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On Ice Pythia Chapter Nine |
Silence falls. A hushed, suspended silence, that seems to go on forever. Harker – no, Hercules - stands frozen to the spot, staring at the apparition in front of him as if he can’t believe his eyes. He probably can’t; it’s been centuries since he last saw his partner, and that in circumstances which left very little hope for his survival. Even I still find it hard to believe – and I know a little of how the miracle was done.
Iolaus is staring back. He’s measuring the man his best friend has become, trying to assess his reaction and how he should react to it. I know what he fears – but I don’t think the look he’s getting is a particularly bewildered one.
Truth be told, it’s more like thunderstruck.
"Iolaus …" The word is a whisper, escaping from numbed lips, offered almost as a prayer. Then suddenly Hercules is striding forward, his hands reaching for black clad shoulders, his fingers sinking into the fabric with desperate force. "Iolaus?"
"Ow," my hero reacts, as much in indignation as in pain. "Herc! Me mortal, you demi-god. Remember?"
I watch as Hercules silently echoes the question. Remember? The frown of confusion and doubt which had been settling into his expression gives way to wide eyed astonishment. "You’re real," he realises, his voice filled with wonder. "And – you’re – you’re you."
"Uh – yeah," Iolaus confirms warily, his eyes fixed on the familiar face so close to his own. "The guys here dug me out of the ice about a year ago. Guess I was – a little longer catching you up than I expected to be …"
"Gods," Hercules murmurs, then again: "Oh gods!"
He’s moving as he’s speaking, pulling Iolaus into his arms, wrapping him in an embrace so tight it’s a wonder either of them can breath. I feel Martyn’s grip tighten on my shoulders and I grope for his hand, wanting the contact but not wanting to look away, not even for a moment. The emotion in that contact is overwhelming. Iolaus is busy returning the hug with one just as fierce, just as heartfelt; his helmet clatters unnoticed to the ground and – beside them both, a pink clad goddess lifts her arms in a gesture of triumph.
"Yes!" Aphrodite crows, grinning from ear to ear. "She shoots, she scores, the crowd goes wiiillld! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Horseface." Her eyes flick skywards with a look of triumph. "You know Daddy only let you take charge around here because the rest of us got a much better deal. Were you thinking you’d won, huh? Not on my watch. I deal in happy endings. And I’m outta here – ‘cos this place is such dump these days. See you on Olympus," she adds brightly, wiggling her fingers at Martyn and me.
And then she’s gone.
Completely gone, vanished in another shimmer of pink and silver sparkles. I blink the after images from my eyes, and stare at the empty space in total bewilderment. I don’t believe what I’ve just seen, and yet I do believe – believe with disconcerted wonder and an odd sense of euphoria. The gods exist!
I feel dizzy, and light headed. All those long months of humoring our hero whenever he came out with one of his outrageous tales; all those carefully constructed explanations and the scholarly extrapolation of a previously unknown Greek cult which used mask and shadow-plays to act out the ancient myths … I’ve been a fool. All that time, Iolaus knew – and he’s been humoring me.
"I looked for you everywhere." Hercules is speaking to the man still wrapped in his arms, his voice cracked with emotion and tears beginning to spill from his eyes. "I thought – I thought the dragon had swallowed you. I – I leapt for its back and it took off … We flew for miles. By the time I realised I was wrong, I was totally lost. I searched and I searched, but I couldn’t find where we’d been. I couldn’t find a single sign of you. I looked everywhere. I searched all of Hades’ kingdom. Elysium. Limbo. Even Tarterus. Nobody had seen you, not even a glimpse. I fought my way into Valhalla, I stormed the gates of Ghenna, I walked the shaman’s path into Tuenela – I even searched Morpheus’ realm. You just weren’t there."
He’s speaking of refuges for the soul, the dwelling places of the dead; places of myth, of magic and mystery. Real places. As real as the cold wind which is busy slicing the warmth from my limbs.
"I guess I – lost it a little after that. I started demolishing things. Monuments. Temples. Sacred groves. Anything and everything to get an answer – except that no-one could give me one. Not even the gods. In the end, Zeus turned up and – took me to see the Fates. They said – they said, your thread had dropped though the web and out of the tapestry altogether. That there was nothing they could do but let it run along the back until they could find a space to weave it back in again."
I quirk a hollow smile. The patterns of history which have led us to this place are rich and complex; while Iolaus lay lost and imprisoned in the glacial ice, mankind had been engaged in creating the sciences which would preserve and restore his life. All of that, all of history patterned for this one moment – or is it that this one moment has been the focal point that inspired that richer design? Maybe it’s neither. Maybe all the Fates could do was watch and wait until the time was right – and maybe guide Martyn’s eye that day so that he made the greatest discovery of his life. I don’t have an answer for those kind of questions; I’m not sure that I want one.
