Shadow of Hope

  She stepped away, moving out of his embrace; for a moment he tried to hold her, but then let her go. She heard him say her name, but she didn’t register. They’d been here before, she knew it. Her body was urging her to step back into his arms and think about it later, but she couldn’t. Confused by what she was feeling she stared at Goodman, only he wasn’t Goodman, he was somebody else. Again, he said her name and reached out his hand to her. That was the signal, she had to get away.

  She turned and ran, knowing that it wasn’t fair, but there was nothing else she could do. She had to get away because she didn’t understand what was happening.

  She took refuge in her bed and the next day she pleaded a headache. Mutta muttered, but accepted her illness, as it wasn’t often Inga complained of being unwell and the wise woman could clearly see that something wasn’t right with her, but couldn’t work out what it was. In her bed, Inga tossed and turned as she tried to make sense of what had happened and what she’d felt. Eventually she’d slept and the images had tumbled into her head and continued into her waking thoughts. A jumbled story seemed to play out, where she was an observer watching scenes from a life unfold in her mind.

  Slowly, understanding dawned on her and gradually things become clearer for her. Eventually, she knew what she had to do and where she had to go.

  Inga waited as Mutta made her preparations for bed; she pretended to feel a little better, so that she wouldn’t be too concerned and worried about her. Anxiously, she waited until Mutta had finally drifted off to sleep, then Inga dressed and slipped from the cottage and out of the village, grateful that people were used to her comings and goings.

  ***

  Cimon was bathing in the river. The weather was surprisingly clement for the time of year, so he took advantage, cooling his desire in the chilly mountain waters. All day he’d expected an angry Mutta to arrive and demand an explanation, but it hadn’t happened. In fact he’d watched the village and hadn’t seen Inga at all, only Mutta had left the cottage and done some work in her little herb garden.

  He’d totally messed up. He let her get under his skin and he’d reacted, given in to his base desires. He ought to have pushed her away and been the gentleman, though knowing Inga, he wouldn’t have seen her again if he’d done that. The idea of staying away for so long had been a good one, if only he’d had the strength not to give in to temptation, but he’d totally lost control and now he’d frightened her away.

  Angrily he dived under the water, touched the river bed, but didn’t bother picking up the stones. He surfaced and slicked his hair back over his head to stop the water dripping into his eyes.

  “You were always a good swimmer.”

  Shocked, he swam around and to his surprise spied Inga standing at the bank.

  “Inga, you startled me. What are you doing out here?” he called to her warily. She smiled and pulled up her dress, slipped it over her head and let it fall to the ground. Then she gingerly stepped to the edge of the water and dipped her toe in.

  Her pale body glowed silver in the moonlight making her look like some water creature from myth. Cimon gulped, glad of the cooling properties of the mountain river, but realised quickly that they were doing very little to cool his increasingly inflamed ardour.

  “It’s cold but that’s all right,” she told him glancing up. “I’m not as good a swimmer as I was, so you’ll have to help me a bit. Is that all right?”

  That probably wasn’t a good idea, but she was coming in anyway. Slowly she walked into the cold water biting her lip with determination. Then she launched herself into the river and swam awkwardly towards him. He met her half way and held her out away from him.

  “Well, this is cold,” she said, smiling. “But it’s not surprising, it was sunnier in Greece, so by rights the water should be warmer as well.”

  He didn’t say anything, he was too busy trying to work out what she was doing here and how he was going to resist the urge to take her in his arms so he could feel her wet body curled around his.

  She swam closer, forcing him to let go of her and open his arms. For a long moment she looked into his eyes. Then, gently, she reached up to stroke the side of his face. Something in the tender way she looked at him made his heart beat faster and he felt the faint flicker of hope for the first time. She smiled and looked sad as she traced his cheek and then his jaw with her finger.

  “So different,” she murmured. “But the same eyes, still those beautiful sad eyes.”

