Choices Part Two Pythia

The trip back across the gorge was just as heart stopping as the first had been, although for different reasons. He did it a step at a time, keeping a precarious balance on a beam barely wider than a sword blade. The wood creaked under his weight and the wind that flicked the torches into fluttering flame cut across his shoulders like a cold knife. He tried not to look down - down was a long way to go, filled with mist and shadows and the squirm of serpentine bodies - but it was hard not to want to, to keep his eyes fixed on the flutter of dark fabric that cloaked his nameless and faceless company.

The hunter walked the distance with his heart in his mouth, his hands out stretched and his body trembling for balance. One mis-step and he’d undoubtedly find the answer to all the questions that were currently swirling through his mind.

The hard way.

"Well," the old man observed as he arrived thankfully back on solid ground, "you’ve got guts, I’ll say that. Don’t think I’d want to trust the safety of my soul to an illusion."

What?

Iolaus stared at him, then turned, in time to see the beam that had just served as his roadway shimmer away into non-existence. As did the bridge, which faded from the inside out, solid wood becoming misted outlines before they too vanished into nothingness. Only the flickering torches remained.

"But - " he protested, taking a half step forward to wave his hand through the patch of empty air that - only a moment before - had been a solid pillar beside the ornate torch. "I don’t understand."

"Obviously." The hooded figure turned and began to trudge along the road, heading back towards the twisted trees and the grove they contained. The bemused hunter stood for a moment - absently swaying a little to keep his shadows moving - staring out at the now empty ravine, then quickly turned and jogged after him, his feet crunching in the deep gravel. The old man’s steps were making no sound at all.

"I told you nothing was what it seemed around here," the ancient voice was saying as Iolaus caught up with its owner. "She’s always redecorating. Doesn’t always have time to make the scenery real. Doesn’t need to a lot of the time. For her, the shadow of the thing is more important than the thing itself."

"That’s crazy," Iolaus frowned. "Shadows don’t have any substance."

"They do here." The answer held a note of irritation. "These are the shadowlands. The darkness cast by the light of life. This is the place where the nightmares are born. The ones that lurk at the edges of ignorance. Monsters. Creatures existing without shape or certainty until someone chooses to give them a face or a voice."

"That right?" the hunter muttered, nervously checking out the darkened landscape on either side. "Nice place ..."

"It’s a wonderful place," the old man snapped impatiently. "Do you know what the darkness of ignorance hides?"

"You just said - "

"Monsters, yes. But what do they guard, hmm? Magic. Mysteries. Miracles. Anything is possible here. If you have the heart to make it happen. Like that bridge back there. You needed that."

"What I need," Iolaus pointed out, "is a way out of here. Can I just - conjure one of those up?"

The hooded figure chuckled softly. "Not that easy," he said. "Not for you. The only way back - "

"- is the way forward. Yeah, yeah, I know. But back to what? Forward to where? As far as I know, my mortal body is a lump of stone standing around for the She-Demon to dust. Until - unless - Herc finds me. And even then, he might not be able to ... gods."

The answer had come to him with quiet revelation; he realised he’d been staring at it all along - and why Hecate might think he’d never risk the ultimate escape from her clutches.

"There is only one way out of here, isn’t there," he said, his blood running cold at the thought.

"Fraid so." The old man shrugged beneath his voluminous robe. "And nobody ever takes it. Mortals are like that. Clinging to what they know. What they cherish most. Of course," he added matter-of-factly, "you could just keep running until that friend of yours - whatsisname - comes to his senses enough to deal with the important things in his life. But that might take a while. Especially without you around to remind him what is important."

Hercules was probably a long way from Isher, pursing his personal vengeances - and hopefully kicking Hera’s butt while he did it. And the hunter sincerely doubted that anyone else would be able to slay the She-Demon and free her victims from this shadowed netherworld which held them captive. He hadn’t been able to ...

"I’m toast," Iolaus concluded, throwing his arms wide in resignation.

One way or another.

His current companion sighed. "Your choice. And if you choose the way I think you will, the one that’ll come after will be harder still. But it’s up to you. Hecate’s not that bad, if you keep her amused, you know ..."

"No thanks," Iolaus answered with a small shudder. "I’d rather take my chances ... Well," he corrected with a humourless laugh, "not chances exactly. Choice though. If I really have a choice."

"That depends on how you look at it, I suppose. A lot of people wouldn’t think so. I do. I’m rather hoping you do too."

A choice ...

The hunter hunched his shoulders and went on trudging in pensive silence. His stomach, which had been fluttering with unease ever since he’d arrived in this strange place, was busy tying itself into spasmed knots. He had no intention of surrendering his soul to Hecate - but he’d realised that the alternative was equally unthinkable. Which was why he was so desperately thinking about it.

Hecate has me trapped here.

A living soul suspended in stone.

I can’t go back. I’ve nothing to go back to. No way to break the spell that binds me.

But I could go on ...

The step between life and death is a long one. It’s the step mortal souls spend their entire lives trying to avoid. Very few find it an easy step to take - and even fewer take it voluntarily.

But if he wanted to escape the Sorceress, that was exactly what he was going to have to do.

The best way out is the way in. The only way back is forward. Hide yourself in plain sight ...

The way back to the mortal realm was barred. What remained was the way forward - to the kingdom Hades ruled. No-one would ever look for a living man in the land of the dead.