"Took a while, huh?" Iolaus’ voice is muffled, but it sounds as if he’s choking back a few tears of his own. My own eyes are moist and I hastily reach to wipe them dry; Martyn digs into his pocket and silently hands me a handkerchief.
"I – I lost hope," Hercules admits brokenly, burying his face in the tousle of his best friend’s curls. "I waited so long and – in the end I just gave up believing. I think – I think a piece of me died and I’ve just been going through the motions ever since. Can you forgive me?"
"Forgive you?" Iolaus pushes back so that he can gaze up at his friend with astonishment. "Herc! I thought – Hades, after all this time, you’d have every right to have forgotten about me altogether! I’m surprised you haven’t."
He earns himself a bemused look. "Iolaus," the son of Zeus says softly. "If a man loses one arm – you think he’d ever forget that he once had two?"
Iolaus looks a little sheepish. "No," he agrees. "I guess not." Then he glances up again, his eyes filled with sudden challenge. "Did you really give up hope?"
There is a long pause while they stare at each other, blue eyes locked with blue, their hearts speaking across the centuries between them. Eventually Hercules’ wary expression slowly curls into an indulgent smile. "No," he breathes, the word barely a whisper. "I guess not."
He’s rewarded with a soft giggle – and then another and another, the laughter bubbling out of Iolaus like Champagne uncorked from a bottle. This time it’s his turn to initiate the hug; he pulls the bigger man back into his arms in an unselfconscious expression of sheer joy. His friend returns the gesture with equal exuberance, embracing the man and everything he is with earnest affection. Thank you, he mouths, directing his gratitude upwards, acknowledging the powers which have directed and shaped his life and this moment.
Now I’m crying; I turn and bury my face in Martyn’s jacket, unable to hold back the tears which have sprung to my eyes. They are tears of joy and relief; they well out of my heart, and they mingle unashamedly with my smile. Iolaus’ laughter is infectious. Martyn is grinning fit to bust, and hugging me with a familiarity that would raise eyebrows in normal society. I don’t care. I’ve seen the face of the Goddess of Love – and I’ve seen two wounded hearts healed in a moment, because a moment was all it was ever going to take.
"Ms McCray?"
"Ellen," I correct, straightening up and recovering a little of my dignity. Hercules is standing there, one hand resting lightly on Iolaus’ shoulder as if he intends to hold onto him forever. The coldness in his eyes is gone, replaced by a warmth and kindness which melts the last of the doubts from my heart.
"Ellen," he echoes with a smile. "You told me you were in trouble. What kind of trouble, exactly?"
I take a deep breath. Time to admit my guilt – if guilt is the appropriate word for it. "I’m a thief, Captain Harker."
"Call me Hercules," he suggests, not at all put out by my confession. "And I should tell you – some of my dearest friends are thieves."
Iolaus smothers a snort of laughter. He’s recovered the Guardian’s helmet, which dangles easily from his left hand, but he demonstrates no intention of putting it back on again. "Some thing’s never change," he notes with a grin. "Uh – Herc?"
"Mmhuh?"
"She’s stealing me."
The look that crosses Hercules’ face is priceless. "She’s – what?"
"Stealing me. Hey – I happen to be a unique and valuable property. A genuine piece of history."
"You mean a genuine antique." The riposte holds more than a hint of tease. "Or should that be fossil?"
Iolaus rises to the bait with a bounce of indignation. "Just because I’m two years older than you are …"
"Boys," I snap, almost without thinking, then shiver – and not from the cold. The admonition feels far too familiar to be comfortable. It’s as if I’ve presided over precisely this sort of friendly bickering before. What’s worse is the way the two of them respond to it: instantly and with matching contrite looks. "Iolaus is right. We are stealing him – at least, that’s how the Enforcers will see it. The Institute consider him to be their property. Hercules – Martyn and I have given up everything because we believed this to be the right thing to do."
"The only thing to do," Martyn reinforces from behind me. "If they catch us – well, the best I can hope for is exile here. If I’m lucky. Guardianship if I’m not. But Ellen – they’ll want to make an example of her. Public trial and …" He trails off. I know what I’m risking, but he doesn’t want to say it.
"Execution," I complete for him, putting his worst fears into words. The arm that still sits protectively around my waist tightens a little.
"Over my dead body," my lover vows softly.
"And mine," Iolaus adds, equally quietly. Hercules glances from one man to the other and a small smile steals into his eyes.
