Heaven Must be Missing an Angel
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Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Iolaus berated himself over and over as he walked, his spirits sinking with each effort filled step. The light he carried inside him was never going to be enough. It was nothing, a single spark that warmed him for less than the moment it took to find it. His heart yearned for the brilliance he had left behind, for the Light that filled the Reverie; without it he was an empty vessel, a mere shadow of the creature he ought to be - and he knew it. Knew what he had given up, just as he knew what he had gained from the choice.
Only right now, the consequences of that choice yawned before him like an abyss, a pit into which he was sliding without hope or expectation of rescue.
Serves me right …
The look on his friend's face - the look of complete and utter disappointment - had been enough to tip him over the edge of his lurking depression and into its murky depths. It had been bad enough before - when the only thing that waited for him there was a sense of emptiness and comprehension of loss. That he could survive; it was the price of his exile, the coin he paid to atone for his disobedience and pride. But his current sense of self-inflicted misery had nothing to do with what he'd given up; it stemmed from how much he cherished what he'd been given back - and the terror that his own doubts and uncertainties might have damaged the one thing that meant more to him than either the bliss of the Reverie or the Glory which it served.
He had welcomed the Light into the depths of his heart.
But that heart - and the soul it nurtured - had always belonged to Hercules.
He's never going to forgive me.
Never trust me again.
Never…
The prospect hurt far more than the echoing void which currently divided him from the rest of the heavenly host. He'd lived a full life as a mortal man, one he'd managed to fill with warmth and laughter without any help from higher powers - and that life had been shaped by the man who now stalked angrily at his heels. If it would've made any difference to the situation, Iolaus would have willingly re-manifested his wings and ripped them both from his shoulders without a moments regret. He'd never asked to become a Guardian of the Light. All he'd ever wanted was to do was stand at his friend's side, helping him do - whatever it was he wanted to do. To watch his back, to defend his causes, to be his friend.
And maybe that was why he'd never found a way to tell him he was no longer what he seemed …
I wanted it to be the way it was, he considered miserably. All the time he didn't know, I could pretend it didn't matter.
It did matter.
It had mattered right from the start, right from the moment Michael had handed him his sword and told him what he'd become.
His Guardian Angel …
It was a joke. A stupid, nonsensical, desperate joke.
On both of them.
Why didn't I tell him?
Why didn't I sit him down and make him listen? What was I waiting for?
He glanced back as he asked himself the question. They'd reached the main road by then, and Hercules was busy chatting with the children, calming their fears with that special smile he reserved for the innocent and the vulnerable. He'd already charmed them into giving up their names; Cystus and Elentra. Now he was working on trying to find out whose children they might be, and where their parents might be found. So far the answers had been pretty vague, but Iolaus had no doubt that his friend would figure it all out by the time they reached the city walls.
Usually, he'd be in there helping, but the one tentative offer he'd made had been rebuffed with a scowl of suspicion, which was probably just as well. The mood he was in, he'd most likely have reduced both kids to tears by now.
He wasn't that far off them himself.
There was a hollowness in his stomach, a guilty weight in his heart, an emptiness only eternity could fill sitting in his soul - and he hurt; hurt inside and out, bruised all over his body, and battered into total wretchedness by his own conscience.
There were excuses he could raise in his defense; he subjected each one to pointed inspection, rejecting the obvious with disdain and the rest with impatience. 'Michael told me not to tell anyone,' was a pretty good place to start. Michael was a creature of heavenly compassion, a vessel of infinite mercy - and all he'd been doing was offering good advice, not issuing orders.
'Unless you have no choice …'
Well, that was the trick of it, wasn't it? There shouldn't have been any choice where Hercules was concerned, and the fact that he'd made one was one of the reasons he was now busy tearing up his soul and hanging it out to dry.
I wasn't sure how he'd react …
That was a more honest answer, and one he could examine from several angles. The way his friend had reacted might suggest that keeping it a secret had actually been a good idea - but Iolaus was only too aware that, while Hercules might be a little confused and somewhat scared by his discovery, his predominant emotion was currently one of disbelieving fury. Put bluntly, the man was steamed. The hunter didn't blame him, either.
