The Trials of Hercules (24 page)

“I’m afraid so. He wants us to take care of the Malion Swamp birds.”

“That’s half a day from here,” I complain.

Phylos finds the messenger by a water trough and tells him where he can leave his horse and which rooms he can stay in up at the house. Inside the stables there’s still a slight odor, but after a few dry days I’m certain it will clear out.

“What are these birds?” Phylos asks as he selects three bridles from the tack room. Everything is still wet and I wonder if we should help Phylos set the rest of the tack outside to dry.

“Menaces,” Herc says. “They ravage crops whenever the people of the Malion District manage to plant them. The creatures don’t eat any of the plants, they just tear them up and create a mess.”

“But that’s the least of the trouble they cause,” I continue. “They have an insatiable appetite for flesh, and they don’t kill outright. Instead, they attack one by one nipping at their victim until it dies. The birds have a taste for livestock, but prefer children.” Herc’s face twists into a grimace and I curse myself for the slip up.

“It’s so bad that the people living in their range only come out at night when the birds nest on an island in the swamp,” Herc adds.

“That’s awful,” Phylos says.

“They were said to be pets of Ares. Sent here decades ago when Portaceae was fighting the Cedonians, but they’ve since turned feral which has only compounded their vicious nature.”

“You may work for the Solon, but I don’t think he favors you,” Phylos says as we walk amongst the stalls of subdued horses. We fit the bridles onto our chosen steeds and lead them out to the mounting area. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have saddles to spare.”

“It’s alright. We grew up riding bareback,” I say.

As Herc and I are about to swing up onto our new mounts, Phylos says, “You could sleep in the stables tonight. In fact, I strongly advise it. There’s still light, but twilight is prime time for the thieves that roam like a plague through this area. Unfortunately, the centaurs can’t be everywhere.”

I look to Herc. The idea of riding in the dark doesn’t appeal to me, despite the speed I’m certain our new horses can sustain. With bandits, speed isn’t the issue, not in the low light of evening. We may be able to outrun the thieves, but one wrong move and we could easily be driven into a hidden trap.

“I think we should stay, Herc. It’s a long ride that won’t go any faster by night.”

Herc looks to Phylos. “You’re certain you don’t mind?”

“My father would mind but he need not know. Once he’s snoring in bed, I’ll bring down some food and ale.”

Thankfully, Herc accepts the offer. We lead the horses back to their stalls, remove their tack, then lay it out to dry. Phylos indicates an empty stall at the far end of the stables where we can spend the night. When he leaves us, we busy ourselves with laying out the rest of the tack to keep the moisture from wasting it away.

A few hours later, Phylos returns with a plate of thick-sliced bread, strong white cheese, and two sausages that smell of spicy peppers. Along with the food, he leaves us a bottle of ale that is nearly as large as the head of the lion in Nemea. Herc and I enjoy the food and the bottle’s contents. After that I can only remember laughing my way through some silly story Odysseus had told me, teasing Herc about Iole, being told to shut up, then falling into a heavy, drunken slumber in the straw of our stall.

By the time we wake the next day, the sun has already climbed to its midday height. I shake my cousin awake much to his annoyance. When he realizes the hour, he curses and then clutches his head at the noise of his own voice.

“It’s no matter,” I tell him as he plops back into the straw. “We can’t approach the swamps in the daytime anyway. By leaving this late, we’ll be able to travel during the day and get to the swamps at sunset. That will give us time to survey the area, prepare ourselves, rest as much as we can, and then wait for them to come out at dawn. As long as one of us keeps watch during the night, we should be safe.”

As we’re fitting the dry bridles onto the horses Phylos comes down with more bread slathered in honey.

“This should help if your heads and bellies aren’t in fine shape this morning.”

I thank him and gobble down the bread. Herc bites into his tentatively at first, but then quickly finishes the rest of the breakfast. With our thick heads, it’s slow work to get the horses into their bridles and reins. I’m not certain if my legs have enough spring in them, but surprise myself when I’m able to mount my horse in one leap. Still, the motion sends my stomach gurgling and my head swimming.

“When you repair the tank install a release gate.” Herc speaks quietly as he advises Phylos. “In the future, you can raise the gate to clean the stables if things get out of hand.”