  “Inga?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Cimon,” she said staring at him in wonderment. “It is you, isn’t it, Ci? I saw some of it today, I don’t understand it all, but I recognise you. I’m sorry it’s not more.”

  He didn’t care, she remembered enough to know him. He pulled her towards him and wrapped her in his arms. She melted against him and draped her arms around his head. After long moments they drew apart.

  They continued to look at each other, as if looking away would break the spell.

  “How, Inga? How did you suddenly remember?”

  “I’ve dreamt about this since I was small, but I didn’t realise what it meant, then yesterday, my dreams came true in a way. I’m sorry I ran, but I didn’t know what was happening. Today I pretended to be ill, but I kept seeing flashbacks of the past, I don’t understand it all, but I finally realised what my dreams had been about. And who you were, and why you were here.”

  “What do you remember?” he asked gently

  “You, but you looked different and you were a shepherd and we had our dog, Argus. We’d been friends since children, but I chased you and seduced you in the olive grove,” she said mischievously, which made him grin.

  “You were beautiful, all the boys wanted you,” he told her.

  “But I chose small, ugly Cimon because he made me laugh and he was the nicest,” she replied, stroking his wet hair.

  “I had to make up for things somehow,” he answered, amused at her memory.

  “Now look at us, you’re handsome, beautiful even, and I’m plain Inga. How things have changed. But I don’t mind. How could this happen?” she asked seriously.

  He was quiet for a moment and adjusted his hold on her to relieve his arms a little. “Uma. You remember Uma?”

  “The wise woman, I remember you mentioning her when you explained about your colours, but I don’t remember her name, though I can see her.”

  “She found a way for us. She believed that the gods hadn’t finished with us and they would help us to meet again.”

  She smiled. “So we could be together?” she asked.

  “One day, Inga, but…” She stopped his mouth with her hand.

  “I‘m to be the next Mutta. Yes, I know that I can’t have a normal life as others do, but I can have some pleasure. Please don’t stop me,” she said as she moved closer and kissed him, pushing his mouth open, to explore without inhibition. Cimon enveloped her in his arms and pulled her into him so that she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carefully, so as not to dislodge her, he moved until they were against the bank. They kissed without reservations, though he stopped several times to check she was all right, but each time she urged him on. As they came together, he warned her that there would be a little pain and blood. She smiled and told him not to worry, that it would be a sacrifice to the goddess who dwelt in the pool below.

  He was as gentle as possible whilst she gasped in pleasure as she became adjusted to feeling him inside her. Her body rocked with small waves of pleasure, until she felt him become taut, then she wrapped her arms around his neck and she rested her face against his cheek to feel his pleasure shudder through him. Gently, he moved her face so she was looking at him; they didn’t speak, because there was no need.

  Finally, Cimon lay down on the bank next to her so that they were side by side and eye to eye, and reached out to tenderly stroke her wet hair, then trace patterns across her warm wet skin.

  Inga lay watching him as his fingers explo
red the contours of her body; her look was one of unbelievable tenderness and his heart ached to see the genuine love in her eyes. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but she was happy, he knew that, he could feel it emanating from her. She reached out to stroke his cheek then slid her fingers around to caress his lips; gently he moved his head into her hand and kissed her fingers.

  “Ci, you’ve always said that it doesn’t matter about the past, that what’s important is now,” she said quietly, then she gasped. “You don’t mind me calling you that? It sort of came out.”

  He smiled. “It was my name, Inga, and I prefer it to Goodman.” She grinned at that, obviously remembering the conversation during the winter.

  “I don’t care if this is because of the past. I want to be with you now. I always have. But I think you know that,” she admitted, blushing.

  He smiled, hearing Inga’s innocence in her words. “Yes, I’ve been aware of your feelings. Do you think that you’ve been the only one who had them?” he teased.

  She gasped and looked surprised. “I had no idea. Oh no, how embarrassing.”

  “Why?” he asked. She stared at him and chewed her lip.

