And she saw again the vision of a Battle King leading his troops across the world.
Parmenion’s first-born.
My son!
The Temple, Asia Minor, Winter, 356 BC
Derae lay on her bed and loosed the chains of her soul, floating free of the temple and soaring into the blue winter sky. In the distance clouds were bunching for a storm, but here by the sea the day was fine. Gulls arced and dived around her invisible form and she gloried in their freedom.
Swiftly she sped across the sea, crossing the trident-shaped land mass of the Chalcidice and on to Pella -seeking, as always, the lover fate had denied her. She found him in the throne-room . . . and wished she had chosen another day for the journey. For beside him stood Olympias.
Sadness struck Derae like a blow.
The mother of the Dark God!
The mother of Parmenion’s child.
Hatred touched her and her vision swam. ‘Help me, Lord of All Harmony,’ she prayed.
She watched Olympias walk forward into Philip’s embrace, saw the momentary spasm of jealousy on Parmenion’s face.
‘What did we do to you, my love?’ she thought, remembering her years with Tamis as they had battled to prevent the conception of the Dark God. According to the old seeress, Parmenion was the Sword of the Source, the one man capable of preventing Kadmilos from being born
in the flesh. How vain they were . . . and how stupid. Tamis had secretly manipulated events in Parmenion’s life, creating in him a warrior like no other in the civilized world: a fighter, a killer, a strategist beyond compare. All this so that he would be ready to destroy the Dark God’s plans. Instead, the opposite had been achieved.
Derae’s anger grew. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to use her power to obliterate the babe in the belly of the new Queen. Frightened by the impulse, she fled back to the temple.
And here her anger turned to sadness, for she floated above her own body, staring down at the careworn face and the silver-streaked hair. Once she had been a beauty like Olympias. Once Parmenion had loved her. Not any more. No, she thought, if he could see you now he would turn away, his eyes drawn to the youthful skin and the earthly joys of girls like Olympias.
Returning to her body, she slept for two hours.
Leucion awoke her. ‘I have prepared a bath for you,’ he told her. ‘And I bought three new gowns for you at the market.’
‘I need no gowns. And I have no coin.’
‘The clothes you have are theadbare, Derae. You are beginning to look like a beggar. Anyway, I have my own money.
For a moment only she considered rebuking him, but dismissed the thought. Leucion was a warrior who had chosen to travel to the Temple to serve her. He asked for nothing in return.
‘Why do you stay?’ she asked him, her spirit eyes scanning his hawk-like face, so stern and strong.
‘Because I love you,’ he answered. ‘You know that. I have said it often enough.’
‘It is my vanity that makes me continue to ask,’ she admitted, ‘but I feel guilty, for there will never be any more than we have. We are brother and sister, now and always.’
‘It is more than I deserve.’
She traced a line on his cheek, her finger running the length of his jaw. ‘You deserve far more. You must not let
your mind drift back to our first meeting- that was not you. There are forces in the world which use us, abuse us, discard us. You were possessed, Leucion.’
‘I know,’ said the silver-haired warrior. ‘I too have studied the Mysteries. But the Dark One can only enhance what is already there. I almost raped you, Derae, and I would have killed you. I did not know there was such darkness in my soul.’
‘Hush! There is Darkness in every soul, and Light also. For you the Light was – ultimately – stronger. Be proud. You have saved my life, and remain my only friend.’
Leucion sighed, then smiled. ‘It is enough for me,’ he lied.