Heaven Must be Missing an Angel Part Eight Pythia

The scent of salt air, chilled and damp, spiraled up the steep slope as Hercules charged down it. His shadow danced and flickered off rough hewn walls as he ran, thrown by the equally flickering light from the torch that Iolaus had grabbed on the way in. The hunter was more than a few paces behind him by now; a mixture of anger and fear drove the demi-god downwards, lending an extra spurt of speed to his steps. The possibility that he would be too late hammered at him, adding to the weight of guilt that was eating at his heart.

He sent them away!

Cephren's muttered words - the lament of an old man overwhelmed by events he'd desperately tried to prevent - had shaken Hercules to the core. Everything had seemed so simple back where they'd encountered the pirates; the day had been bright, his world had been the way he'd wanted it - and rescuing two frightened children, struggling in the arms of their kidnappers, had been an obvious and inevitable outcome of an almost routine encounter.

Except that - his partner in the deed had turned out to have been deceiving him for weeks, the monster that had scared the pirates away had almost killed him, and now it turned out that the pirates hadn't been kidnapping the children at all.

They'd been taking them to safety.

And he'd brought them back.

Back to a city filled with fear and desperate people. Back to a place where being who they were put them into mortal danger. Back into the hands of some dark and undefined power, which was probably laughing at him, right now.

How could I have been so dense?

It was strictly a rhetorical question; there'd been no way that he could have known, and he'd been acting entirely in good faith and with perfectly good intentions. It was just that, knowing how the force he was about to face had used those good intentions to sucker him into a trap, he felt decidedly used.

It didn't help, knowing that Gilgamesh had used him, in just the same way, He hadn't liked the feeling then, and he certainly didn't like it now.

No more Mr. nice guy, he promised grimly, his anger boiling to the surface and adding further speed to his already determined stride. The rough cut passage turned, leveled out and then joined a wider, better worked tunnel; one with a floor worn smooth by centuries of dedicated priests - and by the one way journeys of uncountable victims, offered up to a god who probably hadn't been too bothered, one way or the other.

That was then. This was now - and there'd be no more innocents put to death in this dark, underground place. Even if he had to tear down half the cliff and the entire castle above it in order to sure of it.

At the end of the tunnel there was a pair of doors; high, stone doors, carved from the rock and set on ponderous hinges. Hercules didn't even pause in his stride. He ran straight at the barrier, his hands lifted up so that he slammed into the stone with full force. The doors flew open, hitting the wall on either side and sending a rumbling shockwave through the passage floor. One door cracked from hinge to corner. The other slewed off its hinges entirely, jamming itself open for eternity.

On the other side of the doors there was a cavern.

A dimly lit cavern, filled with looming shapes and soft flickering light. Once, this place had boasted magnificence. Echoes of it lingered in the carved pillars nearest to the doors, in the intricate tiled pattern that spiralled out from the entrance and led up to the carved altar some thirty feet away. But beyond that, there was nothing but shattered rock and empty air; where the high altar had once overlooked a sweeping staircase leading down to the sea, only a jutting finger of stone remained. Most of the temple had gone, leaving little more than a rim of broken pillars and angled tiles overhanging a dark, water filled, pit.

The whole place reeked of the sea, of old decaying seaweed and something far less pleasant.
It reeked of death.

"Ah - Hercules." Brennus' voice greeted him as he strode into the echoing space beyond the doors. "Right on time. So glad you could join us. Aren't we Carnivean?"

The councilor stepped into view, emerging from behind the intricately carved shape of a vast mirror, which had been set up right at the end of the jutting promontory of rock. The silvered surface was taller than he was, supported by twisting columns of gilded wood and reflecting the shimmer of the torches which stood on either side. Something moved within the reflection; a dark something, seemingly made of smoke and vaguely the shape of a man. It dragged darkness behind it like a vast billowing cloak.

{Welcome, Son of Zeus. }

The voice was low pitched and sibilant. It sounded as if it were whispering - and yet the words were deep and perfectly clear.

Who …?

Hercules took a wary step forward, frowning as he spotted the children, huddling together on the stone altar. The strip of fabric which bound their hands had been tied to one of two huge metal rings, set into the stone.

"Brennus," he growled tightly, "you don't have to do this … Whatever's happening in Agiori, it isn't Poseidon's doing."

"Quite right," Brennus agreed, a confident smile on his lips. "It's mine."

The smile grew wider; his hand lifted, long fingers curling up and clenching in with a studied gesture.

