The Trials of Hercules (51 page)

I’m about to leap. I take in a deep breath and steel myself for the pain. In my pause I see Eury grope for my fallen dagger on the dais. His struggle to grasp the weapon distracts me from escape.

His hand. What in the gods’ names happened to it?

It was no secret that Eury had lost a thumb. Some rumors said one of his servants had finally had enough and chopped it off, others say Adneta had bit it off mistaking the stubby digit for his manhood, and still others insisted he paid the blood price to the Oracle with his own blood. But regardless of how he had lost it, the wound had closed and completely healed over. When he had clutched the dagger to Iole’s throat, I couldn’t take my eyes off his hand. I had expected him to lose hold of the knife. But he held tight to the hilt with a four-fingered hand that had only skin resembling a puckered, toothless mouth where a thumb should be.

But now, that puckered mouth is no longer pinched tight. As if stuck in a scream, the mouth gapes open exposing blood, bone, and bandy tendons. Eury seems not to notice. He still tries to grip the dagger in his right hand. With no thumb and with anger blotting out reason, Eury fumbles with the weapon. It clatters to the dais. He lunges to retrieve it.

I move a step away from the edge of the dais. With the limp, my movements are awkward, but I hope to move slowly enough to stay out of his notice as he focuses on the dagger.

In his haste to reclaim the weapon, Eury slips in the blood that has flowed from Iole’s neck and lands hard on his hands and knees. In a heartbeat, he scrambles for the dagger, clutches it in his complete hand and jumps to his feet.

From the tunnel behind the dais comes the
clip-clop
tattoo of centaurs’ hooves. Eury makes a sweeping lunge at me. I arc my body away from the blade that narrowly misses my abdomen. The motion unbalances me and I swing my arms to steady myself. I curse as pain rips through my shoulders. Eury lifts the dagger, holding it ready to stab. I wish I could run. Without the injuries to my joints I could have easily darted to the side and been out of his reach. Instead, I take one limping step back, back to the edge of the dais. I glance over my shoulder to the arena floor. Several vigiles stand ready to catch me.

For the second time, I prepare to jump.

For the second time, I’m distracted by my opponent.

A gurgling gasp rumbles from the Solon’s throat. Despite the ache it causes my knees, I crouch warily, ready to lunge at Eury if necessary. His eyes have sprung open wide. The dagger drops to the dais with a clang as my cousin clutches at his throat. His hands are decorated in streaks of black blood. The deadly paint coats most heavily across the wound where his thumb belongs. Seeing where my eyes have landed, Eury, choking out frantic whines, scrubs the wound against his tunic. But the hydra’s blood is already in him, the tiny drops of Lerna’s life have found their way into the gaping mouth on his hand. The audience chants for his death. The Solon’s face changes from red to purple, then rapidly drains of all color as he collapses before me. His crown of false jewels slips from his head.

The crowd cheers, roaring loud enough to rattle the dais. And then they begin shouting my name, calling me leader. Maxinia appears on the dais, her face a mix of sorrow and beaming pride. The vigiles who were to arrest Eury, escort the Solonian Guards from the dais and dismiss Deianira who clearly didn’t know what her vial contained. A crowd of vigiles below the dais hails me as commander and Solon.

I cannot celebrate with them. I kneel beside Herc and Iole, stroking their heads that rest so near each other. I want Herc to be alive to take his role as leader. I want Iole to be his advisor and my friend. I don't want what now rests on my injured shoulders. I touch the charms at my chest. The simple act stills my thoughts.

Eury’s treachery has left me, as Nikos’s only surviving descendant, the Solon of Portaceae. It is up to me to restore the polis to greatness, to defeat the Areans, to rebuild the city, and to reform alliances that have withered under Eury’s watch. I have no idea how I will do it, especially not alone, but whatever I do will be honest and just, and that is more than Portaceae received from her last Solon.

I stand, my knees protest the movement. I do not take the crown, let Eury be buried with his gaudy decoration. Ornaments do not make a man a leader. With my face wet with tears I face the crowd that has fallen into silence. My voice shakes with such emotion I’m uncertain if I can give volume to my words, but when I say them, the audience cheers and hope fills their faces.

“Hera protect Portaceae.”

