Shadow of Hope

By Elsye Harwood

A simple shepherd in ancient Greece, Cimon struggles to deal with the aftermath of being torn from his home and wife by a wandering Rabisu. As he changes in ways he could never have imagined, it seems that the gods may not have finished with him yet. Might there be a chance for him to regain his former life and love, a shadow of hope?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lillian White Publishing
• Release date: Aug 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310282256

Book preview

Prologue

Antinous strode away from the Persian camp, caressing the satisfyingly full bag of gold that hung under his cloak. Up ahead he could see his boy holding the horses still.

Thanks to him the Samions would stay with the rest of the allied Ionian forces as instructed, but when the battle commenced they would sail away and leave their allies depleted. With their defection it was possible that the battle would be avoided altogether. He had no interest in the revolt; he was here to do a job and to make sure that he got paid for it.

The first time he’d discovered his talent in negotiation had been in Cyprus, where for the right price he’d persuaded two contingents of the allied Cypriot army to desert to the Persian side. He’d been amply rewarded by the grateful victors for that. Since then he’d made his livelihood from men’s fear in the shadow of death and their willingness to avoid it at all costs; he’d no allegiances or loyalty except to the side which paid the most at that moment in time.

The boy held the horse steady as Antinous mounted, then once settled and secure in his seat he rode away with the boy following behind. Almost instantly they disappeared into the darkness of the countryside.

Antinous wasn’t his name. He’d chosen it for himself, his old identity was gone and his old persona with it. He’d picked the name of the leader of the suitors, who’d taken up residence in Odysseus’ palace whilst vying for the hand of fair Penelope. That Antinous had been a chancer, a schemer and an opportunist. Taking situations and turning them to his own profit. What better role model could a professional betrayer have? Admittedly his hero had come to a sticky end, but he’d lived a good life until then and Antinous had little doubt that he too would die at the end of some principled man’s blade.

But was he really so bad? When you added it all up, he’d probably saved, hundreds, maybe even thousands, of lives, by avoiding battles, or ensuring that they were over almost as soon as they had started.

He spat into the dark night. That was for honourable but misguided men, who fought to the death with no though to the consequence for the people left behind. Honour was blind and terminal. It gave a short glorious life but you ended up in the same place anyway.

And he’d say this to Minos, the head judge in Hades, when the time came. Who was the better leader? The man who had ensured that the children still had fathers to greet at the end of the day, and would feed them throughout the year? Or the King, who led these same men to their deaths, in a futile war they were certain to lose, and would leave their wives and children at the mercy of the conquerors?

When you looked at it like that, it did make you question who the true hero was. But in case Minos went with the accepted traditional perception of honour and treachery, he was going to enjoy his spoils and live life to the full until fate caught up with him.

Chapter One

Shelpa listened carefully to the distant sounds further down the mountain. She could definitely hear the bleating of sheep and the barking of dogs mixed with the call of shepherds, who were probably coming back from pasture to overnight in the valley. The village in the vale below was small but prosperous, thanks to its proximity to the sacred mountain of Helicon. Pilgrims who came to visit the shrines of the Muses and the other deities would probably stay there, especially when the annual festivities were taking place. Shelpa had been going to pass it by, as one village was much like any other, but now it intrigued her. Silent as a shadow she changed direction, making her way down through the dark woodland forest towards the sound of the shepherds and their flock.

***

Cimon whistled to his dog, commanding him to bring the sheep round and down the track. But to his annoyance Argus ignored him and continued looking intently the other way. He tried again, and though the dog’s ears flickered once, that was his only acknowledgment of his master’s call. Argus had never done anything like this before; Cimon had trained him from a pup and the dog was completely devoted to him. He was just about to shout to the errant dog, when Argus got to his feet and barked several times in the direction of the forest. He then turned back to look at his master, then barked again, his hackles rose and growling loudly he sprang away back up the hillside and into the cover of the trees.

