The Soul of Time Read online

  THE SOUL

  OF TIME

  Jennifer Macaire

  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2019

  Octavo House

  West Bute Street

  Cardiff

  CF10 5LJ

  www.accentpress.co.uk

  Copyright © Jennifer Macaire 2019

  The right of Jennifer Macaire to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of Accent Press Ltd.

  ISBN 9781786154835

  eISBN 9781786154590

  Dionysus to Hercules:

  “That’s the reason I’ve come here

  and dressed like you – so you can fill me in,

  in case I need to know, about this place …

  who welcomed you down here, who’d you meet

  that time you went down after Cerberus.

  Tell me about the harbours, resting places,

  bakeries and brothels, water fountains,

  the cities, highways, all the detours,

  the local customs and the fine hotels,

  the ones with fewest bugs.”

  ‘The Frogs’ by Aristophanes (translated by Professor Ian Johnston, Vancouver Island University)

  “Man is only breath and shadow.”

  Sophocles, Fr. 13 (Ajax the Locrian; Stobaeus, Anth. 4, 43, 52)

  Preface

  I left Alexandria in 322 BC in search of a lost soul. History would say that my husband, Alexander the Great, had died in Babylon – but I’d saved him. However, something was missing. He felt it keenly, “Like wind blowing through a cracked cliff” – another of his Macedonian maxims that would fall through the cracks of posterity. He consulted an oracle, and the oracle told him his soul had been stolen by a druid: a thief of souls. I was the only one who had trouble believing this. Everyone else was convinced, so Alexander, my son Paul, and I headed north to the Land of Snow and Ice1 to recover his soul. We travelled through Gaul, then hitched a ride up the coast on a trading boat with an Iceni girl, Phaleria.

  Meanwhile, back in Egypt, Plexis, Alexander’s and my lover, discovered that the druid who had stolen Alexander’s soul also wanted our son, Paul. On his way to warn us, Plexis was attacked by the druids and badly wounded, but he managed to find us in the far-north village of Orce. Apparently, the druids were fixated on saving their world by using Paul to change time. Since Paul should never have been born, it was feasible that a group of fanatics with Stone Age beliefs could alter the future.

  The druids tracked us to Orce, and we barely escaped capture. Our choices were to flee by sea with our trader friend, Phaleria, or go inland where Alexander felt his soul had been taken. In the end, we decided to head inland, towards the Land of the Eaters of the Dead. But the druids were right on our heels.

  1 There were no float-vid-maps back then – just the known kingdoms or tribes and vague directions. ‘Come and visit sometime. I’m an Iceni and live on the river Iken in a red house with lots of mint in the garden. You can’t miss it.’ Needless to say, people often wandered like Moses in the desert.

  Chapter One

  The attack came just as we had stopped for a rest. Five men surged out of the darkness and swooped upon us. They were dressed in grey robes and wore strange bronze helmets with masks. The scuffle was short. My husband, Alexander the Great, was a superb swordsman; his admiral, Nearchus was even better, and Demos, once a soldier himself, was taller and stronger than any of our attackers.

  I hid under the seat of the wagon, clutching my son Paul in my arms. For a few minutes, there was noise and confusion as the men fought and Paul’s dog, Cerberus, barked. The horse shied, but Axiom held the reins firmly. He also held a sword, and if anyone had tried to leap into the wagon, Axiom would have killed him. As it was, Demos found an opening and thrust his sword into one man’s throat. Seeing that, the other men ran away.

  Afterwards, Axiom wrapped the slain man in a shroud. ‘I think I’d better go back to the sanctuary in Orce.’

  ‘But why? Now the druids know we’re here and not on the trading boat.’ I was confused. ‘What good will it do to go back?’

  ‘Everyone in the village believed that Plexis was dying. When I deliver this body, I’ll say it was his. Then I will tell everyone in the village that you’ve left with Phaleria on her boat. Perhaps the druids will not be completely fooled, but they will want to make sure. They may split up.’ Axiom spoke firmly, and we knew he was right.

