Drinking Life (Keeper of the Water Book 1) (21 page)

As we walk around the woods of his backyard, John’s eyes get a far-off look to them.

“I told the truth about being born in Spain but it was in the 1400s instead of the late 1900s. I came from a family of greater nobility than most, which offered me a better upbringing than many at the time. When I was a teenager, I worked as a squire for a well-known knight. He knew my family and treated me well, taught me everything he knew about fighting. Needless to say, a few boys attacking with lacrosse sticks did not worry me considering the training I received and the other fights I’ve faced.

“I took all of those skills I learned and became a soldier in the Spanish Army. I attained a high leadership position at a very young age, though that made many soldiers at my command jealous of my success and power. I rooted out those who opposed me and dealt with them in the harshest manner possible. Violence gained respect in those days and any who tried to test me were easily dispatched. I took great pride in my fighting ability back then, though I still have nightmares to this day about some of the things I was forced to do.”

John stops walking for a moment and his eyes glaze over. I see that he’s lost in his own memories. I hang on every word he says but give him a few seconds to compose himself.

“One my earliest assignments was to take a squadron of men and sail to the southernmost part of Spain to help resolve a land dispute. Our presence was not needed by the time we arrived so I took advantage of my free reign I was given of our small part of the Armada. We ended up in the Greek islands, going from island to island, having a good time. Many of my men
took
their own good time by whatever means necessary. The world was a much more brutal place back then…

“While we were on one particular island—one that did not appear different than any of the others we visited—one of my soldiers got out of line with a local island girl. But he no sooner got… started… when an arrow struck him in the chest, coming from the direction of a nearby mountain. I gave my men specific orders not to attack the locals and not to look for the shooter; as far as I was concerned, the dead soldier received his just punishment. But the wine flowed freely that night and many of my drunken troops could not be stopped from heading into the mountains to search for the shooter. I couldn’t very well condemn half of my soldiers for disobeying orders, so I went along with them to make sure they didn’t destroy the handful of tiny villages that dotted the surrounding mountains.

“We hiked for hours and I hoped my men would eventually pass out or turn back. But they did neither. We kept spotting the shadow of a person just ahead but we could never catch up. The shooter moved with speed and grace unlike I’d ever saw… at least up to that point in my life. I thought we might cross the entire island in pursuit but then the shooter stopped at the bottom of one particular mountain. My men were ready for blood—ready to avenge their friend—but we were
all
shocked to see the shooter.

“It was a beautiful woman.”

Of all the things I couldn’t question during the story, this is where I interrupt. The mention of the woman instantly makes me recall my dreams.

“What did she look like?” I ask.

“Tall and strong, dark and beautiful, exotic eyes that shone in the moonlight and did not convey an ounce of fear,” John explains.

Though I don’t specifically imagine one woman, that description matches just about any of them from the tribe.

“You are curious about this woman?” he asks.

I shrug, try to hide the excitement in my voice. “I just didn’t know there were women so strong back then.”

“History is full of strong women. I figured
you
would know that,” he says.

What isn’t he telling me?

“And why would
I
know that?” I ask.

This time,
he
shrugs. “You seem to do very well in history class.”

I can’t tell if he’s being coy with his response, though I haven’t exactly been straightforward with everything either. Instead of trying to force information out of him, I let him continue with the story, not wanting to badger him into silence.

“Anyway, the woman warned us to turn around and head back. She
clearly
wasn’t Greek. She ran off, moving so fast it was like she disappeared. By this point, most of my men were exhausted and out of wine. A nearby village was still celebrating one of their Saints’ days and welcomed us with wine and food. Nearly all of my men were distracted by the offer and abandoned the hunt. Three of the four men who
did
continue were never seen or heard from again.

“That night we spoke with many drunk villagers, who told us tales of a band of young, strong, beautiful women that lived near a spring at the top of the mountain. The night was clear and these mountains weren’t very high. We thought we could see the faint glow of what we assumed to be firelight, though it wasn’t quite orange. The wives of our village hosts tried to get their husbands to stop talking but the stories flowed as freely as the alcohol. Two of the oldest men in the village told us that as young boys, they sneaked up the mountain and saw a few of the women before being chased away. They swore they saw these same women many, many years later but they hadn’t aged a single day. They spoke of a magical spring with mysterious waters that kept the women young.”

My heart feels like it jumps into my throat. I picture the glowing blue water from my dreams—this
must
be the same spring. I’ve been so engrossed by the story that I don’t realize how far from the shed we’ve wandered. I still feel the tingling but my curiosity is now totally piqued by the story John tells.

“Not only did the water provide youth, it supposedly gave the women other powers as well, powers making them stronger and faster and tougher than any man the world had ever known. But the women never attacked, never took advantage of the powerless villagers. The few sober villagers pointed out that the same stories of the magic spring water and Goddess women had been passed down for centuries. Those not drinking heavily seemed to doubt the tales. But there seemed to be
many
old people in this village, who swore that some of the effects of the water trickled down the mountain to them. Everyone lived in peace so the villagers didn’t bother the women as long as the women didn’t bother the villagers.

“Just before dawn, the fourth soldier who continued on the hunt stumbled back into the village, severely beaten and bloodied. To this day, I’ve never seen a human so badly hurt able to walk, though he used the last of his life to find us. Just before he died, he told us how the other three men were slaughtered, how they’d tried to fight a few women but had no chance, how they found a spring of the brightest water they’d ever seen just before being attacked.