The shepherd knew the signs; it was probably a wolf tracking the flock. They were so close to home, desperation often made the animals careless. He shouted to Philo, who was further down the mountain. His friend nodded and took command of the sheep, whilst Cimon gathered up his bow and arrows, then raced after Argus into the trees.

Shelpa smiled at the dog barking madly in front of her. Normally animals didn’t pay any attention to her kind, but this canine was trained to detect predators and she was definitely one of those. She could hear his master charging towards them now; she shivered in anticipation.

Seconds later the young man careered around the corner and stopped in his tracks. Shelpa, who liked to encourage awe and adoration, opened her arms wide and put on her most commanding appearance. Over the years she’d perfected the ability to look divine and godlike. She could shimmer and shine as if she were one of the Olympians themselves.

The youth’s face whitened and he dropped prostate onto the forest floor in front of her. The dog had stopped barking and was now whining next to his master. Shelpa moved closer to the prone man, allowing the effect to diminish slightly. She could smell his fear. It was the lovely taste of pure, sweet terror.

Do you know who I am? she asked, walking around the terrified man.

He was quivering with fear and the sweat from his body was giving off a rather pleasant perfume. He’d taste nice, she was sure of that. There was a lot of energy in this young form. But he was terrified, much too frightened to speak. She hadn’t been expecting this sort of submission; this paralysing fear normally came from Egyptians or Medes. Greeks were usually too cynical to be totally tricked by her games.

Answer me, she cajoled softly, deciding on the gentle approach. She stood back and looked down at the terrified shepherd. Suddenly she realised that he was probably thinking furiously how best to answer her question. Living here on the slopes of mount Helicon, he’d know all the stories and it was here that Tiresias had seen Athena bathing, and had been blinded as a consequence.

He wasn’t some urbane city dweller fully acquainted with the latest works of the sophists. He was a simple boy, living on a holy mountain dedicated to several deities. For him the gods were still real and a part of his everyday life.

Finally, he began to mumble something but he was face down and even she couldn’t hear what he was trying to say. Gracefully she knelt down in front of him and gently lifted his head. He shifted his position, so that he was now supporting himself and she finally got a good look at her victim.

A typical Greek shepherd, he looked older than he was, due to the weathering of his face, but as compensation his eyes were bright. They made up for a plain asymmetric face. She wouldn’t have chosen him normally, but out here, away from the city’s urban hustle and bustle, she had to take what she could get, and he certainly smelt better than he looked.

Who did you say I was? she asked quietly. Letting the marble coolness of her skin and the sweet nectar of her breath leave the youth with no doubt that he was in the presence of a goddess.

Aphrodite, he managed, looking into her eyes before trying to turn away, but she held him firmly under the jaw so that he couldn’t move.

Good answer, she admitted. The most beautiful of the goddesses, and a gamble, Aphrodite had no shrine on this side of the mountain but her son Eros did. She smiled then to show her pleasure. At least the boy had a brain.

No, I’m not Aphrodite and nor are you Paris. But what goddess wouldn’t want to be mistaken for the most beautiful of them all. For that I’ll let you live.

She smirked and felt the relief wash over him, it was intoxicating to her. But at a price, she declared staring straight into his eyes. As she expected fear swept through him again and she savoured the sensation.

Shelpa held the shepherd still by the jaw, waiting for his terror to ease and his heart rate to drop. Eventually his panic subsided.

There, now you’re listening properly, I’ll finish what I was going to say. I’m not going to hurt you, but I am hungry. Unfortunately for you, little man, I’m not a goddess; I don’t eat ambrosia and nectar. She smiled. And your dog was right, I am a predator, but it’s not sheep I hunt, it’s people.

His eyes widened in fear again and he tried to struggle. With her left hand, Shelpa stroked his hair and the side of his face, whilst keeping him still with the force of her grip under his jaw. But it was no good, she wasn’t going to be able to calm him down, the game was over. That was the trouble with peasants: they were too fearful and superstitious.

