by Anne B. Cole
“Poto?” The man pushed his flask Lorenzo’s way.
Not understanding, Lorenzo cautiously accepted. It was whiskey, decent enough that he wanted more, yet he pushed the flask back to its owner.
“Thank you, sir.”
“American?” The man snorted, then belched. Like the owner, his dark hair and accent marked him as Greek. Shifting in his seat, he called to the owner in their language. The big man lowered the ledger in which he was writing entries. He studied Lorenzo before he responded to the man sitting across from him.
Sweat rolled down Lorenzo’s face. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to attempt conversation with this huge, American-hating man.
“A double of whiskey, sir,” Lorenzo stated firmly, hoping the man spoke English.
A door in the rear of the room opened, allowing a young woman entrance. Lorenzo’s lips parted. His body wilted. Her eyes met his and, for a brief moment, he thought she would run into his arms. Instead, her gaze fell to her feet and she approached the owner with respect. Her neatly braided brown hair hung down her back. A few wispy strands fell across chestnut brown eyes. Peter was not kidding. Her intense beauty, simple yet radiant, touched him deep within. Even in peasant clothing, she appeared elegant, worthy of a king.
The owner talked to her in Greek. Lorenzo had captured her eyes for another moment before the owner’s voice grew firm. The girl nodded, returning to the room from which she came.
Lorenzo’s eyes remained fixed upon the closed door. A drink slid in front of him. He drank it in one gulp. The room spun then steadied as the alcohol dissipated through his veins.
“I’m Victor.” The man seated next to him took another drink from his flask.
“Lorenzo Taylor.”
“What brings you here?” Victor asked candidly.
“I’m looking for a woman.”
Victor chortled, taking another swig from his flask. The owner stormed to the table. His huge frame towered over Lorenzo.
“Not here, American,” he spat with intense emphasis on ‘American’.
Victor grinned. “You’ve come to the wrong place. The east side of the market is where you want to be.”
“No. I—I misspoke,” Lorenzo stammered. “I’m looking for Alec. A man named Peter told me I would find him here.” The big man squinted, then stepped back, straightening to his full height.
“I’m Alec. What do you have for me?”
Another bead of sweat dripped down his temple. “I’m here to purchase supplies.”
“Peter owes me. Leave. You have no credit here.”
“I’ll pay his debt.” Lorenzo reached into his pocket and took out a gold piece. He set it cautiously on the table. The Greek men stared at the coin. Alec slowly picked it up and turned it over before placing it in an inner vest pocket.
“What can I get you?” Alec stated dryly.
Lorenzo took a ragged breath. “Fresh water, ten meters of rope, clothing, whiskey.” He paused as Victor held up his flask. “A drink for my friend.”
Alec took mental note, then opened his ledger, writing entries before leaving to gather the items.
Lorenzo gazed at the ledger but could not decipher any of the Greek words. Victor slapped him on the back in thanks, radiating pain throughout his arm and chest.
“Alec is honest. He didn’t like the way you looked at the girl,” Victor boomed.
“His daughter?” Images of the girl lured his focus away from his painful wound.
“Lucky for you, no, but he is very protective of them,” Victor replied. Lorenzo instantly wondered who “them” were, how many were there, and if each was as beautiful as the first. Victor leaned closer, his voice inaudible to Alec. “Who is this woman you seek?”
Lorenzo watched Alec coil rope near the entrance. “I have news for a woman named Tatiana, the sister of Jozef.”
Leaning back into his chair, Victor took another drink, glancing sideways at Alec. “Many seek Tatiana.” He nodded to the door the girl came from earlier. “I will see her today and can relay your news.”
“It’s something I must tell her myself.” Lorenzo eyed the closed door, wondering if the girl was Tatiana. Jozef appeared much too old to be her brother. Alec approached with a crate in hand. He held a bottle out for inspection, then left to gather more. Lorenzo opened it and took a swig. The whiskey warmed his throat, tingled through his body.