The floor beneath Hercules' feet buckled and bucked, throwing him forward. He cursed and dropped into a reactive roll, aiming to leap back to his feet so that he could move in on the councilor. The move was agile and the intent was focused; the result was not at all what he expected.

His feet hit tiled floor - and sank; dark stone closed around his ankles and clamped tight, locking him in place. The forward momentum of the leap tipped him over, so that his hands hit polished marble as they reached to halt his fall. They too, sank. His fingers vanished beneath the tiled surface, cold pressure clamping around each wrist.

What the...!

His first reaction was astonishment. His second was amused bewilderment. He was the son of Zeus. Surely Brennus didn't think this was going to prevent him from reaching his goal? He bunched his arm muscles and tugged, fully expecting the stone to shatter and release him in a shower of dust and splinters.

Nothing happened.

O-kay.

He tugged a second time, trying to close his fingers into a fist and pulling back with his shoulders as well as his arms.

Still nothing happened.

The voice in the mirror chuckled softly, an evil, grating sound. Hercules' eyes narrowed, and he gritted his teeth, testing the strength of the trap with first one arm and then the other. He was held in a firm, unyielding grip. Brennus was watching him, an amused smile on his face.

This isn't funny.

The anger, which he'd been barely holding in check, surged through him with savage fire. He strained upwards with all his might, unleashing a furious yell which echoed and re-echoed around the vastness of the cavern, lifting sympathetic ringing tones from the many stalactites which clung to the ceiling, high above. The surface of the rock shuddered, a myriad of tiny cracks racing out from his submerged wrists as the strength of Olympus fought to shatter the merciless grip.

To no avail.

The rock held him fast. The more he struggled, the firmer the grip seemed to become. He relaxed with a gasp, runnels of sweat gleaming on his skin and gathering in droplets on his forehead.
"Impressive," Brennus noted, sharing the thought with the swirling figure in the mirror.

{Very impressive} the darkness echoed, the sound of it sending shivers up Hercules' spine. This was the power that threatened Agiori. Not a god, but something akin to one; a creature of dark intent and darker motives. Had it tempted and corrupted Brennus, the way Dahok had Gilgamesh? It had already succeeded in something Dahok had never quite achieved.

Ensnaring the son of Zeus in a trap he could not escape …

Hercules let out another angry yell, throwing his head and shoulders back and grimacing with effort as he fought to break free from the stone. His struggle was clearly unsuccessful, and he subsided a second time, his lungs heaving for breath, and a look of angry frustration painted across his features. Iolaus immediately realised two things. Firstly that the son of Zeus was not about to tear himself out of the rock and spring determinedly to the children's rescue - and, secondly, that that meant it was down to him to save the day.

Oh well, he sighed, tightening his grip on the guttering torch and taking a wary step towards the edge of the tiled floor. So much for a life in exile. It was nice while it lasted …

His conclusion wasn't entirely without warranty; he'd known, as soon as Hercules had slammed open those massive doors, that what lay behind them was both very powerful and very dangerous. His wings, which had been itching all the way down into the dark, currently felt as if they were on fire. The voice from the mirror had given him a distinct case of the creeps - and while he didn't immediately recognise the name by which Brennus had addressed its owner, a brief glimpse of what lurked behind the silvered glass had made his blood run cold.

Carnivean was one of the Fallen.

Iolaus knew only a smattering of that story; it wasn't something that the Thrones and Powers cared to discuss in front of their lesser brethren as a rule. But he'd heard enough to know that what he was looking at was probably something way out of his league - his promotion to the ranks of the Aeon not withstanding. The schism which had torn Heaven from Hell had also ripped its way through the cohorts of the Host; some of them had jumped. Willingly. They were the major players in the Pit these days, scheming up ways to storm the gates of Bliss - when they weren't busy squabbling among themselves, that was.

But there had been others; creatures equal in greed and cunning who'd sort to corrupt the Reverie from within. Beings who'd dreamed - not of ruling in Hell, but of possessing the greater power of the Light and using it for their own ends.

'Cast out - but not down,' he'd insisted in his garbled explanation back on the beach. The difference was important. To be cast out was bad enough; but to be cast down - to be sent screaming into the abyss, stripped of your glory, bereft of all hope, and condemned to an existence where the Light itself utterly rejected you - now that was true punishment. And it was the fate of the Fallen, the angels who had listened to the darkness in their hearts and used it to betray the Light from within. A few of them had repented even as they fell; they were the maverick powers, the eternal souls from whom many of the gods had sprung. Others had gone utterly insane. But most had descended, cursing, into the dark, where hatred and envy had festered in their hearts; they had found refuge in the depths of Hell, and spent their time licking their wounds and plotting their revenge.