“Needless to say I was shocked to hear confirmation of the villagers’ stories, even more shocked that my men—hardened, well-trained killers—had been no match for this band of
peaceful
women. I didn’t doubt that there was
some
sort of danger farther up the mountain but I still didn’t think the women could be a match for my men. I sent one of my best runners back to where we docked to retrieve the rest of my soldiers. Once my squadron was fully assembled, we marched up the mountain. Some of my soldiers grew angrier when we didn’t find our other men but I became more worried.

“I was at the front of the group with my two most trusted men, the two I have been pretending are my
uncles
. When we got closer to the top, three arrows suddenly struck the ground just inches in front of our feet. I had no doubt the arrows could have ended up in our hearts if that was the shooter’s intention. Again, a single woman emerged from the mountain.

“
We do not want a fight,
she told us.
Your friends forced us into action. We only want peace and to be left alone. Turn around and leave now and there will be no further trouble.
Many of my men laughed at her words—the damn fools still did not recognize danger despite everything we saw. My soldiers only wanted blood but that was not my reason for heading up the mountain.

“
We only want some of your special water,
I told the woman.
My men are thirsty and tired and we’ve heard that your special water has healing powers, that it has the power to stop aging.
The beautiful woman looked surprised by how much I knew, which seemed to confirm the stories of the old villagers.

“
You have not heard correctly, our water does not actually stop aging, it only –
she started to say but was interrupted by another voice nearby.
Don’t say another word to those mongrels
, another woman said. She seemed to appear out of nowhere off to the side but she was not alone. My men weren’t nervous before, but they certainly were once a dozen more women suddenly appeared. They were well-armed and had us surrounded, looked to have no fear even though we outnumbered them ten-to-one.

“I felt my men on the verge of attacking so I held up a hand to stop them. My troops were savages; they would’ve run into any fight without so much as surveying the scene. As their leader, it was my job to gauge the threat level, to observe our surroundings and determine the best course of action. The second woman warrior to talk was older than the initial shooter—and somehow even
more
beautiful. In fact, every woman looked older than that first one, but they all appeared younger than most of my troops.

“Even though every woman was thin and well-toned, that was the end of their physical similarities. They may have been from one tribe but they did not
look
like they shared a common heritage—I had done a fair amount of world travel and could recognize that they came from all parts of the globe. Some were fair-skinned, blonde-haired, blue eyed; others had olive complexions and dark eyes; some others had skin as black as the night. But all were clearly united and appeared as deadly as they were beautiful. My men had never seen so many types of women before and most could do nothing but stare at them with mouths wide open.

“We still had the advantage of numbers but the women had the high ground and we were easy targets in the middle of the day. Despite protests from my men who would’ve fought to the death, I listened to the woman’s warning and agreed to retreat. To make sure we left for good, two of the women escorted us all the way across the island and back to our ships. One of them was the woman who shot my soldier; needless to say, the long trip back was very tense. It took all of my leadership ability to stop the troops from revolting against me and attacking the women. I tried talking to them along the way—to learn more about this water and their way of life—but the two women had nothing to say to me. I wasn’t used to
any
woman resisting my charms.

“We reached our ships and I thought we escaped any further unnecessary violence. But a few of my troops could not stop themselves from attacking. The women’s hand-to-hand combat skills were as impressive as their weapons skills. They knocked out several of my men but one of the soldiers finally recovered and plunged a dagger into the shooter’s back.”

Although this happened hundreds of years ago, a burst of anger explodes within me. I’ve only had dreams of these women but the bond of sisterhood I feel within me is so strong that I have the urge to lash out at John. I force myself to take a deep breath to stop from doing something foolish.

“Did she die?” I ask. “How could your men be so cruel? How could you let them do that?”

I want to start an argument with him but he doesn’t fight back. Instead he frowns and slowly shakes his head, shamed by the memory.

“It is not a good excuse but times were different back then,” he explains. “Life didn’t have as much value then as it does now. Anyway, the last of my men got on board the ships and we sailed off before more blood was spilled. As we left, I saw the second woman pick up her wounded companion and run off into the mountains. At the time, I remember thinking how worthless that was; I saw many men killed during my lifetime and knew when a person was fatally wounded. There was no way the woman shooter could’ve survived such a stab.”

John continues to look upset at the thought of so much violence and bloodshed. I’m appalled that he could have been the leader of such barbarians but at least he did everything in his power to curb the fighting.

“I’m glad you left at that point,” I tell him. “But that still doesn’t explain how you’re still so young.”

I desperately want to believe that John is a good person—how could I fall so hard for someone who isn’t? But it’s not until this moment that I realize the story can’t possibly end on a good note. He confirms this face when his frown lines deepen.

“Believe me, there’s much more to the story. I could not bear to lose face with my troops. Back then, a weak leader was a worthless leader and I couldn’t afford to have my men doubting me. Once we sailed out of sight from the island, we circled around to the other side, returning at night fall.”

I can’t stop myself from groaning. John can no longer look me in the eyes, especially when he sees how disappointed I’ve become.

“Maybe you shouldn’t hear any more of the story,” he says. “I don’t want to tell you more but I won’t lie to you, either.”