  ‘Only five druids attacked us,’ said Demos. ‘Yet there were dozens aboard the dragon ship. Where are the others? If we can split them up, it will make it harder for them to get Paul.’

  ‘They didn’t see him, he was under the seat with me,’ I admitted. ‘You’re right, Axiom. Maybe they’ll think Paul is on the trading boat with Phaleria and will follow her.’

  ‘Here’s money for the inn. You’ll want to stay there until we come back.’ Alexander gave Axiom his purse.

  We looked at each other. Axiom had wise eyes. That’s what I was thinking as he took the small, heavy pouch of coins. He had always been with us. I couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been there. His first gesture in the morning was to make a fire. Then he would pray, and then he would eat breakfast. He smiled crookedly. He could read my thoughts so easily. ‘I’ll be safer than you, My Lady.’

  ‘I’ll go with him to make sure he gets back to Orce,’ said Alexander.

  Demos had spoken up. ‘I will go with him too.’

  There was a short discussion about who would go where, with whom, and why. Then Plexis, Paul, and I hid in a thick copse of trees while Nearchus and Yovanix stayed to guard us. Alexander and Demos went with Axiom to make sure he made it back to the village.

  One thing was certain; Alexander and Demos would be tired after the night was over. They hadn’t stopped jogging after the cart, running through the forest, or fighting.

  We lay on a thick bed of pine needles, with our warm cloaks over us. Paul started to shiver. He looked ill. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  ‘I can’t stand it,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘Because of me, everything is wrong. The druids want to kidnap me. I don’t understand why. And Father is in danger because of me. Everyone is in danger. I’m so sorry I ran away. I should have stayed at home.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘The druids have been searching for you since you were born. The only place you were safe was in the Sacred Valley of Nysa. But Roxanne made sure you didn’t stay there. She brought you to Babylon. None of this was your fault. If you had stayed with Plexis in Alexandria, the druids would have killed everyone in the house to get you. They would have killed Chiron and Cleopatra.’

  Paul was crying softly. ‘But what about Father’s soul? How can we get it back if the druids are chasing us? And who took it, anyway?’

  I soothed him as best I could. ‘I think I can answer your last question. When we were in Babylon, just before your father was supposed to die, an envoy came from the kingdom of Gaul. He must have been a druid. He had long hair and wore a grey robe. Most of the Gauls have short hair, did you notice? And they are clean. This man was dirty, he rarely washed, and I think he was a soul thief. When your father lay dying, he stole his soul.’ I paused, remembering that day. ‘Usse, Millis, and I were in the thro
ne room. Alexander lay on his bed, which had been moved there so his generals could see him. The Gaul came in and chanted something, then put his hands on Alexander’s chest. Usse rushed over to stop him. We had no idea what he was doing, but the man just picked up the staff that he’d put on the floor, and left. I don’t know what happened. I have no reasonable explanation, and I don’t know how Voltarrix managed to get Alexander’s soul. To tell you the truth, Paul, I don’t know if I believe any of this. But your father is convinced his soul has been taken.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ Paul asked. ‘Isn’t your soul attached to your body? Did the man cut it out? Did he have a knife?’

  ‘No, he didn’t, and no one knows what a soul looks like or where it is.’ I shook my head. ‘I never learned about souls from my family or from school, but I’ve read about them. In most stories, souls are what make men and gods different. Gods have no souls, but we have them because it’s what animates the clay the gods used to craft our bodies.’

  ‘But if Father’s soul is missing, how is he still alive?’

  Plexis spoke up. ‘You can remove a person’s soul, but it still belongs to that person and animates him. I learned this in Alexandria after the druids’ attack. The Thief of Souls can pass it to another person, but the soul will always belong to its original body. But if your father should die, Paul, then his captured soul can animate another person.’

