She nodded at him; there was no point fighting this, she realised. “Come on, Inga, let’s go and pack,” she told the outraged girl who was glaring at Wolf and Helmut. She pushed Inga between the shoulders and forced her to move.
“But it’s not fair,” the girl seethed. “I’m not ready,” she protested as they marched back.
“I’m afraid that we don’t have a choice in the matter. You have to go now,” she told her as they walked into the house.
“Can I run off and tell Goodman?” Inga asked, but she knew the answer before the question was out.
“I’ll tell him for you. Or maybe write something down and I’ll leave it at the stones.”
Inga thought about it, then suddenly rushed over to her bedding and rummaged around for something. Eventually, she found what she was looking for and put a sheet of animal skin on the table and then wet her finger before dipping it in the ash from the fire. Then to Mutta’s surprise she drew some lines on the skin, finally satisfied, she stepped back and admired her work.
“Will you take this and leave it on the stones for me?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course I will. Inga, I’m sorry about this, really I am. Look, have you spoken with Goodman about what he is?”
Inga had moved over to her bed and was collecting her clothes and personal things together. She turned to look at Mutta and stared at her as if she was mad. “No, I think it would be rude to ask, don’t you?” she said and turned back to her reluctant preparations.
From what she’d said it was obvious that the hunter hadn’t been able to tell her himself, he’d run out of time and really it wasn’t her place to shatter her illusions. Inga would find out soon enough.
Mutta came over to her. “Here, let me help.” Together they folded the clothes into the leather bag. But Mutta couldn’t keep quiet, she felt that she had to warn the girl at least.
“Inga, I‘m so sorry. I really didn’t mean for this to happen. Please forgive me.”
Inga stopped what she was doing and stared, puzzled, at the older woman.
“I know it’s not your fault. It’s this old lady who’s being bossy.”
“No, Inga, not that. You’ll realise what it is soon enough. I wanted you to learn about things in a much gentler way. Please, Inga, keep an open mind. Talaka is old and set in her ways, always remember that. It’s not easy being a herb woman and sworn to protect your people, sometimes you have to compromise.” Then to Inga’s amazement she embraced the bemused girl.
Inga was about to ask what was worrying her, but her mother appeared at the door, so she never got the chance.
Goodman was already waiting when Mutta went to see him that night. Quietly she explained what had happened and he’d listened silently. Then she’d handed him the ash-scrawled animal skin and he’d read it in front of her. When he’d finished he looked up and smiled sadly, then he told her that he’d go west the next day, but he promised to be back in time for the winter.
Mutta once again reiterated her belief that Inga could forgive him and they could still be friends, but emphasised that she’d need time. She’d watched as he’d returned back up the slope, without his usual air of confidence. Deep inside her she knew that it was wrong to feel sympathy for a creature like him, but she couldn’t help herself.
Twenty-Three
Agis was glaring at her from across the room, Shelpa knew why: she’d been with the same boy for the last two nights. She hadn’t expected him to be at the party, but when he’d turned up and charmed his way in, she’d been impressed and rewarded him for his diligence. The boy was clearly infatuated with her and she couldn’t help flirting, she adored having men fawn on her and lap up her every word. Agis hated it, and it made him furious that she encouraged these eager and impressionable young men.
He simply couldn’t understand why she didn’t kill them after a night of pleasure and often denied herself the thrill of the final feed. He accused her of becoming soft like Cyrus because she’d spend too long with him and blamed Cimon, or the pathetic shepherd, as he liked to call him, for her merciful inclinations.
Shelpa could feel his anger and when she glanced up, he was striding over towards them, his face filled with contempt.
“May I interrupt?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. “I need this young man for a moment.”
Shelpa’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him, she had a good idea what he wanted, it had happened before and he’d warned her that he’d remove any man that became a threat to them.
Not wanting to make a scene, Shelpa inclined her head and the young man stood, smiling pleasantly to avoid his disappointment, and followed Agis out of the room.
Shelpa finished her drink, but held up her hand to the next admirer moving in to sit with her. Shaking her head and smiling ruefully, she made it plain that she was not available. Gathering her skirts she followed the two men out of the room.
Those few seconds had made a difference. They weren’t in the corridor, but her sense of smell told her that they had passed this way. Swiftly, she followed their scent until she was outside in the street. It was clear where Agis was taking him and it was probably already too late. Holding her skirts up, but not wanting to draw too much attention to herself, she half ran, half walked to the narrow lane. In the gloom, she could clearly make out the figure of Agis pressing the man against the wall. She was just in time to see his last struggles before the life was drained out of him. Shelpa watched for a few more seconds, her eyes as hard as flints, then she let go of her skirt, turned and walked past the pleasure house and away from Agis.
***
Inga lay in the straw bed and stared at the thatching of the ceiling. In the other beds, her two bunkmates were sleeping peacefully. But Inga was fuming. Three days ago she’d seen her first colours around a person. It had been a revelation to her. Now she understood why Mutta would know something about a person without them having to say anything. It was such a useful tool, but she wasn’t that proficient with it yet and she still had to understand fully what the different layers meant and how they interacted with each other. But it was a start.