Because generally the only way to get there - gods, demi-gods, and half immortals excepted - was to die.

"Looks like you got what you wanted," Iolaus tried to joke as he and the old man reached the outer edges of the twisted grove. "That bit of my time?" he explained, since all he got was a hooded look and a soft sigh. "You know - just the rest of my life ...?"

"Ah." The acknowledgement was a knowing one. "You’ve made your choice, then?"

"Yeah." The hunter shivered as he said it; it was one thing to charge into battle knowing that you might die before the day was out. But choosing to? That went against every instinct he had.

"Good for you." His company sounded unsettlingly pleased about it. "But don’t dismiss your future just yet. Wait until you’re sure of your options."

"I’ve made up my mind," Iolaus insisted. "When I find the way out of here, I’m taking it. Look - " He circled round to confront his questionable guide, walking backwards as he talked because he had to keep moving. "I don’t who - or what - you are, and I’ve no idea why you’re helping me. If you are helping me," he considered darkly. "But for some weird reason I believe what you’ve told me - and believe it or not, I’m grateful. So, if there is anything I can do to re-pay you ..."

The hooded figure heaved a soft sigh. "Just promise me one thing," he said.

"Which is - ?"

"That, when the time comes, you’ll weigh need against desire - and choose a path which answers both."

"Oh great. More riddles." Iolaus’ own sigh held a note of frustration. "Okay. You got it. Choose the right path. I can do that."

"Oh, I hope so." The words sounded disconcertingly distant. Once again the cloak was collapsing, folding in on itself as if the shape which it had held were simply fading away. "I do hope so ..."

"Damn," the hunter swore softly, taking a few forward paces to poke at the crumpled heap of fabric with his foot. "How does he do that? Why does he do that?" he requested immediately afterwards, throwing his arms wide and directing the words towards the general air. The tree branches that arched over his head quivered a little, as if their leaves rustled in a non-existent wind, but he got no other answer.

Which was probably just as well ...

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and then hastily glanced around just in case the event signaled another avalanche of snakes. Nothing seemed to be moving under the trees, so he turned round and trudged on up the path. The effort of the day was beginning to tell; his legs felt like lead weights and he had to force himself to keep moving. "Okay," he muttered. "The way out is the way in. So - how exactly did I get here?"

That was a problem. He didn’t know. He remembered being nothing - and after that he’d simply arrived; he could recall hearing Hecate’s voice a moment before being aware of anything else, but that wasn’t much help. The sudden return of perception had been disorientating. There hadn’t seemed to be a door, or anything like one. Just the goddess, laughing at him.

She probably still was.

There has to be a way ...

Iolaus was still working on that one when he caught sight of the soft flicker of torch light ahead of him. The clearing beyond it seemed deserted, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He slipped into the suspect protection of the trees and circled round to try and assess what awaited him. The short black turf was spongy underfoot; his boots sank into it, leaving deep impressions that slowly smoothed themselves out again once his weight was removed. That was weird - but no weirder than any other experience he’d had in this darkened, eerie place.

Where is she?

He could feel her, a lurking presence that sent shivers up his spine while stirring other, enticing sensations in the rest of him. It would be too easy to succumb to that siren call, to step out boldly into the torchlight and be lost forever in the curve of predatory arms. A part of him yearned for that surrender, wanting what she offered, no matter what the cost - but he gritted his teeth and resisted the temptation. He would not give up his soul, not to her, not to anyone.

Stubborn pride, Iolaus.

It might be a flaw in his character but, right now, it was proving to be his greatest defence.

Branches dipped to snag in his hair and tug at his clothing as he passed, reminding him that nothing here was exactly what it seemed. He pulled free of their reaching grip and went on circling, his face creased in quiet determination as he studied the seemingly deserted clearing. It looked as if Hecate had been redecorating, even in the short space of time that he’d been gone. The ornate throne he’d spotted before was gone; in its place was a wide circular couch padded with a shimmer of dark silk and strewn with a scattering of cushions. Draperies of tattered cloth festooned the inner circle of trees and in the middle of the space, just in front of the pool there was a long low table, laden with food. His mouth watered at the sight - and his stomach rumbled, which wasn’t surprising, considering that he’d not really eaten anything since breakfast.

He frowned at the realisation. This wasn’t the mortal world, and he had no idea if he ought to be feeling hungry or not. Nor could he be sure that anything he found in this realm - no matter how appetising it seemed - would actually be edible. He suspected that eating anything here would not be a sensible thing to do.

Oh, but - gods - that smells good ...

Iolaus took a half step forward, and came to his senses just in time. He did not want to leave the shelter of the trees until he was sure of what he had to do; something told him that - once he’d stepped into the open - it wouldn’t take long before she was aware of it. He was going to need all the time he could get, so that he could be certain of his escape.

If he could just figure out how he was supposed to, that was.

The drapes of dark cloth above him rippled slightly as if lifted by a breeze; he glanced around warily, but the goddess seemed to be nowhere in sight. There was no sign of anyone in fact, although he noticed that someone had replaced and re-lit the torch he’d used earlier. It burned and flickered just as strongly as its fellows. Nothing else moved - not even the inky surface of the black pool, which lay undisturbed in the center of the space reflecting distorted images of the torchlight.

Memory tugged at him; recollections of being suspended in nothingness, of being denied movement and air and light.