  “Because I didn’t know and …” Her words trailed off as she remembered incidents.

  “Inga, you have no idea how many times I left you and came here,” he told her gently. “It’s all right. But it’s why I went away. My feelings were becoming too hard to ignore,” he added mischievously.

  She blushed and looked down. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  She smiled softly, then moved onto her elbows. “What are we going to do, Cimon? I don’t want to be Mutta if it means that…” She stopped and looked away into the night, suddenly anxious and uncertain.

  He moved quickly to take her in his arms.

  “I want the same thing, Inga, why else do you think that I’m here and have been since you were a child?”

  She studied him for a moment, then realising that he was telling the truth, she relaxed. “What are we going to do?” she asked again quietly.

  He dropped his head to kiss her brow. “I honestly don’t know, but the gods have got us this far, I’m hoping they’ll have a plan.”

  ***

  The fire was still smouldering, but it was too low to be much use. Cimon helped Inga take off her dress then hung it from a branch to dry. He took her hand and led her to the back of the dwelling and into the right-hand chamber where several furs lay on the floor as bedding. She waiting as he removed his clothes then pulled him down to join her on the furs. She wasn’t shy and didn’t hold back, she trusted him implicitly. She’d dreamt of love enough times and now she wanted to experience it for herself, and Cimon willingly let her take the lead as their desires ebbed and flowed as the night moved on.

  Initially, he was reluctant to let her have some of his essence. But, eventually she broke down his arguments, until he gave way. He held her tenderly as she placed her open lips against his, and she’d sighed with pleasure as she savoured the taste of his sweetness and the intimacy of the sensation. He’d pulled away, but at her insistence he’d put his mouth against hers and gently pulled at her life force. She’s gasped in pleasure at the sensation, and the feeling of oneness that it brought to both of them. As he broke contact, they studied each other in the dim light from the oil lamp, knowing that what had torn them apart was truly behind them and now no longer something to be feared.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  At the bottom of the slope Mutta stood waiting as Inga raced down in the morning to get back to the village before anyone noticed she was missing. Inga slowed seeing the older woman and realised that her secret was out. Eventually she stopped at the boundary and faced Mutta.

  She lifted her chin in defiance and scowled, but to her surprise the older woman shrugged and shook her head in wry amusement.

  “I see that you’re better,” she said. Inga flushed. “I suppose Goodman healed you?” Inga looked down, embarrassed, then cautiously stepped over the boulders.

  “I love him, Mutta, and he loves me. He’s got colours, so he’s still capable of feeling it.”

  “Oh, I know how you both feel about each other. I can read my colours, thank you. This has been brewing for quite a while. Do you honestly think I didn’t know, girl?” Inga didn’t say anything, she hadn’t realised that Mutta knew, but it would have been clear to her all along. Mutta shook her head. “Oh, you have got it bad, haven’t you? At least he’ll still have his feet on the ground.”

  “I’ll leave if I have to,” Inga told her. Mutta sighed heavily and shook her head in exasperation.

  “Did you go to him?”

  “Yes, I felt him come back and well…I know why he’s here,” Inga replied, nervously.

  Mutta nodded. “Let’s go back to the village. You can tell me all I need to know then. I’m not cross, Inga.”

  “I want to be with him. I’ll stop being your replacement if I have to.”

  Mutta laughed softly. “You think that the village will accept him living here with us. I don’t think so, Inga, he’s Goodman.”

  “Then I’ll go, like I said,” Inga told her, stopping.

  “It might not come to that. But let’s see, shall we?” Mutta told her walking ahead and leaving Inga to catch up.

  Inga told Mutta everything, she talked nonstop about what she remembered and how she had come to the knowledge, though Mutta assumed that she’d left certain aspects out in the retelling. Mutta didn’t tell her that Goodman had already told her the story, so she played along and marvelled with Inga at how such a thing had come to pass.

