Past Lives

But first a path, I want to swim and I want a run. Be careful now.' And he kissed her once more and was back to the cliff.

Ophius came back from taking away the last trays, and he had a large white sheet and a large knife in his hands. He put down the knife and fastened a ring on one end of the sheet to a hook in the wall, then fastened the other side. The opposite ends had ropes trailing, and he tied those to trees growing from the cliff face. He placed a chair underneath this canopy, and invited Melissa to sit in the shaded area.

She sat down and thanked him in her atrocious Greek, and he bowed in acknowledgement. Her skin felt much better, and she was thrilled to have experienced Lukas' healing power for herself.

Ophius now picked up the knife, to give to Lukas she supposed, to help clear the vegetation.

As Lukas was looking for the remnants of his old path, clearing away rough bushes here and there, with no apparent fear of the hundred foot drop beneath him, Paul wondered if he would ever dare to navigate that path. Looking up at him, Lukas said: 'Don't worry Paul, I could fly us down if I wanted to, there will be no danger at all.'

Of course, magic. He was so unused to relying on magic, that he had not even thought about using it to stay safe on a steep path. He could do that himself, no problem even without node-magic, it just didn't occur to him to use magic in an every day situation, he was used to solving problems in a worldly manner.

This would be such good practice, and the tiny sandy beach and the blue water below him started to look even more attractive. Especially since he was starting to feel the sun burning his skin very uncomfortably, the sun was pretty strong here, much hotter than in England. Melissa must be feeling it even worse, her skin was so white and delicate.

Just then, Ophius' voice called out for Lykos, and Lukas ran up straight away. Paul followed him up to see what was going on, and he was just in time to witness Lukas kneeling before Melissa and lighting up. She was in pain, and he was healing her.

They kissed and Lukas came right back, rounding a corner towards him, and asking Paul: 'Are you in pain too? The sun is too hot here for Melissa, and maybe for you too? We must find a way to protect your English skin.

Lukas' hands were cool on his burning skin, and his scent was as musky and enticing as always. Feeling Paul's heated skin, Lukas said: 'Please stay still for a moment, I'll heal it for you. But be careful of the sun from now on, or it will burn you again.' And with that his friend lighted up slightly and his skin cooled, taking the burn and the slight redness with it.

It felt good, and Paul wanted to kiss Lukas too, to feel his soft mottled skin and his warm mouth, and lose himself in that musky scent. Of course Lukas was always eager for a little love, and they embraced tightly, standing on that rocky ledge, kissing greedily, Lukas a bit overwhelmed by Paul's sudden forwardness but eager to accept it.

After the kiss, Ophius offered Lukas a large knife to help with the pruning, and Paul and Lukas both went back to work, clearing a path down, Paul trying to stay in the shade as much as possible.

Chapter 3

As she went back to the terrace, lost in her thoughts, she ran headlong into Hermes, who was just emerging from the cellar-door. She jumped in consternation, and when she saw whom she had ran in to she excused herself for her thoughtless behaviour

Hermes was merely surprised and unspeakably happy to have her in his villa, and he took her in his arms to greet her properly. This was his world after all, and here friends greeted one another with love, not formality. Used to Lukas' need for love in every shape and form, and totally over her infatuation, Melissa answered his greeting with fondness.

At his own return to his world, Hermes had found himself totally restored to all his power, his strength, speed and godhood. But he had not been cured of his love for this mortal girl, with her extraordinary looks, so different from the women in his own country, even the goddesses and the nymphs who had always been ready to give him their love. And now she was in his arms, and not in one of those restricting Victorian dresses, but in a light flowing gown that hardly covered her luscious figure at all.

The wealth of her body, her light colouring combined with the richness of her hair, the copper horses of her husband's making still running their endless rounds around her delicious white throat, Hermes wanted nothing more than be allowed to touch her with love, to make her quiver with bliss under his skilful hands.

But she had denied her attraction to him, lust she called it, to stay true to her intense and talented mortal husband, and to his own son. He could not but respect her choice, his hubris and resulting fall had taught him a lot in just a few weeks. Being helpless and at the mercy of mortals had shown him they had a strength of their own.

