Shadow of Hope

by Elsye Harwood

  She considered what he said. He was right, if they had known, they wouldn’t have allowed him to stay, and then how many of the village would have suffered without the extra food he’d provided? How many of them would’ve died without his hunting skills? Suddenly she reached a decision.

  “Go! Get out of this place and leave us. I won’t kill you and I won’t call the others. Take your stuff and your scrolls and leave here tonight. If I come back tomorrow and you’re still here, I’ll tell everyone and we’ll hunt you, and send you back to hell.”

  He stared at her so she glared back. His dark eyes, which she’d thought so expressive and beautiful before, were now filled with coldness and something akin to hate.

  He didn’t say anything, it was unnerving. Another trick he could use to frighten and intimidate her, but surely this was his real face? For several moments they faced each other. But it felt like a lifetime to Inga, an eternity in which she had to make him believe that she’d do what she threatened. Finally, he grinned and threw his hands up. But his eyes were hard, stranger’s eyes, and seeing them she realised that the friendship had gone on both sides.

  She watched feeling empty and dead instead of triumphant, as he stepped back and nodded.

  “I won’t be able to take it all tonight. Can I have your permission to come back later and remove the rest?” He looked around, then met her eyes again. “It’s taken a few years to accumulate this.”

  He was cold; she could hear the detachment in his tone. Silky smooth and slightly mocking. So different from how he usually spoke to her. She’d hurt him, she realised. He’d actually cared.

  But she was doing the right thing. And was sparing him by telling him to leave. “I’ll let you come back once more to get your stuff. I’ll put wards and protection around this hill so that we’ll know if you return.” To her annoyance he laughed and shook his head. “What’s so funny?”

  He smiled at her, but his eyes remained hard and mocking. “Years ago, another women promised she’d do that to keep something like me out. She was older and more experienced than you. But that didn’t stop that creature coming back and taking me so that I became like her.” He flashed a charming smile as he finished. “Oh, and a word of advice: don’t bother with protection bags either, I did and look where it got me.” He grinned and pulled a face, then strolled to the entrance. Suddenly he stopped and looked back. “I don’t suppose you want anything for old times’ sake? A scroll maybe so you can continue with your Latin?” Inga made no response. She was numb. “No, I didn’t think so, but I’ll leave them for now and take them next time. Take what you want. I can always get more.” He turned away again making for the dark entrance.

  Suddenly the spell broke for Inga; she sobbed out loud, raced back into the dense fir trees and pushed her way back down the slope.

  ***

  The shadows were lengthening when Inga finally made her way back to the stone tumulus on top of the sacred hill. She judged that she’d given the seizer plenty of time to collect his stuff and leave.

  The summit was clear. In the entrance were the remains of the fire, but the metal frame was gone. Three water buckets were empty and sitting on top of each other face down inside the entrance. Around the chamber only a few pots remained. All the herbs and hanging plants had disappeared as well, along with the drying meats outside. She noticed that he’d even taken the strange oil lamps which gave a better light than the tallow they used.

  There was very little left and certainly nothing personal. Inga approached the boulder that separated the outer chamber from the inner rooms. She’d never been this far into his dwelling before; it had always been his private space. Cautiously, she peered around the stone into the darkness beyond. There was no other source of light except the entrance, so she slid sideways along the stone. Inside, she could make out four smaller chambers, each half portioned off by similar boulders. Careful to keep light to a maximum, she peered into the little rooms. Three of them were empty. But the one on her left contained lots of scrolls all carefully stacked. Inga gave a little gasp of delight. He’d left them as he said he would. She inched into the room and in the darkness fumbled for one at random. Safely securing it in her hand, she inched back into the outer chamber and looked around.

  This was all her fault. She’d done this, doing Talaka’s dirty work. She hadn’t spoken to Mutta yet. She didn’t want to, she was much too ashamed. Mutta had kept the status quo and all had been well, he’d been respected and allowed to live in peace and in return he’d helped them all and ensured that they survived even the harshest winters.