“I should have thought of it myself. Good luck to you. The messenger was off at first light with news of your accomplishment.”

“Many thanks,” Herc says. “Although I’m not certain if I’m thankful for your beer this morning.”

We ride off with the silver mare attached to a lead that joins her to Herc’s horse.

“Bet you’re glad I brought the arrows, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, Iolalus.”

I fall asleep several times on the ride, but each time my head snaps awake Herc is ahead of me sitting tall on his horse. I eat my rolls, imagining them to be the thigh of a fire-roasted chicken and drink water pretending it’s Phylos’s fine beer. But neither my taste buds nor my belly are fooled.

An early moon arcs above us and the sky has turned to pale purple by the time we near the swamp. The approach is almost as bad as that to the stables. Dead animals, pecked and ravaged until flesh peels off in strings from their skeletons, scatter the area. Left to rot in the wet of the swamp, the putrid flesh fills the air with a thick fog of stench. Even our horses that have lived in mounds of filth for three decades shake their heads trying to clear their nostrils of the vile smell.

Dotting the landscape are cairns of stones probably built over the body of a loved one who fell victim to the birds’ violent hunger. The nearer we get to the swamp, the softer the ground becomes until the horses’ hooves suck and slop with each step.

“Another cheery locale in Portaceae. We do have a marvelous land of beauty,” I comment.

“We can’t stop here, we’ll sink in.”

I scan the area. In the moonlight it seems like nothing more than slime-coated plants, scattered rocks, and water-hugging fog drifts. I’ve never patrolled here before, but I doubt its appearance improves any during the day. Looking out over the swamp, I see where we need to go.

“There.” I point to a long wooden boardwalk.

“Why is that here? This isn’t my idea of a recreational area.”

“Maybe it used to be. With more water, this could be a lake. Without the nuisance of flesh-eating birds, people could have spent time swimming and fishing here.”

“Let’s just hope it’s sturdy.”

The moon is nearly gone by the time we get the horses through the mud at the swamp’s edge and to the boardwalk. Despite Herc’s protests that he should do it, I dismount and walk to the end of the wooden walkway. Although there are a few missing boards along the way, the massive pylons have held up well and the platform shows no sign of sinking or swaying.

We tie the horses to the land’s end of the boardwalk before lying down on the slats. My back resists relaxing at first, but after several moments the muscles ease. I count ten shooting stars arcing across the black, moonless sky. What seems like only two heartbeats later, Herc is shaking me awake. The sky is just showing the light of dawn.

“You didn’t sleep?”

“I had too many thoughts racing through my head to sleep.”

I stretch and follow my cousin to the end of the boardwalk. He has already arranged the poison-tipped arrows so they’ll be easy to grab and notch in a hurry. We each ready an arrow in our bows and wait. Apollo pulls the sun up from the horizon and still we wait. My eyes threaten to close again as I focus on the hump of an island in the center of the swamp.

“Should we walk out to it?” I ask lowering my bow and pacing a tight circle. I need to move before I fall asleep.

“It’ll be too soft. You saw how hard it was to move along the shore.”

“Why haven’t they come out yet? Do you think they know we’re here?”

“I thought the horses would have drawn them out. If the birds do know we’re here they’re clever enough to avoid us.”

“Gods, I hate clever opponents,” I complain. “How are we going to get them to come out, then?”

“They’re attracted to noise,” a woman’s voice says from behind us.

Herc whips around, his arrow aimed straight between her breasts. She glows in the morning light and wears a flowing white gown that emphasizes a small waist and full hips. At her shoulder perches an owl that regards me with curiosity. I drop to my knees on the boardwalk.

“Athena,” I say. I hear Herc mutter an apology and half a moment later he is on his knees beside me.

“Rise,” she says as she touches our shoulders. We stand and, although I know I should keep my head bowed, I can’t take my eyes off her. Unless you’re the leader of a polis, few people ever get so close to one of the gods. “This should help.”

Her hand, which had been empty, fills with a baton. As the baton forms, chains emerge from the top of it. Thin metal plates appear at the end of half the chains and the other half are tipped with metal balls the size of large peas. She holds it out to Herc and, as he takes it, the plates and balls clatter against one another. He cups his hand around the chain to quiet the noise.

