Suddenly he gave, a slightly embarrassed grin. The darkness and chill that had been between them a moment ago slipped away already a fading memory.
“I like mountains. I left my maker only a few years ago to wander alone. I found some huge mountains and lived there, hunting like the animals. I only fed occasionally. By keeping away from the villages, I didn’t require much essence. The winters were harsh there, much harsher then here. So I left and looked for less isolated mountains and found these. I like it here.”
This was the truth, he wasn’t lying, but there was more to it than that. She could sense it. “How do you feed?”
She saw the amusement in his eyes at the question. He’d been expecting that and was clearly surprised it had taken her so long to ask. Mutta was getting uncomfortable though, standing still in the cool night was doing nothing for her hips. She shifted position and grimaced as she did so. Goodman noticed but didn’t comment. Though he did wait until she was listening again.
“Across the Rhine, the big river to the west, the Romans have many towns and forts. I go there. Without too much human interaction, I can go for long periods without essence. But when I need to, I go there and choose those who’re looking for death by the way they treat others.”
“You said you see colours, is that how you discriminate?”
He nodded and clarified. “I see people’s colours and you can taste a soul’s purity in their life-force. There’s a sourness or blackness. When I taste that, I know it’s all right if I take my fill and they never breathe again.” Mutta was distracted by this information, she was learning far more from this conversation then anything she’d been told by her trainers. “Your hips are giving you pain. I can help with that.”
He looked concerned about her and her welfare and she’d no doubt that his offer was sincere. “No, I’ll try your flower instead. Thank you though.”
The hunter didn’t seem upset; he’d probably been expecting it. “I understand. But I could be more effective and it would last longer.”
“No,” she snapped, tempted at the suggestion and cross with herself for her weakness.
“I understand, but the offer is still there and will be should you change your mind.”
She was seizing up again and really should be getting back. “Thank you, but I doubt I will.” She paused, then changed the subject, back to the real reason she was there. “I can’t make you leave, so I won’t try and I’m very grateful to you for all your help with the hunting. But I ask that you honour your word and leave the people of this area alone. I do believe that we can share this valley, but if that changes I will kill you. Redemption or not.” He remained expressionless as she said this. Only his eyes hardened slightly at her last words.
Suddenly he was next to her. He’d moved faster than she could register and now he was on her side of the boulders, close enough to touch and looking down at her.
“If you do try to kill me Mutta, I will have to kill you. It won’t help my cause for salvation, but as it would be self-defence, I might get away with it. Shall we agree to differ and avoid each other?” The face he pulled was charming but there was no warmth in his eyes.
All she could hear was her heart beating in panic and her feeling of helplessness at his sudden appearance and proximity. He was waiting. She’d no choice but to agree.
“Now, please let me help with your hips. I’m afraid that my sudden movement has jolted your body into spasm. Please, this won’t hurt.” Terrified, she could only stare up at him, because he was right, her back had seized up and she could hardly bear to move. He could take her life there and then. She tried to read his colours, but he’d moved too close for her to see.
“Let’s seal our friendship by allowing me to show you what I can do.” He lifted his hand to cradle her face and his thumb gently pressed against her cheek bone then he lowered his head so that they were mouth to mouth. She felt his arm come around her to hold her still and the coolness of his breath against her lips. “I won’t hurt you, Mutta, I promise, and I do try to keep my word.”
She couldn’t say anything; his voice was like honey, soft and sweet. Without meaning to, she opened her mouth to take it in. Softly, he put his lips over her own and almost instantly a cool sweetness filled her open mouth. It was delicious; eagerly she breathed it down and closed her eyes. For several long moments he let his essence seep into her willing body and she had no wish to fight it. Eventually, the flow faltered and stopped. Quietly, Mutta opened her eyes. He hadn’t moved and still held his mouth over her lips. It was a tender and thrillingly sensual experience, made more so when she saw that he still had his eyes closed, the dark lashes casting long shadows on his cheek. She felt him sigh and then slowly open his eyes, so that it seemed as if they were staring into each other’s soul. His gaze was warm and affectionate, as slowly and carefully he broke contact.
“I hope that helps. I tried to direct it to the place it was needed. But regular drinks of camomile will keep the inflammation away.”
For a moment she was lost for words, and content just staring up at this hunter, who wasn’t like any seizer she’d been prepared for. “I think I can feel a difference already.” Her back was less rigid and the ache in her hips had diminished. Carefully, she eased her back and shuffled a little. There was a definite improvement and it was getting easier all the time.
She glanced at him. He was smiling shyly, clearly pleased at her response. “Don’t push yourself, Mutta. It’ll take a few moments for the full effects to be felt.”
She nodded and walked away, then turned back to face him feeling as agile as a young woman. “Thank you, Goodman. Thank you. That seals the agreement between us.”
He jumped back onto the boundary stones and watched her. “They’ll notice and ask, Mutta. Tell them it’s the camomile.”
She nodded, still reeling from the miracle that she was feeling in her body.