  Paul was silent for a while, thinking about this. ‘Are there any stories about this from your time, Mother? Can you tell us one?’ He shifted and pulled his cloak tighter around him. ‘Please, tell me a story with a stolen soul in it.’ He had the same faults as his father. He loved to command people. He never asked, he ordered, and even if it were done with a ‘please’ and an engaging smile, his expression said clearly, ‘do it and do it now.’

  I sighed. I was raising another Alexander, and one at a time in the world was enough.

  There was only one tale that came to mind. ‘Once upon a time there was an evil necromancer named Dr. Frankenstein,’ I began.

  ‘What in Hades’ name are you telling the boy?’ gasped Plexis, when I got to the part where the hunchbacked assistant, Igor, was heading off to dig up some bodies in a graveyard.

  ‘A story!’ I said crossly. ‘Is anyone else going to complain?’

  ‘Well, if you really want to know, I’d prefer something a little lighter, seeing as we’re heading towards a place the natives call Land of the Eaters of the Dead. Plexis spoke in a whisper.

  ‘Are you scared?’ I asked Paul.

  He just nodded, his eyes like two blue saucers.

  ‘OK. It wasn’t such a great idea after all,’ I said. The wind suddenly rustled the boughs of the pine trees making strange shadows in the night. Paul disappeared under his cloak, and Plexis heaved himself up on one elbow and peered into the gloom.

  ‘It was an interesting tale,’ said Plexis, ‘but I wish you had waited until everyone came back.’

  ‘It is scary here in the dark,’ I agreed. ‘How’s your arm?’

  ‘Hurts. But it hurts like an arm that’s been broken twice and is finally starting to heal.’

  ‘Well, you should know what that feels like,’ I said, half joking. His arm had been broken more than twice, and I could remember a time when his collarbone had been broken four times in a row.

  He didn’t reply. Instead he hitched himself up a little straighter and his eyes narrowed. Then he lay down again, but instead of resting he pressed his ear against the ground. Paul and I had been around soldiers long enough to know when to be quiet. After what seemed like a long while, Plexis lifted his head and stared at us. ‘I hope we’re well hidden.’

  I could tell he was worried, his movements were slow and careful, and it wasn’t only because of his wounds. We were well hidden; at least I was sure of that. Alexander and Demos had taken great pains to hide us.

  The wind was blowing in gusts. Sometimes the trees would lean over and hide the moon, other times all was still. An owl hooted softly nearby. Plexis cupped his hands around his mouth and hooted back. We held our breaths, and then the branches parted and Alexander poked his head through.

  ‘I heard you coming,’ said Plexis, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

  ‘The owl wasn’t me,’ said Alexander curtly. Plexis swore. I grabbed Paul and we huddled next to Plexis. The branches hadn’t moved but Alexander was gone. I braced myself for the inevitable sound of metal clanging on metal. The attackers had found us, and this time there would be more of them.

  Plexis looked at me bleakly. He would have preferred to be out there but was in no condition to fight. He’ d already been hurt in a previous attack by the druids following us, and it was a miracle he was alive. I wondered if he shouldn’t have gone back to the village with Axiom. But I had the strongest feeling that he had to stay with us. I’d learned to trust my intuition. The last premonition I’d had saved our lives. I reached over Paul and took Plexis by the hand. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be on our way soon.’

  ‘I hope I won’t slow you down,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Even wounded you are stronger than Paul or me. Don’t worry so much. You’ll heal fast, you always did.’

  ‘I know, but I’m getting old.’ We sat up, straining for some sound or a clue as to what was happening outside the thicket, but all we heard was the wind in the trees.

  Paul gave a soft snore, and I realized he’d fallen asleep.

  Then Cerberus barked. The dog had been hiding with Yovanix. If the attackers had wanted to sneak up on us, it was too late. I heard a man shout something in Celtic, and the clash of fighting.