  It was only Talaka who’d advocated this course of action, and had made her get rid of Goodman, when possibly nothing needed doing. The old woman had never met him and she’d never said anything about human colours, so maybe he was different from what she’d been taught? But now, thanks to that bitter old lady, they’d never know.

  Angrily she kicked a pot over. For a second guilt flooded her, but then something else took over; this was a vent for her anger. She kicked another one and then the stack of buckets. She stamped on the bracken and kicked the ash around the floor, and aimed one pot to hit the wall, which it did and exploded on impact. It was bad to do, but it felt so good. With a yell she aimed more of them, soon she was wildly kicking and throwing everything around the room, making as much mess and chaos as she could. Then she stopped and slumped down on the floor and sat amongst the wreckage still clutching the scroll in her left hand until it grew completely dark outside.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mutta decided that the place to finally talk to Inga was out in the forest away from any distractions. The girl was worrying her. She’d refused to say anything at all, only that the creature on the hill was gone. Mutta took that as evidence that Inga had finally discovered the truth about her friend and that Talaka had primed the girl to drive Goodman away or worse to kill him. Obviously her warning hadn’t been enough.

  She led Inga to a quiet area, some distance from Goodman’s hill, where tree trunks could act as seats. She sat down and waited for Inga to stop fiddling and look at her. Finally, as the girl obviously wasn’t going to, she spoke.

  “So, Inga, I think I know what’s happened. But I have to tell you something as well. Will you let me tell you before you jump in and ask questions or become cross?”

  Inga nodded, but clearly her mind was elsewhere, as it had been since she’d returned from training. Mutta took a breath and told Inga what she knew of Goodman.

  “I knew he was a seizer. I met him that night he told you about the camomile.” Finally she had the girl’s attention. Inga began to ask something, but Mutta held up her hand.

  “He knew that you’d find out someday as well, and when Talaka called for you to train, we agreed that he’d tell you himself, so that it wouldn’t come as a surprise. But she summoned you before he had the chance. You weren’t supposed to find out from her, I’m really sorry, Inga.

  “I believe that he was a good man once and he’s trying hard to be now. He told me that he wanted salvation, to simply be forgiven for what the other soul had done in its first life. You know that a seizer has two souls merged in one body?” She waited as Inga nodded and continued. “He doesn’t want to go back to hell and nor does he feel that the soul of the shepherd he once was deserves to be condemned there either.” She hesitated as Inga’s eyes widened at that, but the girl stayed silent so she continued. “He’d found by chance that the same power he used to kill could also heal, and he helps people when he goes back to the Romans. He came here to keep away from temptation and the influence of others like him, a self-imposed exile if you like. He was trying to be as virtuous as he could be.” She stopped and waited for Inga to speak. But the girl didn’t say anything, only stared at her with pale eyes, bright with curiosity.

  Mutta continued. “I don’t know why he was so interested in you, Inga. He refused to say, except that you were honest and that you had kept your word when he requested you to
be quiet. I think, also, that he recognised your potential before I did, but it was something else, Inga. I believe that he was lonely, and you were his friend.” Inga made a noise then, a small sound in the back of her throat that could have been a sob. “I knew what he was, I saw it straight away that first night, but you didn’t. He could be himself without you judging. I think that was important to him.” She watched the girl’s eyes fill with water, but she continued anyway, it was time Inga knew the truth. “Talaka has never seen a seizer and I didn’t tell her that I’d reached an agreement with him. I didn’t think that she’d understand. You did what was right, Inga. You acted correctly. But sometimes…” She paused. “Sometimes, doing the right thing is…”

  “Wrong,” Inga interjected. Mutta shrugged in response to that. “But Talaka said that when he realised I was trained and I understood what he was, then he’d kill everyone because his game was over.”

