Fantastical Ramblings
Read Fantastical Ramblings Online
Authors: Irene Radford
Tags: #Hercules, #Phyllis Irene Radford, #Merlin, #Fantaastical Ramblings, #ebook, #nook, #fantasy, #Irene Radford, #mobi, #book view cafe, #kindle, #short story collection, #epub
Fantastical Ramblings
A Collection of Short Fantasy Fiction
Irene Radford
Book View Café Edition
June 4, 2013
ISBN: 978-1-61138-251-8
Copyright © 2013 Phyllis Irene Radford
Of Rats and Cats and Teenagers
This was my first short story sale to the DAW Books
Anthology:
Olympus
, edited by Martin
H. Greenberg and Bruce D. Arthurs. The invitation came at a time when I was
developing the Merlin’s Descendants Series and I had just watched an episode of
Xena Warrior Princess
in which she
and Hercules use the sword of Hephaestus to free Prometheus of his chains. Life
works in wonderful synchronicity sometimes.
<<>>
The woman breathed delicately into his ear. His senses
swirled, then centered on the seductive scent of her. Earthy, clean,
irresistible.
“Come with me. Give me what I want,” the woman whispered,
placing her hand upon his sword grip.
Herakles clamped his own hand atop the woman’s, suddenly
alarmed. He shifted his stance, angling his hips slightly away from any
direction her knee could reach. A head shorter than he, she seemed firmly
muscled and agile.
“Who are you?” he breathed back in her ear, careful not to
let his words carry further. The sea was calm tonight. Sound carried far across
the bay; a beacon to any enemy that lurked there.
“I am the companion you hired for tonight,” she replied
petulantly. Her fingers flexed beneath his, still grasping the sword grip.
He knew all the women attached to this small army—knew them
intimately. She was not one of them. Any experienced campfollower would wait
for a man to finish his patrol before approaching. Punishment for a man deserting
his post would extend to the woman.
The small, sheltered fire he kept to ignite signal torches
cast disguising shadows across her face. Her simple gown shimmered in the
moonlight. The finest silk, almost transparent. She was much more than a common
campfollower.
Her breath fanned the fires of his desire. The stirring in
his groin demanded attention. He looked deeply into her eyes, seeking answers.
Such beautiful eyes, as blue as a peacock’s feathers.
He knew her now. Her eyes always gave her away.
His desire vanished as quickly as it had come.
“Give me...”
“You’re cheating, Hera.” Herakles shifted his grip to pinion
her arms at her sides. She squirmed and kicked for release. He twisted quickly,
turning her to lock one arm across her throat while keeping her immobile with
the other. “I’ll tell Lilith that you are impersonating one of her succubi.” He
allowed himself a low chuckle.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Hera jerked upward and forward unable
to break his grip on her. Suddenly she sagged against him.
“Wouldn’t I?” He had evaded his step-mother and her schemes
for centuries and didn’t believe for a second that she had accepted defeat so
easily.
The sea pounded the parapet at his feet. He listened with
part of his attention, still aware of his duties.
After decades of wandering the Earth as a mercenary—always
one step ahead of Hera—he’d landed far away from his native land. He found the
high-spirited natives in this remote island fascinating. Their race produced
minor heroes, celebrated in song and lore, on a regular basis. Given time, they
might spawn the next great civilization to rival Greece.
Herakles hoped to help them along. No one else was left to
do it. The legacy of Prometheus had to continue, even if Herakles’ efforts were
insignificant compared to the renegade Titan.
“How would it look in Olympus, Hera, if the others learned
the patroness of fidelity and marriage had tried to seduce her own stepson?” She’d
done worse trying to retrieve the artifact he guarded.
“The others won’t listen to you. You forsook Olympus. Why
are you so concerned with these barbarians? You should let their enemies
slaughter them, one and all.”
“I didn’t forsake Olympus. I chose to continue as the
protector of humans. These people deserve my help.” Help he wasn’t giving if he
gave Hera all of his attention. The bay was vulnerable on this moonlit night.
“We could end this game once and for all. Give me the sword!”
“Why?”
“I’ll give it to one who will murder Zeus’s latest
playmate—a blonde nymph he found flitting about the northlands.” Hera’s hands
clenched into tight fists. “A blade forged by Hephaestus is the only weapon
that will break through the defenses my husband has set around her.”
“You know me better than that, Hera. No ordinary man should
have the sword; its wielder is invincible. What mortal can appreciate its
dangers?” Herakles asked. He shuddered at the thought of one of the
bloodthirsty sea raiders turned loose with the sword. Any spark of civilization
would be swallowed up in the larger conflagration of chaos and destruction. He
looked over his shoulder toward the quiet bay, making certain none of their
ships slipped into the bay unnoticed.
“The last time you stole the sword from me, you gave it to
Attila the Hun,” Herakles reminded Hera. “The death and destruction he
caused—was it any wonder I stole the sword back and left Olympus?”
“I gave Attila the sword so he could ruin that bothersome
Christian movement that’s getting so popular. He almost succeeded.”
