by Linda Mooney
“Then I will kiss you again. I will tell you I will love you through all eternity, and we will die together…until the next time we meet.”
She pressed a kiss to his chest. “A thousand lives? And this is only the first?”
“Trust me, my love.”
She pressed her shaking hands to his breast. “I do not want to die again, Muam. Not because I fear death, but I fear not ever seeing you again.”
“We will endure,” he murmured into her hair. Giving her a kiss to her forehead, he bent one last time for her mouth. “I will make this swift and as painless as possible,” he promised, and drew the dagger from his belt.
It only took one hard thrust into her heart to end her life. And before Ramestes could stop him, he slit his own throat.
Still clutching each other, they dropped onto the street.
One life down. So many more to go.
Chapter 11
Italy, AD 989
Rain smacked him on the head and across the face like a cold, wet hand. Muam stopped to assess his situation. He was walking alone on a road somewhere in a mountainous area. It was daylight, but the dark clouds overhead had almost turned it into night.
Drops continued to splatter him. He wondered why he wasn’t soaking wet, until he realized he was wearing some sort of skin across his shoulders and chest. Using his fingers, he discerned it was a sheepskin, worn inside-out. The wool within kept him dry, while the tanned hide on the outside prevented most of the water from soaking his clothing.
His hands checked his waist. There was no weapon, no sword, but there was a small, thin knife. He pulled it out and held it up to examine it. The blade was not meant to be used as a weapon of war. It was more of a utility tool, better suited to slice fruit or rope. He replaced it, his hand blindly sliding it into its sheath, guided there by the inherent memory retained by the body he inhabited.
He took a deep breath. From the smell of freshness, and the greenery surrounding him, he guessed it was the rebirthing time of a new year. The gods had converted the snow into rain in order to wake up the plants. He took another breath. He always loved this season, in spite of the torrential downpours that often accompanied it.
He always loved.
Gova.
With the thought of her name came the memory of her face. And with it, their past lives. Their past deaths. This was number forty-eight, if his counting was correct. He had no way of keeping track, other than to rely on what he could carry in his head.
He touched the slim knife at his hip again. Please let this not be a life where I am forced to take hers again. He prayed to the gods. Please let this be a death worthy of her love for me, and mine for her.
The clouds grumbled loudly. A hard gust of wind slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Muam continued walking. He had no idea where he was going. Hopefully he would get some idea soon. One thing, however, was certain. Whenever he became cognizant of who he was, finding Gova was never too far away. It was as if they were kept apart and unconscious of each other until that time when they were to finally meet. And then their real selves would emerge like chicks from eggs, ignorant of the new world around them.
He kept his eyes open for sight of her. As he topped a small rise, down below he discovered he was nearing a small village where the buildings were made mostly of wood or rock. What seemed to be homes extended up into the hillsides. He could only imagine what kind of majestic view the owners had from their lofty perches.
“Ho, there! Tomasie!” The cry came from behind him. Turning around, Muam spotted a horse-drawn wagon with a single driver. The man waved at him. “Hold up! I will save you a few steps!”
Muam waited for the older man to draw even with him. Going over to the other side of the wagon, he hoisted himself up and joined the man on the seat. The stranger slapped the reins, and the horse continued on its way.
“It is bad enough having to walk all the way from your villa to town every day, much less in this kind of weather,” the man remarked.
Muam smiled. “I appreciate your kind gesture, but I do not mind the walk. And I like this weather.”
The older man glanced at him sideways. “You must either be part duck or part frog to like this rain,” he groused good-naturedly.
Muam laughed. It was rare he was able to, given the curse. There were three certainties in his life now. Three events that guided each of these lives he contained. He would find himself, he would find Gova, and then they both had to die in order for them both to progress to the next life.
He lowered his eyes to the horse, his memories flooding back as he recalled them. There had been one time when he’d been unable to kill her. A time when his love for her had stayed his hand at the last moment. He’d mistakenly believed that if he refused to kill her, they would have some time to spend together before their inevitable demises. Perhaps a day. Maybe two days or longer. But the curse would not allow them even that small blessing. When he’d refused to end her life, she’d met her fate at the hands of another. The emotion he’d felt, watching her die, and unable to hold her in his arms to tell her goodbye, had been torture. It was then he swore no one would ever take that from him again.
Once they met, their fate was sealed, and death would swiftly follow for them both.
“It looks like the rain is letting up,” the old man remarked, drawing Muam from his thoughts. “Good thing. The roads in some areas are becoming impassable with all the mud.”
“But we should have a bountiful crop this year.”
“True, true,” the driver admitted. “After the last three years of drought, and the fires that almost razed the town, we have had more than our share of cursed luck. We are due some good.”
Muam chuckled, unable to contain it. “Careful what you say, my friend. If the gods hear you, they may decide to prolong our problems, just for their enjoyment.”
The man gave a little waggle of his head. “You have a point there, Tomasie.”
