‘There is no easy path leading out of life, and few are the easy ones that lie within it’

The darkness was impenetrable, it surrounded and suffocated him. He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move - couldn’t even breathe. He was drowning in nothingness, swallowed by it, immersed in a complete and utter absence of everything. There was nothing to touch, nothing to feel; not heat, nor cold, no light, no dark, no up or down. It was much worse than being simply deaf and blind. There was no scent in his nostrils, no taste on his tongue - and seemingly no air in his lungs with which to voice the frustrated scream that writhed inside him.

There was just nothing.

And it was all his fault.

I should’ve known she’d do something like that.

Sneaking up on me ...

I should have moved a little faster.

Gods!

I should have been ready ...

He didn’t know how long he’d been - wherever it was he was; he had nothing with which to measure the passage of time, and no sense of it passing in any case. He didn’t exist but for the frantic tumble of his thoughts, which simply swirled him around what if’s and maybe’s - in between each unvoiced howl of frustrated non-existence.

Locked in stone.

That’s what’s become of me.

Trapped for eternity ...

He could still see the look of triumph on the She-Demon’s face as she delivered her savage sting. Could still feel the way her curse had taken hold, crackling its way through his body, his blood freezing in his veins and the nothingness rushing in to swallow him whole. Sight had been practically the last thing he had lost. The image of her smile lay seared into his mind, mocking his helpless struggle as he fought to be free of his doom.

Nothing.

There was nothing to fight against, nothing to fight towards, nothing to fight and nothing to fight with. Only darkness and a sense of self that stubbornly refused to accept that this was to be his fate.

I tried ...

That was a better anchor than angry self recrimination; he latched onto the thought, using it to centre himself in an existence that perception said had no centre. That didn’t even seem to have him.

Someone had to stop her.

Herc would have done it if -

If ...

The darkness didn’t hurt, but the memory that belonged with that thought did. It had a savage rawness that shivered through his heart and left him cramped with anguished grief.

She killed them all.

All.

The unspoken howl of frustration twisted into a moment of pure pain. His first thoughts on discovering Hercules’ loss had been focused on the man himself; he’d known only too well how deep that wound would cut, understanding and sympathising with the desperation of its victim. He’d understood, too, why the man had felt the need to push him away, however much it had hurt to be so summarily dismissed. He’d been eager enough to take up the task his friend had refused, even before he’d known what it was going to be, and once he had known, the chance to vent a little of his own anger against one of Hera’s creatures had only added to the focus of his determination. But now, in the dark, in the nothing to which his own good intentions had condemned him - the comprehension of what had occurred came back to him with distraught immediacy. His best friend’s family had become his life line after he’d lost his own; now they too were gone, all the bright moments of innocence, all the warmth of Deianeira’s smile - gone.

He would never wrestle with the boys again. Never charm a smile from Ilea’s pretty face, or share a joke with the woman who had won his partner’s heart.

They were my family too ...

The old grief - the grief he’d locked away, done with, dealt with - coiled back to rake across his soul with talons of bitter despair. Life wasn’t fair. It could deal blows that left a man reeling, and sometimes those bruising blows cut wounds so deep they never entirely healed.

His scars were old ones, over which this new grief now painted a patina of bleak and aching loss. Despair swallowed him as utterly as the darkness which currently engulfed him; the light to which he had clung, that day, so close, so long ago, had been the strength and support of his best friend. That same best friend whose wounds were now fresh and bleeding, who was going to need someone to lean on in turn.

He’s gonna need me.

I should be there for him ...

Only he, like a fool, like a hot headed, impulsive hero, determined to do the right thing while his friend expressed his grief and anger, had managed to deal himself right out of the picture, getting himself killed, for Zeus’ sake, just when the last thing Hercules needed to deal with was another loss ...

Gods!

The darkness - the nothingness - was suddenly more than he could bear. Anger and frustration filled his entire existence. He damned the fates and he railed at the gods, cursing the ones that played their petty games with mankind and cursing the rest for standing by and doing nothing about it. He swore at Hera, wrapping her name in bitter invective. He ranted against Zeus, who’d not been there to stop her. He howled the names of their children with hostile fury: Ares, Artemis, Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite ...

And, when he’d finally run out of vitriol, he added his own name to the list, cursing himself for his overconfidence, for getting himself into this whole disastrous situation in the first place.

Iolaus, he told himself angrily, you really, really screwed up this time ...

"So that’s your name. About time too. Are you done?"

Light, sense and feeling flooded in as the voice spoke. Iolaus reacted with a startled jerk, the world reeling around him as he went from total absence of everything to just too much sensation all at once.

"What - ?" he gasped, blinking the dazzle from his eyes. "Who - ?"

