Heaven Must be Missing an Angel Part Six Pythia

The castle was a maze of stone steps and passageways. Iolaus - who'd been known to track his way through woods so thick they'd swallowed travelers for years - had already got lost at least three times. The floors and stairways were confusing - not least because nothing was level with anything else. He could have sworn the healer's hall had been up a flight of steps, along a corridor, down a spiral turn, back under an arch and then halfway along a sloping hallway. But so far he'd raced down four staircases, gone up three more, stumbled into a practically deserted kitchen, out onto an external gallery overlooking the sea, back through a series of cross junctions and arching passages, and twice found himself back at the healer's doorway without being certain how he'd got there.

"Someone is moving this cursed castle around," he declared, skidding to halt in the middle of a T-junction and waving his hands in utter frustration. "I swear they are."

There didn't seem to be anyone about to ask, so he glanced around, trying to determine his options. The passage to his left turned into a flight of stairs up. The one to his right became stairs that led down. Neither were right, because what he wanted to do was head straight on, and stay at this level. He knew the throne room was on the other side of the main courtyard, and he was pretty positive that that was more or less behind the wall he was currently facing. "Up - or down," he muttered, glancing left and right in a mixture of indecision and mounting agitation. He wasn't sure just when his sense of suspicious concern had become distraught certainty, but every instinct he possessed was busy insisting that he had to find those children and he had to find them now.

Before they were lost forever.

So what would Hercules do?

The hunter immediately rolled his eyes, annoyed at himself for even asking the question. If Hercules were in this situation he wouldn't bother trying to find the relevant door - he'd make one. One good strong push would probably be sufficient to persuade the wall that the son of a god was coming through. Which was a perfect solution if you happened to be the son of a god. Which Iolaus almost undoubtedly wasn't.

He heaved an irritated sigh and turned to his left. Going up was probably better than heading below ground level. At least that way there'd be a chance of finding a balcony overlooking where he needed to be. If push came to shove he could always fly down …

He took off at a run, that burning sense of urgency adding impetus to his speed. The flight of stairs headed up, leveled out, turned left in long arc, went down half a flight, up another one and a half, spilled him into a long passage whose windows overlooked the ocean - and was filled with the scent of the sea - and that ended in a spiral staircase heading back down.

He clattered down the steps two at a time, launched himself along the passageway it spilled him into - and ended up right back at the T-junction where he'd started from.

He swore. Loudly. And in a language that no mortal voice had ever heard, let alone learned to speak. The sound of his exclamation sent a shiver rippling through the fabric of the world that surrounded him. The nearest of the ornamental tapestries sagged on its hanger and started to unravel, spilling its thread onto the stone floor, and a jagged crack began to work its way up the length of the huge decorative jar which was standing at the corner of the junction.

Titans in Tarterus, Iolaus cursed, ignoring both the whisper of descending thread and the crackle of protesting earthenware. Someone really was moving the castle around. Either that, or he'd taken more hurt from that knock on the head than he'd thought. He put both hands to the wall and tipped his head forward, resting his forehead against the coolness of the stone, and heaved a heavy sigh. He seemed to be just going round and round in circles; his body was protesting the effort, the space between his shoulder blades itched like crazy and all this racing up and down was making him dizzy.

Somewhere behind him the jar shattered completely, collapsing in a protest of dust and terracotta shards. The sound made him jump, and he spun round, pressing his back to the wall and getting ready to defend himself. There was nobody in sight - but the polished floor was now covered in tangled thread and broken pottery.

Oops …

He glanced around a little guiltily, hoping no-one had been on hand to witness that mistake. The echo of the word he'd used still resonated softly in the surrounding air, so he knew he'd been the one responsible for the breakages; he was going to have to remember not to express himself so carelessly. Especially not using words which could define - and so effect - the very fabric of the material realm. For one thing his grasp of the language of creation was still at the beginner's stage; pronounce something wrong and he could do a lot of unintentional damage. For another, using the word had also used energy. His energy. No wonder he was feeling dizzy.