“The sword was given to
me
so I could free Prometheus. No other weapon would break his chains. He had to
be freed so humans could use his gifts to grow. You had no right to use it for
your petty schemes.”
“If it weren’t for Prometheus, we Gods would have destroyed
humans centuries ago. They are a pestilence. They breed and multiply like
rats—especially the ones Zeus seduces.”
“Like my mother.” Bitter silence stretched between them. He
didn’t need to mention his wife and children. Hera had induced madness in him
and he’d murdered those he loved best. If he vented the rage that boiled in his
blood every time he remembered Hera’s treachery, he’d sink into madness. Hera
might steal the sword back while he wreaked his own swath of destruction.
He thrust her away and turned his back on her before he let
his hate get the better of his good sense.
Hera pouted prettily. “Give me the sword, Herakles. Give it
up and all your dreams and desires will come true.” Her gaze rested on the
pommel of the crude weapon on his hip. “You can go back to Olympus. Or I can
make you mortal again. You could walk the Earth as an ordinary man, marry and
beget children.”
“Why? So you can force me to murder those I love? Or trick
my family into killing my mortal body again?”
“I’ll leave you alone forever if you give me the sword now.”
Hera grabbed the grip again in a movement so swift only a god could execute or
anticipate it.
Herakles clamped his hand on her wrist, squeezing hard on
the vulnerable bones. He smiled at her error in judgment. “You don’t think I’d
wear such an important weapon on an everyday patrol, do you?”
“What have you done with the real sword?” Hera stamped her
foot and tried to wrench away from him.
After a moment, he deliberately thrust her away from him. He
wiped his hands upon his clothing as if she had soiled him with her touch.
“You are a disgrace to Zeus, who sired you, and the gods who
nurtured you.” Hera paced the rampart where he stood watch. The rock work
trembled under her step. “How can you waste your strength and talents on these
barbarians?” She waved her hands wildly and tore at her hair.
Herakles ignored her ranting and turned his attention back
out to sea. Would the wily raiders take advantage of the illumination and good
weather? They were unpredictable. He couldn’t out-think them. But he’d pledged
his help to the natives here. Many of the soldiers called him “friend.” He
returned their affection.
“Don’t you ever long for the warmth and sun of Greece?” Hera’s
tone now relied on nostalgia rather than sex. “Remember the scent of olive
trees and juniper on the hot wind? The rolling hills? The dry air that lets you
see forever under a deep blue sky? The beautiful sea, warm enough to bathe in?”
She leaned on the parapet looking southeast across the water, toward Greece,
toward home.
“I like it here. I like these people.” They had fire in
their thoughts and dreams. A fire the Greeks had let die out. A worthy hero for
the sword might grow out of this environment.
“It’s so damp here. Only barbarians would like this climate!”
“Barbarians who love life and carve out their own destiny
without your interference.”
“I’ll trade you the safety of these people for the sword.” Hera
pointed out to sea.
Thickening clouds threatened to obliterate the moonlight,
but not before he caught a glimpse of a sail and the silhouette of a long, low
boat.
“I can make Aeolus shift the winds and drive them back to
their homeland.” She drew a lazy circle with her finger. A puff of wind
followed her gesture. She increased the speed of her circling finger. The wind
intensified, driving the enemy toward the shore.
“I have to light the bonfire. Alert the others.” He dashed
to the stash of torches and the small hidden fire.
Hera sent the torches flying over the wall into the sea. Her
circling wind extinguished the fire. “Give me the sword and I’ll send the
raiders home.”
“Your price is too high!” He raced for the camp. “Sound the
alarm! Raiders by sea!” He grabbed a dying torch from outside an officer’s tent
and raced back to the unlit bonfire on the slight rise west of camp. He thrust
the weak flame into the heart of the kindling.
Hera appeared at his elbow. “You can’t protect both the
sword and these humans, Herakles. I’ll find your hiding place while you fight
off the invaders.”
“You’ll need more time than that!”
“The sword needs a hero to wield it. The days of great
heroes are over. You were the last, until the mortal half of you died. Now you
are little more than a ghost drifting through time,” Hera screamed, sounding
very much like the rising wind.
She was right.
“You don’t have to do this, Herakles. Give me the sword and
I’ll never bother you again. You can go back to Olympus.”
He glared at her, waiting for the torch to ignite the damp
kindling.
“You won’t have to watch your mortal friends age and die. You
will no longer be the only one who remains forever young while the rest of the
world grows older, more feeble.”
Herakles blotted Hera’s pleas from his mind. He didn’t have
time to listen.
Finally, the flames from his meager torch licked the heavier
wood of the bonfire. They shot upward as the larger branches ignited. On the
next hilltop, a league away, another bonfire flared to life. The next signal
fire was beyond even Herakles’ immortal sight.
Within minutes, every fighting man available mustered and
appeared in formation, ready to meet the enemy as they landed.
Hera dematerialized. Herakles doubted that she actually left
him. She needed more information to find the sword on her own.
Strength flowed through his muscles and sang in his blood as
he ran for the beach. This was his destiny. To defend the weak against
aggressors, to guard them against the interfering whims of greater powers, like
Hera.