The audience’s praises suddenly change to a collective gasp. My first thought is I have already done something wrong. From behind me, Maxinia cries out. I turn.

The bodies of Herc and Iole are gone.

44

H
ERC

I'm drowning.

I can't breathe.

I'm drowning.

Although I feel myself climbing, clawing my way upward, my limbs refuse to move. Out of the pressure that is drowning me inch by inch grows a sensation of moving without making any progress. The pressure neither increases nor decreases; it just pushes upon me as if I’m lingering underwater. My lungs ache for air. My limbs hang immobile, but some inner sense tells me I’m moving.

At the point I think I can't stand it anymore, when I decide to just open my mouth, breathe in whatever engulfs me in the hope that I can extract air from it, the pressure disappears. I gasp with my mouth fully open to take in as much air as possible in one gulp. The sound is horrible—a deep, rasping, gurgling inhale. Once, twice I heave in and my body is relieved of pressure. Three times and my limbs move again. On the fourth, my breath steadies and I open my eyes.

I expect to see the arena. Or the jail. Or even the walls of the blood crime vault. Instead I see sky, clouds, columns. I’m on a floor that is too hard, too smooth, too cold to be anything but marble. Sitting up I realize no walls pen me in, only columns. Beyond their pale legs I can see whatever structure I’m in perches on a mountaintop looking over a valley. In the distance, islands dot grey blue water.

“It's a lovely view, isn't it?” A woman's voice. I turn around. Although she’s beautiful, I hate her.

“You,” I spit the word like a curse as I push myself up so I can stand and face her.

“Yes, me. You've learned about me then? Hermes always delivers his messages.” She pauses as if chewing on a thought. “I'm sorry. I misjudged you.”

“Sorry? That's it? You ruined my life. You killed my children. For nothing more than spite, you took from me my destiny to lead Portaceae and stuck that greedy, pompous, whore-loving cousin of mine in my place. I don't doubt you even had him kill Iole just to watch me suffer one more time before I died.” A vengeful thrill pulses through me when I see this last sentence makes her flinch. “Sorry does not cut it.”

“No.” She moves about the, the what?
Temple
is the first word that comes to mind, but the cushioned lounges and chairs are not furnishings normally found in temples. As Hera paces the area, a trail of misty cloud follows her. “No, you’re right, it doesn't. I'm a foolish, jealous woman. I hated you for being Zeus's favorite, for the gift he gave you. A gift he had no right to give a child of any mortal. But I've seen how you've conducted yourself, how you've stood up for what you love, how you protected me even when you had no need to. And for that I bow to you, begging your forgiveness, or at least not your hatred.”

And she does. Hera, the most prideful of goddesses, lowers to her knees before me, bowing her head. It is a sight no one, mortal or god, would believe. It doesn't erase the feelings I have for her, but it does soften them.

“I shall try to forgive you,” I say. “That's all you can ask of me. Please, stand.” She rises and stands facing me. I cannot look into her eyes. They are Iole’s same green and gold. It hurts too much to see those eyes in another face when I will never see Iole again. I turn from her to pace the length of the temple. “This gift you mention. I don't understand.”

“When you were conceived, Zeus gave you the gift of the gods. I insisted you should meet two requirements to receive it. One, that you honor the gods in all things. Second, that you make an immortal love you, and that you love her back. You have met these requirements. No,” she corrects herself, “you have exceeded both of them.”

“What are you saying?” I ask warily.

“You are immortal Hercules, son of Zeus.”

The drowning feeling floods over me again. I stagger back into a trio of stone steps, plunking down hard on them.

“I don’t understand. Why? How?”

“Zeus loved your mother.” From the tensing of her jaw muscles, it’s clear she is making an effort to hide the bitterness in her voice. “Not just sexually but with his whole heart. He wanted to give her child something only the gods should have.”

My head races. I’m not dead, but neither am I alive. A spinning sensation slaps me and I drop my head between my knees to ease it. As the whirlwind slows, I realize I don’t want this. There’s no point in living forever. All through the trials I have accepted my inevitable death. Although I forced it to the back of mind, I knew Eury would not let me live. I had accepted that fate and then I had embraced it when Iole’s life was taken, ripped away from her by my cousin. Without my children, without a life with Iole, what would be the point of having eternity?