  She couldn’t be cross with the girl, who was full of love and bouncing with joy at how she felt. Every few moments she’d remember something else and would explain how her past life related to today. Mutta was glad for her, and happy that they had found each other again, but she was concerned that this joy would only be short lived.

  As dusk approached Inga became quiet, and Mutta knew why: the reality of the situation was playing on her mind. She wanted to be in the mountains with Goodman, or Cimon as she sometimes slipped in calling him, but convention meant that she had to stay here in the village. The older woman made up her mind. Inga was going to go to him anyway and who was she to say it was wrong that she did.

  “Inga, go to him. Go now with my blessing. I’ll not stand in the way of the gods, but we’ll have to work something out,” she told the girl impulsively.

  Inga put her work down. “Are you sure, Mutta? Maybe I ought to wait until everyone’s asleep?”

  “It’s dusk, there are plenty of herbs that need gathering at this time of day; no one will look twice if you go. Try to be back before they open the gate in the morning though.” Inga grinned and hurriedly hugged the older woman.

  “Thank you, Mutta,” she said and slipped out of the house before Mutta could change her mind.

  Cimon had been waiting anxiously for Inga to leave, so when she finally left the village only moments before the gate was due to close, he jumped from his watching place in the oak tree to meet her when she entered the forest.

  Inga saw him before she was in the trees. She smiled and quickened her pace and Cimon found himself beaming back at her. Everything he’d been through was worth it just for that one moment when she’d seen him. Without a word he took her hand and led the way through the trees to the hill.

  In the darkness Inga rested her head on his chest and for a moment, the worries of the outside world seemed a life time away to him. He was happy here with her and everything else faded into insignificance. Absently, he stroked her hair, which he’d unbound so that it had hung in loose golden waves down her back. Free like this it reminded him of the depictions of the nature deities of Greece, which, according to myth, would sometimes grace men with their presence. He felt blessed to have this time, so silently he gave a prayer of thanks to the gods.

  “Cimon, will you take me away from here?”
she asked, interrupting his whimsical imaginings.

  “Away from your friends and family, everything you know? No, Inga, that’s not fair on you.”

  She lifted herself and turned to face him. “But if I’m with you it won’t matter. I might not be able to stay here and be the next Mutta.”

  He regarded her for a moment. “We don’t know yet, Inga. As Mutta you could come and go as you please.”

  She looked down. “I don’t want to hide and scurry around in secret, which is what we’d have to do. I’ve thought about it. You can heal and I can help as well. We could go together to the Romans,” she suggested.

  He considered her idea. “You do know Latin, so that would help. But it’s a cruel world out there and dangerous. You’ve no idea.”

  “But you’d be able to take care of us,” she said tracing her fingers over his chest.

  He smiled at her innocence. “Even I have to be careful, Inga. There are plenty of people like you and Mutta who are trained to kill Seizers. We call them Wielders, and we have to be on our guard for them all the time.

  “Even if you heal people?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Some will discriminate between us, but others will kill without any consideration assuming that we’re all monsters.”

  “Have you killed any of these Wielders?” she asked quietly.

  “It was either me or them. And once they were they were threatening my friends.” He stroked her hair. “I’m sorry, but I had no choice.” She bit her lip and lay back down again.

  “I’d have done the same,” she told him after a moment’s thought and he breathed a sigh of relief that another dangerous obstacle had been successfully passed.

  ***

  Cimon waited quietly for Inga to arrive at the summit of the hill. So far Mutta had accepted the situation and allowed her to come to him in the evenings, but he had no idea how long this situation would go on for. He hadn’t sought Mutta out and nor had she approached him . They were deliberately avoiding each other. But after tonight he might not be a problem at all.

  After all the years he’d been worrying about how he felt about Inga and if he really wanted to be saved, it had come down to a month of happiness with her. He was ready and willing to risk everything because he believed in her and he trusted that the gods would bring them together again. It had come as a shock when he’d realised that he could die happy, they’d been reunited and really nothing else mattered.