  Mutta sighed sadly. “I can’t pretend I’m not sorry he’s gone. It’s a weight off my mind – well, that is until the winter comes around again and then I’ll be sorry. But I don’t think he would’ve hurt anyone. He promised not to and in all the years he’s been here, he never has. He does feed, but he goes over the river to the Romans to do that. And even there it seems he’s careful. Talaka scared you into doing what she wanted. It’s true, your friendship would’ve changed, there’s no doubt about that. But it might have survived.”

  “And he’d still be here and getting closer to being good again?” Inga added. Mutta looked away; she didn’t want to add to the girl’s upset. “Oh, Mutta, what have I done?” Inga cried and got up to huddle into Mutta, who lifted her arms to cradle the girl.

  “You did what you were supposed to do, you just didn’t know all the facts. And that’s my fault, I should’ve told you before you went.” But Inga wasn’t listening, so Mutta kept quiet and let the girl sob quietly.

  ***

  He knew it was morning from the noise coming from other overcrowded rooms in the insula. Cimon’s own room was small and dingy but at least it had a window, though he couldn’t see that much out of it as Livia’s posterior and back were taking up most of the view. He lay back on the bed, allowing himself another few moments before moving. But he must have fallen back to sleep, because the next thing he knew his neighbour and sometime companion was speaking loudly to him.

  “You need to wake, Greek. Get up,” Livia told him in her heavily accented Latin. He groaned in response and put his hand over his eyes. “What do I tell your patients? That the doctor is sick? That is not good for trade, if you can’t heal yourself.”

  Cimon opened his eyes and peeked at her. She didn’t realise that she’d said something amusing. There was no point laughing as she’d only get annoyed.

  “I will give you some time, then I will tell them this,” she told him, pulling on her gown and using the water to wash. He made a noise to show that he’d understood and waited for her to leave, before rolling over onto his side. Livia had a wonderful body, a brilliant business mind, but no sense of humour. She ran the stall next to him in the public baths, selling perfumes and make-up, it was something she was very good at and she did well.

  He was also making a decent living as a Greek healer in this frontier town. It was the same one he been asked to visit years ago. The Romans had recently found a hot spring near the Rhine and made a spa for themselves in their fort. As usual a group of hangers-on and opportunists, as well as some family, had settled around the garrison and it had become a settlement. Those hot springs had soon become part of the public baths accessible to everyone. This was where he plied his business, and had earned himself a decent reputation through word of mouth. His customers were mostly ladies, though he was also seeing a lot more soldiers from the barracks.

  But he was depressed. That was the human part of him; Rabisu never felt like this, they couldn’t. He’d seen Cyrus fight his own melancholia in the past but this wasn’t external, it was all his own doing. He should’ve told Inga, but he hadn’t and now everything was lost. She hated him, because he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth.

  He could understand why she was hurt and angry; he had lied to her and that was partly because he was ashamed at what he was and hadn’t expected a young girl to see beyond the creature he appeared to be, to the man who was still there lurking beneath. And that was because really deep down, she wasn’t Callie and he knew that was at the root of why he hadn’t told her, but then he’d never given her the chance to be someone else either, and had always kept her at a distance. If he’d trusted her and told her things, then she wouldn’t have believed the other women’s’ training. Ironically, he realised that he’d trusted Mutta more than Inga.

  Reluctantly, he heaved himself out of the bed and found a tunic. It had been odd at first to wear Roman clothes again and it had taken some getting used to. Livia had left him some fresh water so he washed and rubbed the peppermint powder around his teeth. Preparations over, he was now ready to face his clients, though he still didn’t feel like it.

  As he made his way to the baths he considered his options. He could stay here and live as a doctor and do quite well, which was an existence, certainly, and he was discriminating, so it would help in the long run towards ultimate redemption. Or he could go back to the mountains and run the risk of an enraged Inga and her army of angry herb women. He did have to get the rest of his scrolls, though possibly, Inga would’ve burnt them by now. But that was his anger speaking. She wouldn’t do that, not the scrolls; she knew how useful they could be.

