Shadow of Hope

  He was pulled out of his musings by Shelpa who dismissed the girls and then turned around to face him. Obediently he gave her his full attention, but it wasn’t hard as the dress she was wearing was diaphanous in the candlelight and clung to her curves and skin in a most seductive manner. The effect was mesmerising. It left just enough to the imagination to be revealing and tantalizing at the same time.

  “Do I look like a goddess?” she asked, raising her arms a little for effect.

  He lifted his eyes from his contemplation of her dress and met her gaze. “I always thought that you were a goddess anyway.”

  She considered that for a moment, and then remembering their first meeting, she smiled, greatly amused by the recollection. “You thought I was Aphrodite, if I remember correctly. Goddess of love”

  He nodded and grinned “And I wasn’t far wrong, she’s goddess of physical love.”

  Shelpa smiled happily. “Maybe you were right after all. But I’m not Aphrodite. Today, I’m another goddess. One who temped Apollo himself but rejected him, though they have a different version of events here.”

  Cimon was confused and only understood when she turned around and reached for a crown of laurel leaves on the table. “Ah, now I know: Daphne.”

  Shelpa nodded as she put the crown onto her head. “Only here, she gave herself to Apollo and she’s worshipped as a lady of great beauty and loose morals. Will you come and watch me?”

  “You’re going to impersonate a god?” he asked slightly incredulously.

  “Yes, why not? Its great fun, I love doing it, especially having people throw themselves in supplication at my feet.”

  Cimon leaned forward. “But you’ll anger the gods if you do that.” he warned her, still shocked by her blasphemy.

  “Cimon don’t be so naïve and half-witted. I’ve been on this earth for nearly two hundred years and I’ve yet to see a god or even convincing evidence of them. If they do exist they don’t care what we do or about the people. They’re too busy enjoying themselves.”

  He looked at her, remembering the place that he’d seen in the forest where the other soul had possessed him and the words that Uma had spoken. But he had no intention of sharing his hopes or beliefs with Shelpa.

  “Come with me. What you see tonight might convince you that we are the closest thing the world has to gods.”

  He hoped not, but he was intrigued by what she was planning to do. “I’ll come because I’m curious.”

  She smiled and threw a clean tunic onto the bed for him to wear.

  They wore heavy cloaks over their clothes in order to blend in with the rest of the worshippers arriving at the temple of Apollo in the wooded area of Hereclea. As they came within site of the temple Shelpa stopped and indicated that they were to move to the side of the road to let the others pass.

  “I’m going in the back way,” she whispered to him. “You go on with the others and pretend to be here to seek a blessing from the god. You know what to do, don’t you?”

  He smiled at her. “I lived near the shrines of several gods, so I think I know what’s expected.”

  “Tell me afterwards what they think.” She grinned excitedly and then slipped further into the wood by the side of the road and almost instantly disappeared. Cimon turned his attention back to the road and followed the others on their journey to the shrine.

  The temple itself was slightly bigger and much more decorative than the ones he knew in Greece. But as he approached the steps to go in, the smell coming from the open doors was reassuringly familiar. He nodded and bowed to the priest of Apollo who stood beside the door checking the supplicants before allowing them admittance. Once he was inside, the shrine seemed much like any other, with flaring torches to illuminate the smoky incense-rich darkness and the pungent smell of burning herbs. Straight ahead and raised above the atrium was a huge statue of Phoebus Apollo. To one side was a smaller statue of a young girl. This, he imagined, was Daphne, the naiad who according to the legend had prayed to her mother Gia to save her from Apollo’s advances. Though according to Shelpa, they had a different slant on the story here.

  He settled himself near the back and watched as the ceremony began. It was the typical list of entreaties and supplications you would hear in any temple. Cimon mused that maybe that was why the gods didn’t bother with mortals any more, because it was always the same thing, year in and year out. Humans were probably, and to put it very simply, boring.

  At first it might have been fun for them to stir up trouble and interfere in the lives of mortals, but as people were the same again and again, the novelty must have soon worn off. That could explain why the gods had left humans to their own devices and would only cast a bored eye over things now and then.

  A young priest began singing to Apollo and several young people went forward to lay flowers before the statue. The climax would be the sacrifice of the white heifer, which was being led in as the last of the flowers were laid down. But before that could happen, someone called out in shocked adulation. This had to be Shelpa’s moment. Around him the people were murmuring and shuffling in confusion, anxious to know what was going on. He looked around as well, but couldn’t see anything either.

  There was another cry, this time from the High Priest, and everyone could see as he threw himself down onto the marble floor in adoration. Cimon looked to where the priest had been staring, just in time to see a glorious woman emerge from the gloom behind the statue.

  Whispers and cries spread amongst the awed crowd as, one by one, they also dropped to the floor in supplication. No one was looking back, so no one noticed Cimon watching from behind a pillar as the people prostrated themselves before Shelpa.

  He had to admit that she did play the part well. In fact she had it down to a fine art, and if he hadn’t known it was her, he might have been fooled as well. If he’d been mortal then there was no question that he too would be grovelling on the floor in front of her.