Today though, they’d learnt about the hidden creatures they shared the land with. Not only the gentle creatures, but the other types as well, the predators. During the hours of daylight today her world had shattered and Talaka, the wizened old lady who was the leader of the all the wise women, had stared at her most of the time, clearly enjoying destroying everything she believed in.
She knew why now. She knew that Goodman wasn’t a god at all, but most likely a seizer or a white hunter. Almost joyfully, Talaka had explained about the different creatures, telling how they came to be, how dangerous they were and what you had to do to destroy them.
Inga had felt secure and interested at the beginning, but each time the old husk of a woman introduced a new name, she’d looked gleefully at her. As Talaka had gone through each creature, Inga had mentally crossed it off the list of possibilities of what Goodman could be. He himself had said that he wasn’t a god, but he was the closest thing to a deity that most people would encounter.
When Talaka had introduced the beautiful and beguiling white hunters, it had struck chords with her, but she’d soon dismissed them when she’d heard what they did, because there was no evidence of Goodman doing anything like that. But that creature was the closest out of all of them. Then one girl had even mentioned that she’d heard that they sometimes healed humans for a price, but Talaka had laughed so hard at that, that one of the other women had had to hit her on her back. Finally, the old woman had dismissed it as “a lie they spread to trick you.” So Inga had waited for the good spirits in quiet confidence.
But when Talaka had explained about those, her heart had sunk. They stayed in groups and wandered from place to place, usually from one sacred site to another. Even the ones who preferred to be alone kept out of sight and travelled. And if that wasn’t enough there was no way you would mistake them for people. They were either o
therworldly, smaller, winged or incredibly ugly. None of those descriptions fitted Goodman.
Perplexed, she’d asked to speak privately with Talaka, and after a frustrating wait, she’d been granted private audience with the leader. Before she’d even been able to speak, the old lady had told her that it was her job to find out exactly what manner of creature this Goodman was. She wasn’t to be fooled or taken in by his charm. She had to find out one way or another, as she was the only one with access with him.
Inga had listened as the old lady and given her orders. The situation had gone on long enough, she claimed. Mutta had been unable to find out exactly what he was and had been told to play along with him for as long as no one was in danger. Though he seemed benign, seizers often played for the long game. Which, she’d added, was most likely what he was doing. The chances were that he’d turn and change when they least suspected it and wreak havoc. So they had to act before he had the chance, though when she returned, he’d realise that his game was over and that he’d been discovered, then with nothing to lose, he’d probably attack and kill as many as he could before leaving.
The old lady had reminded her of the spike that she’d been given today, along with the various weapons for other predators. If she needed to use this, then she’d have to take him by surprise, otherwise she wouldn’t stand a chance, and if she couldn’t get close then she and Mutta were to call for assistance. They would be able to deal with it. One seizer against several of them wouldn’t last long.
Inga has asked about the healing and the scrolls he’d had with him. The crone had cackled again. “What better way to fool people?” she’d said. “To draw them in and gain their trust. And then when their guard is down to strike and kill. Easy, the mark of a true predator. So yes,” she agreed, “he probably did know about healing and did heal to pass as a common man, but it was just a ruse, a ploy to gain people’s trust.”
Then she’d dismissed Inga and sent her to bed. So now Inga clung to her spike and vowed that she’d deal with the trickster who had pretended to be her friend and could kill everyone she knew on a whim whenever he felt like it. Angrily, she wiped the tears off her face. Only babies cried, she was a herb woman now, and Mutta had warned her that it wasn’t always easy to be one.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The gentle breeze wafted the subtle aroma of flowers around the sunny courtyard garden, enhancing the tranquillity and calmness of the setting. Shelpa dropped her head and rested it against Cyrus’s shoulder; in return he slipped his arm around her and laid his head against hers.
“If I don’t see him for another hundred years it’ll be too soon,” she mumbled
“You know that’s not true. You’ll forget again soon enough and you’ll miss him,” he replied, amused by her lack of awareness.
She sighed. “I know. I’ll be excited and pleased to see him, enjoying the passion and drama that living with Agis brings. Oh, it was fun at first, arguing, shouting and then making up.” She peered up at Cyrus, who smiled benignly at her. “But it became tiring day after day and he was so possessive.”
“I’m afraid I would’ve been bored with that after only an hour or two,” Cyrus told her.
“I’m not as clever as you, it takes me longer to get bored.” She stared out into the sunny colourful garden. “I’ll miss the making up though, but not the shouting. Can I stay with you and Mardonius again?” she asked moving away to make her plea face to face.
“Shelpa, you don’t need to ask. Of course you can and I expect you to.”
She sighed happily and her whole body relaxed. After a moment she spoke again. “I’m sorry about Mardonius. It must have been awful to actually feel yourself beginning to sever. Thank the gods that Cimon was able to save him.”
“It’s shaken us all up, Shelpa. It was so close. And from someone he trusted.”
“The boy died, I hope?” she queried quickly peering back. Cyrus nodded.
“Good! So he’s set on redemption now. Champion of the underdog and the poor man It’s different, I’ll give him that, and he’s got the charm and panache for it. Is he doing well?”
