Shadow of Hope

by Elsye Harwood

  Silently Inga nodded and Mutta stood whilst she lifted her legs so that she was lying on the bed.

  “Have you tried for yourself?” she asked as she put her hands ready to inspect her and gauge the age of the child she carried.

  Blinking back tears, Inga nodded. Carefully, Mutta placed her hands on the girl and felt for the telltale signs. She could detect Inga’s tension, but that didn’t disguise the fact that under her experienced hands she could clearly feel another life growing inside the young woman.

  “I would say, three maybe three and a half moons, Inga.” The young woman nodded and blinked again, then turned away so that she was facing the wall.

  “I’ll tell you what I say to every first-time mother. You’re young and strong, so everything is stacked in your favour. Try not to worry.”

  “But,” Inga whispered quietly, “will it be a monster?”

  Mutta had been anticipating that question and she had an answer ready. “Is the father a monster?”

  “No!” Inga responded, outraged, turning back to glare at her.

  “Well then…” Mutta smiled. “The child won’t be. But I do think that you should tell him as soon as he gets back. He might know more than we do about this…” She paused. “This situation.”

  Inga nodded. “I hope so, but I don’t think he does,” she replied anxiously and turned away again to face the wall.

  ***

  Cimon sat up and pulled his knees up into his usual position. Next to him, forgotten for the moment, Inga waited anxiously, biting her lip as she watched him. He was silent for a long time and the characteristic running of his hands through his hair was a sure sign of his agitation.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. But he didn’t hear. Silently, she lay next to him, until she couldn’t bear it any more. She sat up and touched his shoulder and arm. “I know the herbs to get rid of it. I’ll do that.”

  That drew a response, and he turned to her. “No Inga, you don’t need to do that. I’m just young, I don’t know if this can happen, or if it has in the past. This could be perfectly normal. I just don’t know.” He moved around so that they were almost facing each other. “I need to ask Cyrus, he’s older, he might know.”

  “Will you go to Rome?” Inga asked worriedly.

  He shook his head. “Cyrus is in Rome, but I’ll go over the river and write to him, send it urgently and hopefully he’ll get back to me just as quickly.”

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked, not happy but realising that it was the best and only solution.

  “Not long, time to get there and back, and then to get a message to Rome... I don’t know how long, Inga, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. “I promise.” She returned the pressure, knowing that he would be true to his word and would do everything in his power to make this work.

  She moved a little and looked up. “Do you want to feel? You do that, don’t you, when you heal? Judge how old the baby is? You do it for Roman women?”

  He looked wary. “This is a bit different. It’s something to do with me. But I can try.”

  “It’s all to do with you,” she retorted. “This is because of you!”

  “Well that’s not true,” he countered but her look cut him off as she lay back on the furs.

  “Mutta thinks it’s four moons now, but what do you think?”

  Carefully he placed his hands on her stomach and moved his hands in much the same way she’d been taught.

  “Well?” Inga asked.

  Cimon bit his lip, and looked contrite. “I think it’s more like five moons,” he said quietly.

  “It can’t be, I’ve only missed three bleeds. You know that as well.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a big baby? And some women do still bleed when carrying. A few don’t …”

  “I know, some don’t know and it’s not twins, you’d have felt it, and Mutta would.” Inga snapped, perturbed that he’d said time-wise what she’d suspected but couldn’t explain.

  Maybe this is norm…?” He stopped, unwilling to continue. But Inga had caught his drift already.

  Neither said anything for a while, but eventually Inga spoke to break the silence.

  “You’ll go tomorrow?” It wasn’t really a question, Inga realised, she was telling him to. He nodded, then lay down next to her. After a moment she shifted herself and felt his arms come around to cradle her. She nestled into him knowing that for the moment it was the only comfort he could give.

