

  At night, alone, he could still feel her heart beat so he knew that it wasn’t too late, he could still go north and try and seek a new type of life. Maybe this time, because she’d be older, he’d be able to make more progress and achieve more of a connection with the strange young girl. Even though she wasn’t Callie, it didn’t mean he couldn’t grow to like her and even feel something for her in time. As Cyrus had said, she was the same soul, only the body was different. When he got over the change in physical form it could be easier to forge a new connection.

  When he told Cyrus and Mardonius that he was going, neither of them were surprised and both admitted that they would’ve done the same in the circumstances. The joy of life had been tarnished, the pleasure has been sucked from it, and so a chance at redemption was a chance worth taking. Maybe in time, they’d be able to enjoy things again with a clear conscience, but at the moment being good and moral was the priority.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Inga loved being alone out in the woods. It was a rare time for peaceful contemplation. There were always things going on in the village and loads of distractions, but here in the forest away from the hustle and bustle she could be free. She was twelve now and old enough to be allowed out on her own, which was why she’d been sent to gather some of the woodland plants that grew under the beech trees at the base of the mountains. The early yellow spring flowers were important to the people in the village, especially after the hard winter, because they could prevent scurvy if eaten throughout the year. So today, Inga had several baskets to fill and then take back to Mutta, who would dry them for everyone.

  The trees were bursting with little sprouts of green so that the sunlight shone down on her unhindered by leaves. Inga stopped and grinned. Free for an hour or two to be alone with her thoughts. She looked around, life was returning and soon the place would be alive with new growth. Only one thing marred her view and that was the sight of the desolate boulders that marked the boundary of Goodman’s mountain. That made her sad. The slice of mystery and excitement was gone and had been for two winters now.
He’d left, and abandoned them to their fate.

  They had survived as a village and they hadn’t gone too hungry. The new hunters had helped and provided just enough food for the people. Grudgingly, people had accepted them as part of the community, but many still didn’t feel too comfortable with these new men. Inga wished Goodman was with them, and it wasn’t only because she seemed to have a special relationship with him, which no one, not even Mutta, could explain. But having a god taking up residence in the valley made life exciting. It meant that gods were real and if that was the case anything was possible. For a moment it had seemed as if dreams could come true.

  Recently those strange unsettling dreams had returned but they seemed further away. Fainter was probably the best way to explain it. She’d never told anyone about them, though now she was older, she had a better understanding of what they were about. There were times when she woke and it had seemed so real to her, she’d even cried afterwards when she’d realised that it was just a dream and her real life was here with her people.

  Today, though, was a good day, she decided. It wasn’t a day to dwell on the past and futile hopes. It was the beginning of new life and therefore new opportunities. With fresh determination, she set to filling the bags with gusto.

  She’d filled two bags when suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and held her with her arms pinned to her sides. Inga reacted immediately by shouting and kicking. She struggled with all her might against her captor, but to no avail. He was carrying her away from the glade towards the darker gullies, which were filled with fir trees.

  Inga knew who it was. She could smell his stale sweat and unwashed clothes along with the rank odour of blood and animal skins. It was Cerlic. Desperately, she struggled against him, but he only laughed and held her more tightly. She screamed again as it was her only recourse, though she knew that there was no one around otherwise he wouldn’t have tried this.

  “I’d shut up!” he snarled at her as she drew breath between screams. “The more you yell, the more I enjoy it. So it’s up to you.” That stumped Inga. She stopped shouting and increased her struggling. But he only laughed again.