He could bend their wills, he could have this girl at his feet in a minute, begging him for his love, giving her all, but it would not be real, and he knew that now.

And he could not betray his son, who had risked his own life to save his father's, after years of neglect and then years of servitude, pulled away from his little family by the needs of his father, for Hermes was not blind, he had seen the love that bound Lykos to Ophelie and Katarina. He also knew his wife never touched her stepson, even though Lykos had loved her to distraction.

He had not treated his son well, bending him to his will repeatedly, then ignoring his sudden disappearance until he had personal need of him. The threats he had made him, the anger he had felt at the boy's righteous refusal to jump to heel once more, to leave a loving home for duty under duress once more.

If a god could feel shame, Hermes did so very much, and though every nerve in his body ached for this beautiful, smart and talented girl, he would not touch her other than as a friend, and no-one would know of his secret passion, besides maybe Ophius, who knew Hermes better than anyone, and whom he had not been able to fool at any time. But Ophius knew all his secrets, and was certain to keep them.

Truly glad to see her father-in-law in such excellent health and humour, and used to showing her love to someone with the same needs as him, Melissa didn't protest being held a touch longer than she thought appropriate, and even returned his affection freely. This was a different world, with different customs, and she had to adapt.

Of course Hermes could feel her accompanying emotions, familiarity and fondness, but no love and no longer even lust. He couldn't believe it, she had conquered her infatuation whilst his had grown. What did Lykos have that he didn't?

That question didn't even need thinking about, for he had felt the answer himself when he lay dying in the grass of an alien world: unconditional love.

And they both seemed extraordinarily fond of that artist, who was reasonably handsome in a rugged way, and a rather talented mage, but much too restrained and too ordinary to be a logical choice for such a stunning woman and his Gifted son.

'You look good, Hermes, you're clearly in excellent shape again, we're all very eager to hear about the situation in your realm.' She had taken his arm and walked towards the terrace, suddenly realizing she was making free with a god's time: 'I'm sorry, I'm just assuming you want to see Lukas straight away, but maybe you have other business elsewhere in the house?'

Hermes of course was charmed, but he was not going to let her notice that, so he said magnanimously: 'No my dear, I indeed want to see my boy straight away, I'm so happy he really did decide to come, I want to hug him too, and even your austere husband.

That made her laugh, but it also let him feel the extent of her love for the over-serious guy, and it was huge, and unconditional. Incredible. Well, he was not going to use his will on her, the shell of this woman would still be enticing, but it would be very empty indeed. If he couldn't have all her love, he'd take whatever she'd give him, and for that he needed to be the perfect friend.

As they neared the terrace, it was as if Melissa got a little nervous, just a tiny bit, as if there was something she was afraid he'd be displeased by. To Hermes, this was a sign she did not completely trust him yet, that was something he'd have to work hard on.

Of course she remembered him in his moment of shame, something no-one who had witnessed it would likely ever forget, but she must also remember him dying, and in agony, and he hoped that if he proved his consistency, she'd leave the memory of his anger in the past.

Lykos was still asleep in a chair, curls everywhere, he'd probably been swimming. Of all his sons, this one was most like him in his physical prowess, slight of build, but immensely fast and if rumour could be believed, an indefatigable lover. With true Victorian delicacy, George had consistently refused to tell Hermes any detail of his love-life with Lykos.

George. Leaving him behind with his wife and family still hurt, never in his centuries of life had Hermes felt safer and more at peace than totally helpless in George's arms. He still had to suppress the urge to leave everything behind and go back through that portal and be safe again, leading a quiet life, teaching a little, spreading a little love among the controlled citizens of Victorian England.

But his people needed him, and being all-powerful was also a good thing. And besides, he had never loved anyone past a few weeks, there would be others, preferably women. He might visit Ophelie again, she really loved him.

Kneeling beside Lykos, he gently stroked his rough curls, and his cute, narrow face, so like his mother's. Of course he was clearly a man, his jaws square, his cheeks stubbled, but that dented lip, the eyes, his mother's cheekbones and loving smile, her loving nature, Lykos certainly had inherited that.