  ***

  Whilst Cimon was away Inga began to show and instead of being sceptical and wary, the villagers took her pregnancy as a sign of fecundity and wealth for the village. People clamoured to touch her growing bump for good luck and she was asked to bless anything and everything, from hunting trips to marriages.

  She stayed with Mutta who looked after her and made sure that she didn’t exert herself and her mother and sisters also kept close to her, delighted that finally Inga was having her own child. But anyone could see that the pregnancy was taking its toll on her. She’d less energy and was often exhausted by the end of the day. She was also stiff and had difficulty moving, but was never actually laid low with illness.

  She waited anxiously for Cimon’s return and the balm of his presence and healing and she knew that despite her calmness Mutta was worried as well. Almost as soon as she’d done it, Inga regretted sending him away immediately without giving them a few days together. She understood why she’d done it, but now she was becoming used to the idea of impending motherhood, despite the somewhat disconcerting size of her bump. It was the excitement and support of her family and the rest of the village that made the difference. They were pleased for her and not at all worried about having a demigod living amongst them.

  He returned one morning after being away for less than then two moons. Inga had been gathering herbs with Mutta when she’d given a small cry of delight, then she’d turned to the older woman beaming happily and announced that they had to wait as Cimon was coming and was close by.

  They’d sat quietly on the boundary stones, until Inga had struggled to her feet. Mutta looked up to see the unchanged handsome young man jogging over towards them.

  Moments later Inga was in his arms. Mutta had glanced away; this was a private moment between two people and not for her eyes. When she looked back, she could immediately see that there was an improvement in Inga and that Cimon had already begun to heal her. She sighed, relieved that the pregnancy would be easier for her now. Soon she heard them talking quietly and Cimon was remarking on the size of her bump and both of them seemed to be more relaxed.

  “Mutta,” Cimon finally acknowledged her. She stood as Inga turned to her, smiling.

  “It’s all right, Mutta. Apparently it’s normal,” Inga told her happily. Mutta frowned. There was nothing normal about the rapidity of the progression of Inga’s pregnancy.

  “Well, it’s not normal, Inga, but it’s to be expected,” Cimon clarified. “I heard from Cyrus, an old friend, he’s much older than me, and he’s heard of this happening in the past, but it’s rare today, and virtually unheard of in the empire. It can happen in long relationships between people and Rabisu, or seizers as you call them.”

  “Can the female hunters have children as well?” Inga asked.

  Cimon glanced at her. “No, only males seem to be able to. Don’t worry, the resulting child is human, but gestates a lot quicker than an ordinary infant. Apparently, they usually arrive after seven moons.” Mutta and Inga glanced at each other.

  “What about aftercare? Do they accept their mother’s milk?” Mutta asked, thinking ahead.

  He nodded. “Yes, all as normal. But they’ll need essence from the father for a while but can be weaned off that quite soon. They’re human, but somehow, or so Cyrus said, somewhere between the two. They’re stronger, longer lived and attractive, but with no desire for others’ life force.”

  Inga beamed at Mutta. The old lady smiled
back, finally their unspoken fears were assailed and they could both relax.

  “So they get all the good bits without any of the negative traits?” Mutta replied, amused at the turn of events. Cimon nodded and grinned ruefully, also seeing the humour.

  “Are there any alive now?” Inga asked, curious now about any others like the child she was carrying.

  Cimon shrugged. “We don’t know. Cyrus doesn’t know of any, but who’s to say? He tends to keep himself separate from most others except those in Rome. So there could be some in the east where most seizers tend to live.”

  “I take it that Inga’s tiredness is due to the child?” Mutta asked, holding the bag of flowers close to her and ready to take her leave.

  Cimon nodded and glanced at Inga. “It needs essence. So yes, it’ll take more energy from the mother than a normal child. I’ll make sure that you have enough for both of you,” he told Inga.

  “You’ll need to feed more often than before to maintain, yourself and the child.” Mutta said.

  “No one will die, Mutta, I promise.” She nodded to show that she believed him, turned and began the walk back to the village alone.