"Most of those that ask my name - regret the answer," the voice purred, barely inches from his right ear. He spun in that direction, swaying unsteadily on his feet as he fought to regain his equilibrium. A pair of dark eyes were watching him; coal black eyes, set in a pale face that was, in turn, framed by a startling tumble of unruly blue-black hair. The woman was as slim as a reed, her angular face as narrow as the rest of her; her lips were deepest crimson, and despite all that - or perhaps because of it - she was astonishingly beautiful.

She was also laughing at his bemused expression.

"You’re pretty," she observed, reaching out a slender finger to boldly run it up the line of his chest. Her hand arched through the gesture and at the end of it she flicked, closing his half open mouth and leaving the sting of her finger nail on the underside of chin. "Very pretty," she concluded with satisfaction. "I might like having you around." The remark was laden with suggestive menace and coquettish confidence. Half of him shivered; the other half wanted to take a step closer - and almost did. "For a while, at least." The woman laughed, taking a small step backwards to study him a little better.

She folded her arms around her waist and looked at him sideways, licking her lips as she did so. The shiver became a little more pronounced.

Erm, Iolaus grimaced with bemusement, why do I get the impression this lady’s dangerous ..?

He had no idea who or even what she was, or how he’d managed to get from nowhere to - wherever he now seemed to be. Somewhere dark - and open, was his first disorientated impression, hunter’s instincts registering a sense of landscape where, moments before, there had been nothing but - nothing. He returned the woman’s consideration warily, trying not to get distracted by the glimpse of milk white leg that was emerging from the waterfall of her gown. She was dressed in a shimmering drapery of midnight blue and silver. The sweep of silk was caught in at her waist with a wide belt which sported a skull shaped buckle fastened with skeletal fingers. Above it her bodice hugged a suggestion of curves, emphasised by an overlay of silver bones shaped to match the ribs that lay beneath it. Her sleeves were little more than a drape of heavy silk, fastened only at shoulder and wrist and they moved as she moved, with a sinuous, almost snake like grace.

Very, very dangerous.

He half expected the tongue that was suggestively exploring those crimson lips to have a fork at the end of it.

"I," she announced, seemingly amused by his wide eyed assessment of her, "am sometimes known as the Distant One. The Queen of Air and Darkness. This is my domain, which lies between the living world - " Her hand went out with languid grandeur. "- and the kingdoms of the dead."

Oh ...

The word that sprang to mind was one not even his father had considered acceptable in mixed company. It described his situation perfectly. Now he knew where he was - and who this predator cloaked in female anatomy had to be. The villager had warned him about the She Devil and to whom she sacrificed her victims.

That’s Hecate?

The goddess was a far cry from what rumour and myth suggested. This was no wizened, hideous hag. But that didn’t mean the rest of the tales about her were lies ... She smiled knowingly at the horrified expression which chased across his face. "Does that answer your questions?"

"Oh yeah," he breathed before he could stop himself. His eyes darted away from the fascination of her face to try and catch a glimpse of his surroundings. "Welcome to the twilight zone."

"I like to think of myself as - an artist," Hecate was purring, stalking her way around the wary hunter with a speculative gleam in her eye. Iolaus nodded a cautious agreement, despite having absolutely no idea what she might be talking about. His mind was racing, and - while carefully spinning on the spot to try and keep an eye on whatever the Sorceress might be planning for him - he was also weighing up his surroundings, assessing his environment with the desperation of a man who needed to know his options.

And needed to know them fast.

Okay. Weird landscape. Some sort of clearing in a forest somewhere. Lots of twisted, half dead trees. It’s night - or nearly, anyway. Just after dusk I guess. No sun, but no stars or moon either. Four gravel paths leading in from the compass points. Torches - lit ones - stuck into metal stands either side of where each roadway enters. Throne of some sort over there. Stone edged pool where the paths converge in the middle - gods, that water’s black. Is it water? Can’t be sure  ...

"Hades is content to merely judge the souls that come to him," the goddess continued silkily. "While I - I sculpt them. Into shapes that reflect the inner nature of the men concerned. Or the women," she added with a small shrug. "It’s all the same to me."

"Uhuh." Iolaus nodded a second time, and she laughed.

"You don’t have the faintest idea what I’m talking about." Hecate’s expression was indulgent, the look of someone who knows that they - and only they - are in control of a situation. "Not that that matters. You’ll find out, soon enough. You have - possibilities," she decided, tilting her head to study him a little better.

"I do?" There was a hint of squeak in the question. Iolaus didn’t know what she’d been talking about - but he had an uneasy feeling that, whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it very much.

"Mmhuh." Her hand reached out to stroke the side of his jaw, her fingers sliding up with a sensous touch - until they tangled in his hair and clenched, eliciting a wince and a caught back gasp of pain. "My sister’s being unusually generous for once. I don’t usually get sent material of this quality."