I gotta remember, he grimaced to himself, dropping back to let the man walk ahead of him on the grassed edge of the dirt packed road, that he practically went to hell and back for me.
Because of me …
Perhaps part of his reluctance - his desire to keep things just the way they should be - had been because he'd seen the way those experiences had affected his friend. The Hercules he'd known - the one in whose arms he'd died and for whom he'd gladly do so again - had been a gentle, trusting soul. The Hercules he'd come back to had developed a suspicious edge, a slightly brittle shell which guarded his heart with a layer of defensive cynicism. He'd been working hard these past few weeks, to get under that defense, hoping, somehow, to be able to heal the bruises that he knew still lurked beneath it.
Face it, Iolaus, he sighed, watching his best friend's back and knowing that the rigid set of those broad shoulders was because of him. You blew it.
And you'll be lucky if he lets you stay around long enough to apologise properly …
He sighed a second time, wondering if he was going to spend the rest of his exile on earth saying sorry. Maybe, if he said it enough times, Hercules might actually believe him. Maybe.
Oh, gods …
Misery swirled though his thoughts and settled over his heart like a blanket of bitter ashes. Those few other times he'd faced this sense of emptiness - moments when the comprehension of his exile had sneaked up and knocked him down almost without warning - he'd been able to work though it with determined stubbornness. He knew where it came from, he knew why it came - and he had endured it the way he might have endured any other wound; knowing it would heal with time. Knowing that the pain would go away. Knowing that his best friend was sitting on the other side of the fire, respecting his sudden silence, and offering unspoken support.
Wondering, perhaps, what was on my mind.
Hercules had never questioned those moments. Perhaps he'd been afraid of the answers he might get.
Iolaus shivered, raking that possibility across his soul and feeling the lacerations it left behind. Without that support - unspoken and uncomprehending as it had been - he felt as if he were drowning. He was floundering in a cold sea of grief and the man he thought of as his lifeline was too angry with him to even notice.
The emptiness would pass - in time. He clung to that thought with desperation, using it to anchor himself before he was swept away completely. As for the rest of it? The rest of it lay in other hands, in the need to be forgiven when he couldn't yet forgive himself.
He doubted that he ever would …
"Hold it right there!"
Iolaus looked up in surprise as the voice boomed out with resolute authority. He'd been so immersed in his thoughts that he hadn't realised how close they'd come to reaching the city. Agori lay sprawled along the curve of an ancient bay; a huddle of cottages, docks and fishing boats marked one end of its industry, while the jutting spires of a castle dominated the other. The castle looked down on both the harbour and the wilder ocean, lifted above them both by the jutting promontory on which it had been built. The sea road had led to the lower end of the settlement, where the wall which spilled down the hill, protecting the more prosperous houses higher up the hillside, petered out to a low barrier which did little more than mark the city limits.
There was a gate, one standing wide open and looking as if it had been a long time since it had last been shut. There was also a swirl of the usual activity at such places, outlying farmers arriving with goods and merchant travelers queuing for permits to enter and trade. Nothing unexpected about any of that. The surprise was the cadre of guards, armed to the teeth, who were currently advancing on the son of Zeus, looking as if they meant serious business. Iolaus' heart - already in his boots - sank a little further. There'd been a piece of him hoping that, by the time they'd reached the city and found safe shelter for the children, they might find the opportunity to start what he knew was going to be a very difficult dialogue.
The sight of armed men instantly dashed that hope. It looked like they'd walked straight into trouble - again.
Now what?
He frowned irritatedly at the men as they spread out to surround the new arrivals. Hercules carefully lowered both children to the ground, pushing both of them back half a step so that he was between them and potential trouble. Elentra made a grab for Iolaus' hand and he squeezed her fingers in brief reassurance before taking his own small step forward to join the defensive line. The glance of acknowledgement that he got from his friend was a troubled one. Some of the anger had gone from those steel blue eyes, although the suspicion which had replaced it was no less wounding. Knowing that his partner no longer trusted him hurt far more than any sharp words or irate silences might ever do.