  ***

  Shelpa stood up from the couch in the dining room. Her face was like thunder and her eyes shone brightly with barely concealed rage.

  “A mortal woman pregnant. How could he? Stupid boy. Playing humans. How typically naïve and innocent of that stupid shepherd. Why did I waste my essence and time on him if this is how he repays me?”

  Cyrus tried to calm Shelpa down but she wouldn’t have it. She paced the room and Mardonius watched her worriedly.

  “Well, it’s got to stop. I’ll have to put an end to it. How does he think he can be a father to a child? A mortal woman! That’s where he’s been all these years. Playing families. When will he learn that he’s a hunter and not a human?” She pounded her hand on the table and stalked out of the room. “I’ve never been so insulted,” she growled from the atrium.

  “I wouldn’t have told her,” Mardonius said quietly to Cyrus.

  “I felt I had to, that she’d the right to know,” he replied. “Though I wonder now if it was the right thing.”

  “What?” Mardonius quipped. “She needed to know that she’s going to be a grandma. And her favourite created child would prefer to live with a human rather than be with her. ”

  Cyrus frowned at him. “She doesn’t know where he is and she’s not going to find out.”

  “I don’t even know where he is,” Mardonius commented, popping a grape into his mouth. “But if she wants to, she’ll find him.” He thought about it, whilst Cyrus watched him worriedly. “Unless, of course, it’s Germania or Britain, then he’s safe, she doesn’t do barbarians or smells.”

  “I hope you’re right about that,” Cyrus muttered quietly. Mardonius pulled a face processing the slip of information he’d just gleaned from Cyrus.

  ***

  Cimon waited in the tree line, listening anxiously for any sound Inga might make. That morning in the cold light of dawn, she’d woken him and told him in no uncertain terms that it was time.

  She’d begun to walk down the slope, but the effort had been too much and he’d carried her for rest of the way. He’d approached the village door and had knocked, waiting with her until it opened, but then she’d insisted that he go and leave things to her for now. They’d discussed this and she’d explained that she wanted to be with her family and Mutta as customary. Though Mutta was under strict instructions to get him in case of any difficulty or complication.

  Inga’s sister Helda had been given the job of keeping him updated and she was now jogging back into the village after nervously giving him the news that everything was proceeding as expected.

  This was going to be quick, they all knew it, and before Helda had re-entered the open gate, they all clearly heard Inga’s cries of pain. This time they came quickly and regularly. He could feel that it was happening now. He leant against the tree, praying desperately to the gods that this would be over quickly for her and for it to end well. This was a child that shouldn’t have happened. A child conceived in love, a real gift from the gods, a genuine sign that they were pleased with their endeavours in this life.

  Another shriek of pure animalistic pain rent the air, making him wish again that he was there by her side to share this and to reduce her suffering in some way. Another cry came, this one blistering in its agony. He couldn’t bear it; he was going to go to her, regardless of her wishes.

  He began to move towards the village, but stopped. He could feel Inga’s heart pounding inside him, but now there was another. Softer, quieter but it too was racing. He shook his head in wonderment, knowing that it could only be the child. Those last two shrieks of anguish had given it life. Now it was born and living and breathing of its own volition. Cimon grinned with pure delight and shouted out his thanks to the gods. After nearly ninety years on the earth, he was finally a father; the gods had granted them the ultimate gift that they had denied them before. He didn’t run, there was no need, he’d make his way steadily, allowing Inga time to do what women needed to do after momentous moments like this.

  Half way across the green grass of the valley he realised that something wasn’t right. Both heart beats were slowing, fading. Not just the child’s but Inga’s as well. Not simply readjustment but something sinister, a gentle draining from Inga’s and malaise from the child.

  He ran. The villagers weren’t surprised to see their god enter their village, but were taken aback at his speed. Most stared but a few women had the presence of mind to direct him to Mutta’s cottage. Helda was rushing out and on seeing him gave a cry and rushed back in.