"I hope that’s a compliment," he muttered through gritted teeth. She chuckled and let go of him; he immediately took a wary step backwards, so that he was just out of her reach. Her physical reach that is. He very much suspected that everything in her kingdom lay firmly within her grasp.

"Maybe," she allowed, considering his move with decided amusement. "It all depends on your point of view." The goddess folded her arms, her long taloned fingers settling on either side so that her nails were bright red splashes against milk white skin. "Definitely possibilities," she decided, finding him a smile that sent icy shivers right down his spine.

Oh, boy ...

"So. Where should we begin?" Hecate’s voice - which had already been a low, sultry sound - dropped a little in pitch, her dark eyes fixing him with a sudden and mesmerising attention. He had little warning, and no chance to resist; he was transfixed by the look, held as certainly as he’d been held by the encroach of stone. "What deep, dark secrets does your soul conceal? Where do the flaws in the diamond run? Will I find jealousy? Anger? Hate - greed?" she pondered, stepping closer with each word. Her hands lifted, those long fingers wrapping themselves on either side of his face so that she could tilt and study his features. Her eyes were deep wells that swallowed him up; he was drowning in them. There was nothing but the darkness, drawing him in, wrapping him with velvet touches. "What is it? What’s the key to your corruption, little man?"

Little?

The word triggered a sudden surge of self awareness. Iolaus blinked, drawing a startled breath into lungs that had forgotten they should be breathing. That, in turn, cracked and splintered the web of magic that she’d been spinning around him. Light and perception registered; he pulled free from her grip with decided alarm, fighting for focus and trying to shake away the feeling of her fingers sinking deep into his soul.

"No," he gasped, stepping backwards and glancing to one side so as to avoid the impact of her eyes. "I won’t - I - I don’t - belong to you ..."

"Oh yes, you do." Her reaction was amused rather than angry. "You were sent to me as a gift - one for me to use however I want, for as long you remain within my reach. And that’s going to be a long time. Because, all the while your body lies trapped within the She-Demon’s stone, your soul will belong here, trapped between life and death. For someone in your position, there’s only one escape from my kingdom - and it’s one you’ll never risk.

"Nobody ever does ..."

"No," he repeated, somehow managing to add a little firmness to the statement. He wasn’t sure how - he felt decidedly shaky, almost as if his body were no longer entirely his to command. The weirdness of the feeling merely added to his conviction that - whatever she intended to do to him - he was not going to like it. "No, I - don’t - I - I won’t ..." He continued to back up as he spoke, finding himself edging around the dark pool, and trying not to notice how the inky black liquid in it reflected and distorted his image into a grotesque caricature. It looked too much like he felt right there and then.

Focus, Iolaus, he told himself firmly. Focus ...

It took effort, but a few deep breaths and a shuddery shake managed to restore a little of his equilibrium. Hecate didn’t seem to be following him, but he dare not glance up to make sure. "I - I don’t know what it is that you want," he told her, finding the words all in a rush. "But you’re not going to get it from me."

He tensed as he spoke, expecting anger at his rebellion, waiting for the impact of Olympian power unleashed in response to impious defiance. Much to his surprise, he heard her laugh.

"Pride," she announced, a word packed with amused satisfaction. "Stubborn, hot headed, pride. Aah - I knew you were going to be a good one!"

Now he looked up, a little stung that his determined struggle for self should be read as mere self centred arrogance - while, at the same time, vaguely terrified that he might have somehow given her the very thing she required. The goddess hadn’t moved. She was standing right where he’d left her, watching him with thoughtful intent.

"Yes," she decided, after a moment. "Too good to waste, really. I think what you need is a little - demonstration." She lifted her hand, moving it through a languid gesture that reached out, snagged, and pulled. They were a good distance apart by now, but he still felt those talons sweep right through him. He gasped as something was torn away; not much, less than a whisper, but still something substantial enough to feel. A wave of dizziness spun through his senses, matching the sudden flicker and flare of the torchlight.

"Willingly or not," Hecate murmured confidently, "you’re going submit to me - eventually. Until then, you’ll just have to learn what defiance costs. You’re in my realm - and while your soul might not yet be mine, the shadows you cast are another matter entirely. Linger anywhere long enough to give them substance - and they’ll serve me, even if you won’t."

What?

Iolaus glanced round in alarm; there were more than a dozen torches lighting the clearing - and the flicker of each of them created long limbed shadows that danced over the gravel and soft dark turf alike before they vanished among the twisted limbs of the trees. All of them his. The goddess didn’t seem to be casting any ...