The lack of horns still offended Hermes slightly, but he remembered the way Lykos had removed them, with shame for his own behaviour at the time, and with the greatest of pride for his son. He looked for the stumps in the wealth of curls, and found one, damaged end protected by a silver cap with astonishing decorations, much like the mosaic in his bathroom here, beautifully detailed scenes of people making love.

The artist's work, undoubtedly, and certainly on a par with the ever moving horses around Melissa's throat. Maybe he should take the opportunity to commission a few works whilst the fellow was here, his art might do very well to placate his sister, maybe his person would as well, she'd married a smith after all, and this one was much better looking. It would keep her mind off Hermes' people until Lykos could make Katarina see reason.

Beneath his caresses, the shape of his son started to become restless, waking up a little at a time, until he opened his eyes and exclaimed: 'Father, you're here! So good to see you!' He sat up and embraced his father tightly with genuine love.

Hermes could understand why everyone loved Lykos so much, he was so ingratiating and so sincere, one had to love him. There was something different about him, though.

In a mirror image of Melissa, Lykos now held him at arm's length, taking a good look and observing with great satisfaction: 'You look fine, you're totally restored, aren't you? Good.'

The same slight nervousness from Lykos, what were they afraid would displease him? He looked at Lykos intently, and then he didn't exactly see it as much as he felt it: his son had been transformed, had become a god himself.

No wonder they were nervous, it must have happened as he set foot on his native soil, his developing Gift coming to full bloom instantly. Did this please him, or did it not?

They knew he knew, but no-one said anything. The artist was awake too, instantly alert, helpless against Hermes of course, but on his guard nonetheless.

The silence gave Hermes a chance to decide his feelings. He checked his son's balance and found him possessed of a significant number of worshippers Where had he gotten those, he'd just set foot on the ground this morning? It must be the love again.

Looking at the cute face, the loyalty of his friends, his first and strongest feeling was pride, an immense pride that his son was set up by some enemy to fall into permanent disgrace, and had somehow turned the plot into an enormous victory for himself. And apparently, without losing any of his attachments, or his innocent goodness.

'Lykos, I can't believe my senses!' Hermes said, letting his pride and amazement show clearly, 'you've turned into a god! And clearly not the least of us either, you have a lot of worshippers! Please tell me how it happened.'

He pulled a chair over to sit next to him, and they talked about everything that had happened until Ophius told them that dinner was ready to be served.

Of course it soon became apparent that Melissa couldn't follow the conversation, and Hermes offered to put the language spell on her. He added: 'I can teach your man to put it on you, his knowledge of Greek seems quite adequate. But the spell works best if it's bound to a native speaker, and that he is not. But if you don't want my mark on you...'

'Paul, Hermes, his name is Paul,' Melissa said, and Hermes was secretly pleased she dared to correct him that familiarly. 'And I made a decision to trust you, or I wouldn't have set foot on your world, so if it pleases you I'd like you to put this spell on me. I'll speak Greek like a native.'

And since that pleased him, very much, he asked her to sit down in front of him, and he touched her lightly and called forth a little power. This was the ideal moment to sow a little seed of love for him in her, he would probably get away with it beneath the language spell.

A vision of the two of them together presented itself, but he reminded himself of empty husks, resisted the temptation and only modified the spell a tiny bit to make sure she would always be safe.

She would never know, unless she found herself in extreme danger, and then she'd probably thank him for it.

Spell complete, he tested it himself: 'How do you like Greece so far, Melissa?'

Her face lighted up, she'd understood, and replied: 'Very well, Hermes, your country is very beautiful and the food is astonishing, though I still have to get used to the heat.' It was so cute, the amazed look on her face as she heard Greek coming out of her mouth.

'Thank you so much,' she exclaimed, and she hugged him impulsively, causing his feelings to flare up, her shape against his, her face in his neck. He quickly composed himself, hoping no-one had noticed, saying: 'My pleasure, Melissa, I hope you will enjoy your stay, even though it is more a diplomatic mission than a holiday.'