“I can’t help you kill the birds, but I can help you get them off that island. They hate the sound of metal on metal. It’s how they once helped in battle—they attacked the source of the sound of clashing swords or even the jangle of armor. Problem was they could never be trusted to strike against the opposing side. Turn that rattle a few times and then ready yourselves, for they will come.”

“Why are you helping us?” Herc asks. I think the question a bit ungrateful, but my throat seems unable to make a sound.

She laughs, the sound full of kind amusement.

“Among other things, Hercules Dion, I am the goddess of justice and law. You are being punished beyond the measure of the law.”

“But my crime—”

“Was not done by you. Not exactly. I can’t say more, not now, but much of what you endure spurns from Hera’s hatred toward you. Do you not think it a coincidence that Portaceae’s decline began just after your birth? Her hatred for you has distracted Hera from her duties.”

“Why would she hate me? I’ve done nothing but honor the gods and Portaceae.”

“It’s not my place to tell, but just remember as you go through these trials that much of what you’ve been denied in your life is not your fault. Including your being born second in line. You should have ruled. Eury knows this and is frightened because people dislike him and they love you.” She shifts her intent gaze up to me and grazes my cheek with the back of her fingers. My heart nearly bursts at the touch. “And you, Iolalus. They love you both.”

Herc’s eyes beg for more information from Athena. If I know my cousin he will have a hundred questions on his tongue and is sorting out which one to ask first. Athena cuts him off before he can settle on his choice.

“I can’t answer all that’s in your head. Just know you must continue with these tasks. No matter how much you will want to quit, Portaceae’s future as well as Hera’s depends on it. Now, it is nearing midday. You must set to work; it’s your birthday after all and you shouldn’t spend the entire day in a swamp.”

She leans in and kisses Herc on the cheek and then does the same to me. A flash brighter than sunlight reflecting off a mirror blinds me and makes me think that my heart really has exploded. By the time my vision clears, Athena is gone.

I look to Herc. He appears different somehow. I hadn’t noticed before, but for most of the time since his trial he has been carrying himself with his shoulders stooped and his face drooping with remorse. Now, he has pulled himself upright into a vigile’s proud stance with shoulders back and confidence showing through. Although he isn’t one to go around wearing a smile throughout the day, his eyes take on a new light.

“I didn’t kill my children,” he says more to himself than to me. “Not intentionally anyway, not because I’m a madman.”

“No, but if Hera did this, if she did something to you to make you kill them, she must be the cruelest goddess ever.”

“We can’t be certain it was Hera,” Herc says defensively. “It doesn’t make sense for her to do such a thing. Besides, even if it was, I have no room for anger toward her, not yet anyway, I can’t think beyond the fact that it wasn’t me.” Tears brim his eyes. He brushes them away with his forearm while holding tight to the rattle. “It wasn’t me.” I give him a moment. Now is not the time to argue with him about Hera or any of the gods. Athena has just cleared him of a giant’s weight of guilt and he needs to enjoy that. After a short time, he lifts the rattle, his hand still clutched over it to keep the chains silent. “Are you ready?”

I notch my bow, aim it toward the island and nod to indicate my readiness. The dead quiet of the swamp is broken by the clanging of metal on metal, a tinkling sound at first, but as Herc twists it faster, the melodic chime becomes a grating noise.

Like black lightning, the birds burst from the island cawing and screeching so loudly it drowns out the rattle’s harsh tune. I fire three shots in rapid succession, felling a bird with each one. The chains clank into a heap as Herc rushes up beside me with his bow at the ready. But the birds are already heading back to the island flying hawk-fast out of range. Herc sends off one arrow, but it misses its target by the distance of an eagle’s wing span.

“Get the rattle,” he yells. “Keep making the noise.”

“You can’t take them all on your own.”

“Just do it.”

I pick up the rattle and twirl it. This is madness. One archer can’t possibly take on all the birds. As soon as the plates and balls clash together, the birds emerge again. Once they’re in range, Herc fires. A few arrows only nick the birds, but they fall from the sky nonetheless thanks to the poisonous effects of Lerna’s blood. Herc is knocking a bird from the sky with each arrow, but it isn’t enough. They’re honing in on the rattle. On me.