"I’m the ruler of shadows," she was saying, watching him with predatory confidence. "And they serve me well. As long as you walk in my kingdom you’ll be a marked man - Iolaus." She breathed his name with appreciation, owning every syllable with decided relish. "Stand too long in the light - and the darkness it spawns will hunt you down and bring you to heel." Her smile was disturbing; it was somehow both beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

"My - shadows," he noted warily, his eyes flicking from side to side while he continued to slowly back away. There was no one else in sight. No-one but the goddess, whose siren presence tugged at him, trying to draw him towards her with a compulsion that was hard to resist. His steps slowed even further. For one fateful moment, he stood completely still ...

- and a shape that was no shape, that had no definite substance, peeled up and away from the ground somewhere to his right and launched itself at him. Shadow flowed into form, creating a figure that was neither entirely solid, nor completely there - a darkly translucent parody of himself - which charged forward, its arms reaching out to grab and take hold.

Instinct saved him. A warrior’s instinct, forged from long days in battle and even longer ones in training for it. He moved with reactive speed, taking a step sideways and back, and striking out, just as he would at any other foe. His blow connected; not with solid flesh, but with something. The looming shadow was knocked away, its ice cold fingers leaving his skin tingling where they’d briefly touched it.

It’s solid enough to be hurt, was his first - and vaguely relieved, realisation. His second one tightened a noose of sudden panic around his heart. Gods! That means it’s solid enough to hurt me ...

He edged back a little further, keeping one wary eye on the watching goddess and the other on the insubstantial warrior as it climbed back to its feet.

How do you fight a shadow?

Shadows, he hurriedly corrected himself a moment later. Another vaguely man sized shape had coalesced to his left, and was leaping to the attack. He barely dodged that one, disconcerted by the way it mimicked his movements, echoing his reckless fighting style. A lucky twist, dodge and elbow jab sent it tumbling, and he spun round from the maneuver in time to see the way the two shapes collided - briefly merged - and then reformed side by side, their practically transparent presences hard to make out in the flicker and dance of the torchlight.

Gods ...

He jumped back in alarm as one sprang forward into a spinning leap and kick - which happened to be the tactic that he’d have used had he been on the attack . Recognising that saved him from most of the intended blow, but it still hit hard enough to send him staggering. The impact was backed by a numbing chill, as if the contact had dragged heat straight out of his body. He scarcely had time to register that before the second shadow was racing in to strike; he dodged, kicked out, and then dropped into a roll, barely escaping the insubstantial hands that clutched at him.

Come on, Iolaus, he grimaced angrily as he bounced off soft turf and back to his feet. You can handle this. It’s only two against one.

Except that he seemed to be facing two of himself - who seemed to be just as fast, just as slippery, and whole lot harder to see.

If there was just little more light ...

His eyes flicked towards the nearest torch, then hurriedly back before the shifting shapes could be lost against the texture of the twilight shrouded trees. He’d quickly realised that to lose sight of those weird phantoms would be to lose the fight almost before it had begun. They made no sound whatsoever, and they moved like whispers of smoke; they were little more than shifting patches of darkness against the dim dancing light.

If he stood still, he could probably get a better look at them.

But that was the one thing he dare not do; he knew that doing so would simply serve to swell the ranks of his adversaries. The shiver of Hecate’s spell still reverberated through him, a chilling reminder that the prize in this particular contest was the possession of his soul. He knew the goddess was watching; her presence dominated the entire clearing, filling it with a sense of arrogant and amused confidence.

Iolaus kept moving, circling round and trying not to let the spectral warriors flank him. He dodged another feint, then cursed as the movement brought him close to a pool of brighter illumination. The nearer he moved to a torch, the shadows it cast became darker and more defined - and he had no wish to face the creatures that they might spawn.

Wait a minute!

He started to dance sideways and back, maintaining a little half step bounce on the balls of his feet to stop any of his remaining shadows settling long enough to gain substance. The thought that had arisen was just a suspicion, and he needed a little evidence before he risked himself acting on it. If he were wrong about this ...

He wasn’t wrong. Phantom figures glided in pursuit - but they stayed out of the direct impact of the light, deliberately avoiding the brighter patch..

Yes!

He let out a wild whoop and sprung forward, aiming himself straight at the advancing shades. They both took a reactive step back, which was just what he wanted. A leap and a twist lifted him high into the air. His fingers briefly touched turf as he turned through the handspring, adding extra impetus, and he somersaulted out of it, flying over the heads of his adversaries to land, feet first, right where the southern pathway left the trees.

And right next to an angled metal stand that was supporting one of the flickering torches.

It only took a moment to snatch the heavy, flame drenched torch from its mountings. Iolaus spun on his heel and thrust the weapon out in front of him, wielding it like a two handed sword. Burning oil spattered from the tightly wrapped cloth, but it wasn’t that which did damage; the charging shadows impaled themselves on the light, their half glimpsed shapes shattering, splintering into shards of darkness which, in turn, quickly dissipated into nothing at all.