That was his first realisation. The one that followed was rather more of the 'gods, Iolaus, you are an idiot' variety, and he rolled his eyes in brief self-mortification.

Gotta stop thinking inside the box …

It wasn't his shoulder blades, but his wings that were itching - in just the same way they'd done back on the beach. For exactly the same reason. Someone else in the castle was using power; someone who either didn't want him reaching his intended destination - or just liked playing games with uninvited guests. Either way, it was about time he stopped letting himself get pushed around.
He might never have been the son of a god - but these days he was an angel

One of the Aeon - a Guardian in the ninth order, no less.

With a few new hunter's tricks up his proverbial sleeve.

He turned away from the debris strewn corridor and returned his attention to the wall in front of him. It was a wall like any of the others he'd been running past - built from the same soft gray granite as the rest of the castle, each of the blocks being at least two hand spans wide and one high and mortared in with flint and limestone. It looked pretty solid.

Well, that's way out of my league, the hunter decided, putting out his hand to brush the stone and shaking his head with chagrin. His 'unusual edge' hardly extended to walking straight though walls. Even lighting a fire gave him a headache. Maybe after a little practice with the easier things …

He sighed, abstractedly lifting a hand to massage the back of his neck. There was a definite crick in there somewhere; he rolled his head to help work it out, and the movement tilted his eyes upwards. He froze, holding the pose as he took in what lay above him. The wall had a line of windows in it - high up, just under the curve of stone where it became an arched ceiling. Iolaus broke into a broad grin.

Well, he acknowledged wryly, realising he should have done that in the first place, they don't come much easier than that.

It wasn't an impossible distance, even for a mortal man to reach. Xena might have assayed that height with a running leap and a well timed grab for the carved ornamentation. Autolycus would undoubtedly have snagged it with his grappling hook and pulled himself up with a flourish. In his earlier life, the hunter might have tried a number of things to attain the required height. But grand gestures aren't necessary for a creature for whom gravity can become merely a courtesy, rather than an immutable law. He took a small step back, had a quick look round just in case a palace servant had come wandering by, took a deep breath, focused on his goal, flexed his knees - and sprang lightly into the air.

Barely a moment later he was hooking one arm around the curve of the inner window frame and swinging his legs up and through the gap, completing the arc of his upward vault with an elegant aerial rotation that took him over, through and down in one smooth motion.

Mark one up to the angel, he grinned, twisting round as he dropped, so that he could see where he was going. The window opened out - not onto the main courtyard as he'd expected, but somewhere overlooking the castle stables. Some thirty feet above them, in fact; he looked down, realised how high up he was, and - because that briefly broke his concentration - his featherweight descent immediately turned into a hasty plummet.

"Whoaaaa…"

He flailed for control, remembered - barely in time - not to open his wings in case someone saw him do it, and managed to land, feet first, on top of a nearby pile of straw. Stalks scattered everywhere as he tumbled down the heap, rolling over and over until he came to a halt, breathless and gasping, on the worn cobbled surface of the yard.

"Hokay," he gulped, taking a moment to watch the world spin back into focus. "That, I gotta practice …"

Hercules had long since left Jianus far behind. He raced up the road, eating the distance with long and hurried strides, his eyes fixed on the looming structure of the castle which seemed an interminable distance away. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard - but if the young man was right, then he had very little time left to prevent the King from agreeing to a misguided and totally abominable act.

His own grandchildren …

It hadn't helped to realise that he'd been the one to bring them back. Or that Lord Brennus' helpful suggestion that he be shown the afflicted sites in the city had been designed to ensure that he was kept well away from both King and council while decisions were being made. He should have been paying closer attention to what was going on. At the very least he should have insisted on speaking to King Cephren before heading out into the city.

I have to put a stop to this nonsense.

If the Lord of Oceans had been behind all the fun and games, Hercules would still be racing to prevent the deed, but, whatever, or whoever, it was who'd cursed Agiori, it was not Poseidon - and reviving a long since abandoned custom merely to curry the sea god's favour was hardly likely to bring the problem to an end.

Desperate people, he reminded himself grimly, leaping up the castle steps two at a time, do desperate things.