"That's far enough." The speaker was obviously the man in charge; he wore a scarlet sash across the breastplate of his well polished armour, and he strode forward with determined authority. "By the order of the royal council of Agiori, you are hereby placed under arrest, pending the judgement of the King."
"Under arrest?" Hercules echoed, staring at the man with puzzlement. "Whatever for?"
The captain - or whatever fancy rank he claimed - fixed the son of Zeus with a stern frown. It didn't quite say 'don't play dumb with me', but it came pretty close. "For the unlawful abduction of the heir to the throne, of course. Surrender the prince and princess now and nobody need get hurt."
This just isn't my day …
Hercules rested his forearms on the chill of iron bars, dropped his forehead to their pitted support and heaved a sigh straight from the heart. There'd been no point in trying to resist the arrest - not when the guard were merely carrying out their duty and their concern for the children had been both obvious and genuine. But his attempt at explanation had fallen on deaf ears, and he was now locked in a narrow cage which was barely big enough to allow him to pace. It was one of a number of such cages, each of which backed onto the roughly hewn stone which supported the castle's outer wall. The jail - such as it was - was the last in a long line of crudely cut half cellars on the inside line of the wall's foundations. A quick glance in passing had suggested that the rest were mostly used for storage and the prison itself had been completely empty, despite offering separate accommodation for well over twenty prisoners. The line of iron barred cages ran right down the length of the space, the walls of which had been crudely plastered to help cement them in. Someone had carted up a load of pebbles from the beach and used them to bulk out the plaster; the result was an odd mixture of dank jail and semi-sea grotto.
He'd been pushed into one cell, his partner into the next, and then all but two of the guard had left, their captain responding to a request to speak to the King with a parting comment of 'all in good time'. The men he'd left behind had taken up post at the sunlit end of the long and narrow cavern, too far away to engage in sensible conversation, yet close enough to overhear everything should their prisoners decided to hold one.
Somewhere to his left, he heard Iolaus breath a sigh of his own, a quiet echo to the sentiment he'd just expressed. The sound lifted a brief flicker of irritation to the half-god's features; it was bad enough the man was sulking. Couldn't he at least sulk quietly?
The jail, of course, was hardly going to hold them if and when Hercules decided he wanted to leave - but right at that moment he had nowhere else to go. He had every hope that he'd be able to explain everything to the King when he got to see him, and he had no wish to prejudice his case by laying out every guard between the jail and the throne room in order to be able to do so. With luck Cystus and his sister were telling their version of the tale right now, which would more than repudiate their rescuers.
Besides - after all that business with the elemental, he ached, and the chance to catch a moments rest was a welcome one - even if it meant he was back to keeping company with his thoughts, which were currently both troubled and confused. He ought to be worrying about who had kidnapped the royal children, and what exactly was going on in Agiori to warrant such an action in the first place - but his mind kept skittering back to that moment on the beach, and the revelation he didn't really want to face. Most of his initial anger had dissipated during the long walk to the city, although he'd clung to the remnants of it, finding his sense of annoyance and disappointment a lot easier to deal with than the issues which lurked below that initial reaction. He could cope - just - with the perception that his so-called best friend had patently failed to reveal a secret with which he could - and should - have been trusted, right from the start. What he couldn't cope with - not yet - was the nature of that secret.
The gods, he understood. They were family - he knew their powers, their attributes, their attitudes, their flaws and their limitations. His own godlike gifts had sprung from the same source, and he'd spent his entire life mastering that side of his nature. Had spent, in fact, a lifetime learning how to be human in preference to the temptations of the divine. Iolaus had always served an important part in those lessons; his unquestionable courage in the face of his own mortality had been a constant inspiration.
Hercules sighed a second time, twisting round so that his back rested against the bars and throwing a sideways glance at the occupant of the next cell. Iolaus was definitely sulking. He was perched on the edge of the narrow rock shelf which ran the full length of the rough cut cellar, his legs stretched out, his arms folded and his head down, staring at his boots. He hadn't said a word since he'd told himself to shut up, back on the beach.