“Good night, Mutta,” he said to her and then lithely jumped off the stones and strode back up the slope leaving her alone in the chill night. Mutta watched until he’d become one with the shadows, then she turned and walked rather than hobbled back to her bed.
Chapter Twenty-One
The mountain water was cold but invigorating. Cimon dived beneath the surface, swam to the river bed and fumbled amongst the rocks. Selecting one, he pushed his way back to the surface, holding the prized stone aloft. But there was no one there to cheer and applaud his prowess; he was alone. He shook his face free of the water and looked carefully at his choice. It was just an ordinary pebble, like any other on the river bed, but it was flat and a good size. On impulse, he threw it further up the river and heard with satisfaction the plop, as it fell back into the water. Diving like this was an old habit from his childhood. Back in Boeotia, they had dived for rocks and the winner would be the quickest to resurface with a good-size stone.
He looked around; inadvertently he’d drifted too close to the waterfall. He’d no problem with the drop, it would’ve been fun, but the plunge pool was sacred and he didn’t want to offend the goddess. He needed as many gods on his side as he could get. With deft strokes he swam back to the bank and clambered out of the water. It was the middle of a hot day, so he could dry naturally, but you never knew if hunters were around, though most likely if they had any sense, they’d be holed up and sleeping like everything else in this heat.
He picked up his tunic and half-heartedly dried himself. Today, he wouldn’t have minded wearing his Roman clothes, but bare legs in these forests were never a good idea. He’d learnt years ago to wear the full-length braccae favoured by the Gauls, which covered the whole leg and offered both warmth and protection in these northern climes. Today the wool was too heavy and cumbersome, so Persian cavalry trousers had been his compromise, the type favoured by Mardonius. Leather didn’t like wet skin, so it took a while to pull them on, and by the time he was finished he was hot again. He didn’t feel the heat the same way a mortal did, but it was still uncomfortable, so
he carried his tunic rather than wore it.
He sensed Inga before he saw her. He approached his mountain from the side and felt immediately that she was there. Curiously, he looked for her and eventually found her asleep in a glade half way up the slope, but hidden from any prying eyes below. For a moment, he stared down as she lay peacefully on her side with her hand just short of her mouth as if in memory of a comforting childish habit.
He wouldn’t wake her. She looked too tranquil. Instead, he sat quietly next to her and enjoyed the shade and the view for a while.
The sun had moved and the shadows were longer by the time Inga began to wake. She mumbled something and wiped her eyes and then started, clearly shocked to see him there so close to her, despite the fact that she’d obviously come looking for him.
“Do you feel better for that sleep?” he asked, glancing at her and letting her know that he was amused and not angry at her presence.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” she replied easing herself up. He looked back at her and grinned.
“It was nice to have you quiet for once.” He chuckled as she pouted. “No, really you looked very serene, so I didn’t want to disturb you.” He smiled at her in a reconciliatory way.
“I do talk a lot though, and I ask too many questions,” she admitted. By now she was sitting up next to him. He drew up his knees, folded his arms onto them and turned his head to look at her.
“I like that, Inga, don’t stop. It’s good to ask questions; it shows an inquiring mind. You don’t want to be someone who simply accepts and never challenges anything.”
She smiled hesitantly at him. “I do that as well, don’t I?”
He nodded, and smiled to assure her that he didn’t mind then looked away into the trees. She was quiet for a moment, and he could tell that she was gathering her thoughts, something was troubling her and she’d obviously come here for a reason.
“I’m twelve now and my father has been gathering marriage proposals for me, which should lead to negotiations and eventually an agreement.” She paused and watched him. Silently he turned back to study her; she bit her lip and flushed. Right before his eyes she was growing up. No longer was she a child, innocent and naïve, but now he could see that she was on the brink of womanhood. With a cold certainty he knew that his time was running out.
To his surprise, her pale blue eyes filled with moisture and a single tear rolled down her cheek, but she continued to look at him. Then she spoke again and the world shifted. “He accepted an offer today,” she stated simply.
“Who? Do you like him?” he asked roughly, not bothering to conceal the emotion in his voice. Inga looked down for the first time, unable to meet his eyes.
Cimon waited for her to answer, biting back his words of frustration at her delay. Slowly she shook her head.
“It’s not a him. It’s Mutta. She wants me to train to be a herb woman like her. She says that I have gifts which she didn’t see at first, but you did and so she wants me to be a wise woman, maybe even the next one for the village.” Another tear trailed down her cheek, swiftly followed by others.
Cimon was too stunned to do or say anything. He could only stare at her, trying to understand the implications of what she was telling him.
“It’s a huge honour. My father agreed immediately. But I don’t want to be one. It means I’ll never be allowed to marry and have children of my own. And, though I wanted more than that in my life, I didn’t want this.” She looked down, uncertain of his response and embarrassed that she’d said too much.
But Cimon was still staring, yet not seeing her. He wanted to stand up and shout at the gods for their cruelty. He’d come so far, worked hard to know this girl and then she was to be snatched from him and turned into the one thing that would send him straight to hell. She was to be a Wielder. It was too cruel. Maybe at best she could in time forgive him for what he was, but a herbalist and protector of her people would never, could never love something like him. She’d have to put her people first and everything else would come far below that.