Cyrus smiled. “Yes, he’s doing very well. Busy every day and winning most of his cases. He doesn’t do it for the money and only takes a small amount if they win, sometimes none at all.”
“Does he hunt? He has to feed?” she asked worriedly.
“Yes, but only if they deserve to die.”
“Will he find his redemption soon?” she asked suddenly.
Cyrus was quiet and Shelpa craned up to look at him. He smiled briefly at her, but it was a sad quick smile. “I don’t know, maybe, maybe not. He wants to be sure.”
She sat up and moved away from her maker. “It’s that stupid story his maker told you about finding redemption and love, then dying and being free. That’s what’s driving you both now, isn’t it? And then I’ll be alone.”
He was quiet, not disagreeing with her. The wind blew again and moved her hair so that it drifted in front of her eyes. Irritated, she pulled the strands roughly back behind her ears. “Doesn’t it have to be with love or something like that?” she asked.
Cyrus shrugged. “It’s only a story, but it gives me hope. I think that Mardonius has found some young clerks who greatly admire and possibly worship him already. But who knows, Shelpa. He might find some enjoyment in his existence yet.”
“And you? When are you going to find someone to kill you with love?”
“I’ve been looking for years. But for the time being you’re stuck with me.” He smiled and opened his arms whereupon Shelpa frowned but tucked herself in next to him again.
“And my lovely Greek boy? You said he saved Mardonius, but he didn’t need to see that. He was always moralising about salvation and uncomfortable with death. He was finally beginning to enjoy himself and then this happens. Will you tell me where he is?”
“Shelpa, I can’t tell you, because I don’t know. Yes, he was badly affected, but we all were. The only contact I’ve had is from Gaul. Two scrolls twice a year in response to my own. That’s all I know, and that he’s passing as a Greek doctor.”
She was silent, thinking about what he’d just told her.
“Well, he’s Greek, so that’s not a lie and he’d taken the oath that the physicians take. He did that years ago, I remember his moral dilemma with one of the oaths that says you that mustn’t knowingly take a life. But Gaul!” She shook her head. “It’s cold and barbaric there. Why on earth Gaul?”
“I’ve no idea, “Cyrus lied, grateful that Shelpa couldn’t see the remnants of his human colours.
***
Inga sped through the fir trees ignoring their clinging snags and snapping twigs as she went. After what seemed like an endless journey through the gloom and bracken she came into the sunlight at the summit of his hill.
“Inga.” He was waiting for her, as she knew he would be, standing in the entrance to his stone dwelling, dressed as a man from her village, but it was all a carefully crafted disguise.
For the first time she could see clearly around him the white light of the seizer. Now she could see him for what he really was. All that time, he’d pretended to be her friend and it had all been a game to him. A ploy to gain her and the villagers’ trust before he got bored and let his hunger loose on them.
“I know what you are now. A liar and a demon. I can see what you are,” she hissed at him, but not daring to come too close. He stared at her, the welcome still frozen on his face, then his whole body seemed to sag.
“It’s not like that, Inga, I promise you.”
“I don’t care what its like,” she told him. “The games are over, creature. I have a weapon with me, so don’t come close.” She pulled out a spike and held it triumphantly in front of her, as if that alone would ward him off.
“Put it away, Inga, please. You can’t kill me with that and I don’t want to risk hurting you if you try to.” He held out his hands in submission. “Look, I mean no harm, I never
have. But if you attack me with that, I will defend myself.”
She continued to hold it out in front of her.
“Inga, look at me. Look at the area close to my body. Do you see the colours? Yes, I am a seizer or whatever you call it, but I still have some human qualities. I’m not what you’ve been taught, please believe me.”
He was still holding his hands out, so Inga lowered the spike, but held it firmly by her side. She looked at his aura and did indeed see human colours of distress and sadness swirling around close to his body.
“It’s a trick. You’ll feed from us when you get bored of pretending to be our friend. It’s what creatures like you do. Mutta was told to watch and tolerate, but I’ve been told to destroy you before you kill us.”
She saw him look away, his frustration evident, then he looked back at her. “Inga, please understand; think about this. Would I feed your people or help you read and find more healing plants with you, if I really wanted to kill you all? Yes, I do kill, but not here.” She pulled a face, remembering Cerlic. He seemed to realise that as well. “Yes, all right that hunter, but he was twisted, if I hadn’t killed him he would’ve hurt you. Yes, I feed, that’s why I go to the Roman side of the river and there I choose bad men, people who are better dead than alive. I discriminate. I don’t kill innocents and I won’t hurt you or your people. Please believe me.”
For a moment Inga did believe him and his colours said that he wasn’t lying. But the hurt went deeper than that, he’d pretended to be her friend and he wasn’t. He couldn’t ever be, because he was a creature of darkness, no matter how nice he appeared to be. Her trust and belief in him had gone and could never be replaced.
“I never said I was a god, Inga, I denied it.”
“You never said what you were either!” she spat back.
“Do you blame me? Would your people have let me stay? Could I have helped if you knew what I was? All these years I’ve been here. I would’ve been sent away right from the moment I found this place.”
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