What if ... The answer hovered, tantalizingly close, impossibly distant. He nearly had it - and then a flicker of sudden light and movement distracted him. Hecate materialised in the middle of the circular bed, arriving cross legged and lifting her arms in a dramatic, expansive gesture. Iolaus cursed under his breath and quickly ducked back behind the nearest tree. There probably wasn’t much point in trying to hide among the shadows when she was about, but he had no other options. He dropped into a half crouch and went on pacing warily sideways, keeping himself moving while trying desperately to stay out of sight.

"Ahhh ..." The goddess unfolded from a languid stretch and slid off the padded surface, slinking across the velvet turf to sweep up a goblet from the table. Unseen hands immediately lifted the nearest flagon and filled the ornate cup with some dark liquid. It sparkled as it left the jug. "You’re back sooner than I expected," she observed, smiling into the goblet before taking a delicate sip. "And under your own volition too. Now that’s intriguing." She paused to take another sip, her eyes sweeping the edge of the clearing with a knowing glance. "I had you pegged for the ‘run until you dropped’ type. I’m not often wrong, but - you surprise me. What changed your mind?"

So much for sneaking away unnoticed ...

"I didn’t," he answered warily, straightening up and taking a reluctant step out into the open space. "But - uh - something told me I was running in the wrong direction."

"Some thing - or someone?" she wondered, stepping back so that she could sink onto the edge of the couch and drape herself there enticingly. Iolaus swallowed hard, acutely aware of the way her dress had fallen back to reveal a shapely leg and thigh - and of the way his body had reacted to the sight. He’d been taking those careful, sideways paces; it took him a moment to realise that he’d also moved a good distance forward without being aware of it. Hecate laughed at his expression.

"Poor, poor, Iolaus," she purred, patting the soft silk at her side with an seductive hand. "Trying so hard. And he’s so tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to rest? I could keep the shadows away. Just for a little while?"

Rest?

Exhaustion spiraled up to seize him. His eyelids drooped. His body ached with effort. He could have just dropped where he stood ...

No!

He jerked himself awake, taking a desperate and stumbling step backwards. The effort was admirable, although the execution left a lot to be desired. He tripped, ending up sprawled across the turf and fighting for a strength which seemed to have deserted him.

"Oops," the goddess laughed amused at both his struggle and his stumble. "You know - I’d get up if I were you. You’re casting shadows down there ..."

He cursed and rolled sideways with determined effort, feeling the chill touch of a shadow warrior slide out from under him as he did so. The old man had lied. There was no way out. Nor could he fight the Sorceress, not her at the heart of her domain. He’d been tricked into returning by the promise of a hopeless hope.

Hadn’t he?

His exertions had brought him to the paved edge of the pool. Stone dug into his shoulder blades and he dragged himself up, only to collapse again in a limp heap right at the very edge of the water. Another shadow slid away from him, pulling heat with it. He was shivering, shaking with fatigue; darkness loomed over him in silent menace.

"Quickly," he heard the goddess command, a sudden sense of urgency in her voice. "Don’t let him get to close."

Too close?

Gods ...

Comprehension struck him like a blow. With it came a surge of stubborn stamina; there was a way out, and he was going to take it. No matter where it led. He kicked out against the shadowed hands that reached for him, wriggling and squirming like a furious otter, determined not to be held. They closed in, cloaking him in darkness - and under the cover of that darkness he twisted, rolled over -

- and plunged deep into the inky waters of the black pool.

The water was cold. Ice cold, filled with swirling currents that caught him and dragged him down before he had time to take breath. Tendrils of force wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, clamping fingers of iron around his chest. He gagged and then choked; liquid surged into his lungs, filling his mouth with bitterness. Somewhere, far away, he heard an angry cry of frustration and loss. He felt ghostly fingers briefly tangle in his hair - and then the suction pulled him deeper still, the startling pain that tugged at his scalp quickly lost in the overwhelming scream that filled his entire existence.

Gods ...

He flailed and fought for escape without effect, pummeled and twisted by the surging flood into which he’d been plunged. His body demanded air and breathed in fire and ice instead; the cold liquid strangled his lungs and sent his senses swimming. Darkness claimed him, although this was a darkness filled with taste and terror - not an absence of existence, but almost too much of one. Pain and pressure competed for his attention, hammering him inside and out. He was drowning, and it was taking too long. Way too long. It felt as if it would take forever and he wanted it to stop.

Which - abruptly - it did.

Three things registered; a flicker of light, the feel of solid rock beneath his body and cheek - and the impact of something hard prodding at his ribs. The sensation triggered a reactive intake of breath which, in turn, triggered a far more violent reaction. He doubled up, hacking and coughing, and spewed mouthfuls of bitter fluid around desperate gulps for air.

"Huh - whatdaya know? It’s a live one. Hah - as live as we get ‘em down here, anyway." The voice was deep and laced with gravel; the laugh that followed was a grating one. "Didn’t anyone tell ya? The Styx ain’t a safe place to swim. That’s why I got the ferry concession. And don’t think you don’t owe me, just you made it to this side of the river without a boat. I pulled ya out - ya pay me my fare."

The Styx?