“I don’t want this,” I say.

“Then I have a proposition for you,” she says in a tone that carries no surprise. Clearly, she had been expecting my refusal. “Because I took what should have been yours, I'm offering it back.”

I perk up. Hera took my children. Though it was my hands that killed them, it was she that put the madness on me to do the deed. My heart lightens, my head steadies. Can she mean my children?

“Eury is dead by the same poison that claimed you. You are rightful ruler of Portaceae. You can give up your immortality and return to claim your title, or you may stay here amongst your brothers and sisters and father.”

My heart sinks. Her offer is not the return of my children. Of course it isn’t. Why should I have thought this cruel goddess would grant me anything I truly wanted? I consider what it would mean to return. If Eury has died, Iolalus is now rightful Solon. Like Minos, he is a natural leader and the people will love him. If I accept Hera’s offer, I would take from Iolalus what he has just won and he would not grudge me for it. But would I be a better leader? I would return to Portaceae City. I would see the House of Hera every day. I would grieve for my loss. Would the grief change me as jealousy had changed Hera?

On Mount Olympus—for I now know where I am—Hera is right, I will have a family, but I will spend an eternity without Iole or my babies. Either way, my life will be a misery, incomplete. The idea makes me want to fling myself off the mountain.

I stand and face Hera.

“I want neither. I want to descend to the Chasm to find Iole and my children. Let me be there. I want neither mortal nor immortal life without them.”

And then, more shocking than her kneeling to me, a tear spills over Hera’s cheek. She clasps her hand to her mouth to hold back a sob. I’m unsure what I have done. Any other woman, I would reach out to comfort, but not her. Not this cruel goddess. I can think of nothing to do but wait for her to collect herself.

In a few moments she does, but her voice still trembles and her hand flutters at her chest as if to ward off further emotion. She then clutches my hand and bows to kiss it.

“You truly are deserving of anything Zeus bestowed on you. Hebe, he is yours.”

I don't understand her words. Who is Hebe? A servant of Hades? My body tenses and an ache pulses through my thigh where the dead had plunged their fingers. The memory sends a wave of fear through me. I want to run, but to where? And why? If Hades’s creatures are coming for me, it’s what I have asked for. I take a deep breath and stand my ground ready to face whatever horror is being sent for me.

The mist that trails Hera takes on a shape, a solidity it hasn’t had before. I’m fascinated, but also fearful of the monster it will become. Will it be one of the dead? An unleashed Cerberus? Hades himself?

But it’s not a monstrosity that the mist reveals. It is a beauty that I cannot pull my eyes from. She launches herself toward me and clutches her arms around my neck. Her kiss is long, deep, and mixed with tears as I stroke the silk of her white hair.

“Iole, but—”

“Did you forget that I’m Hera’s daughter?”

“Then you're—”

Her face glows with joy and her green and gold eyes sparkle as she nods at my words. “Immortal. Like you.”

I hold her tightly, kissing her, wanting her, loving her. Appearing from behind the columns, the gods of Olympus bow their heads to us and look on with smiles. Only Zeus, my father, is missing from the scene.

“As a gift of my own,” Hera says. The trail of mist is again a formless shape behind her. “I have made a rare deal with my brother.”

She sweeps her hand back and from the trail of cloud appear three figures. Three small figures. Familiar figures that even before they fully form send a pang through my heart. A sob chokes my throat. I drop to my knees as I whisk my children into my arms. Cassie, cradled in Sofia’s arms, wails at the sudden motion, but Sergio and Sofia giggle as my fingers tickle their ribs.

“But I thought you couldn't,” Iole says to her mother.

“You are my daughter and son-in-law, I'm allowed to indulge you a bit. Besides, Hades got three full-grown dead in exchange for three tiny ones. He was more than pleased at the trade.”

“And you,” I say with more accusation in my voice than I intend. Iole squeezes my hand trying to hush me, but I continue. “Will you now protect Portaceae as you are supposed to do or will you leave Iolalus to battle the Areans with only a handful of vigiles?”

Hera’s eyes flare, but soften just as quickly. She gives the briefest nod of submission. “You are right. It’s time I take charge of my polis. I will help restore the land to rebuild the polis’s wealth and productivity. It will take time, but I will not let emotions sway me again from my duties.”