Shadow of Hope

  Shelpa was waiting anxiously just inside the tree line. He’d been too long with the Uma. Why had he gone to the old woman at all? It didn’t make sense to her, he should’ve made the kill and then fled away straight to his maker.

  She regretted letting him go home now, it had clearly been a mistake. She would have felt it if the Uma had killed him, so, why then was he still there? She was just considering going down into the village to confront the Uma herself, when she saw the shepherd leave the house and head straight through the village to where she was hiding.

  She smiled. He was coming to her. Shelpa moved out from under the trees. The young man paused for a moment, and then continued towards her. Seconds later he came willingly into her arms.

  She pulled away and looked at him. Already his face was changing and he seemed taller. There was definitely potential in this one, she decided. Smiling, she pulled him closer to her, and then opened her lips to allow her essence to flow into his open and waiting mouth.

  Moments later she was sprawled on the floor with the shepherd looming over her, his anger and fury clearly etched on his face. Instantly she was up and scowling back at him. He hesitated, plainly shocked by her agility. They stared at each other, glaring; finally she smiled and conceded the point.

  “That’s the only time you ever do that, do you understand?” He was breathing heavily, anger and disgust still vying for control on his face. He’d take some time to come around, but Shelpa knew that he would, because already she could see another emotion gaining its hold on him, a deep hunger that only she could sate. She waited for his answer, watching with satisfaction as his resolve receded until eventually he nodded and surrendered himself to her.

  Chapter Four

  Antinous forced open the wooden door of the captain’s private office. As expected, the room was deserted. The captain was away dealing with his officers and troops. Quickly Antinous strode over to the desk and searched amongst the scrolls looking for one from the Athenian war archon.

  One by one, he grabbed each scroll and unwound it to check the contents. Finally he found what he was looking for. He rummaged inside his cloak and retrieved the parchment he carried specially for occasions such as these. With one hand he spread the scroll open and with the other he used the ink and stylus from the captain’s desk to copy the message on to his paper. Once it was done, he checked the copy for accuracy. He needed to be thorough and precise when doing work like this. Happy that it was an exact copy, he let the scroll curl up and moved it back into the pile with the others. The sand for drying the ink was easy to spot. He dropped it onto the wet parchment and waited for a few seconds then blew it off. Anxiously he looked up at the door. He had to get back out and send this message to the Persian collaborators. Carefully he stuffed the copy into the bag that hung at his side, went over to the door and opened it slightly.

  It was still quiet outside and that meant that the men were still at their stations and rehearsing for the expected assault. He could almost breathe a sigh of relief, but not quite yet. He closed the door and walked down the corridor, past the dead guard who hopefully wouldn’t be discovered for a few hours and back out into the training ground.

  Men were running around and shouting as part of their preparation for the Persian invasion, but if the collaborators got their way, these men wouldn’t have to fight at all. The gate was just a stone’s throw away, so he wound his way through the men until he arrived at the entrance to the barracks. He nodded to the guards on sentry duty and walked between them perfectly at ease with his right to be there. Finally, he was out and in the open countryside, the boy would be waiting in the grove a little further down the road. That bag of money with his name on it would be his by this afternoon.

  ***

  Cimon released his hold on the girl, letting her head fall gently back onto the pillow. She’d tasted strange, he couldn’t really explain it, other than it had been like a blackness in her essence. He hadn’t come across anything like it before, but then he’d been like this for only five days and no more than three of those had been spent here in Thebes around other people.

  He looked around the room. Shelpa was on the other side entertaining herself with a particularly handsome young man. The rest of the room was full of other couples engaged in various pleasurable activities. In a place like this both their hungers could easily be sated and no one would be the wiser.

  Much to Shelpa’s annoyance, he still hadn’t killed anyone. She warned him repeatedly that if he didn’t, in time and despite her help, he’d wither and die. But Uma’s words and the hope that she’d given him were still clear in his mind and he simply couldn’t bring himself to take another’s life at the moment. Even Uma had warned that he would, but he was fighting and resisting this life in any way he still could.

  He stood and began to leave the pleasure room. He wanted to be alone. He’d taken as much from the girl as he wanted, though in reality he wanted more, but just couldn’t take that step yet. She had a life, friends and family. Who was he to deprive her of that, as it had been taken from him?

  Part of him hated Shelpa, hated what she’d done to him and what she’d made him. But the worst part of it was that he couldn’t be without her. Even now, as she teased and kissed the young man, he felt a stab of jealousy. He hated himself as well for wanting her and needing her so badly.

  Despite his best efforts, his desire for her was as strong as the hunger he felt deep down inside himself. Both of them were at times all consuming. In fact they seemed to be intertwined; the only time he felt sated was when he was lying with her.

  Angrily he strode across the room ignoring a girl offering herself and pulled the heavy curtain aside. He hated Thebes as well. They’d been here for three nights and each had been spent in different pleasure rooms around the city.