  The dim light from the torches added to the mystery and glamour of her appearance and dress. She looked radiant and seemed to glow with an unearthly light. He had seen her do that before in the forest, but the presence she emanated then was nothing in comparison to the sheer glory and brilliance she shone with now. It was impressive. She came forward to stand just above the cowed priest and lifted her hand and blew onto it.

  Even from this distance he could feel the sweetness of her breath and the tiny shavings of gold she’d held in her hand scattered as she blew. She breathed on her other hand and this time fragrant petals fluttered about the silent temple until coming to rest on the reverential worshipers.

  Cimon smiled and shook his head in admiration. It was impressive, and she obviously liked to do this elsewhere at other temples around the world. And who could blame her? If the gods didn’t want to bother with people any more, then someone else would provide the hope and reassurance that mortals needed to get through their short unhappy lives.

  Quietly he sneaked out of the door. Shelpa would feed in there now once she’d finished her display and no doubt some people would be overcome with the presence of the goddess. In the carnival and celebrations that would follow, she’d don the cloak and move amongst the excited people and impart her blessings to her captive audience. He could see why she did it, but he didn’t want to be part of anything that imitated the gods. They were still real and important to him. They were his only hope of seeing Callie again and he didn’t want to fall out of favour with them or worse still incur their anger.

  Chapter Six

  The heart of Antioch was not a safe place at the best of times. It held the dark underbelly of the city and was constantly in a state of flux, as travellers passed through the town, which sat at the hub of the major trading routes to the east. This dark centre was also a place where anything and everything went, as no one would judge a man who had been on the road for months with no outlet for his appetites.

  Cimon prowled that darkness. He felt strangely at home here, p
art of the shadows, but also separate from them as well. He wasn’t here by choice as some men were, like the murderers’ and cutthroats who walked these streets. He didn’t hunt for pleasure or money, he did it for survival. Killing was an unfortunate necessity, but at least he didn’t shrink from it now and could make it quick and painless for his victims.

  He was shadowing a rich merchant who had won some money on the baiting and was now making his way through the city to his town house in a more desirable part of Antioch. The merchant was greedy and a thoroughly nasty piece of work, but he didn’t really deserve to die, so Cimon was waiting for the right time to pull him off the street and take his essence and then leave him to wake in the morning.

  Further back a door opened and two young women piled out into the night somewhat the worse for drink. For a moment Cimon was distracted by them and their clumsy antics, but when he turned back to his prey, to his surprise he found that the merchant was no longer alone. A taller man was blocking his path and holding his intended victim at knife point.

  Curious, Cimon leant into the wall to watch, happy to switch his attention to a different victim if he needed to. The altercation went on for some time with the merchant clearly refusing to give up his winnings. Abruptly the thief had had enough and sunk the knife deep into the belly of the defenceless man. The victim staggered to the floor whilst his assailant plunged the weapon in repeatedly. Finally the merchant was still and the thief groped around in his clothing looking for loot. It didn’t take him long to find the bag of money and quickly he concealed it on his person and hurried away.

  Cimon detached himself from the shadows and crouched down by the merchant. As suspected, he was dead and his soul had already fled. He wouldn’t mourn the merchant but he hadn’t deserved to die down this back alley alone in the gutter. Cimon stood and with his extra speed set off after the thief, not really knowing what he intended to do until he found him.

  The prey was easy to follow thanks to Cimon’s heightened sense of smell and extra speed. Soon the thief was in his sights, but the streets were now too crowded for him to make any moves. The man was jogging and seemed in a hurry to get somewhere, but as he ran into the darkest part of the city he collided with another very drunk young man who appeared out of nowhere.

  Cimon slunk into a doorway and watched as the thief recovered and quickly took advantage of the situation. Once again he impaled the man with his knife and stood back as the unfortunate victim fell to the floor, gripping his side. Cimon was ready to accost the thief as he searched for money but instead the man looked around then unexpectedly fled the scene before Cimon could grab him.

  The injured man was still squirming and sobbing in pain. Cimon was torn; he wanted to go after the thief, but the man needed attention. There wasn’t much he could do for him, but he could make him comfortable and possibly get help. And he could follow the thief later as he still had his scent.

  He dropped down next to the man and looked at the wound. It wasn’t a killer strike, but it could get infected. The man grabbed his arm and pleaded with him to help. But Cimon killed, he didn’t cure. His breath was death not life, yet he couldn’t take this man here like this. He wasn’t a scavenger taking discarded prey or carrion. The injured man cried out again and gripped his arm with such strength that it made him gasp with pain. Cimon could only shake his head; there was nothing he could do.

  “I’m sorry,” he told him, “I‘m not a doctor.”

  “Please, I beg you. Please, do something.” The man was staring at him. His desperate need boring into his eyes and not letting Cimon look away.

  Cimon broke his gaze, biting his lip in frustration. He could take lives, and so he could end the man’s suffering. But that wasn’t what was meant to happen tonight, there had been too many deaths already. He’d learnt from Shelpa that he could give people some of his energy, so that they were unaware that they had been fed upon. He could give the man some of his essence but that was all.