What are you? Hercules wondered with a frown, not really wanting an answer to the question. His mind skittered over the image of a sweep of golden wings, the figure between them rimmed with light, and just as quickly skittered away again. He didn't want to go there anymore than he wanted to admit that his friend's continued silence was both uncharacteristic and cause for concern. It was easier to be mad at Iolaus - the man - than consider what the creature he'd become might be thinking about. He saved your life back there, a little voice of reason reminded him, adding a vague skein of guilt to the turbulent emotions that churned inside the demigod. He felt as if someone had tugged his entire world out from under his feet. Not the way fate had done, a good two years before, when he'd cradled his best friend in his arms and watched the light leave his eyes. That had been like being tipped straight into the abyss. This was - this was more like being washed ashore in a strange country, not knowing who to trust, or what the customs might be. A place where everything you thought was familiar was turning out to be utterly strange …
What would Mabon tell me to do?
It had been a while since he'd thought of the boy druid and his quiet, confident wisdom. He'd learnt a lot during his stay in Eire, although that part of his life was written with a deep and painful pen. The image of the young man's face came to him now, telling him to listen to his heart, to look beneath the surface and see what was really there.
And Hercules had to admit - if only to himself - that it wasn't really anger he was feeling.
It was fear.
A light had come back into his life with the hunter's return - a light he cherished, a presence that had given back a piece of himself he had thought lost forever. But he'd known all the rules back then. Known the man was mortal, known the limits of his life and the extent of his skills. Known there was a difference between them - and how to measure it, how to understand how little that difference really meant.
What he'd seen today didn't just change the rules.
It demanded a whole new rulebook.
Was that why he didn't tell me?
That was what was galling him the most. The thought that his friend hadn't felt able to trust him. But then - if he was honest about it - had he really wanted to know? Would he have been able to deal with this any better had he known right from the start?
He reached to scrub a hand across his eyes, rubbing away the last lingering remnants of sand, and sighed a third time.
Nothing that matters has changed …
Hadn't he been thinking that very thing
that morning? Just how right everything felt? Was that all based on
a lie? What did this all mean - to him, to their partnership - even
to the man himself?
He didn't know. He didn't know how to know - and the frustration that
lay in that balled up his fist and slammed it back against the bars which
supported him, making them ring with protest. Iolaus jumped, and the men on
guard both swung round in instant alarm.
"Stop that, " one of them called. "Or we'll have to come down there and stop it for you."
"Oh, that I'd like to see," the hunter muttered, half under his breath. Hercules shot him an irritated look - if only because the reaction was so Iolaus that it added yet another layer of confusion to his chaotic state of mind.
Oh, great, he noted, rolling his eyes and heaving his shoulders with misplaced energy. Get mad at him because he's not what you think - and then get madder still because he is…
He wasn't really angry with his friend - not much anyway. He was just angry at a world that could give him what he wanted most - and then turn out to have wrapped the gift in terms and conditions that he just didn't understand.
"I'm sure there's no need for that, Jianus." The admonition was soft, yet delivered with unmistakable authority. The son of Zeus turned, seeking the owner of the voice. The new arrival was silhouetted against the brightness of daylight at the cavern's entrance; a tall and imposing man moved out of the light, down the short flight of steps, and into the cell lined passageway, a heavy embroidered robe sweeping out around his feet as he did so.
"Company," Hercules warned, as much from habit as anything else. Iolaus sighed and clambered to his feet, staring past his partner's bulk at the now approaching figure. The man wasn't just tall - he carried himself with unquestionable dignity, a stern patrician figure from head to toe.
King Cephren?
He had the air of a king - but he wasn't wearing a crown, and his stern countenance was somewhat marred by the dark eye patch which covered his left eye. He reached a point level with Hercules' cell and came to halt, looking its occupant up and down with thoughtful consideration. "You must be - Hercules," he concluded. "I'm sorry for the way you've been treated - please, believe me, had we known who you were …"
"It's - not a problem," Hercules allowed, eyeing him warily. "But I've had better receptions, I must admit."
"Let me make amends," the man offered, nodding to the nearest guard, who started fumbling with his keys. "I am Brennus. Councillor to King Cephren, tutor to his grandchildren, and first minister of Agiori. The King sends his most deepest apologies - and his most heartfelt thanks for what you have done." The guard had finished fumbling; the cell door swung open and Hercules stepped out, throwing the man a smile of thanks as he did so.
