Shadow of Hope
By Elsye Harwood
Published by Lillian White Publishing
Copyright 2015 ©Elsye Harwood
Cover Art Copyright 2015 ©Phoenix Design
Image © Arman Zhenikeyev/Dollar Photo Club
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Also by Elsye Harwood
The Custodians Series
Book One: The Kin
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my husband and his encouragement as the first reader. Lily and Mollie, who helped me write this book.
My parents who taught me to work hard. My mother who inspired and encouraged my love of history and my Father who loved a good story and knew the power of the written word.
Shadow of Hope
By
Elsye Harwood
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
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 fe
et 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.
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