  The conflict was over quickly yet, to me, it seemed to last an eternity as I sat in the dark listening. There were yells, but they didn’t come from the men I knew. Alexander fought in silence. I pictured him with his mouth drawn in a tight line, his eyes fierce. Demos was a bear, growling between slashes, and Yovanix was an untrained ex-slave, but he had a large sword and he used it the best he could. Nearchus was the best sword fighter, and he only swore once. Plexis sat without moving, but I could feel his frustration. His good hand clutched a sword. It would not be easy for anyone to reach Paul and me.

  The sword Plexis had was bronze and very old, even for those times. It had belonged to his great-grandfather who’d used it in the wars against the Persians; Plexis had taken it to India and back. Bronze often shattered in a fight, since it was more brittle than iron, but this sword had lasted for more than a century; it would probably end up in a museum in another three thousand years. When I’m nervous, it helps to think about things like that.

  When the skirmish finished, Alexander came for us. My heart slowed its frantic pounding when I saw he was unhurt. Well, almost. He was nursing an angry cut on his forearm. When he lifted his hand from the cut, blood welled out. Demos wrapped Alexander’s arm with a strip of cloth to stem the bleeding.

  Plexis lay back and put his good arm over his face. We were all exhausted. Dawn was minutes away and no one had slept since the day before. Nearchus and Yovanix fell asleep sitting with their backs against a tree. Demos lay down and he was soon snoring loudly. Cerberus snuggled up to Paul, who hadn’t woken up. Alexander and I looked at each other. He was haggard.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘There were seven of them,’ he answered. ‘We didn’t kill anyone this time. They faded away. They’re testing us or maybe just letting us know we’re being followed. I’m not sure.’

  ‘But they wounded you.’

  ‘They were good,’ he said reflectively. ‘Not soldiers, but swordsmen. I’m not sure I’ve ever fought better. They could have killed Yovanix whenever they felt like it. They were just playing.’

  I looked at his arm. ‘Some game,’ I said angrily. But he just shrugged. He got to his feet and went to the far side of the copse. He parted the branches and peered out. ‘Do you see anyone?’ I asked.

  ‘No. They won’t bother us. Why don’t you sleep?’

 
; ‘I want to keep you company.’

  He smiled then. His teeth shone in the half light of dawn. ‘Your eyes are nearly closed already,’ he said. ‘Lie down. There’s no more danger; I’m keeping watch. And when Nearchus wakes up, he’ll watch. Then I’ll lie down by your side.’

  I closed my eyes. I meant to tell Alexander that I wasn’t sleepy and that I’d wait up with him, but when I next opened my eyes, the sun was sparkling through the boughs of the pine trees. Alexander was sleeping deeply beside me. A fire crackled merrily in a small stone hearth, and Paul was carefully poking dry branches into it.

  I sat up slowly. Alexander murmured and snuggled deeper into his cloak, but didn’t wake up. I watched him for a moment. He looked so young when he was asleep. All the lines of worry and tension disappeared. His hair lifted off his temples in tight curls before becoming long and wavy. It was down to his shoulders and he had started tying it back with a leather thong. He preferred it short, but he would only let Brazza cut it. I had an urge to run my finger down his face, starting with his broad forehead, over his proud nose, his lips, his stubborn chin, then down his neck to his chest where a jagged scar shone whitely. But I didn’t. I let him sleep. He needed it. Instead, I pulled his cloak higher and tucked it carefully around him. I lifted my head and met Nearchus’s gaze.

  ‘Do you want a hot drink?’ he asked quietly.

  Thankfully, I took the steaming cup of chicory and sat next to him. He looked as tired as Alexander. Two deep lines ran down his cheeks making his mouth look harsh. However, he wasn’t a hard man. He was quiet and introverted; normally he could hide his feelings better than anyone else of that time. But fatigue let his guard down, and what I’d seen in his eyes had been worry. And if he was worried, I should be too.

  I cast a glance at Demos, sitting next to Paul, and at Yovanix who was sleeping deeply. There were only four men capable of fighting now. Demos didn’t look particularly worried. However, appearances can be deceptive. The way he stayed so close to Paul belied his calm exterior.