Iolaus retched the last of the water out of his lungs and took several slow and shaky breaths, his body still tensed for a return of his coughing fit. When it didn’t materialise, he uncurled himself a little, relaxing slowly into the unyielding support of the rocky surface beneath him. His initial impression of the place had been one of light; now he could see that it was really a dark, gloomy place, across which the play of torchlight threw a hazy, purple air. Everything looked decidedly fuzzy, so he blinked and shook his head a little to clear it. There seemed to be -something - only a few inches away from his face. After a moment, the objects concerned swam into focus and he blinked again, this time in disconcerted surprise.

He was staring at a pair of sandals. Old sandals, come to that, their leatherwork cracked and faded. They were peeking from beneath a dark robe, the fabric of which seemed to be encrusted with dust and cobwebs. That was bad enough, but the feet were even worse; sickly, jaundiced flesh clung to bony toes, each of which supported a blackened, purple nail.

"Ewww," the hunter reacted, hastily sitting up and scrabbling back a little. The feet took a step backwards too; the heavy fabric above them rustled with a sound like dry bones being rubbed together.

"What?" the gravel filled voice barked. "What?"

"Ah - " Iolaus looked up, finally getting a good look at his rescuer. He’d half been expecting to see the hooded old man - but the face that awaited him was straight out of a nightmare. "A-ahh!"

"What?" the voice demanded a third time, the features that spawned it creasing with decided impatience. "You got water in your brains? You’re dead, okay? What did you expect? Golden light and choirs of heavenly creatures? This is Greece, ya schlub. You’re in the underworld and you got me. Sheesh," he concluded, "I shoulda left ya to sink!"

The hunter closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to slow the startled pounding of his heart. When he opened his lids again, the cadaverous figure was still there, glowering at him with deep set, bloodshot eyes above his bulbous, hooked nose. He had the kind of face only a mother could love - if this creature ever had a mother, that is. "I’m dead," Iolaus considered warily. "I’m dead?" The pock marked face nodded, blue grey lips twisting in impatient disbelief. "Yes!" he crowed, acknowledging triumph with clenched fists and a broad grin.

"Water on the brain." The ferryman rolled his eyes and sighed, poking at the hunter’s boots with the end of his pole. The skulls at the other end of it clattered discordantly. "You’re dead. D. E. A. D. Dead. Get it? Nobody’s ever pleased about that."

"I am," Iolaus declared happily, scrambling to his feet and looking around with interest. The rock walls curved overhead, creating a craggy cavern. To his right was a river - a deep, fast flowing river which vanished into gloom in both directions. There was a boat, moored up against a rickety jetty and lit - like the surface of the water - by two flickering torches. The rich, lurid light danced over skeletal decorations; the vessel was decorated to match its master, who by now was staring at the hunter with total incredulity.

"Looney tunes," Charon muttered, shaking his head. "No wonder he was trying to swim ..."

"No - " Iolaus waved his hands to interrupt him. "No, you don’t understand. I didn’t come from - over there  ..." He gestured at the far side of the river. "I was - somewhere else ..."

"Yeah, yeah. Right." Bloodshot eyes considered him with irritation. "That’s the way it works, chowder-head. You’re alive, you’re dead - you’re there, you’re here ... Happens to everyone. Just that most of them don’t try drowning their sorrows in the river. You could have been swept clear down to Tarterus. Not that I’d care, but - hey - every obol counts on my salary."

The hunter heaved a small sigh, and tried again. "No," he repeated patiently, "It isn’t like that. I - I didn’t jump in - ah, yeah, well, I guess did jump in, but it wasn’t here, it was - somewhere in the Netherworld I think. See - I was trying to get away from Hecate and - "

"Whoa," the ferryman reacted, taking another step back and giving him a decidedly disturbed look. "You’re not one’ o her’s are ya? ‘Cos if ya are, then I’m gonna have to throw you straight back ..." His eyes narrowed as he lifted his pole and poked warily at a damp shoulder. "You don’t look like one’ o her’s."

"I’m not," Iolaus responded tightly, catching hold of the end of the pole and pointedly pushing it away. The poke had been hard; almost hard enough to leave bruises. "That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was sent to her realm, and she tried to take my soul and I - dived into this pool and ... now I’m here."

Charon’s eyes narrowed even further. "You yanking my pole? You got away from her? You resisted the Sorceress’ power?"

"Uh - yeah." The hunter tried to sound blasé about it. "Doesn’t everyone?"

The ferryman went on staring for a moment longer - and then he started to laugh, a rough edged, wheezy laugh that sounded creaky from long disuse. "Huh - huhh. Everyone. Hah. That’s a good one. Huh."

The laugh wasn’t exactly infectious, but Iolaus joined in politely, despite having no idea what the joke might be. Charon chortled so hard that he choked; the grating sound dissolved into a hacking cough and long, ornately tipped fingers had to slap hard at their owner’s chest to help him regain his breath. The impact raised a cloud of dust.

"Huh," the ferryman wheezed, still amused despite his struggle. "Listen up, wiseguy. Nobody resists the Sorceress. Not even the mighty Zeus. That’s why she’s tucked away where she is - so that her high and mighty sister can keep her beady eye on her and keep her away from the old man. And you’re telling me - you got away from her? You must think yourself pretty hot stuff, huh?"

"I guess," Iolaus agreed warily.

"Well, you ain’t!" Charon shot back, giving him another hard poke with his pole. "’Cos you’re here - and that means you’re dead, and that ain’t hot. That ain’t even cool, get me?"