“My Mary, she was close to Tatiana.” Victor took a drink from the bottle Lorenzo offered. “Tatiana knew about Mary’s sickness. Some say she’s evil and bad things come upon those who speak with her. That’s not true. I saw pain in Tatiana’s heart when Mary passed.” He blessed himself, bowing his head for only a moment. “Tatiana sees the future, the good and the bad, but she cannot change it. Today I will talk to Tatiana to see what is to become of me without my Mary.”
“Please, tell her I request to speak with her. It is important.”
The back door suddenly opened. Both men stood in anticipation. The girl’s beautiful brown eyes touched Lorenzo’s before moving to Victor. She exchanged a few words with him in Greek, and he followed her back through the door. The girl glimpsed over her shoulder before disappearing into the room.
Alec approached with supplies. “Shirt? Coat? Boots?”
Every item that he held up Lorenzo agreed to purchase. The owner’s voice became distant as the table met Lorenzo’s cheek. Scents of clove, cinnamon, and cardamom filled his head. He felt one arm wrap tightly around him as another held a cup of tea inches from his lips. The sip he tried to take dribbled down his chin.
“Boy,” Alec’s voice boomed in front of him.
The grip on Lorenzo loosened as he took the cup with a shaky hand. Slender fingers lingered around his for a minute as his gaze fell upon the beautiful girl at his side.
“Thank you.” Lorenzo shivered as she drew away. Her gaze immediately hit the floor then over to Alec, who nodded in the direction of the back room. Drinking the warm tea sharpened his senses. With a shaky hand, he wiped his brow and finished the tea.
She took his empty cup with her, leaving the two men alone.
“Boy, your supplies are ready. I will take them.” Alec paused.
“My ship is in port with Peter.”
“I will take them to Peter.” Alec’s eyes fell on his shoulder. “Tatiana’s mother, Katarina, can tend to your wound. You have much credit.”
“The girl—”
Before Lorenzo could say more Alec snorted, “You need to mend so I can beat you the next time you look at Anya.” Alec turned away, carrying goods out the door.
“Anya,” Lorenzo repeated dreamily. The name echoed in his head. Closing his eyes, he imagined her arms wrapped around him. Pain flowed through his shoulder, then pierced his side. Dust from the hard dirt floor stung his eyes. Strong hands pulled him to his feet, streaming pain through his body. The door to the back room came into focus, his feet somehow walking toward it. Leaning heavily on Alec, he reached inside his coat. Tatiana’s bag of treasure remained, but the gun was gone.
“No weapons.” Alec raised the pistol in his hand. Lorenzo nodded, too weak to argue.
Chapter 8
The Back Room
Lorenzo’s vision came into focus when Alec slid him into a wooden chair. Two women sat across a small table from him. He searched for Anya and found her standing slightly behind his chair. She quickly cleared cups from the table. The brush of her hand against his arm both calmed and excited him.
“It’s safe. Victor said the boy wants to speak with you,” Alec’s gruff voice grew soft.
The younger of the two women tenderly touched his arm in a gesture of thanks. Alec left, closing the door behind him.
“I’m Tatiana Vatrakis,” the woman stated in perfect English. She wore a sim
ple olive green dress with a sandy-colored shawl draped over the back of her head and shoulders. Her green-blue eyes and light brown hair confirmed her relation to Jozef.
“Lorenzo Taylor. I met your brother. I—” The pain in his shoulder halted his words.
The older woman’s eyes pierced him as she leaned closer, “Jozef?”
Lorenzo turned to her. This woman was much smaller and older, dressed entirely in black with a lace veil covering silver hair. She had Jozef’s dimpled chin.
“Yes.”
Tatiana fidgeted. “Tea?”
Anya hurried over, filling the cup her mother held. Lorenzo watched her hands cradle the pot. If only she would touch him again, hold him. In her arms, he would die a happy man. Tatiana offered the tea. He nodded thanks to Anya, who averted her eyes before walking to the door where she stood silent.
“Where is Jozef?” the older woman demanded.
Lorenzo took a sip of tea, then glanced respectfully at Tatiana.