  They spent their days locked together in similar pursuits. Occasionally he managed to get away and he would walk out in the streets, but it made him uncomfortable. This was his first visit to any polis and the amount of people, noise and smell overwhelmed him. He was a country boy, from a rural village, and the most people he’d ever come across before had been at the shrines on festival days. He longed to be back on the mountain in the clean air away from the miasma of the city and the temptation of the people around him.

  Quietly he descended the stairs and exited the building. Already he felt better, just being away from the decadence and bodies on offer helped him to think more clearly. There were some gardens, here in Thebes, a sanctuary to Apollo; it wasn’t the mountain, but it was better than nothing.

  The gardens were still and tranquil. No one else was enjoying the sweet scents of the night, which seemed to focus and intensify the aroma of the flowers.

  Cimon leant against the wall of the temple and breathed a loud sigh. Now, here in the peace and quiet, he continued to feel the extra heartbeat, reassuring him that Callie was still alive. For a while he was lost in his thoughts, thinking about what had been taken from him and how he could never ever go back. That part of his life was done and when he thought like that his feelings would oscillate between anger and despair.

  He was terrified that in time that part of him would recede as the other new soul inside him emerged. Uma had assured him that he’d keep his humanity, that if it was going to go it would have gone already. But he wondered what other thoughts would become part of him in time. Already he was becoming used to Shelpa. She was a monster, there was no question of that, but a monster that he wanted to be with and he knew despite his resistance he was becoming more and more like her and gradually accepting what he was.

  She hadn’t explained much, so his only reference was what Uma had told him. All he knew about his maker was that she was Egyptian by birth and was just under two hundred years old. The Rabisu who had merged her was a man called Cyrus. Cimon had asked more questions but she’d laughed and put her hand across his mouth and told him that there was plenty of time to learn.

  She wasn’t st
upid, but he was coming to realise that she was in fact quite a simple creature who lived for pleasure and gratification. That made her very different from him. He’d worked hard all his life and the idea of living for pleasure seemed immoral and wrong. Maybe that too would alter as he adapted and changed.

  Cimon sniffed the air. People were coming; he could smell and taste their aroma. A flash of hunger swept through him. Shelpa assured him that if he fed properly then he’d be satisfied for longer. She’d said that it was possible to go days, even weeks without taking any essence. Right now he wished it were true. The beast inside his belly reared into life and he felt his senses go on full alert as if he were stalking prey.

  It would be so easy to give in and pounce on the unsuspecting couple and take his fill of them. But if he did that then he’d be no better than Shelpa and he would become like the wolf he’d spent his life fighting.

  With effort, he pushed away from the temple wall and made himself walk in the opposite direction to the innocent couple. He was making his way back to Shelpa. Despite what he felt about her, he couldn’t help himself and anyway there was no one else he could go to.

  The pleasure rooms were still busy as he pushed his way through the crowds of drunken people and slowly ascended the stairs. Hating himself for his weakness and his need to be with her, he pulled back the curtain to the private room.

  Shelpa was standing with her back to him looking out of the aperture. He stopped and surveyed the room. No one else was conscious. The others were all sprawled on the divans and rugs, apparently fast sleep.

  “I got bored,” she declared turning around to face him. She looked radiantly beautiful. Her swirling deep red robes and tousled dark hair made her look even wilder and more exotic than usual.

  “I can see that. Surely someone will notice?” he asked glancing at the number of people in the room.

  Shelpa came towards him. She shrugged. “I doubt that. I’ve put some back into each of them. They’ll wake up soon and feel fine. No one will know anything.” She grinned and put her arms around his neck. “But I’m full, so full; it’s seeping out of me.” She looked directly into his eyes, making the offer even more explicit.

  Automatically, Cimon reached up and cradled her cheek, pushing her jaw open with his thumb and enfolding her lips with his. Instantly the sweet nectar of the many different stolen life forces trickled out into his waiting mouth, driving all qualms and doubts from his mind.

  Chapter Five

  At the stern of the ship, Shelpa stood watching the sailors as they made preparations for bringing the merchant vessel into the harbour of Seleucia Pieria, the port for Antioch. The city, one of the biggest in the empire, was a melting pot of peoples and faiths. It also had the darkest underbelly of all the cities that she’d visited.

  Thebes had rapidly become boring. A Rabisu would soon be noticed in a provincial city like that. But here, it was completely different. People were murdered in drunken brawls every night, so the odd heart attack here and there wouldn’t arouse suspicion in any way. Many Rabisu came here and lived among the people; Cyrus had a house here in the suburb of Heraclea, but he hardly used it. She even had her own house in the centre of the old town as close to the heart of the city as possible.

  Shelpa looked across to see what Cimon was doing. As usual he was talking with the captain of the ship, no doubt asking more questions. He was so unlike her first Rabisu child, it amazed her how different they were. Agis had adjusted easily to this life, taking it in his stride and living for pleasure and his own enjoyment. But Cimon was different. He wanted to know everything, all the time he asked questions and wondered why something was so. He reminded her of Cyrus with his constant quest for knowledge. If she’d hoped for a simple-minded peasant then she was in for a shock. A shepherd he might have been by birth, but he certainly wasn’t stupid and was behaving like a typical Greek, out to discover and question as much as he could about the world.