Round one to me, Iolaus decided, gasping for breath and swinging the torch from side to side to keep the rest of his shadows dancing. Hecate clearly thought so too; the sound of her applause was an ironic acknowledgement of his victory.

"Nicely done," she noted with a hint of amused admiration. "I see you can think as well as fight - an odd combination, but not an unwelcome one. There’s no need for all of this you know. If you just ..."

"Never," he interrupted. "You want my soul? You’re gonna have to take it from me."

"Oh," she chuckled, "I will. Believe me." She lifted her hand, clenching her fingers - and the torch simply snuffed out, leaving him with nothing but a smoldering, smoking stick. "You might have won this fight - but you can’t keep moving forever. Time is your enemy. You can run - but you can’t hide. Not from me. Not here. Sooner or later the shadows will find you. How long will you last? An hour? A day? A week? Your strength will fail you in the end. And then you’ll be mine."

"Never," he repeated tightly. It was a bold and empty boast and they both knew it - but he made it anyway, determined not to give in without a fight. Then he tossed the useless torch away and fled down the path into the suspect sanctuary of the twisted forest.

Hecate’s peal of laughter followed him into the night.

Well - you could have handled that better ...

Iolaus skidded to a halt a good distance from the clearing, and stood for a moment, trying to regain his breath. His heart was pounding like a wardrum, and he was trembling from head to foot. It had all been just to much - the suffocating nothingness, his arrival in Hecate’s realm - and her ...Not to mention the skirmish with his own shadows, which had to have been the weirdest battle he’d ever had to fight.

The thought lifted his head and had him spinning round in wary alarm. Even here - deep in beneath the angled limbs of distorted trees - there was enough light to cast some shadows. It was a dim, end of twilight kind of light, like the tail end of winter dusk just after the sun has finally set and moments before the stars begin to creep out. But it was light - and it threw half glimpsed, barely defined shadows that filled the spaces beneath the trees and pooled their roots with an almost tangible darkness.

Nothing seemed to be stirring among the gnarled trunks, but he kept in motion anyway, just in case something settled long enough to discover it could.

Got to keep on the move ...

He jogged on down the path, since he had absolutely no idea what menace might be lurking in among the trees. He didn’t know what lay along the path either, but at least he’d have a chance to see it coming. The gravel track ran straight as die in either direction, as perfectly aligned as any road in Rome. It was wide enough to take three horses abreast, and the gravel was deep, scrunching and giving way beneath each step. Now that he had more time to look around, he could see that his initial impression of weirdness in the landscape was something of an understatement. If this was a forest it was unlike any that he’d ever seen before. For one thing the trees were squat, malformed things, twisted and distorted from the roots upwards. None of them were taller than the average olive tree, and most were a lot shorter than that. For another thing, their leaves - what few there were on the scraggy, tangled branches - were various shades of black and gray. Some of them as black as the short cropped turf that washed up to the side of the road and flooded the forest’s roots.

"Now that’s weird," he muttered, reaching up to tug away one of the long knife bladed leaves from a branch that dangled over his head. The tree gave a little yelp of pain.

Whoa ...

Iolaus leapt sideways in startlement, spinning round and half jogging backwards for a way so that he could keep the tree in sight. Its branches were quivering, even though there was no wind to speak of. What’s more, the reaction was spreading, running from tree to tree in a rustle of what sounded like indignation.

"You must be new here."

The sound of the voice spun him round a second time. A figure had stepped out onto the roadway ahead, one leaning on a staff and cloaked and cowled in a heavy, dark gray, homespun robe. Iolaus halted his forward momentum and began to nervously pace back and forward across the width of the path instead. "Uh - yeah," he admitted warily, glancing around just in case the man (or whatever it was) was not alone. "I - ah - just arrived."

"I can tell." The figure had a quavery, ancient sounding voice that sounded as rough as the gravel beneath their feet. "Around here it’s rather bad manners to pick the leaves off the trees. They strive so hard to grow them, you know? And it hurts to lose them. How would you like it if I just reached out and tugged away a handful of your hair?"

"Uh - I wouldn’t I guess." Iolaus glanced down at the leaf in his hand. It had a soft, leathery feel, quite unlike any leaf he’d ever held before - and the end of the stem was oozing a dark ichor that looked just like blood ...

Gods.

Revelation struck him with a hammer blow. I sculpt souls, Hecate had claimed. Into what she hadn’t said - but now he realised that he’d been looking at her handiwork ever since he’d arrived. Each of those distorted, twisted trees had once been as human as he was. He let the leaf fall from his hand, shaking it away it with a sense of both horror and guilt. "Uh - sorry," he called, speaking to his unknown victim, but directing the apology out into the general air. "I had no idea. Really." The rustling indignation which had been building around him quieted almost immediately. "Really," he repeated, turning back to the cowled figure, who was poking at the gravel with the end of his staff.