“I apologize. This is my mother, Katarina Pietrus, Jozef’s mother.” Tatiana’s eyes filled with sadness.
Lorenzo placed his cup on the table after nodding to Katarina. The crotchety woman was a mother who would soon find out her son was dead. Shifting nervously in his chair, his gaze fell back to Tatiana, who encouraged him with a nod to continue.
“Jozef and I met on a pirate ship where I was a prisoner.”
“Is he imprisoned?” Katarina’s voice wavered.
“No, part of the crew.” Both ladies raised their eyes in astonishment. “He helped me and another escape. The pirate captain owned a book containing information about a hidden treasure.” Katarina grumbled and shook her head as Tatiana’s eyes began to well. “Jozef’s plan was to acquire the book and search for the treasure.”
“Where’s Jozef?” Katarina repeated.
Lorenzo fidgeted. “I’m sorry. He died at sea.”
Katarina’s face fell to her hands. Tatiana closed her eyes. She seemed to have already known.
“Jozef saved my life, my friend’s life, too. Before he died, he gave me the book and made me promise if I ever found the treasure I would give his portion to you,” Lorenzo rambled.
“Jozef, he—” Tatiana’s voice faltered.
“We found it,” Lorenzo interrupted softly. He reached into his coat pocket with his right hand and withdrew a leather pouch. Placing it on the table in front of Tatiana, he pushed it toward her. “This is yours. We divided it equally.”
Tatiana blinked back tears. She glanced at Lorenzo’s shoulder and then down at the leather bag. Hesitantly, she lifted the sack, placing it in front of her mother.
Katarina sighed and opened it. The women stared, dumbfounded. Lorenzo relaxed and drank his tea, taking the opportunity to watch Anya’s face light up. The other women remained somber.
“Jozef was a brave man. I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
“May I offer you a reading?” Tatiana’s voice came out in a whisper.
Lorenzo sensed Tatiana’s need to repay him. He glanced at Katarina, but she continued to stare silently at her folded hands. His shoulder throbbed with every beat of his racing heart. He didn’t need Tatiana’s expertise. He needed Katarina’s. He should have had her look at his wound before he told her Jozef was dead.
“Yes. Thank you.” Perhaps Tatiana would foresee his medical needs.
“Place your palms face up on the table,” Tatiana directed.
Lorenzo obeyed, after wiping the sweat from them on his pants. Tatiana gently placed her hands over his and closed her eyes.
“Determination, intelligence, compassion, all powerful traits. Take care not to let them become weaknesses.” She paused as if she was confused.
Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not only from the pain, but from Tatiana’s words. The captain of the Warren had a similar conversation with him not a month earlier. Chills ran through his body, causing him to shake uncontrollably.
A hand touched his right shoulder. Lorenzo restrained himself from pulling away from Tatiana as Anya’s hand gently moved alongside his elbow. Her arm cradled him. Without intending, he leaned into her hold. She quickly stepped back a few inches. Her deep brown eyes silently relayed she was there to help, thanking him for what he had done.
“You will change the lives of three.” The corners of Tatiana’s mouth softened into a slight smile and then dropped. “Three visions I see.” Everyone’s attention riveted to Tatiana’s commanding tone. “The first, a beautiful woman. The second, a place you desire to be. The third, darkness.” Tatiana’s voice softened. “You will become estranged, yet together in the end.” Silence.
Lorenzo lowered his head. Tatiana was absolutely correct. He was in the arms of a beautiful woman, felt the imminent need to get the hell out of the room, and he recalled the darkness, which he experienced on the pirate ship. That darkness had taken him away from his pain. Maybe it would overcome him again, take him to a pain-free place without voices telling him to go back. He would go anywhere, as long as he was with Anya.
“I thank you for your kindness.” Tatiana’s voice returned to normal.
Lorenzo rose, not sure if he stood or if Anya lifted him to his feet. He glanced down at Katarina, praying she would see his medical need.
“I’m deeply sorry. Jozef was a good man. I—” Lorenzo stopped when he saw the old woman’s head lower, deciding it was best to seek another’s help.