A couple of guards stepped in to bar his way. He had no time to explain and even less to argue; he simply barged through, sending them flying. He'd apologise later. When you were trying to prevent the murder of innocents, a few bruised bystanders were a small price to pay.

He ran through the main gate, hurtled across the outer enclosure and skidded to a halt under the archway which led to the central courtyard. Three more guards and several castle retainers were gathered there, creating a momentary barrier to his headlong dash. "The King," he demanded, grabbing the nearest servant and spinning him round. "Where is he?"

"Ah - in the Throne room," the man replied with some bemusement. "But you can't - get in there … " His protest was made to a rapidly vanishing back. Hercules jinked through the crowd and headed towards the steps into the inner keep, a part of him wishing he still possessed some of the supernatural speed he had learned to use in Eire.

He'd put one foot on the lowest step before he realised what was wrong with the
scene he'd just gatecrashed. There were people gathered at the edges of the courtyard, but none of them were anywhere near the entrance to the keep. Not even the palace guards, who appeared to have withdrawn to the edges along with everyone else. The doors they should have been guarding stood open in front of him, tilted slightly off their hinges as if they'd been thrown back with great force. Through the opening he could see a high vaulted atrium and the ornate door at the end of it - which probably led into the Throne room beyond.

The atrium boasted a pair of decorative fountains, one depicting some kind of battle at sea, the other having an equally martial theme, complete with rearing horses on either side. There should have been a dominant figure on the central podium, a stone warrior wielding a metal sword - except that the carving now stood in the centre of the atrium, weapon poised to defend against any challenger. Around its feet there crawled a pair of glistening, translucent serpents.

Creatures constructed entirely out of water.

Uh-oh …

When the retainer had said 'you can't get in there', he hadn't realised that the man had meant it literally.

Hercules frowned, sizing up the potential opposition with an experienced eye. The statue was over nine feet tall and cut from solid marble. That was going to be tough. The serpents were less easy to assess; they shifted shape and size as they undulated across the checkered floor. Living statues he could cope with, but the elementals were an unknown quantity. His frown deepened and he abstractedly ran his hand over his still aching ribs; after his experience on the beach, he knew better than to underestimate the potential threat they represented.

Okay, he began to consider, glancing around the courtyard for something that might serve as a weapon. So how do I …?

An unmistakable sound jerked his head back towards the atrium. A muffled cry of protest and terror. The cry of a desperate and confused child. There was no time left to consider strategy; he ran up the steps and into the hallway without a second thought.

Blank eyes immediately swiveled in his direction. The undulating serpents slithered to a halt and reared up, their mouths opening in a silent hiss.

"Uh - hi," Hercules assayed, always ready to try diplomacy, even if it was unlikely to succeed. "I'm - here to see the King. You mind just stepping aside for a moment?"

A serpentine shape launched itself forward with lighting speed, its blunt snout extended like a battering ram; Hercules dodged to one side, spinning -first one way, and then the other - as the creature's twin hurtled in from the other side. "Didn't think so," he muttered, stepping back a little and being acutely conscious that he'd just let himself get surrounded. A bronze sword slashed down from behind him; he jinked to avoid the blow, grabbed the stone arm wielding the weapon and tugged forward with measured strength.

Nothing happened.

Gods!

The arm swept sideways, pushing him with it. He was thrown up against the bowl of the nearest fountain, and tumbled in, landing in a disorientated heap in the bottom of the basin. The fountain was bone dry.

"Whoa," he breathed, hastily scrambling to his feet and turning to face the statue as it strode in his direction. "You're tougher than I thought."

The sword crashed down, shattering the rim of the basin. Hercules dived sideways to avoid it, lifting himself into a tuck and roll that carried him over the stonework and let him bounce back to his feet on the atrium's tiled floor. The statue swiveled round to track where he'd gone, its sword arm lifting jerkily as it tugged the blade from the damaged fountain. Its movements were slow and studied, even more ponderous than those of the elemental on the beach, but the son of Zeus wasn't fooled for a moment. You didn't need speed when you were an unstoppable juggernaut. Just persistence.