  He heard her shout, “He’s here. He knows.”

  It was his first time in a German cottage, but he wasn’t looking around. He could see Mutta and Sabine, Inga’s mother, trying to stop the steady flow of Inga’s life blood which was pouring out of her. Somewhere Katja her other sister was holding the ailing child and trying to encourage it to continue breathing. But that wasn’t his concern.

  As he reached Inga’s side he heard Mutta tell the others that if he could he would save her.

  Without waiting, he bent over and placed his mouth over her cold lips and breathed his essence into her. He could see the problem: she was haemorrhaging and losing too much blood. Desperately he poured as much of himself as he could. Gradually, she came back to him, as he tried again and again to mend the rent in her body and to get her healing process to kick in and stop the bleed. Finally after countless attempts, it caught, her own body switched back on and the tear began to heal. Cimon tenderly gave her more then gently released her lips. Somewhere in the background he heard Mutta tell him that the bleeding was stopping.

  Her sisters and mother began to cry with relief. He’d saved her. Gently she opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “I’m sorry. I’m too weak,” she told him in little more than a whisper.

  “Shush, Inga, don’t speak. Sleep.” He reached out to stroke her cheek urging her to rest; they would have time to talk as much as they liked, later, when she was stronger.

  “No, Ci.” She was becoming agitated and fumbled by the side of the bed. He looked to where she was indicating. She had her spike by the bed, within her range.

  “It’s all right, Inga, I’ve stopped the bleeding, and you’re safe. You don’t need to.”

  She smiled at him and fumbled for his face. “Sorry, I’m too weak. We have a little girl. Look after her. And wait for me… I love you…” She stopped speaking and sighed, looking lovingly at him.

  “Inga, sleep. It’s…” He stopped as he realised that her gentle exhale had been her last and the heartbeat that had been with his for over thirty years had finally fallen silent.

  “No,” he roared “Inga! Inga! Wake up. No, you can’t! Come back.” He dropped to her side and desperately pushed more of his healing essence into her, but it simply wafted back out into him. He broke down then, he c
ouldn’t save her, he’d been too late She’d lost too much blood and had quietly drifted away from him, and out of his reach. If only he’d insisted on being here with her, if only he’d come sooner.

  Something made him look up, it wasn’t the others in the room, he ignored them. Something golden and light was breaking free from her tired body. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t fight it as her soul lifted free and found its release. He dropped his head again, letting his tears spill freely on to her cooling cheek.

  Someone touched him. He ignored it at first. He wanted to be alone to try and take in and understand what had just happened. But the touch was insistent. Reluctantly he raised his head and looked around. The other women were still in the room, but Mutta was behind him holding the baby.

  “Cimon, Inga’s gone, but your daughter requires you now. She’s not strong. She needs you.” Numb, he looked at her, not really hearing what was she was saying.

  “You’re all she’s got. Inga can’t help her, she did as much as she could, it’s up to you now.” Mutta was gentle but firm. Wiping his face, he got to his feet and looked down at the too quiet bundle in her arms. The girl had his black hair, but was a horrible unhealthy colour. Without looking at Mutta, he took the child and automatically placed his lips gently onto her tiny rosebud mouth. He breathed and instantly the child responded. Pulling at his breath with a hunger belying its fragility and size. He felt his daughter move and change, but continued to bestow his life force until she moved her small mouth away of her own volition.

  The little one would live now, he could feel the heart beating rapidly inside him in concert with his own and she was a better colour. Gently, he passed her back to Mutta who took her, but looked at him with open admiration and compassion. In the background Inga’s family sighed and muttered their thanks. There was genuine grief, but also relief that at least one death had been prevented.

  Mutta passed the child to Katja and turned back to him.

  “Katja will feed the child, she’s weaning one of her own, and so it won’t be hard for her.” She paused. “We’ll leave you,”