He was still looking at her, he realised, so quickly he jerked his head around so that when she looked up she wouldn’t see the impotent rage blazed across his face. They were silent for a while then Inga spoke, her voice high and uncertain.
“You could show me some more herbs and flowers. You could teach me as well.”
Somehow her plaintive plea came through to him, allowing his brain to think more clearly. He nodded, pulled a smile onto his face and turned back.
“Yes, I can and I will. I’ve some scrolls with me here. We could see if there’re other plants that might be useful. You’ll get two educations.” He tried to make his voice light, but the warmth wasn’t in his eyes and he hoped that she didn’t notice.
“I don’t want it, Goodman,” she whispered to him. Slowly he bowed his head in acknowledgement.
“I know, but think of the honour, Inga. You’ll be the most important woman in your village, even your leader will have to ask your permission. You’ll be a fine Mutta.”
Inga pulled a face. “I’m not so sure of that. There’s a girl younger than me and she’s really good, she sees colours and knows things already. We all thought Mutta would choose her. I’ve got good eyes, but that’s all.”
“You’re honest, Inga and you keep your word. That’s important in positions of responsibility. You can be taught to see colours, but if you’re not honest, then you never will be. You’re either a good person or not. And you are.”
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “I’ve never told Mutta about Cerlic.” Quickly she glanced up to judge his reaction.
He looked away and stared out into the trees. “Another reason you’ll be good. You’re discreet. You know when to tell and when not to. Mutta doesn’t need to know what happened, only that it has.”
“We’ll still be friends though? You said you’d show me the scrolls. Whatever they are?” There was more than a hint of desperation in her questions.
“Yes, I said I would and I mean it. And now you won’t have a husband who’s worried about your friendship with me and insists that you stay at home.”
Her eyes widened then as she drank in the enormity of her freedom. “I can come and go as I please, because I’ll have the right and I’ll need to gather herbs. Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” She grinned. “It could be brilliant, actually.”
Cimon smiled and laid his head down on his knees, content to watch her excitement. Inga was wittering on about herbs, tonics and all the free time she’d have. He let her talk, only saying a yes or no if it was required. Her mood had completely shifted and so had his.
It wasn’t as completely hopeless as he’d believed at first. Mutta had done this deliberately, there was no doubt about that. It was a way to keep her safe and away from him. She didn’t know why he was interested in Inga, but she was keeping her from his reach. Yet it could lead to them having more time together, where he could try to persuade her that he really was a good man, before she found out what he truly was and she saw him in another light. Maybe this wasn’t the disaster it could have been, he might still be able to outmanoeuvre the herb woman.
***
She hated this part of the journey, it was dark and gloomy, but that wasn’t the worst bit, the spikes from the trees always snagged in her hair, making her look like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards by the time she arrived at Goodman’s stone dwelling.
Inga emerged from the dense fir trees and surveyed the clear area at the top of the mountain. Deftly she arranged her plait so that she looked less untidy.
“Hello, Inga.” She heard Goodman, but she couldn’t see him.
In the entrance to the dwelling, there was a fire with a metal frame over it, on top of which sat a vessel of water bubbling away. There were also several pots and various weapons scatted around the opening. She could also see the different weapons that were stored carefully, so that they could be used at a moment’s notice. Finally, after a thor
ough scan of the area, she saw him. He was standing by a tree hanging up a deerskin for drying.
For a few precious seconds she drank in the sight. He was wearing only his braccae and now she was older, nearly fourteen, she enjoyed seeing him like this. Sometimes she sat with the other girls and pretended to wash, whilst really they were watching the young men train and compete with one another. But this was her private pleasure. Goodman was bronzed as if he‘d been kissed by the sun itself and his body was smooth and mostly hairless, unlike the German hunters in her village. Unfortunately, though, he didn’t have a good beard, which was disappointing, and he took pains to ensure that one didn’t grow. She’d once caught him using a sharp blade to remove his facial hair. She asked why he did it, when it was a sign of masculinity and potency, but he’d laughed and replied that not everyone liked and believed the same things and had reminded her of the coin in the mouth of the dead. Then he’d continued to remove all traces of hair on his face. A real shame, Inga thought, he would’ve looked even nicer with some hair, but maybe he thought he was strong enough.
“Your water’s boiling,” she said walking over to the pot.
“Can you take it off then?” She knew how to do that. She picked up the heavy woollen cloth and used it to remove the pot from the frame so that it was no longer over the little flame.
Further inside the stone house a single scroll sat curled up on the floor. That must be the one they would be looking at today, she decided, picking it up and sitting down to study the pictures. She glanced up as he approached and hunched down to drop some herbs into the cooling water.
“What is it?” she asked warily. She disliked a lot of the herbal drinks he made, preferring instead to have honeyed water.
“Camomile. Do you want some?” he offered. It was early, she’d been up for a while, long before the rest of the village, preparing some herbs that should be soaked in dew. So she nodded.
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