She lowered her face to him, so that her loose dark hair fell like a curtain to conceal her actions. With her free hand she moulded her palm, so that it cradled his cheek. Then opened her mouth slightly and breathed directly into his face. The effect was instantaneous, the fight faded from his body, leaving him malleable and ready. Carefully Shelpa pushed her thumb into his cheek forcing his jaw open. Then she placed her lips over his open mouth and inhaling deeply she pulled at the breath and energy in his body. After a second there was a jolt and his life’s essence began to trickle out of his open mouth and into hers.

She’d been right, he did taste nice. There was very little darkness in this one, and no bitterness. It made a pleasant change to taste goodness in a person. She was very tempted to break her promise and take it all, but she still had some morals.

After a few minutes she reluctantly pulled away and let go, leaving the unconscious shepherd to fall face down onto the forest floor. He’d sleep for a while, but he’d be recovered and back to full strength soon enough. Satisfied and amused by her encounter with the frightened peasant, Shelpa, turned away and silently melted back into the forest.

***

Uma checked her package again, then heaved it over her shoulder and opened the door of her timber house. Outside, the night glowed orange red from the flaming torches held by the frightened and angry men. They had been waiting to escort her around the perimeter of the village so she could set up protections for the people inside. The leader was standing closest to the door.

Are you ready? he asked. She nodded and he continued. Do you think it’s still there?

Uma shook her head. No, I’m sure it’ll have gone. We’ll be safe tonight.

Do you know what she was? another of the elders asked.

Uma looked over at Cimon who was standing slumped with his wife Calliope. He’d only been awake for a little while and was still dazed, but he was ready to go home.

It wasn’t a she, it might have been years ago but it’s a creature now, she told them leaving no room for further argument. Cimon didn’t have a mark on him, so it would suggest that he was attacked by a white hunter, though the ancient name for them is ‘Rabisu’ which translated into our tongue means ‘seizer’. They look like humans and live amongst us undetected, eating and drinking like the rest of us, but they can strike at any minute and draw the life out of a man in seconds. The fact that Cimon’s alive means it wasn’t looking to kill. For whatever reason, it decided to spare him. The group looked over at Cimon, who hardly seemed to be listening.

Will he be all right? one of the younger men asked. They all turned back to her and Uma held the anxious gaze of the young Calliope.

Yes, he’ll be fine and in a few days he can go back to the pastures. But he was lucky. If we don’t protect the village the next person might not be. She turned back to the leader.

Will your spells and talismans work? he asked bluntly.

She considered lying to him for a moment, but she’d always tried to be honest with the people of the village. They were her people and they looked to her for protection and help. I can’t promise you that they will. But it’s the best I can offer you. And any other Uma would offer you the same protection.

The leader nodded. We’d better get on then; we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. He stood aside to let her pass. En masse they followed behind her, leaving some of the older men to take Cimon back to his hut and keep watch until the village was secure.

As dawn broke over the mountain, Uma shuffled, exhausted, back into her hut and put her bag down on the table. It was empty now; all the charms and amulets had been set around the village. She’d done the best she could do. Never before had a Rabisu come to this place, so it had been years since she’d had to confront one.

They were beautiful beguiling creatures and not easily spotted and killed. Thankfully, as the village was so small with a stable population, they would be noticed as soon as they walked in. But the shrines on the other side of the mountain would be an ideal place for them to hunt, with strangers and visitors coming in every day.

Herbalists or wise women like her were trained to spot and kill them, and the other unnatural creatures that walked the earth. So if any did turn up at the shrines they would have to avoid the Umas living there. She opened her bag and took out the bronze spike especially made to pierce the heart of the Rabisu, or as she preferred, white hunter, so called because of the bleached colourless nature of their auras.

It would be a good idea to keep this close at all times for the next few months. These creatures could be unpredictable and it might be back at any time, despite the wards.

As she had predicted, Cimon was back on his feet after a few days and soon was tending to the flocks in the high pasture, but now he and the other shepherds carried with them protection pouches which they wore around their necks, in fact the whole of the village wore them as a precaution.

The spring and the summer passed and all was well, and Uma began to finally relax. She decided that it must have been a stray wanderer and an isolated attack, but just in case she maintained the protection around the village, as it paid to be careful.