They made their way closer toward the small town, where there seemed to be a large contingency of people milling about. Muam straightened up. Here and there small tents had been erected. The sound of a wind instrument also floated in the air. Was it a holiday? Eyeing the crowd, he saw a couple of men in their cups, and by their actions, could tell they had been imbibing for some time. “It looks like they have started without us,” he commented, hoping the man would spill more information.
“They did not need our permission,” was the reply.
The sky rumbled with renewed interest. “It also seems that they were determined to have this festival, no matter the weather,” Muam added.
“It is held every year, rain or shine, with the gods’ approval or not.”
The man pulled up to a grove a trees where several horses and carts were already tethered. Getting down from the wagon, the man added his mare to the group. “With the streets blocked off for the festival, it will be easier to carry my supplies back here. Were you planning on staying long?”
Muam slowly shook his head. He wondered how long it would take for him to find Gova. Or would she discover him first? Either way, their time together would be too brief. “No. I will only be here long enough to fulfill my obligation, and then I will go.”
“Well, if you find yourself ready to leave for home, and you see the wagon still here, you are welcome to wait and accompany me back.”
Muam graced the older man with a warm smile. “Thank you. I might take you up on your kind offer.” Giving a little wave of farewell, he began making his way toward the center of the town.
Seeing the happy faces of those around him, Muam averted his eyes so they wouldn’t see his own pain. He remembered similar times in his old village, during his first life. Yet, he couldn’t begrudge them their moment. This was the only life they would have. This was their only chance to live to the fullest. To find that one person to love.
A low roar came from above. Muam glanced up at where the clouds were pierced by the tops of the hills. A handful of rai
ndrops splattered his face, and he quickly sought shelter underneath a tent where a man was selling his cheeses. As throngs of people passed by, he tried to figure out who would be the one to challenge him and Gova. Who would be the person who would force his hand to kill her before killing himself? Unconsciously, he touched the small knife at his hip again. And what would be the instrument of their death?
“There are times when I pray I will never see you again. Because I know that, when I do, I must die. And you will die, so that this cycle of life and death can continue.”
The voice filled with agony was unmistakable. He turned around to see her standing a short distance away, underneath the tent of the neighboring vendor. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she took two steps toward him. “But then I realize I cannot wait until I find you. I cannot wait to see you again. Because I must find you. I need to hear you tell me that all of this, all that we are being forced to go though, is worth it. That our love will endure, and we will find our happiness.”
He tried to answer her, but the words got caught in his throat. Instead, he held out his arms to welcome her. Gova didn’t hesitate to embrace him.
The kiss was warm and wet. He added another to the corner of her mouth before pressing his cheek to hers. He no longer cared to watch out for potential danger. He needed to bathe in this moment, in this too fleeting chance to hold her and tell her how much he loved her.
“One life at a time, my Gova. One life at a time.”
The clouds rumbled again, but this time Muam felt the earth shift beneath his feet. So did Gova.
“Muam, did the ground…”
Her question was cut off by a shrill scream from nearby. It was echoed by more screams, and suddenly panic exploded amid the crowd. People began running in all directions, shoving aside others or knocking them down as they tried to flee.
Gova tensed in his arms. “Muam, what…”
“Run! Run for your lives!” one man shouted.
The earth moved again, and Muam caught sight of movement overhead. Ducking out from underneath the tent, he stared up at the hillside…or what was left of the hillside, as the avalanche of mud and debris raced down toward the town. He stared as the ground gave way beneath the homes that were built above the village. Watched as they collapsed and began a slow slide toward the town. Trees were uprooted and engulfed in a roiling tumble of rocks and sludge that appeared to gain momentum as it neared. The roaring grew louder.
Pulling her tightly against him, he buried his face in the curve of her neck. “The gods are answering my prayer,” he told her. “I begged for them to show some mercy, and not force me to kill you as I have had to do in the past.”
Her nails dug into his back as she braced herself. “I prayed for the same thing, my love. My love. My Muam. Until we meet again.”
She turned her head for one last kiss, when the massive wall of mud inundated them, engulfing them and carrying them a thousand meters further down the mountain before burying them beneath tons of earth and rubble.
And the rain poured down.
Chapter 12
Western Asia, 1068
Gova awoke with a gasp. Although she wasn’t in bed, “awoke” was the only word she felt adequately describe her coming around. She hadn’t been asleep. Not in the literal sense, but in the figurative.
She looked around at her surroundings. She was in a market. Another one, although it had been a few lives since she had awakened in one. Funny how markets all appeared similar. People standing around carts or improvised tables, selling or haggling over prices. It was one of the few things that gave her a sense of security. Of comfort. Seeing such a mundane, everyday occurrence allowed her to center herself, and enabled her to come to grips with this new reality.