  Deciding that it was better than nothing, Cimon leant over and held the victim’s head still in the usual manner. He enfolded his lips and let the essence slip out of his mouth into the injured man. Beneath his hands the cold skin became warmer and he seemed to feel his energy filtering through the body beneath him.

  Then in his mind he was saw the man’s body and the small wound in his side. The energy seemed to be collecting around it creating a vortex of light and filling the gap. For a moment he concentrated on that, then to his amazement the wound began knitting itself together. Instinctively his body broke the connection. There was nothing more he could do for the injured man, the wound would heal eventually and quicker than usual. He couldn’t heal him, but he had given some of his immortality to the body and provided it with the extra strength it would need to heal and recover.

  Cimon looked down at the man who had ceased to struggle and now seemed to be sleeping. Somewhere he remembered Uma saying about Rabisu who were healers and that he could use his powers to help. He hadn’t understood what she’d meant then and he still didn’t completely, but a new thought was taking shape in his mind.

  Thanks to him, this man would live now. If he could do it for one man, he could do it for more. His breath, he realised, need not be death, it could be life as well. Suddenly a whole new way of living opened up for him. He could be a healer and save lives. The thought was a revelation and would give him a new purpose in this life he’d been given against his will.

  But he still had unfinished business. So after checking the sleeping man again, Cimon got to his feet and sniffed the air. The thief’s scent was still lurking in the alley, making it easy to follow. Feeling only slightly guilty at leaving the man alone, he turned on his heel and raced down the dark street after the thief.

  Cimon soon hunted his prey down. He found him counting his money in one of the many gardens in the city. The precincts were deserted and the place the thief had chosen was hidden away behind several huge shrubs. Quietly Cimon approached. The man was so enthralled with his ill-gotten cash that he didn’t realise anyone else was with him before it was too late.

  In seconds Cimon had pushed him to the floor and paralysed him to stop his struggles. The people of the east called Rabisu “seizers”, and when he struck like this Cimon could understand why. He leant over the prone body of the thief; only his terrified eyes betrayed the fact that the man was still awake and conscious.

  Cimon had no sympathy for murders such as this and grinned to increase his victim’s terror. Then he prised the jaw open with his thumb and enfolded the man’s lips and pulled. After a second of resistance, the life force came tumbling out and snaked its way into Cimon’s waiting mouth. But it wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting. He could taste the blackness in the essence. He’d tasted this many times before, and it seemed to vary from person to person, but this was quite a thick darkness, stronger than most.

  Then he made the connection. The blackness was the murkiness of the soul within. It made sense now. The man below him was a killer, so he’d a lot of this emptiness inside him. The ones who had no darkness and had the purest sweetest essence were good innocent people, who had committed little harm and evil in their lives.

  Knowing this meant that he could take this man’s life with no qualms whatsoever. In fact he’d be doing a good deed, by ridding the world of a parasite and killer. Cimon let go of all his inhibitions and pulled hungrily at the remaining life force inside the man.

  ***

  The walled garden in the city was a perfect place to sit and reflect. The night was still and quiet with a gentle warm breeze spreading the scents of the night flowers through the air. Cimon sat alone on a stone bench enjoying the peace that he felt within himself.

  Tonight had been a revelation to him. He’s been so swept away by the changes inside his body and his feeling of powerlessness that he’d forgotten that there could be another way. Shelpa had never mentioned it, but she enjoyed killing. Sometimes she acted as if she had a personal vendet
ta against the world, yet at other times she was compassionate and gentle. But she was consistent in her enjoyment and the obvious pleasure she took in being what she was. Cimon smiled, in many ways she was the child, simple and selfish. The world was there for her enjoyment and gratification.

  It had probably never even crossed her mind to use her power to help others. It would be too much inconvenience and she didn’t like unpleasantness around herself. In fact he knew virtually nothing about her except that she was merged at a young age and had lived in Alexandria. He imagined that she’d had quite a privileged upbringing from the imperious way she ordered the slaves around and generally ran the house. But that could also have been a result of years of living as an immortal with superior powers.

  Then there was the other startling revelation that you could tell the wrongdoers from their essence. Why Shelpa had never told him this he didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t know, but he doubted that. She probably knew, but most likely didn’t care, and hadn’t thought to tell him.

  He’d try and take a little from his victims, but there were times when, to his shame, he’d been overcome by hunger. The compensation was that he could do the deed quickly and without much fuss. But now he knew the taste of sin and recognised the darkness that dwelled within such men, he could be like an avenging angel taking only those who deserved to die for their actions. A personification of Nemesis, bringing justice to the wicked for their crimes. And now he could go home and heal Callie. She would see him restore others and in time she might be able to forgive him for what had happened and then he could be saved from this life.

  For a moment he stopped thinking and stilled himself to listen to the heartbeat that was always with him. It was softer now, fainter. And it seemed to be faltering. He’d refused to admit it to himself, but he couldn’t deny it any more. It was definitely weaker, which could mean only one thing: Callie was failing. Despite Uma’s ministrations she was slipping away from the world and there had been nothing he could do. His only chance was to go back to Greece as quickly as possible and use what he’d learnt this night to save his beloved wife. He was sure that Uma would accept and understand what he intended to do.