"They believe you," the old voice wheezed, sounding a little as if it were laughing. "So do I. For one thing, nobody who belongs here would be that inconsiderate. And for another, you have very little taint of her about you. Which means you either haven’t met her yet - or if you have, that you’ve been foolish enough to defy her." The owner of the voice paused to draw in a ragged breath that might have been a chuckle before it added: "Or is that brave enough? Hard to tell sometimes ... will you stop that!"

"Stop what?" Iolaus asked, watching the landscape as much as the figure in it. He’d caught distant movement out of the corner of his eye; an undulating, liquid movement which had disturbed the darkness under the twisted branches - and had raised a soft sigh from the trees as it passed. He took another jittery pace sideways and found himself stopped in his tracks by the sturdy staff, which it’s owner had thrust out with a strength that defied the figure’s overwhelming suggestion of age.

"All that pacing about. Backwards and forwards, twist and turn - Olympus sake, young man, you should stand still when your elders are talking to you!"

"I can’t," the hunter growled, hastily stepping back and making it even hastier when the staff swung after him, wielded with irritation. He threw a wary glance over his shoulder and heaved a heavy sigh. "You’re right," he said, deciding that the old man - if that’s what he was -was at least someone to talk too, if not to trust. "I met her. I defied her. She cursed me - or something. Anyway - if I stand still, I’m gonna get jumped by my own shadows. Which would make it kinda hard to be sociable," he added with an exasperated shrug.

"Mmm," the old voice considered, acknowledging the problem. "I suppose it would, at that. But if you don’t stand still, you’re going to wear yourself out in no time ... Ah. But that’s the idea, isn’t it? Either way, she gets you in the end."

"Yeah." Iolaus heaved another sigh. He’d already figured that one out. "Tell me something I don’t know ..."

"Well," his company considered, taking the muttered irony as a literal request, "for a start - if you’re looking for the way out, then you’re heading in the wrong direction."

What?

The hunter’s attention had started to drift away again; there really was something moving under the trees, something that was rippling it’s way back and forth. And which seemed to be getting closer. But the old man’s words reclaimed his full attendance; he took a step closer in his eagerness to be sure he heard him right. "You know a way - ?"

"For another," the quavering voice continued blithely, "you’ve got her all wrong. Well. Half wrong, I should say. She’s not all bad. In fact, she has decided moments. But - she does like to play games. Although she always break the rules. Even when she’s made them up herself.

"I’ll tell you something," the old man added, leaning forward with conspiratorial closeness. Iolaus echoed the movement, drawn by the suggestion of confidence, of being offered something he wasn’t supposed to know. He still couldn’t see into the draped hood, but the hand that lifted to poke at his shoulder seemed human enough. "She always wants most what she can’t get. When she has something she gets bored with it, pretty quickly - and she forgets her old toys as soon as she has something new to entertain her. So the best you can do is stay out of her reach until someone or something else comes along to distract her."

Well, that makes sense ...

"Any idea how?" he asked, sufficiently intrigued to come to a momentary forgetful halt . The old man gave him a push that staggered him backwards.

"Well, you can start by remembering to keep moving." The quavery voice held a decidedly irritated note. "The best way out is the way in. The only way back is forward. Hide yourself in plain sight - and remember that, until you are free from the curse that sent you here, you will always have a choice ahead of you, no matter what it looks like.

"Choose wisely." The figure was somehow collapsing in on itself, fabric folding into fabric as though the form it draped was simply melting away. "Choose well. And - never give up, no matter what!"

The last was warning as well as advice - Iolaus leapt back in alarm as a river of darkness poured itself out from under the trees and crushed the now empty fabric beneath its weight. A massive, menacing serpent reared up in front of him, emitting an evil hiss, the spearhead of a whole flood of such creatures which were swarming onto the path.

Gods!

He didn’t have time to consider his options. He took one look and immediately took off, running helter skelter down the road. The avalanche of serpents turned as if they were one creature and quickly slithered in pursuit ...

Keep moving.

Yeah. Right ...

His heart was hammering to escape his chest. His lungs were heaving for air and his legs were screaming at him to stop. He’d been running for what felt like hours, with the menacing slither and hiss of his pursuers hot on his heels. The gravel filled track had led him out from under the trees and on into an empty landscape where steep rolling downs led off on either side. His initial instinct had been to look for place to turn aside, hoping for a chance to lose his unlikely hunters in rougher ground; but he’d quickly realised that he’d cover that kind of terrain a lot more slowly than they would - and the road was still his best chance, even if he had no idea where it might be taking him.