"Yeah." The warrior didn’t really need the reminder, but it was sobering all the same. He sank onto the nearest rock and heaved a heavy sigh. "I didn’t have a lot of choice."

"Mmmm." Bloodshot eyes considered him shrewdly for a moment. "No way back, huh?"

"No. Well - ah - maybe. But not from there. Not until ... ah," Iolaus decided, dismissing the issue with a wave of his hand. "You don’t need my problems."

"Huh," Charon snorted. "you are my problem, short stuff. See - I get paid for bringing people across the river. So you owe me. At least an obol. Probably two. I didn’t have to haul your ass outa the river. And then there's the business with the inventory."

Short stuff? Hey ...

The bristle was instinctive, and he quelled the reaction with an irritated effort. For one thing, he didn’t think the ferryman meant it personally, but was just in the habit of insulting everybody. For another, Charon appeared to be exactly the same height he was - which made it a rather hollow insult. "What about the inventory?" he asked instead, frowning over how he was meant to pay for his passage when he’d had absolutely no idea that he’d be taking it in the first place. It wasn’t as if he had a corpse that anyone was going to bury.

"You came here from the netherworld? Then you won’t be on it. Souls that go there don’t get into the paperwork. They just get signed off once a year. As lost," the ferryman added pointedly.

"Oh." That was an even more sobering thought. He’d come that close ... "So - if I’m not in the inventory - where am I supposed to go?"

Charon shrugged. "Wherever ya like, I guess. Just keep your head low when the Boss decides to audit. Tell ya what," he decided, leaning forward and darting his eyes to either side in conspiratorial fashion. "Just behind those rocks - the ones over there - there’s a door that leads straight into the Elysian fields. You slip through there - you’ll be home free. I mean - I ain’t seen ya. You’re not on my passenger list."

Iolaus had reached to rub at an oddly sore spot on the side of his head and had been distracted by the fact that his fingers came back tainted with blood. Blood diluted by river water perhaps, but blood nonetheless. It seemed that he’d - quite literally - managed to slip through Hecate’s fingers by the skin of his teeth. "I’m not?" he queried, responding to the last sentence with a moment of puzzlement.

What did he say? Something about Elysium ...

Charon sighed. Heavily. "If you’re not on the inventory," he pointed out sarcastically. "How in Tarterus could you could get on my passenger list?"

"Good point." The hunter had finally deciphered the rest of the earlier statements. He turned to stare at the spot the ferryman had indicated. As far as he could see, it looked just like any other rock formation. But Charon had said there was a door ... "Hey," Iolaus realised, turning back to stare at his company with wary affront. "If I’m not on your list, how can I owe you money? I’m not even meant to be here."

"Ah." Heavy brows furrowed together into a thoughtful frown. "But you crossed the Styx ..."

"No, I didn’t. I arrived in it. But I never crossed it."

"Oh." The ferryman clearly hadn’t thought of that. "I still hauled ya outta it, right?"

"Well, yeah." Iolaus couldn’t argue with that. "But - you just said ..."

"I said, I hadn’t seen ya. Doesn’t mean you get the advice for free." Charon started to put out his hand , then stopped and pulled it back. "Wait a minute. If you’re not on the list, then anything ya pay me would be over fare rate. And the Boss records all the sacrifices so - if I got audited ..." He gave a sudden snort, as if he’d just seen through a card trick. "Ahh, no," he grinned. It was a evil looking expression. "Ya don’t get me that way. Sneak in if ya wanna - but don’t misbalance my books. Takes eternity to explain away discrepancies." The grin faded. Pallid features creased back into lines of doubt. "But then - I did save your butt from Tarterus ..."

"Hey," the hunter found him a sympathetic smile. "I’m grateful. Believe me. Look - " He took pity on the hooded figure. It couldn’t be much of a life, ferrying dead souls across this dark and uninviting river. Not that it was a life exactly ... "If I get - back - I’ll ...I’ll send you a sacrifice, okay? An amphora of wine - or a wheel of cheese. You like cheese?"

"I love cheese," Charon sighed. "But this is a one way trip. You’re not goin’ back. Nobody ever does."

He had a point. Iolaus frowned, considering his options. He didn’t seem to have many. "I know," he said after a moment. "If I can sneak into Elysium, then I can just as easily sneak out again. How about I bring some cheese from there."

"Would ya? I’d ‘preciate that. Course - you’ll forget, but - okay." The ferryman shrugged. "Huh. That’s the way it goes. Now get. Scram. Skedaddle. I got work to do."

"I won’t forget," the warrior promised, dodging the encouraging poke from the battered pole. "And - thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," Charon dismissed testily. "Goodness o’ my heart, moment of weakness, that sort of stuff. Dead guys. Sheesh. Who’d have my job?" He turned and shuffled back towards his boat, muttering to himself as he went. Iolaus sat and watched him as he clambered into the vessel and pushed it off into the swiftly flowing river. Despite the fierceness of the water, the boat drifted away in a serene and steady glide - moving against the current. "Got away from Hecate. Huh." The gravelled voice faded into the distance, leaving a ghostly echo of a wheezing laugh. "Huh!"

And the hunter was left utterly alone.

I think it was this rock ...