What life was she in? One hundred sixty-four? One hundred sixty-eight? It was difficult to keep track of how many times she and Muam had lived, died, and been resurrected. But one thing was consistent. Soon after they found each other, they died. Either by each other’s hand, or from some natural disaster. It was as if the Ancient Mother was playing some kind of cruel game with them. Taunting them with imaginary happiness. Not allowing them anything longer than a stolen kiss or two, and a moment to tell each other it would all soon end once they reached that one thousandth life.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she bent over and sobbed. With every life, it was becoming harder and harder to keep their faith alive. To keep that flame of love from being extinguished. But she had to. He had to. They had no other choice. They couldn’t…
Her breath hitched in her chest. So many times, she’d prayed for this curse to end. That the death she and Muam were forced to suffer would be the last one.
“I do not know if I can keep going. I do not know if I can withstand a thousand lives. A thousand lives. How do we know this is not some cruel joke? How can we be certain that, when we reach that thousandth life, we will find our happiness? To you and me, Muam, happiness will be living our lives to the fullest. Together. But what if…what if the Ancient Mother decides to end us for good? Forever?”
She used the hem of her skirt to wipe her eyes and nose. If there was anything to be grateful for, it was that she and he did not change in appearance. They were able to spot each other, even in the densest crowds.
“All we want is more than a moment in each other’s arms, Ancient Mother. Please. I beg of you. A day. Two days. Give us more than a handful of heartbeats before we are taken away from each other again.”
“Minna?”
At first, Gova believed that the sound of the old woman’s voice was the Ancient Mother responding to her, until she realized the name spoken was her present name, not her real one. Lifting her tear-stained face, she looked over at where the elderly woman was scrutinizing her, honest concern on her wrinkled face.
“What is wrong, little one? Are you not feeling well?”
Gova wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am fine. I will be fine.”
She no longer cared to pretend she belonged in this time and place. It no longer mattered what others would think if her actions made them suspicious of her. Even if they chose to confront her, there wouldn’t be enough time for them to do anything to her, or against her.
She glanced around. “Where am I, old woman?’
“Old woman?”
Gova looked back at her. “Where am I? What is the name of this place?”
The elderly woman narrowed her eyes. “Tushef.”
“Where is that?”
“Near the Sea of Asphaltites.”
Gova gave a little humorless laugh. “That still does not tell anything. You called me Minna. From the way you addressed me, I am going to assume we are either related, or good friends. Which is it?”
“I am your grandmother.”
“What is your name? What do I call you?”
“My name is Foca. You call me Tau Foca.”
To her surprise, the old woman didn’t challenge her. Instead, Foca walked over and laid a withered hand on Gova’s head. “And what is your name?”
“Gova.”
A small smile came over the woman’s face. “How many lives have you lived, Gova of the past?”
“Over a hundred. I have lost count.”
Foca took a seat next to her. “How many have you been condemned to live?”
“A thousand.” The confession felt wonderful. To be able to tell this woman everything without fear of retribution was one bright spot she would always remember.
“Was it a curse, or destiny?”
“A curse.”
“Ah.” Foca folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me about it.”
“I do not have enough time. Once Muam and I find each other, our deaths follow soon thereafter.”
Foca reached out and took her by the chin. Strong fingers turned her face to where they could look eye to eye. The woman studied Gova’s features, then released her. “You are a sorceress?”
“I was. I have not been able to use my abiliti
es for…a very long time.”
“When was the last time you tried to use them?”
The question made Gova pause. She searched her memories, but she could not recall trying to conjure up something since her first death. “I do not think… I have not tried.” Leaning over, she pinched a tiny amount of dirt and rolled it between her fingers. She concentrated on converting the soil into gold dust, the same way she had changed it in order to paint Muam’s arms and fingers, but it soon became clear she no longer had that power. Sighing, she wiped her hand on her skirt. “It is gone.”
Foca tucked a few loose strands of hair behind Gova’s ear. “Tell me about it. Who is Muam?”
“He is my hu—” She stopped as the realization came to her.
“He is your husband?” Foca finished for her.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, he isn’t. We were to be married. We were taking our vows when we were…” Gova took a deep breath. The memories were coming back to her, every little detail as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. “The shaman never got to pronounce us as husband and wife before we were killed. And cursed.”
Foca gave her a warm smile. “You said you would die again once you met up with him. Does he search for you, or do you search for him?”
“Both. Sometimes I stay where I am, and he finds me. Or he stays where he is, and I go in search for him. It depends upon what his gods and the Ancient Mother need us to do.”
“And it does not take long for this to meeting to happen?”
“Not long. It happens soon after we awaken.” Gova tilted her head at the woman. “Why do you believe me?”
Foca’s smile grew warmer. “Because when you spoke to me, the despair in your voice was too raw. And when I looked into your eyes, I no longer saw my Minna. There is someone else in there. A soul that is trapped by time. The body remains the same, but the spirit within has changed. Tell me, how do you know when you have found each other?”
“I do not know how it is possible, but our appearances never changed. The way you see me now is how I looked more than a hundred lifetimes ago.” Taking the old woman’s hand in her own, she gently squeezed it. “Foca, I cannot tell you how wonderful it feels to be able to tell someone about our plight. Thank you.”