Chapter Two

Shelpa stood on a rocky ledge and looked down. The village was sitting nestled next to the small river at the base of the mountain. It looked peaceful and quiet and ready for some excitement, she decided. With a chuckle she leapt from the ledge onto the rocky slope and skipped down the mountainside under the cover of the trees.

Thespia had been boring. It was such a small town, there had been hardly any excitement and virtually no dark underbelly to discover and feed off. So she’d decided to return to that quiet village near Mount Helicon because she’d unfinished business.

She could still taste that delectable shepherd. He’d stayed in her mind because he’d been exceptionally sweet, so she’d decided to take the rest of his essence.

As she strode through the forest, she realised that protections had been set since her last visit. She stopped and allowed her enhanced senses to take in the information. After a few moments of listening and feeling, she grinned with delight. The village had an Uma, who had laid completely useless precautions and wards around the village to protect the people inside. She laughed; no doubt the villagers and her shepherd would also be wearing one of those smelly bags for protection.

Shelpa shrugged and felt a shudder of anticipation flicker through her. They believed that they were safe. It would be wonderful to be around when they realised that they weren’t.

Cyrus, her maker, had taught her to respect the accepted guidelines and recoil in pretend terror if a human presented smelly bags to her in defence. He liked to play by the rules.

But he wasn’t here and she wanted that young man. He was too good to ignore and it would be such a shame if his beautiful essence faded and diminished without anyone appreciating it. If she took it today, others would get to taste it and share it for many years to come, long after he was just dust and bones in the ground. It was the best chance at immortality the plain shepherd would get. Cyrus need never know, and breaking the rules secretly added an extra dimension of pleasure to her adventure.

As she advanced closer to the village, she could hear the flock coming down from the mountains. She’d timed this just right. They would be going home and settling down for the night. She waited in the same place, listening for the tell-tale sounds of a barking dog.

Once again the barking began out on the pastures, but this time the dog was frenzied and was coming right for her. It wasn’t stupid, as it obviously remembered what had happened before. She concentrated on what she remembered of the shepherd; it was a way of calling him to her. One of the many useful tricks she’d picked up during her long life.

Abruptly the dog burst out of the undergrowth and launched itself at her. She sent it flying with a dismissive wave of her hand and it tumbled to the floor. It regained its feet groggily and shook itself but continued to growl angrily at her. She’d no argument with the animal, but if she had to, she would kill it.

She heard the shepherd before she saw him. He was coming through the undergrowth rather than the forest path. To create the right impression she found a clearing and stood in the centre waiting for him to find her. Moments later he appeared, but this time he wasn’t scared. He studied her for a moment then reached inside his cloth tunic and pulled out his protective pouch. Shelpa tried not to laugh, but it was hard to keep her expression serious. The face he pulled was a mixture of confidence and triumph. It was so pathetic, such a feeble attempt at protection and defence that she couldn’t hide her amusement for long.

She burst out laughing and walked towards the young man whose face registered disbelief which quickly turned to horror. She composed herself and smiled sympathetically at him.

I’m afraid you’ve been wrongly informed. This has no effect on me at all, she told him and to prove it, she reached out and clasped the bag in her hand and pulled. The leather strap tore with the force of her tug and the bag came away in her hand. He cried out in pain as the leather burnt against his skin.

Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. In fact you might enjoy it. She studied him for a moment, taking in his hopeless terror. He tried to say something then stopped, but his large dark eyes were eloquent enough to express his fear and the futile plea for his life.

He really wasn’t her type, but he tasted so good that she would make exceptions to her rules. Quick as a flash she grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back to stop any more struggling, then she opened her mouth and breathed her breath over his face. Instantly he slumped and relaxed as the fight left his body. With her other hand, she cradled his jaw and forced his mouth open with her thumb. Carefully, so as not to miss a drop, she enfolded her lips around his and pulled at his life force.