Something cold and wet darted past his shoulder, showering him with droplets of water. He dodged back in the opposite direction, relieved that the creature had missed, and then realised that it hadn't. The two serpents had twined into one, becoming a miniature hydra. The right sided head had feinted past him and he'd stepped back right where it wanted him; in between its undulating necks and within reach of its tail.

Oh-oh …

He reached out hastily, trying to intercept the nearest head as it writhed past him. His fingers closed on a damp and insubtantial skin - and then passed right through, his hand sinking into bitterly cold depths.

"Ah - " he registered, finding himself staring into liquid eye sockets and a mouth full of vicious looking icicles. "Bad idea."

He ducked as the head darted forward in a strike, trying to pull his arm free as he did so. The effort was commendable, but the water tugged back, spinning him round and pulling him in as far as his shoulder. He struggled harder, still desperate to avoid the clash of icy teeth that was snapping at his head. The creature's tail had wrapped itself around his ankles and was now oozing upwards, engulfing his legs - and its other head was winding in, pulling a tight loop of itself around his torso. Within seconds he'd gone from fighting his way through to fighting for his life.

"Hadn't exactly planned - " he gasped, finally dragging his hand free and delivering an open handed smack to the snapping head, "on going swimming today …"

The head distorted under the impact, going completely out of shape with a satisfying gloop. The satisfaction lasted less than a second. He was in trouble here. His body was half immersed in the thing, so that he was standing up to his waist in water. Water, what's more, that was busy pummeling at him with surging waves of pressure. The statue was closing in; if he didn't pull free and soon, he was going to end up little more than a squashed damp patch on King Cephren's palace floor.

You got yourself into this, he reminded himself with a grimace, twisting and tugging to free himself from the sucking surround of water. This was just wasting time. Too much time. Anger at the delay added strength to his struggle; he flailed out, ripping handfuls of liquid from the sinuous streams of living water. The creature gurgled with a sound akin to pain and the pressure on his legs and hips squeezed even tighter.

"Agh," he reacted, gritting his teeth and arching in agony under the pressure. The sensation of ice clamped down on his arm; cold water crawled up his chest, constricting bruised and broken ribs. The world swum out of focus. Everything was going gray and fuzzy.

No!

He let out a howl of utter frustration, throwing his head back and wrestling desperately for breath. This was no way for a son of Zeus to die. Murdered by a few bucketfuls of water? Ares wouldn't stop laughing for weeks.

Got - to - fight …

The pressure was unbearable. There was no air in his lungs, and no feeling left in his limbs. A blunt nosed serpent head wavered in front of him; it opened its mouth and it sobbed. The soft, desperate sob of a child.

Gods!

He'd been suckered in. Driven to act by a deliberate deception. Whoever - or whatever - was behind this had measured his weakness only too well and used it against him. And it wanted him to know.

Darkness swirled behind his eyes. Somewhere, deep in his heart, he could hear Dahok's laughter mocking him, cutting though his soul with the voice of his best friend …

"Hercules!"

There was a soft flare of light, somewhere to his right. A blur of movement, a flicker of bronze, purple and gold. Something cut through the air like liquid lightning; a sound like angry steam hissed and bubbled barely inches from his ear.

And - abruptly - the pressure was gone.

The gathered water collapsed outwards in a huge surging splash, just as if it had been tipped straight from a bucket. Hercules, gasping for breath, fighting for focus and spitting mad at both himself and his as yet unseen enemy, turned to stare at the figure which now stood at his side.

Dahok?

For a moment time and perception blurred; he was standing in a temple in Thebes, facing a demon with the face of an angel -
- and then everything snapped back into focus with a vengeance. The demon was gone. Only the angel remained, cloaked in the disguise of a man. There was a sword in his hands, an impossible weapon, gleaming as if it had been forged out of light. Hercules blinked. For a moment he could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of flame ripple down the blade.

"Well," Iolaus announced, assaying an anxious filled attempt at his usual casual grin. "Guess that's - ah - one way to let off a little steam."

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'Heaven Must be Missing an Angel'- Chapter Six. 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