The formation he was looking at did seem to be a little different from the rest of the misshapen, oddly sculptured arrangement of rocks that littered the edges of the cavern. It had a jutting spike that pierced the ceiling and which supported a fretwork of finer stone draperies, and its lower half was rippled into a series of narrow ridges so that it looked like a huge melted candle. The place where he’d arrived had had a harsh, jagged edge, as if it had been hammered out of solid rock and then shattered by giant hands, but in this particular corner the stone had a smoother, mellower appearance. Water was slowly dripping from stalactites that hung over head, and there was a soft phosphorescence gleaming from the dampened surfaces. There was an odd scent too - a faint whisper of incense or wood smoke.

But no door.

Iolaus frowned, wondering if he’d misunderstood the ferryman’s words - or at least misread the direction in which he’d been pointed. It had taken much longer to cross the distance then he’d expected it to; the river seemed a long way away, and its constant roaring of sound was now no more than a soft muted rumble. Going back to check directions didn’t seem to be an option, especially since he might end up waiting a long time before Charon returned to the dock. He was tired - bone tired, worn out by his exertions in the Nether realm and his struggle to escape it. He didn’t want to walk another inch, let alone trudge all the way back to the Styx ...

"Iolaus," he told himself wearily, "you are a chowder head."

It had finally sunk in. There was no one chasing him here. The spell that had torn away his shadows and endowed them with unnatural life would have no power in Hades’ realm. He was safe. He was also dead, but - right there and then - that seemed a very small price to pay for the chance to rest and catch his breath.

Better to make it somewhere out of the way, though ... Charon had implied that he didn’t exactly belong in this place, and stretching out - for however short a time - in an exposed spot might not be such a good idea. He heaved a exhausted sigh and started to clamber onto the base of the rock candle; there seemed to be a dark space behind it, which didn’t look too inviting but would serve to conceal him from any passer by. This was the Underworld; almost anyone or anything might wander by.

The climb up was easy; the folded ridges of rock formed a narrow stepped stairway and the draped stone above it offered plenty of handholds. The hunter heaved himself up the short distance, swung his weary body round the main stem of the formation -

- and found himself tumbling down a softly turfed slope, rolling over and over with nothing to hold onto and no strength to stop himself. He landed at the bottom of a shallow hill, his head spinning and all the air driven from his lungs. The breath he drew to fill them set his senses swimming; the air was sweet and warm and drenched in a rich perfume made from flowers, herbs, spices, baking bread - every wonderful scent he had ever tasted and dozens more.

Wow ...

He closed his eyes and took another long, lingering breath. Not only did it taste good, but the heady mixture seemed to permeate every inch of him, washing away the weight of his fatigue and replacing it with a tingling surge of energy.

Oh wow ...

Another breath. Another. He could have been content to lie like that and simply breathe for the rest of eternity - except that his fourth such breath was violently expelled as something heavy bounced enthusiastically right in the middle of his stomach.

"Anacles," he complained, both the weight and the bounce intimately familiar. He sat up to catch hold of the giggling toddler, hefting the child off the more sensitive parts of his anatomy and holding him aloft with patient amusement. "How many times do I have to tell you - " The words died in his throat. His hands tightened convulsively. "An-anacles?"

The boy giggled again, wriggling and kicking like a hooked fish. Iolaus stared, unable to speak, forgetting even to breathe. A pert and perfect cherub was smiling back at him, his warm hazel eyes brimming with indisputable mischief. There was no question, no mistake; this was his son - the child he’d nursed while the poison ran its course, the child he’d held so desperately, praying for him to live yet savaged by each spasm and uncomprehending cry. The boy hadn’t known, hadn’t understood what was happening to him - and his father, who’d known but hadn’t wanted to believe it, had gone on holding him, long after all the light and the warmth had gone ...

"Daddy make funny face," Anacles laughed, making one right back at him; a cheeky, pursed lips, rolled back eyes kind of face that quickly collapsed into another set of giggles. Iolaus choked, torn between laughter and tears; he pulled the boy into a fierce hug, holding him the way he had held him then - feeling his sturdy body pressed against him, burying his face in that impossible tumble of dark curls. "Daddy?"

His heart was too full to speak; he simply tightened his embrace, and Anacles shrugged and hugged back, stretching his arms wide and nuzzling into his father’s neck with a happy sigh.

Gods ...

Emotion overwhelmed him; Iolaus began to laugh for the sheer joy of it, his tears brimming free as he rocked the child, holding him close, wanting to never let go of him again. The boy joined in the laughter, his youthful giggles counter-pointing the hunter’s own.

"Somebody sounds happy."

Ania?

He lifted his head, finding a familiar face smiling at him, her slender form draped in a white dress. Her hair hung loose and she was crowned with flowers, but she was still his Ania, still the sweet, simple soul who’d enchanted his heart and turned his entire world upside down. She laughed at his expression, dipping forward to plant a soft kiss on his damp cheek. "So nice to have you home," she announced, her eyes twinkling with pleasure. "Especially since we weren’t expecting you. Anacles, you don’t have to hug your father that hard. He needs to breathe occasionally."

"Play horsie," the boy demanded, wriggling free from the hunter’s arms and starting to clamber onto his shoulders. Iolaus lifted him up almost absently, swinging him round as he rose from the ground; bare feet tucked into his armpits and infant fingers tangled painfully in his hair. Just this once he didn’t care. He reached out and gathered the child’s mother into a hug almost as fierce as the one he had just abandoned. Ania laughed, wrapping her arms around him - and reaching, as she did so, to discourage those grasping fingers.