  And then there was Rome, or was it Alexandria now? Either way, Cyrus had written a few weeks ago and informed him that Shelpa was back with them, remorseful at leaving them for so long, but glad to be away from Agis. Apparently she’d left him this time. That was a nice surprise. Cyrus made no secret of the fact that Shepla wanted to see him, but had made it clear that she’d no idea where he was or why he might be there.

  The idea of returning was appealing. As he walked through the busy newly cleaned streets he was so sorely tempted, in fact he didn’t know why he hadn’t. Inga had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, he was a monster to her and he felt nothing for anyone else here. They were companions to pass the night with, nothing more, except maybe reliable sources of essence. But if he went back, he would be with those who cared for him and where he could be true to himself. He could genuinely say to the gods and himself that he’d tried but fate had been against him.

  He’d played a good hand, but he’d lost the game. To go home, lick his wounds and find solace in Shelpa’s arms until next time was inviting. But he suspected that if he did that, then little by little he’d fall under her spell, becoming lax in his discrimination and more like her, until salvation became a word and a faint hope to be worried about at another time. And then what would happen when he felt that heart beat again? Would he even hear it? Maybe he’d be so lost that he wouldn’t notice? That thought made him shudder and despite the warmth of the morning, he felt a chill. It was a route he could choose to take and it was also the reason why he was still here on the edge of the empire despite what had happened.

  Livia was standing with her hands on her hips waiting for him. He could see why: already he’d three people waiting and one of them was the Praefectus castrorum, the third most important man in the legion stationed in the area. This was not someone you wanted to keep waiting.

  ***

  Inga held the small flaming torch in front of her and walked cautiously to the back of Goodman’s stone home. She was here to take two things, but what she needed to do had to be done at night.

  She moved past the half boulder that separated the inner sections from the outer chamber and set the torch down in a gap between the stones. She waited to see if it was secure, before she went into the left-hand chamber and grabbed several more scrolls, then dropped them into the leather bag that she’d brought with her. She couldn’t take them all, but she’d about five and
she could take more later.

  Satisfied with that part of her task, she carried the bag back into the outer chamber and returned to the inner sections. This time she entered the right hand chamber and bent down on her knees to begin her search. Eventually after much scrabbling around in the soil, she found what she was after. With a cry of triumph she carefully picked up the prized object, then she took the torch and returned to the outer area.

  Once again, she stuck the torch into a gap in the wall then dropped to her knees. Carefully she gathered up some of the ash she’d kicked around months ago and collected it into a pile in the middle of the old fireplace. She spat several times onto the pile and with her finger mixed it all up. This was the important part. Slowly, she closed her eyes and began to imagine Goodman standing in front of her. When she was satisfied, she settled down and etched a likeness of him into the concoction on the floor. She poured all her concentration into that task, imagining every part of him as she drew it. Finally, she sat back and looked at her work. It wasn’t brilliant and the drawing was all wrong, but that wasn’t important. Carefully, she then put the piece of dark hair that she’d found in the inner chamber into the crude effigy and covered it up with ash.

  For a few moments longer she sat contemplating what she’d done. Only time would tell if it worked or not and if it didn’t, then at least she’d tried. With a sigh, she stood and collected the bag from the floor and the torch from the wall and left the dwelling with the picture still clearly evident on the floor.

  ***

  Cassius was smiling, encouraging him to like the wine he’d ordered. Cimon took a sip. It was good; in fact, it was very good. He nodded to show his approval.

  Cassius lifted his own glass and drained the dregs. “I thought you’d like it. It’s from Campania. Have you ever been to the area?” he asked pouring more of the wine into his now empty cup.

  “Yes, I passed through once, I stayed at Nola.”

  “Ah, close to Capri and to our esteemed emperor. So you’ve had this wine before?” Cassius asked with a calculating look in his eyes.