"So - it’s unanimous," he says. "And now we’ve got that settled, I think we ought to go."
"Nobody’s going nowhere, Harker." The words are a sneer of sound, delivered in confident tones. "Least of all you."
We turn – to find that we’ve acquired company. Ten, maybe twelve figures have sloped out of the side streets and alleyways, forming a loose circle around us. They’re menacing shapes in the cold light; men and women in heavy overcoats and armed with a variety of makeshift weapons. Metal pipes. Planks of wood studded with nails. And one Enforcer issue tasstick, which is humming softly to itself. Their leader is a hard eyed woman, who might have been thought attractive in a tough, tousled kind of way – if it were not for the angled scar across her face. Hercules’ eyes roll in resignation.
"Not now, Analine. I don’t have time for this."
"You’ll find time," the woman snaps. "Unless you want to hand over the lady – and this property she was talking about. Sounds like the Enforcers might pay handsomely for that. We could consider ourselves even. Provided you keep your off-worlder habits away from this place in future."
Martyn has been easing himself in front of me, his hand reaching for the hilt of his katana. I step back, my heart in my mouth and my blood running cold. This is the badlands. There are no Enforcers on patrol – and I couldn’t call on them, even if there were. These people mean business. It sounds almost as if they expect him to deal. Maybe Harker – the cold eyed Free Trader I met in Harry’s Place - might have done so. But Hercules isn’t that man anymore - and I know that the treasure they’re referring too is not something he would ever consider giving up.
"I don’t have off-worlder habits," he says softly. "I was born on Earth. You don’t tell me where I can and can’t go. And I don’t owe you a thing. So – uh – let’s just be sensible about this, shall we?"
Analine laughs. A brittle, humorless sound. "Sensible? You’re outnumbered four – no, five to one. The lady doesn’t strike me as the fighting type. And dressing like a Guardian hardly makes you one – so don’t think I’m counting shorty over there. ‘Cos I eat his kind for breakfast."
I see Iolaus’ eyes narrow. "What did she call me?" he asks, taking a small step forward. Hercules puts out his hand and holds him back.
"Let it go," he advises. "They’re not worth the effort."
"You think they think that?" Iolaus retorts. "Besides – I haven’t had a decent workout for – oh – a couple of millenia."
"That long, huh?"
"Longer."
Hercules eyes him thoughtfully, glancing up to assess the look on the pack leader’s face, then back again. The anxious frown which had been settling on his features relaxes into amiable amusement. "Oh – go on," he grins. "Knock yourself out."
No - I swallow my instinctive protest and make a grab for Martyn’s arm instead. I’ll let him fight if I have to – but only if I have to. There’s nothing I can do to hold Iolaus back. Released from his partner’s arm, he bounces forward a step, abstractedly tapping his helmet against his knee.
"You wannna get out of the way?" he asks Analine brightly. "We got a schedule to keep."
"Oh plu-ease," the woman snorts, rolling her eyes skywards. "Digger, Gronk – muzzle this puppy." Two of her followers start to step forward, and she steps back to give them room. "Oh – and strip him for me, will ya? If that’s a genuine stelsuit."
"Lady," Iolaus drawls – and it isn’t a compliment - "everything about me is genuine. Except – ah – I’m a little older than I look."
I’m expecting Hercules to step in beside him, but all he does is fold his arms and wait, watching events with a quiet smile.
"Aren’t you going to help him?" I hiss, eyeing the size of the two advancing brutes with alarm. The quiet smile becomes a knowing grin.
"Only if he gets into trouble."
This isn’t trouble? I blink at his response and nearly miss the start of the action. Actually, I nearly miss all of it; Iolaus moves so fast that neither opponent sees him coming. He hits the first one high, the second one low – both with a flick and spin of his helmet, which moves from one hand to the other and back again in a blur. As the second man doubles over, he’s poleaxed with an upward leaping kick. Iolaus twists in mid-air and lands back beside the first, who turns in time to be toppled by a combination of fist, elbow and a second blow from the helmet, which knocks him cold.
Barely a heartbeat later, Iolaus is once again standing in front of Analine, who’s staring at him in utter disbelief. He’s not even broken a sweat, and the grin on his face has a decidedly feral edge to it. "That the best you got?" he asks brightly. Her face goes a little white.
"A fifty chip for this skagrat’s head!" she exclaims with fury – and mayhem erupts; the rest of her prowling gang charge in with a screaming howl. I step back in alarm. Martyn draws his katana. Hercules unfolds his arms – and Iolaus leaps into combat with a whoop of delight.