"Play nice," she murmured, then grinned at her husband. "You too."

"Don’t I always?" he breathed, leaning in to kiss her.

"Not sure I can remember now," she teased, kissing back with enthusiasm. "You’ve been away so long."

The reminder - meant as a playful joke - jerked a sudden note of reality back into his wonderful dream. He hadn’t been away. She had. She’d been taken away from him, just as Anacles had been taken; they were dead - and so was he, standing in the Elysium fields, with a ghost in his arms and another tugging at his ear  ...

"Iolaus?" Ania questioned, with the same wary note of concern that Anacles had used at his father’s emotional reaction. He pulled back a little and stared at her; she stared back with puzzlement. "Something wrong?"

Anacles whooped, digging in his heels and bouncing energetically on his shoulders. The woman under his hands was warm and solid and utterly real - as real as he was. Iolaus let out a snort of laughter and kissed her again, soundly and with confident affection. "No," he assured her, glancing up at his son with a proud grin. "Not any more."

They walked together for a while, just being a family. Anacles grew bored with his piggy back ride and scrambled down to run in the grass and chase butterflies; Iolaus loosed him reluctantly, contenting himself with tucking his arm around his wife’s waist and walking with her like that, side by side. The boy whooped and ran and martialled invisible armies. His mother kept him close, calling him back with amused words and distracting him whenever he was tempted to wander. And his father - his father walked in a daze, walking in paradise, breathing the sweet air of Elysium.

It was like being in a dream. Everything was utterly perfect; the grass beneath his feet was soft and the breeze that wafted across the world did so with a soft caress that felt as gentle as a mother’s hands. Blossom drifted from some of the trees as they passed beneath them. Others offered sweet ripe fruits whose juices tasted like nectar and honey. There was even music in the air; somewhere, close by, impossibly far away, someone was singing.

"I know that song," Iolaus realised in wonderment. It held a haunting familiarity, a sound that tugged at memory and stirred the layers of contentment that had settled over his heart. Ania laughed, taking his hand and leading him down the hillside, while Anacles broke into a run, heading for the source of the sound with eagerness.

I know that song ...

He knew the singer too. They arrived at the edge of a leafy glade, at one side of which sat a familiar looking building. A pair of laughing boys were wrestling in the sunlight, their sister giggling at them as they tumbled each other with breathless abandon. She was tucked up against her mother’s knee - and her mother was singing as she combed the silk tumble of the child’s hair.

"Deianeira ..." He breathed the name rather than spoke it, but she heard him and looked up, offering him a warm and welcoming smile.

"Hello, Iolaus," she said, rising to her feet and holding out her hand in greeting. "We weren’t expecting you today."

"No," Ania agreed happily, giving his arm one last warm hug before she pushed him towards her friend. "Isn’t it wonderful? I’m always so worried when he’s away but - here he is, safe and sound."

They’re gone, Iolaus.

He was remembering the look on his best friend’s face, and the utter devastation that had replaced the light in a man’s eyes. The mortal world had been fading in his memory - but seeing her, seeing them, brought it back with aching clarity. His hand closed over hers and her touch was just as he remembered it. Here she was the same capable and confident woman that she’d always been; a devoted mother, a loving wife - and a true friend.

"So I see." Deianeira put her free hand on his shoulder and kissed him warmly on the cheek. "Don’t play too rough with Anacles, boys," she advised the group behind her. "He’s only little ..."

"Little can be good," Iolaus protested, defending both his son and himself in the same breath. The two women laughed, Deianeira’s hands tightening their grip with affection.

"Sometimes it’s the best," she murmured, winking at Ania over his shoulder. "Come, sit down, have something to eat. I’ve fresh baked apple biscuits and paclava. You and Hercules are both alike - you never eat properly while you’re travelling. And don’t tell me that there’s nothing like a fresh caught rabbit roasted over a camp fire - I’ve eaten your cooking, remember?"

"Yeah," he laughed, letting himself be steered towards the roughly hewn seat in front of the house. He remembered Hercules making that particular bench - and how proud the man had been to let his pregnant wife be the first person to sit on it ... "Paclava sounds good. And your paclava is as good as ambrosia - if not better," he added against the sudden tightness in his throat.

This is so right - and yet it’s so wrong ...

It was a soft summer day, in a place bereft of all care and concerns; there were people that he loved and cared for with him - and yet there was something, someone, missing from that perfect picture. It was as if they had gathered for a celebration, and were still waiting for the guest of honor to arrive.

Deianeira was busy chuckling at his compliment. "Flattery will get you another piece on your plate," she promised. "But that’s all." Ania smiled, tucking herself onto the bench next to her husband.

"Isn’t this perfect?" she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder while she watched their son play tag with the other children. "Well," she added, glancing up as their hostess reached to hand her a brimming goblet of golden wine, "almost perfect."

"Now, don’t," Deianeira told her firmly. "I know it would be nice to have Hercules here, but he’s busy doing all the things he has to, and we have no right to call him away from that. There’s just so much good he’s yet to do. Some many people to help, so many wrongs to right ..." She pressed a second goblet into Iolaus’ hand and he took it abstractedly, his mind busy replaying the last time he’d seen his friend. The man had been drowning in anger and despair, unable to deny event and lashing out because of it. There’d been a lot of words, but the meaning behind them had been unmistakable.

