‘Damon?’ she whispered through dry lips.
‘No, it is Parmenion.’
‘Why did you leave me, Damon? Why did you die?’
‘It was my time,’ he told her, his voice gentle and his hand squeezing hers. ‘Rest now. Gather your strength – and live.’
‘Why?’ came the question, and it cut into him like a jagged blade.
‘Because I ask you to,’ he told her. ‘Because … I want you to be happy. I want to hear you laugh again.’
But she was asleep once more. Soon she began to shiver and Parmenion wrapped her in a warm blanket and hugged her frail body, rubbing her arms and shoulders, willing heat into her.
‘I love you, Damon,’ she said, her voice suddenly clear. Parmenion wanted to lie, as once she had lied for him. But he could not.
‘If you love me, then live,’ he said. ‘You hear me? Live!’
*
Time passed swiftly for Derae. Every day she learned new skills, healing the sick of the surrounding villages who were carried into the temple on makeshift stretchers. She mended the broken leg of a fanner, stroked away the weeping, cancerous sore on a child’s neck, and gave sight to a blind adolescent girl who had travelled with her father from the city of Tyre. Word spread throughout the Greek cities of Asia that a new healer had come among them, and day by day the queues lengthened outside the temple.
Tamis had been gone for several months, but she returned late one evening to find Derae sitting in the garden, enjoying the cool of the night air. Already there were people sleeping in the fields beyond, waiting for their chance to see the Healer.
‘Welcome home,’ greeted the younger woman.
‘They will be a never-ending source of exhaustion for you,’ said Tamis, gesturing to the fields. ‘They will come from all over the empire, from Babylon and India, from Egypt and Cappadocia. You will never heal them all.’
‘A blind child asked me why I did not heal myself.’
‘And what did you tell her?’ asked Tamis.
‘I told her that I did not need healing. It was true; it surprised me. You look weary, Tamis.’
‘I am old,’ snapped Tamis. ‘One expects to feel weary. But there is something I must do before I leave again. Have you seen Parmenion while I have been away?’
Derae blushed. ‘I like to watch him. Is that wrong?’
‘Not at all. But as yet you have seen no futures. However, now is the time to walk the many paths. Take my hand.’
Their souls linked, the two women sped to the city of Thebes and the house of Parmenion. It was shrouded in darkness, and the sound of wailing came from the streets around the dwelling.
‘What is happening?’ Derae asked.
‘The plague has come to the city,’ answered Tamis. ‘Now watch!’
Time froze, the air shimmered. Derae saw Parmenion staggering out into the courtyard, his face mottled and red, his throat swollen. He collapsed and she tried to go to him, but Tamis held her. ‘You cannot interfere here,’ she said, ‘for this is the future. It has not yet occurred. Just as we cannot change the past, neither can we work in the days yet to be. Keep watching!’ The scene blurred, re-forming to show Parmenion dying in his bed, dying in the street, dying at the home of Calepios, dying on a hillside. Finally Tamis returned them both to the temple, groaning as she re-entered her body to find her neck stiff and aching.
‘What can we do?’ asked Derae.
‘I can do nothing at the moment. I am too tired,’ said Tamis. ‘But tell me, do you feel strong enough to use your power at such a distance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. But first let me ask you this: How would you react to Parmenion taking a wife?’
‘A wife? I… I don’t know. It hurts me to think of it, but then why should he not? He thinks me dead – as indeed I am. Why do you ask?’
‘It is not important. Go to him. Save him if you can. If you cannot deal with the plague, return for me. I will rest now and gather my strength.’