  At least he’d finally made his first kill. Stuck on the boat from Greece, and with little recourse for food, he’d surrendered to his hunger. He had been ashamed and angry with himself, but at least he’d had the presence of mind to throw the body overboard to avoid discovery. She has been impressed by his quick thinking and somewhat ruthless behaviour, which were totally at odds with how he’d behaved previously.

  She’d assured him that death from a hunter could look totally natural, but so many deaths on such a small ship would look suspicious and had admitted that she wouldn’t be taking any whilst they sailed but would wait until landfall in Pieria. But the next night one of the sailors had been found dead on the deck, apparently from natural causes. There had been no instances after that.

  The captain was now shouting instructions to the crew, so she glanced back to see Cimon striding across the deck towards her. He’d thrived at sea, unlike so many other passengers on board, but then she enjoyed this mode of transport as well. She turned her attention back to the quay, and the merchants anxiously awaiting their goods. She felt Cimon stand next to her and place his arm around her waist. Inside she felt a small sliver of triumph that he was unconsciously adopting a protective stance towards her.

  “Did you find out anything interesting?” she asked glancing up at him.

  He peered sideways at her and smiled. “Nothing that would interest you, I’m afraid.”

  She drew away a little. “You never know. Try me.”

  “Local currents and tides?” he asked quizzically.

  She had to admit, he was right, it didn’t interest her in the slightest. She smiled back. “You can tell me when I need to sleep. I’m sure it’ll send me right off.”

  He grinned at that and she nestled in beside him again. He really was surprisingly like Cyrus; she even had that familiar feeling that he was laughing at her.

  They arrived in Antioch in the early evening. Shelpa insisted on getting out of the carriage and walking as soon as they passed through the gates. Together they moved hand in hand through the bustling streets of the old town, listening to the different languages and accents as they passed. With pride she showed Cimon the streets where it would be safest to hunt and which areas to avoid, though there were few of those in Antioch.

  She was delighted to be back in the east and amid her own people. She was eager about teaching her new fledgling all of the city’s secret places and the delights and pleasure that they could have in a metropolis like this. There was so much fun to be had and so much to show him that they had to start tonight. But first she took him to her house in the centre of the city, which was where she had decided to stay for their visit.

  Happily, Shelpa checked every room in the substantial town house. It was just as perfect as she remembered and the slaves had done a brilliant job of preparing for them in advance despite only a few days’ warning of their arrival.

  She found Cimon in the atrium, sitting on one of the chairs and sampling the local wine.

  “Don’t you want to see the rest of the house?” she asked picking up a cup and pouring some for herself.

  “I’ll see it soon enough,” he replied. His ambivalence didn’t surprise her, men had different interests and he’d clearly found the wine.

  “What do you think of it?” she asked jiggling the cup in her. “Do you like it? It’s local.” Her question was also a challenge; she was really asking what he thought of the place as a whole.

  “I prefer it to Greek wine. It’s heavier, fruitier somehow,” he replied, watching her closely, knowing what she wanted him to say.

  She smiled. “That’s because the grapes take on the taste of the soil,” she told him as she moved around him and slipped her hand over his shoulder to touch the soft fabric of his tunic. His skin was cooling down; she could feel that through the cloth. It wasn’t as chilled as hers could be, but it gave an indication of the changes that were taking place inside him. Casually she let her fingers trail across his shoulder and up his neck to his face, looking into his eyes as she did so. r />
  He stared back at her appearing to be unmoved, but already she could see interest stirring in his eyes. She traced the outline of his jaw and let one finger linger under his chin. He was definitely improving, she decided. The typical graceful stillness was settling on his features, evening them out and making them more symmetrical. In time he’d become handsome. For a few moments they gazed at each other, then Shelpa let her finger fall and stepped back. Cimon stood up, smiling at her.

  “I suppose I could see the rest of the house,” he told her quietly.

  ***

  Cimon lay lazily in the bed with his back resting against the painted plaster wall and watched the slave girls administer to Shelpa. They had been in Antioch for several weeks and he was getting used to the pace of life here. The city never slept, there was always something going on and some type of pleasure or vice on offer. He was embracing it, much to his surprise, and despite his natural reserve he was enjoying himself. Shelpa was his companion and guide in all things and even she was becoming more tolerable to him.

  Part of this acceptance, he was sure, was due to this other soul. He didn’t know Antioch, but to his amazement he did know the main language of the region. Quite by chance he’d discovered that, when he was bartering with a trader in the old town, he’d understood a comment the merchant had made. The fact that he’d understood had changed the nature of the deal and he’d negotiated a bargain price. After that his understanding had gathered apace and now he was able to communicate with anyone in Aramaic as if he were a native, much to Shelpa’s delight as it was her mother tongue.

  There were other ways as well that this older, darker soul was influencing him. He didn’t like to kill but when the hunger couldn’t be ignored any more, he was able to do the deed with speed and skill to avoid any suffering for the victim. Even Shelpa was impressed at how quickly he’d learnt the art of the hunter. Horribly, it even amused him that he’d spent all his life as a shepherd protecting animals and now he’d become a predator himself.