Go away before she kills you too ...

He’d left because that had felt like the right thing to do, and he’d offered to help Lycus because that had felt like the right thing too - only now he was here, and that had been exactly what Hercules hadn’t wanted to happen.

"It’s the price we pay, falling in love with a hero," the man’s wife was saying, talking to his wife, but watching her children as she did so. Tag had turned into piggyback racing; Aeson had hoisted Anacles up onto his shoulders and the two of them were being chased by Clonis and Ilea. "You know that."

Ania heaved another sigh, this one holding patient resignation. "I know," she said, giving the man beside an affectionate look. "But you’re home to stay now, aren’t you my love?"

Am I?

Iolaus studied his wife’s face, finding nothing but love and warmth in her eyes. Being with her - being with his son - had filled an empty place in his heart; but even here, he wasn’t whole, nor could he be. Not while his friend’s family remained sundered in two. For almost as long as he could remember, Hercules had been a part of who and what he was. This place - this paradise - would seem little more than empty dream until his partner was there to share it.

Which - the gods and the fates willing - would not be for a long time to come. Deianeira was right; the mortal world needed the son of Zeus much more than they did. And yet, and yet ...

The laughter of excited children rang through the grove, and their mothers shared a glance of mutual pride and happiness that turned the hollow feeling in his stomach into a knot of anxious guilt. These carefree spirits had been freed from the weight of the mortal world. Time no longer had meaning for them. Hercules might not find this place for a thousand years, and yet - to them - it would seem no more than a day, and their welcome would be no less joyous for all the waiting in between.

The thought of that time stretched ahead of him like an endless road. As endless as the road in Hecate’s realm, where you could run as far and as fast as you like and still never get anywhere.

I know I’m dead. Maybe they do too, but - I’m not supposed to be here. There’s a piece of me still trapped between life and death ...

It was right then that - somewhere unutterably distant and yet impossibly close - he heard Hercules speaking to him.

This one’s for you, buddy.

"Hercules?" Iolaus stood up and turned towards the sound, half expecting the son of Zeus to be right behind him. He wasn’t - but there was a dark figure in a hooded robe standing at the edge of the clearing. The hunter’s heart sank. He reached down and carefully placed the golden goblet onto the low wooden table, brushed Ania’s cheek with his fingers and then slowly walked across the distance to where the old man waited for him.

"Handsome boy," the quavery voice remarked as he arrived within hearing distance. Iolaus - despite a determination not to - glanced back. Anacles was running for the sheer joy of it, his eyes bright and his face lit with laughter. It was a glorious sight - so glorious that his father had to turn away and wrestle for breath.

"They all are," he managed, his voice cracked with a sudden surge of emotion that he didn’t know how to deal with. It was joy and it was pain, and it went so deep he felt as though his heart had shattered into a thousand shards.

"That’s true." There were eyes watching him from under the hood; dark eyes, filled with wisdom and sadness and sympathy. "You could stay, you know. This is the moment where you can choose. To go on - or go back. Back to the cares and the hurts and the dangers of the mortal world. Back to where he is just a memory."

Iolaus closed his own eyes for a moment, considering that. To stay - to really stay ... Anacles’ happy giggle rang through the air and he shuddered, feeling it catch in his heart and tangle there, feeling the pain it would cost to rip it free.

That’s the pain that Hercules is feeling right now, he reminded himself. And I’m not there to help him through it ...

He opened his eyes and fixed the figure in front of him with a resolute look. "I can live with that," he said, trying to control the tremble in his voice. "They don’t need me here. I know - they’ll miss me, but - I don’t belong here. Not yet. And Herc ..." He broke off, unable to express the storm that churned through him

"You go back, you owe me," the hooded figure pointed out, his voice backed with a note of menace. "Are you going to pay?"

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

Iolaus took a long trembling breath and determinedly shook his head.

"I’m sorry," he offered. "I know I owe you, but - I have to go back and - I can’t give you what you asked. I have another debt to pay first. Hercules may not know it," he explained, "but he does need me. Someone has to keep an eye on him. Haul him out of trouble - or into it," he added, with a sudden desire for honesty.

"Is that what you want?" the old man demanded. "A life on the road, facing danger, risking everything - maybe even the chance to come back here - just for the sake of keeping one man company? Your son is only a word away. Is this man worth that? Is his friendship, his cause, his purpose, worth that much to you? He’s marked by the gods, Iolaus. Hera will try to hurt him anyway she can. Are you willing to give this up to face her?"

Weigh need against desire - and choose a path which answers both ...

He’d made his choice. It had hurt to make it but - having made it - he knew it was the right path to take. The only path. Desire tore him in two - between laughter and duty, between his son and the brother of his heart. But need pulled him back, and he would go where he was needed, because - in the end - that was where he really belonged.

"I’m willing," he said, unable to avoid one last glance over his shoulder, needing to fix that image in his mind for now and forever. "I wish there was some way I could repay you for what you’ve done ..."

Hands reached up and lifted away the hood. Beneath it familiar features offered him a beneficent smile. "You have, my boy," Zeus assured him, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Believe me - you have."

Then Elysium dissolved in a swirl of light and sound. Darkness crowded in, impenetrable, surrounding and suffocating him -