Anya’s strong arms led him through the door and into the store. Leaning heavily upon her, Lorenzo stumbled toward the table. He knew he didn’t make it to the chair, but he didn’t care. Her lovely voice sounded close to his ear as soft hands touched his cheeks. Anya’s voice grew in intensity, then drifted farther and farther away. In her arms, he welcomed the pain-free darkness.
Chapter 9
Gretta Entwined within Anya
“Alec.” Anya slumped to the dirt floor, unable to sustain Lorenzo’s weight. Somehow she kept his head and shoulders from hitting the ground. Mama and Yia Yia scurried in from the back room. With her grandmother kneeling at his side, she helped loosen the bandage on his shoulder. The odor stung her nose and caused her to hold her breath. Yia Yia shook her head slightly.
“No.” Anya’s reaction to the dire condition of this man surprised all present, including herself. Mama’s knowing eyes revealed a sadness Anya hadn’t seen in years.
“Mother, we are indebted to this man. Do your best.” Mama’s words enabled Anya to breathe.
There was something about him that intrigued her; beyond her physical attraction and past her infatuation with Americans. She could not let this stranger named Lorenzo die. She watched Yia Yia reluctantly place an ear to his chest.
“Anya, get the cheese you made yesterday and two young hens. Take them to Luda in exchange for a poultice.” Yia Yia stood, rolling up the ebony sleeves of her dress.
Anya turned to her grandmother in horror, knowing what procedure had to be performed.
“Go,” the old woman ordered.
She lowered Lorenzo’s head and shoulders to the floor, then ran outside. Within minutes, she returned with a round of cheese in one hand and a squirming, cackling sack in the other.
“You know the way?” Mama asked, kicking off her shoes. Anya nodded and placed her bare feet into them. “Go, quickly.”
Anya fled through the village, making her way to the barley fields. The terrain grew steeper as the fields were terraced into the hillside.
Luda lived in a cave at the far end of the rocky ridge, not quite an hour’s walk from the village. Hurry, you must make it back in time.
Her feet raced on as her mind wandered to when she helped take supplies to Luda. People sought the hermit out for advice and medical care. It was rumored that she contacted evil spirits. The few who were des
perate enough to go to her never spoke of their experiences. Like her mother and grandmother, Luda had unexplained powers. Unlike them, she had the ability to transform the fabric of fate.
Anya shuddered at the thought of going to Luda alone, but an inner sense of urgency pushed her on. She ran up three switchbacks, to the top. Stopping to catch her breath, she scanned the ridge. When she wiped the sweat off her forehead with her arm, her sleeve slid up, revealing the scar she acquired ten years earlier. Painful memories flooded her mind, forcing her to move on at a furious pace.
Anya reached the trickling spring where they had left supplies for Luda in the past. She suddenly realized Luda was not expecting her and worried about intruding. Her thoughts raced back to Lorenzo. Pushing her fears aside, she called out, “Katarina sent me.” Anya set the cheese and sack on a flat rock, then began to walk away. This was how they always left supplies. Anya didn’t know what Luda looked like or how she was going to request the poultice.
She froze as a twig snapped behind her. A hand gripped her left arm. Anya gasped as a tiny old woman propelled her forward.
“Come,” the woman croaked as she guided Anya around a cluster of rocks.
The ancient woman was hideous and smelled worse. She stood a full foot shorter than Anya, wearing nothing more than tattered rags. Her stringy, matted white hair hung loose past her shoulders. The stench she emitted was a strange combination of smoke and dead animals. Anya blanched as they crept through the boulders into a small cave.
“Sit,” Luda ordered. Anya shrank to the ground as the woman peered out of the cave. Too scared to speak, she gazed at a small fire at the far end of the enclosure. Dried flowers and roots hung from the dirt wall to her right. Crude drawings made from crushed berries covered the stone to her left. There was an opening, just past the fire, but it was too small for a person to squeeze through. There on the ground in front of her were the cheese and sack, now still. The sack remained tied. A gasp escaped her trembling lips.