He risked a glance over his shoulder, and wished he hadn’t bothered; the river of darkness that poured along the track behind him was filled with the gleam of hungry, evil eyes.

Don’t these things ever get tired?

He certainly did. Every pounding step was now sending a screech of pain up leaden legs, and every breath was laced with fire. But he dare not stop. Terror surged in his wake, filled with unspeakable menace. Iolaus didn’t know what the serpents would do if they caught him - but he had absolutely no wish to find out.

This, he gasped to himself, is what you get - for thinking - you can -defy -the gods!

He didn’t quite have the hubris to think that Hera would take much more than a passing interest in his fate, but he had no doubt it would amuse her to know it. The best friend of her hated stepson a hunted man in her sister’s kingdom - a little icing on the cake of her pleasure at having wiped out Hercules’ family. He gritted his teeth and lengthened his stride; he’d no intention of giving either goddess any kind of satisfaction. No doubt Hecate thought his submission was only a matter of time, but there was a way out. She’d admitted as much.

For someone in your position, there’s only one escape from my kingdom - and it’s one you’ll never risk. Nobody ever does ...

He wasn’t nobody. He was Iolaus, the son of Skorous, and best friend to the son of Zeus. He was also a seasoned warrior, an Argonaut, and practically the best hunter in the whole of Greece. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t risk.

Was there?

If he’d had breath to spare for it, he have laughed at his own bravado. Hecate was right. His pride was his weakness - but then again, his self confidence was one of his greatest strengths; without it, without his believing in himself, he’d be nothing more than the sniveling weakling his father had always labeled him.

Of course, it was that exact same self confidence that had landed him in this mess to begin with ...

The road had begun to dip downwards, the slope giving him a little extra speed and impetus. Ahead, a dark gash cut across the countryside, a barely glimpsed line of shadow in the twilight gloom.

A river?

No - a gorge ...

A deep one by the look of it, a rent torn into the fabric of the earth, with steep sides and a gaping mouth, one far too wide to jump. The point where it intersected with the road was marked with the flicker of torches. A quick glance from side to side showed it vanishing in either direction.

Now what do I do?

He should have turned aside earlier; back when there was still room to run under the trees. Here the ground on either side was littered with stones and tussocks of dark grass with leaves like sword blades. He’d not last three minutes in that country. He couldn’t stop - and he could hardly just run pell-mell over the edge of a cliff. Could he?

If he jumped, he’d die. But then, he was already dead in a way; trapped between life and death, Hecate had said. Could he die, here in her country? Or would he survive the fall to find himself a broken thing, lying at the bottom of the gorge and waiting for his own shadows to come and carry him away?

Either way, it was going to hurt.

But still better than the serpents, he decided, risking another of those glances over his shoulder and shivering at what he saw. They painted the road behind him for as far as he could see; a shimmering river of black scales and red eyes. The promise in those eyes added a further spurt to his speed.

They’ll eat me alive.

Chew me up and spit me out in pieces, ready for Hecate to turn me into something else.

Like one of them

Or one of those trees …

He hurt so much now that the prospect of leaping into the gorge was almost an enticing one. He was almost at the edge of it before he realised that the torches illuminated an ornate bridge. Or a piece of one at least; at one time the road had crossed the chasm on a wooden track as wide as the main path. One end - the nearest - had rotted away, leaving only one supporting rail to bridge the gap. On the far side, some of the wider planks remained, jagged teeth jutting out across the fissure. They looked about as solid as wet parchment.

But the gap they left looked narrow enough to jump.

Iolaus didn’t stop to think about it. He saw his chance and he took it, picking up speed and summoning a reserve of energy that had nothing to do with physical ability and everything to do with the strength of his heart. With the tongues of the serpents licking at his heels he ran straight to the edge of the gorge and leapt out, his arms and legs desperately flailing for distance.

"Whooaaaooaaaa!"

His cry echoed and re-echoed across a land cloaked in silences. Winged things, that had the shape of birds but the shadows of stranger creatures, took flight in alarm. The torchlight fluttered, filling the yawning space beneath him with dancing shadows. The jump seemed endless, a slow, gut clenching flight in which the promise and the temptation of the broken bridge seemed to be utterly beyond his reach -

- and then he was suddenly tangling with the jagged planks, wrapping panicked arms around their splintered surfaces, not caring how they bruised his exhausted body, just they there were there and solid, and somehow holding his weight ...

The bottom of the ravine was cloaked with a dark swirling mist. Iolaus found himself dangling above the drop, half jammed into a gap between two rotting boards and watching as a river of serpents streamed over the edge of the cliff to vanish into the darkness below. Their descent seemed endless, a waterfall of wriggling bodies that tumbled and writhed as it fell. They went with a hiss, a sound that made his blood run cold.