"You're welcome," he said, relieved, for once, that his reputation had proceeded him. "Anytime."
Brennus smiled a little sadly. "I wouldn't make such an offer if I were you. Agiori is troubled by forces that - even a son of Zeus might have difficulty countering. If you are as wise as you are brave, you will leave town as soon as you can."
"Forces?" Hercules frowned - both at the man's words, and the way that the guard was struggling to unlock his companion's cell. The key had gone into the lock, but didn't seem to want to turn. Iolaus was looking a little perturbed by the problem.
"Nature itself has turned against us," Brennus sighed, taking Hercules' arm and starting to lead him towards the daylight. "Boats have sunk in clear calm waters. Grown men have drowned barely a reach from shore, dragged under by uncharted currents. The beaches have become treacherous - and the very ground on which we walk can no longer be trusted. The people go in fear of their lives. They say the gods have cursed us." He shrugged, a little philosophically. "Who can say?"
"Who indeed." The frown had become a concerned one. Hercules was thinking of the lumbering elemental and the kind of damage something like that could do. It hadn't felt like a creation of Olympian power, but that didn't mean it hadn't been …
A terrific clang and a terrified cry turned his head. The guard was backing up the passageway, staring horrifiedly at the cell he'd just been trying to open. Iolaus, who had been standing right by the door, had leapt to the middle of the small space and was whirling around, glancing this way and that as if he were expecting to be attacked any second. His reaction didn't make any sense for a moment - and then a series of sharp cracks and another clang reverberated around the cavern, and Hercules was running back, throwing the wide eyed guard a stern command as he passed.
"Get Lord Brennus out. Now," he added, skidding to a halt by the still locked cage and staring into it with a wary frown. Iolaus was poised at its centre, his back towards the door, up on the balls of his feet and balanced to move in any direction. His eyes were flicking along the length of the plastered wall and back again - which wasn't so surprising when you realised that a piece of it had just thrown itself straight at him without any kind of warning.
Okay, Hercules found himself thinking, his own eyes tracking a similar pattern. Now what?
Staccato protests suddenly rippled along the wall to their right, and the hunter threw himself round and back, desperately trying to dodge the hail of fist sized pebbles that careened out of their plaster prison and hurtled straight at him. Some of them missed. Most of the rest slammed into tender flesh, staggering their target hard up against the cage which contained him. Another wave followed, then another. Within seconds, the beleaguered warrior was being bombarded by a furious barrage, the stones flying in from practically all directions. He threw his arms over his head and hunkered down, helpless to escape the relentless impacts; they hammered into him with lightning speed.
Gods!
Hercules had actually taken a step back, mostly to avoid the showers of chipped flint that sprayed out as stray pebbles slammed against the outer bars of the cage. He'd been hesitant to act, half expecting to witness a demonstration of that 'stuff' which Iolaus had mentioned back on the beach. But his surface emotions collided with much deeper feelings; the sight of his best friend being - to all intents and purposes - stoned to death, galvanised him into agitated action. He strode forward, wrapping his hands around the bars of the door and, in a single teeth gritted tug, pulled the entire thing off its hinges. The lock snapped, the iron twisted in his grip, and he heaved the weight of it aside, tossing it away down the passage as if it were made of no more than bamboo and papyrus.
"Come on," he called, stepping forward and thrusting his hand into the path of the savage hailstorm. "Outta here."
Stones shattered against his gauntlet. Others slammed into his arm and shoulder. He held his ground, waiting until he felt warm fingers curl into his own - and then he was tugging the man they belonged to up, lifting him out of the fury of the storm.
A storm of stone which swirled and shifted and refocused its attack. Hercules cursed, pushing a decidedly dazed Iolaus ahead of him down the passage way. "Run."
The hunter stumbled forward under the force of the shove, recovered his balance, did a remarkably balletic half turn, reached out, grabbed hold of his partner's arm and pulled him out of the bruising whirlwind of pebbles as it swirled though the now open cage door. They ran together down up the passageway, vaulted the steps two at a time, and - between them - hastily slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind them. Stone hammered into the wood with savage impact for a moment or two - and then everything fell silent again, as if nothing untoward had happened.