The jolt that shuddered through his body almost dislodged her, but she’d done this countless time before, so held herself steady. Almost instantly, the sweet delicious taste began to trickle out of his mouth into her. She sighed with pleasure; he tasted even better then she remembered. For a few wonderful moments his life’s essence slipped into her and she savoured every drop of it.

Then unexpectedly, the stream seemed to falter and fade and no matter how hard she pulled it would only come again in fits and starts. He was still fighting her, she could feel it. Though his body was dormant, he was resisting and refusing to let his life be taken from him by the sheer force of his will alone.

Shelpa had never come across this before. She seemed to remember Cyrus telling her that it could happen, and when it did, she was sure that he’d told her that it was to be taken as a sign that the victims were natural hunters. These rare humans that could resist the power of the Rabisu should be taken and melded.

She pulled away and regarded the shepherd. Maybe that was why he tasted so sweet, because he’d a stronger life essence than most. She’d made a Rabisu before, but Agis the beautiful young man she’d created years ago, was now travelling by himself. So she could quite happily create another, especially as she didn’t really like living alone.

If she melded him then she could taste this young man for as long as they both existed. He wasn’t beautiful, in fact he was very plain, but that wouldn’t matter in time. As the meld progressed his features would change as he became fully Rabisu. The realisation that she’d only have to put up with his ugliness for a short while decided her. She’d grant him immortality and allow him to share her life, as he clearly didn’t want to die.

She turned him around so that his back was to her and pulled his other arm behind him then held him securely out in front of her. He was still dormant but that was receding fast, soon he’d be struggling. But she had time to do what she needed to do.

Shelpa closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few moments she opened them again. Now her vision was slightly out of synch with the world around them. The forest was still there but it was transparent, only half materialised. Surrounding them instead was a barren desert, filled with rocky outcrops every few metres. This was the land of Kur, or Tartarus, if you were Greek, but it easily translated in all languages as Hell, the place where the damned were condemned for all eternity without shape or hope. The one chance they had was to win possession of a half-empty host body, like the one on offer today.

They were standing on a rocky outcrop much like any other, but there was no sign of life in this deserted place. No evidence yet of the Lost who were condemned to wander here. As she expected, the shepherd was beginning to struggle. She didn’t have much time now, so she thrust him away from her so that he was leaning out over the desert floor. Then she let out a blood curdling cry to summon the Lost to the prize.

Anxiously she scanned the desert, but there was still no sign of movement, then just as she was about to call again, she saw the first sandstorm in the distance. Almost as soon as she saw that one, another started and soon they were being buffeted and battered by the currents of air that surrounded them.

Shelpa had to use all her strength to hold her ground and to keep the youth still. Gradually the lost began to congregate around him, and she could see his clothes and hair moving almost as if they were caressing and fondling his stricken form. She knew from experience that the fight would start when the different souls tried to gain possession of the body on offer here. When that happened she’d have to hold on really tightly.

She held him securely as his body was buffeted and knocked about, then suddenly his head flew back and became rigid. A soul had won possession and was now pouring itself into its new host and in time it would merge with the remains of the shepherd still residing within.

The other Lost drifted away, ready to fight another day for the next body on offer. Now Shelpa could relax a little; there was very little movement from the body, just the rhythmic swaying as the damned soul took full ownership of the inert body.

She wondered what soul was claiming its prize. To win this contest it had to be a ruthless one, but whether it was murderer or an embezzler, only time would tell. Which soul dominated in the meld would also come out later; sometimes they blended perfectly, but usually one of them would dominate. She enjoyed watching to see what she’d created and it would be interesting to see how this young man developed and changed as the two souls merged.

She felt the body sag as the transfer was completed. Satisfied, she closed her eyes again and willed herself back in the forest. When she opened them, they were fully back on the mountain but after the silence of Kur the cacophony of noise in the forest from the terrified birds was unbearable.

Eager to be away from the clamour, she gently lay the unconscious man down on the forest floor. Normally she’d wait and take him with her, but this time she wanted him to come to her. She wouldn’t force him to leave his people; it had to be his choice and decision. He had to come willingly to her, aware that he couldn’t stay with them any longer. There was no doubt that people close to him would die, but it was a necessary part of the process, and anyway humans died all the time. Young Rabisu couldn’t help killing those they loved or innocent bystanders in the confused hunger of the first few hours of their new existence. She remembered it well and had no regrets over what she had done and in time nor would he.