Several of them had impetus enough to try the jump. One even got far enough to sink fanged teeth into his boot. He hastily kicked it free, wincing as its muscular body whipped up in an attempt to wrap itself around his leg. Its touch reminded him of the shifting embrace of the She-Demon, and he shuddered, wondering just what the creatures would have done, had they caught up with him.

His dangling position was dangerous, for all sorts of reasons; he struggled and heaved and eventually managed to pull himself up over the jagged edge of the broken wood until he was sprawling face down, shaking and exhausted, on the musty rotting boards. Torchlight played across him, but he ignored it for a moment, reveling in the bliss of rest. His legs ached. His lungs panted fire, and his head was spinning.

"This," the hunter decided, gasping each word between a gulped and desperate breath, "is not fun."

He heaved a heavy sigh and rolled over onto his back; he begrudged having to make the effort, but he knew he’d be in trouble if he didn’t. He let his eyes close for a moment and relaxed back against the wood, giving himself every precious second he could muster to recover his breath and re-center his strength. It was no good just running. It was getting him absolutely nowhere - and he was already pretty exhausted. If he didn’t change tactics soon then he would get to the point where he’d be happy for the shadows to drag him back to face Hecate’s tender mercies.

Which will be neither tender, nor merciful, he reminded himself, thinking of the twisted trees with a decided shudder. A whisper of chilled air moved beneath his shoulder blades and he tensed, holding himself perfectly still - until he felt the shadow slide out and rise up, taking some of his sweated heat with it as it went. Then he rolled over, and - as he landed back on his back - he spun, tucking both legs up and then kicking out with all his strength. The soles of his boots struck the creature hard in the chest just as it lunged forward. The impact was bone shuddering, but it staggered the shadow backwards. One step, two - and it found itself poised precariously at the edge of the broken bridge, its translucent arms desperately flailing for balance.

Iolaus bounced to his feet and helped it the rest of the way, sending it tumbling over the brink with a casual push from one finger. "Sucker," he muttered, with a perverse sense of satisfaction. That moment of rest had been worth the risk; the shadow creatures might be strong, and they might be fast, but they didn’t seem to be all that bright - in any sense of the word.

Time you started using a few smarts, Iolaus.

He paced back and forth across the bridge while he pondered his options, trying to ignore the way the shadows thrown by the torches loomed large and menacingly on the wall of the ravine. There weren’t that many choices open to him. He could stop where he was, let the shadows take him, and find out what the Queen of Air and Darkness had in mind for him. He could keep on going, heading deeper and deeper into the weird landscape of Hecate’s netherworld until his strength ran out and the shadows took him anyway - or he could find the way out, escaping her realm and her all at once.

You’ll never risk it ...

Risk what? What danger could he possibly face that would be worse than losing his soul to her desires?

"You’ll wear these boards out, you know. Pacing like that."

The hunter spun, dropping briefly into a defensive pose before recognising both the voice and the speaker; on the other side of the gorge a cloaked figure was leaning against the broken supports of the bridge, the hood still pulled down low over its owner’s face.

"Who are you?" Iolaus demanded, resuming his restless progress from side to side.

"A friend," came the answer, delivered with a small wheezy chuckle. "Or the nearest thing you have to one - around here, at any rate."

"How do I know that? Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn’t." The words were amused. "Not if you’ve got any sense. Can’t trust anyone - or anything - down here. Nothing’s what it seems. Not even you."

"Oh, that’s a lot of help," the hunter muttered, not at all reassured by the conversation. For all he knew this was just another of Hecate’s games. "What is it you want with me?"

"Just a little of your time. Say - the rest of your life?"

That sounded ominous. Iolaus studied the hooded figure with an anxious frown. "I don’t - have that to give," he pointed out, taking a couple of steps back as well as sideways. "I mean, I’m kinda stuck between the life and death thing and - "

"Up to you," the old man shrugged. "It’s not a lot to ask for. Not around here. I’ll tell you what - I’ll point you in the right direction and you can decide when you get there. Serve her, help me - or help yourself."

"That’s fair. I guess." The hunter wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing too, but something told him that taking this old man’s advice was a safer bet than all of Hecate’s up front enticements. "Doesn’t exactly sound like a difficult choice," he added, half under his breath.

"You’d be surprised." The hooded figure stepped back and rapped its staff imperiously against the one intact rail. "Now get back over here. I told you you were heading in the wrong direction. The best way out is the way in. The only way back is forward, and ..."

"Hide yourself in plain sight," Iolaus quoted with irritation. "You said that already. But I don’t know what it means."

"You will." The staff rapped on the wood a second time. "Are you coming, or not?"