The son of Zeus let out a long slow breath, leaning both his hand and his entire weight against the solid wood. Beside him, Iolaus turned and rested his shoulders against the same support, tipping his head back and gasping a little for breath. After a moment, he let his head roll sideways so that he could study his partner with wary eyes. "Thanks," he offered, backing the gratitude with a smile that tried to be thankful, hopeful and not a little pained all at the same time.
Hercules lifted his head, half intending to snap some comment or other akin to 'like you really needed the help …' and caught back the unspoken words, staring at his companion in astonishment.
The wary smile slowly dropped into equally wary bemusement. "What?" its owner questioned, glancing down at himself and clearly seeing nothing particularly untoward. His body - already bruised from the antics on the beach - was, in places, turning almost as purple as his jerkin. But it wasn't that that Hercules was staring at.
There was blood - a not so gentle trickle of scarlet - oozing its way down the side of his face.
He's hurt …
Bruises didn't count. He was bruised, and he knew that meant nothing, nothing at all. They'd be practically gone by the next day, healed as quickly as they'd been earned. One of the benefits of being gifted with a divine heritage. As for Iolaus - well, bruises were so much a part of his lifestyle that his partner had been assuming that they were simply part of his mortal disguise.
"What?" Iolaus demanded, clearly unnerved by the consideration he was receiving. Hercules put out his hand and gently brushed the seeping wound with the back of his fingers. The hunter winced at the contact, reacting with convincing evidence of pain. "Ow," he protested putting his own hand up to the damage and wincing a second time. "Do you mind?"
Hercules stared warily at the taint which now painted his fingers, feeling the stickiness of fresh blood. He lifted his hand warily to his nose, his nostrils flaring a little as they reacted to the unmistakable scent. Definitely blood …
"You're bleeding," he said, as much an accusation as it was a statement. Iolaus, frowning at the evidence on his fingers, threw him an irritated look.
"Yeah," he retorted, in an 'I thought that was obvious' tone - then froze, a look of comprehension flitting across his features. "Oh - yeah." His second use of the word held wary apology. "I do that."
"Yeah?" Hercules was busy opening that new rule book and writing in it with a cautious mental pen.
Rule one. Whatever he is, he's not invulnerable …
"Yeah," the hunter affirmed, a little defensively. His eyes were troubled - and not because he'd just escaped being battered to a pulp by some, as yet, unknown enemy. Stuff like that was a given - it went with the territory - and while not knowing the reasons for it might be disturbing, the experience itself was unlikely to phase a man who'd survived the kind of things Iolaus had over the years.
Except that he didn't survive one particular experience two years ago. And I just found out he's not exactly a man anymore …
Which was the reason behind the turbulence in those brilliant blue eyes - and, for now, the reason why the son of Zeus simply nodded non-committally and turned away. Iolaus needed - wanted - to talk things out. And Hercules wasn't ready to do that just yet. The anger at his friend's apparent betrayal was still too raw - and, much as he hated to admit it, the sight of that trickle of blood had shaken him to the core.
"It's outrageous," Brennus was saying, pushing his way through the small gathering of guards, castle workers, and other passers by who'd come to see what all the ruckus was about. "You see? Not even the son of Zeus is safe! Hercules - " he said, extending his hand in a regal gesture, "please don't take this personally. The city has been plagued with similar incidents for weeks. You - and your friend - were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"You think so?" Hercules glanced around the impromptu gathering, frowning a little at what he saw. Men - and women - teetering on the edge of panic and fear. The murmuring in the crowd had a wild note to it, some voices demanding something be done, others just questioning what they'd done to deserve such attention. "Lord Brennus," he said, turning back to the man with thoughtful determination. "I came to Agiori because I'd heard there was some kind of trouble going on here. I want to help - and I will. Anyway I can."
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'Heaven Must be Missing an Angel'- Chapter Four. Disclaimer:This
story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to
violate any copyrights held by Universal, Pacific Rennaisance, or any other
holders of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys trademarks or copyrights.
© 2001. Written by Pythia. Reproduced by Penelope Hill