Tenderly she touched his unconscious body and soothed his ruffled dark hair, then she gently brushed her lips against his to impart her final gift to him. This was her life force, the essence of the Rabisu which would begin the transformation and the merging of the two souls. Content that all was at it should be, she slipped away to wait further up the mountain slope for him to join to her.

***

Tentatively Cimon opened his eyes. He had no idea how he had come to be lying on the forest floor. Cautiously he sat up, trying to work out which part of him was hurting, but strangely he felt fine. Better then all right, he felt alive and full of energy, which was surprising considering that he’d been on the higher pastures all day.

It was nearing twilight and so time to be home. He looked around and called for Argus, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.

The birdsong seemed incredibly loud this evening, and it was probably this that had woken him up. When he looked into the trees to identify which species were making the commotion, he found to his amazement that his vision was considerably clearer and sharper than it had been before. He blinked a few times in confusion and shook his head, but the effect was still the same. Maybe he’d received a blow to the skull – he’d heard that could have a strange effect on the senses – and so tentatively he felt for a bump but he couldn’t find anything. He knew that was a bad sign, but instead of worrying he dismissed it from his mind. What he couldn’t ignore though was his hunger, it was like a fire in his belly and he couldn’t think about anything else.

Cimon stood, but almost fell over with the force of energy coming from his limbs. Automatically he adjusted his movements to compensate, without registering that he’d done so. He’d other things to think about now and that purpose was all consuming.

Cimon approached his home as the sun went down behind the mountain and the valley fell into shadow. He could see Argus sitting outside the small hut that he shared with Calliope. The door was open and he could make out Callie preparing the evening meal.

He could smell the food she was preparing, but there was another scent, one that triggered his appetite even more. He recognised it, but refused to acknowledge the intimate scent that he shouldn’t have been able to smell from that distance.

As he came nearer, Argus stood in greeting and began to wag his tail. He smiled and called to the dog, then noticed as Argus began to limp towards him that he was injured and had a cloth wrapped around his leg.

Suddenly the animal stopped, he looked confused for a moment, then his hackles rose and he growled a warning. Cimon raised his hands and called once again, but this time his dog began to bark at him.

Callie came out of the house and quickly took stock of the situation. She called to Argus, who turned to her and took a protective stance between them. Quickly she took hold of the dog’s collar and pulled him still barking to the outside wall and tied him up. Cimon continued his approached but the dog was still growling and clearly upset.

Why’s he growling? Callie asked as he took a wide berth of the dog and entered the house.

I have no idea. What’s wrong with his leg? he asked in return.

I was going to ask you that. He turned up limping a while ago. I put a poultice on it and he seems all right. Where have you been? The sheep were back a while ago.

Cimon didn’t want to tell her that he’d woken up in the forest and had no recollection of how he’d got there. I went back up to check for wolves. Argus had been agitated as we came down.

You didn’t take him with you? she asked, stirring the broth for the evening meal.

He ran off. Cimon removed his overcoat and hung it from a hook. He was trying to keep his distance from her, because the smell from her body and skin was delicious. He could almost taste the salt on her skin along with the herbs and honey she’d used earlier. His senses were reeling and so was the fire in his belly, which was like a living thing with one all-consuming need, which was simply to satisfy his hunger.

Not like before? she asked turning around, the worry evident in her voice.

He smiled to reassure her. No, not like last time. He wanted to get off this subject as quickly as possible, it was making him uncomfortable. What’s for supper? he asked making himself go to her and stand at the fire as if everything was normal.

She glanced up. Actually, you can sit down. It’s ready, she told him.

Gratefully Cimon went over and sat on the little stool by the rough wooden table. He watched as Callie carefully ladled out two portions of broth and then brought over some spoons and two chunks of rye bread. Cimon waited for