He doesn’t bother with weapons; his hands and his feet are damaging enough. A woman thrusts at him with a humming tasstick; he sidesteps, twists round, sweeps out a foot – and she’s lunging past him, the tasstick discharging with a sharp crackle as it makes contact with the man racing in from the other side. He goes down with a gurgle. She swings round for another strike. Iolaus isn’t even there anymore. He’s slammed the helmet into an attacker’s stomach, then used the man’s doubled over gasp as a springboard, throwing himself over the man’s back and round to land on his feet a good distance away.
My mouth is open; my heart is in it, beating a tattoo of disquiet. I’m not scared – not after the those first few moments of alarm – but the action is almost too fast to follow and I know that one slip, one mis-step could mean disaster. Iolaus is a black blur in the middle of pandemonium, dancing through the flurry of bodies with relish, dispatching his opponents with panache. His war whoops echo above the startled grunts and protests of pain. I decide to worry when Hercules does; he’s still standing there, nodding approvingly, assaying the occasional grin and the even more occasional wince.
I spot the reason for one: a furious blow catches Iolaus off guard and sends him spinning. He recovers his balance, gives his head a quick shake to clear it – and then starts to leap back as someone aims a length of pipe straight at him. The stelsuit takes the brunt of the strike, the fabric absorbing and reflecting it so that it reverberates up the pipe and into the arms of its wielder. Iolaus - braced for the impact - looks decidedly startled; he glances down with a frown, and then comprehension dawns. He’d clearly forgotten that he’s armored – and how - because he bounces back into the fray wearing a gleeful grin.
One man stumbles a little too close to where we stand and watch. Hercules puts out a casual hand, grabs the back of his jacket and simply throws him away; an easy, nonchalant toss which sends him flying high over the rooftops. There’s a crunch and then a crash, somewhere behind Harry’s Place. A moment or two later the man staggers into view around the corner, where he makes close acquaintance with the hilt of Martyn’s sword – followed by an even closer acquaintance with the ground. He doesn’t get up again.
There’s one more whoop. Another duck, leap and spin – and Iolaus is the only one left standing. The ground around him is littered with groaning bodies, most of which are doing their best to crawl away; Analine drags the one nearest her back to his feet and he twists out of her grip and makes a run for it. She hesitates for a moment – and then she turns and takes to her heels, encouraged by the bounce that Iolaus has taken towards her. He lets her go with a laugh.
Hercules gives him a round of applause.
"I see you haven’t lost your touch," he says approvingly. "But you should have ducked when you dodged back there. You know – left shimmy, step back, twist – "
" – and duck," Iolaus concludes, working through the advice with a frown. "Oh yeah." He shrugs. "He still hit the other guy."
"Hard enough to see stars," Hercules grins. "Which is exactly what we’re going to do in a moment or two. Unless you want a little more exercise?"
"No, no." Iolaus has this happy little grin on his face; he looks up at his partner with affection. "Twelve is my limit before breakfast. This ship of yours does serve breakfast, doesn’t it?"
"All you can eat," comes the answer. "Well, all I can eat, anyway. I might have to revise the manifest if it’s going to take your appetite into account."
I smile at the exchange, turning to share my amusement with Martyn; he’s carefully sheathing his katana, a slightly dazed look on his face. "He was holding back," he murmurs, the note in his voice halfway between amazement and outrage. "All those times – sparring with him … I gave it my all - and he was holding back."
His pride is hurt. Well, I suppose even the best men have to have some faults – and if that’s the worst he owns, then I can’t really complain. I sigh, shake my head affectionately, pick up my skirts and start walking towards the landing field. I’m cold, I’ve traveled a long way to get here, and I want to leave.
There’s just one last little detail I’ve forgotten to clarify.
"Hercules?" I ask, as we reach the edge of the field and he pauses to point out the Argo’s cargo shuttle, parked in among a camouflage of broken down flitters and empty freight pods. "Where exactly are we going?"
He throws me a warm smile. He’s been walking with his hand resting casually on Iolaus’ shoulder – except that contact isn’t casual, and it speaks volumes. Martyn’s been grinning at the two of them, having realised, no doubt, that he now has two genuine Greek heroes to discuss his pet theories with. I’ve just got a weird feeling about all of this. As if the four of us have walked together like this before. As if – once, long ago – there’d been a time when we’d thought Iolaus lost, and the Fates had given him back to us.
Now, it seems, he has given us back to each other.
I haven’t abandoned my life; I’ve found it. This is where I belong, the threads of my future tangled in the lives of these three men. The stupidest thing I’ve ever done? No. It wasn’t stupid at all. It was meant.
"Home," Hercules announces with confidence.
Sounds good to me …
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