As Hermes explained the situation in his realm, now in Greek, Ophius readied the table for dinner, then joined them. Together they decided it would be wisest to use translocation, what the cellar mosaic was for, to go to Ophelie's house, then travel on foot from there, towards the coast once more, a journey of a mere two days and very picturesque. Lukas knew his father's realm as well as anyone, having traversed most of it on foot for years.

During their talk, Melissa had joined Paul in his chair, sitting in his lap, neither contributing much to the discussion, the other three were so familiar with this country, but they suddenly realized they were total strangers here.

Paul seemed a little down anyway, Melissa feared the heat had gotten to him, and she wrapped her arms around him to be as close to him as she could, nuzzling his bare throat, tasting the salt of the Mediterranean on his skin. He smiled sweetly, holding her against him, enjoying her loving attentions a lot, and, fortunately, not feeling his heat rise. Maybe the temperature caused it, with the sun sunk behind the mountain the terrace was cooling off, he'd keep that in mind.

But what if he did let go a little, what was the worst that could happen? Lukas and Jakob had both told him he would put pressure on his marriage, not by letting go, but by holding on to his Victorian morals.

Melissa had never claimed him, and besides, she had Lukas, though he might start sharing love seriously here, women would be throwing themselves at him now he was a god. Somehow Paul didn't think Lukas would share as he had been used to, he seemed to have picked up a lot of Victorian customs, though his own story suggested that whenever he had a powerful love in his life, he never shared love much, not even when he had never heard of England yet.

Well, both Lukas and Jakob had urged him to keep talking to Melissa, suggesting that everything would be all right if he did so.

And since Jakob seemed to be the closest thing he knew to a priest, and Lukas knew both himself and Melissa best of all people, he was inclined to believe them. He decided there and then to do let go a little, but to discuss every single instant with his beloved first.

Mind made up, he felt relieved from negative feelings, and he kissed Melissa eagerly and started to listen to the conversation. But it was just concluded, everyone was ready for dinner, and to be honest, Paul was too.

During their meal, he found himself seated next to Hermes, who said: 'I saw your work on Lykos' horns just now, impressive. As impressive as the little horses, though a lot less obvious.'

Wondering a little how Hermes had gotten to see the silver caps, he acknowledged the compliment: 'Thank you very much, sir, it is nice to have one's work appreciated.'

'Please call me Hermes, and I'll promise to call you Paul from now on. There is no need to be formal anymore, is there? If you didn't trust me, you wouldn't be here. You are the last person to risk losing his freedom, I guess, having fought hard to obtain the freedom to practice your art.'

'I gained the freedom to be a craftsman, but as it turns out I wasn't free at all in other respects, being bound to a guardianship, and to the morals and values of my class.' Where did that suddenly come from? As soon as he had said it, Paul knew it was true, but he realized that only now.

'I'm guessing you will experience different morals here, and when your mission is over, you will be able to decide which ones work best for you and yours,' Hermes observed. 'And to me, you are not a craftsman, but an artist, with an artist's soul. I am very certain that before your visit comes to an end, you will start to miss your art, and I beg you to consider making a unique piece for me, as a present for my sister, to soften her heart towards me and my people.'

'Your sister, that would be Aphrodite?' Paul asked cautiously.

'Exactly, Aphrodite, my loving sister, who has threatened to level my realm and everyone in it if I don't punish my daughter Katarina for leading my people into independent thinking.'

'But she's married to a smith,' Paul objected.

'She is, and he's an artist too, but a winemaker wants to drink mead sometimes, and a baker's wife can like salad, don't you think?'

'Well, I don't have a forge, or any tools or materials, but I'm guessing you can easily provide them. My hands are aching to get to work, and I'm not even a day away from my workshop, so yes, please.' Just thinking of crafting made Paul yearn for the feel of metal, any metal, in his hands.

'Might I suggest that you start experimenting with the use of magic to be able to work your art with limited resources?'

For a very short moment Paul thought that Hermes must be the devil, using his need for his crafting to tempt him on to a sliding path. But of course in this world it was totally reasonable to use magic for anything he wanted, and his mind was already thinking of ways to heat metal and to shape moulds with magic.