And now we've got one scrabbling for a foothold in the mortal world …

Probably not the only one, either. The re-alignment of the heavens had placed the earthly realm slap bang in the middle of the battlefield. The gods - if they were sensible - would steer well clear of the eternal conflict that played out between their distant kin. But mankind would have no choice; mortal souls were the coin with which that conflict measured both its victories and its defeats.
Why me? the hunter sighed, taking another wary step forward, edging round a little so as to avoid the pattern of dark tiles which had become his friend's prison. This wasn't really his fight either; by all rights he should be comfortably ensconsed in the Elysian fields, enjoying one of Alcemene's wonderful honey cakes, swapping tales of daring do with his father and bouncing his son on his knee.

"Brennus!" Hercules' voice was tight with anger and frustration. "If you so much as touch either of those children, I'll … I'll feed you to Cerberus. Personally."

Oh yeah, Iolaus remembered with a slightly pained smile and a decidedly sympathetic wince. He's why.

It had been for love of Hercules that he'd assayed that trip to Summaria despite all his misgivings. Because of it, he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, his self sacrifice serving as a perfect gift to a dark god with domination on his mind. Only his faith in his friend -that he would find a way - had enabled him to survive the games Dahok had delighted in playing with him. It had been the defeat of that dark power which had drawn the attention of the Light - and because of that, he had been given a new place in the scheme of things. Along with his wings, which had been a bonus he hadn't expected.

For love of Hercules …

He'd given up the Reverie, defied the dictates of the Thrones, and been prepared to face exile in the pit in order to carry the warning to his friend. Confident that he, at least, would make some effort to protect mankind from looming destruction. Which he had, of course; earning the mortal world a reprieve from the Apocalypse, himself the title of defender of mankind - and his best friend a place at his side and a new job description to go along with it.

Which, right now, included risking going head to head with one of the Fallen, in the slender hope that he could buy enough time for Hercules to find a way to save the world.

Again.

He drew in a deep breath, set his shoulders, and boldly walked out into the tiles.

"Let him go."

He saw Hercules turn his head and throw a look of startled disbelief in his direction. He tried very hard to ignore it. He knew they still had issues to discuss, - and it would be a shame if they never got a chance to do it - but right now there were bigger things for him to worry about than whether his best friend was still his best friend or not. Saving the man's life - and soul - for a start. Carnivean appeared to be trapped inside the mirror, but if he got out - which was probably what the sacrifice of the children was intended to achieve - there would be, quite literally, hell to pay.

Stay back," the son of Zeus warned tightly, still desperately straining against his bonds.

"No, no," Brennus reacted, moving forward and giving his prisoner a patronising pat on the shoulder as he passed. "Do come in. Join the party. The fun's about to start."

"I said," Iolaus announced, unable to help the uneasy quiver in his voice, "let him go. The children too. You don't know what you're doing."

The councilor chuckled, glancing back at the mirror and the shape that loomed within it. "You hear that, Carnivean? I don't know what I'm doing. Little fly," he considered, returning his gaze to the compact warrior, all trace of amusement gone from his voice. "You're facing something you can't possibly understand. In a few moments, I will possess a power so great that it will allow me to challenge even Olympus. The gods will tremble before me. Zeus himself will bow down at my feet."

"Heard that before," Iolaus muttered, more from bravado than anything else. Dahok had made much the same boast …

{You waste time talking,} the creature in the mirror hissed, its long dark fingers raking at the undersurface of the glass. {Swat your fly and be done with it. I hunger.}

That sounded ominous. It also implied that Carnivean was a little more dependant on Brennus than first assessment might suggest. Perhaps he - like Dahok - had need of a mortal vessel in order to wreak his malice. So far the two of them had demonstrated an ability to affect two material elements - earth and water. And so far - as far as Iolaus knew - there had only been two deaths directly linked to Brennus. Those of his wife and his child

Oh-oh.

Two and two made four, even in Celestial mathematics; there were two more material elements and Carnivean was after two more souls - those of the children, currently cowering on the altar.
Iolaus took another wary step forwards, edging round to stay away from the black tiles, and keeping his feet firmly on the white ones. It meant he was little closer to the edge of the drop than he liked, but that couldn't be helped. He just wanted to keep Brennus' attention away from the children - and away from Hercules, who was still struggling to break free.

Earth and Water. Fire and Air.

Well, that would give Brennus power over practically everything. But what good would that do Carnivean? Unless -

Gods …

The hunter's eyes flicked in his partner's direction, despite his best intentions not to. There were five elements, not four. The Fallen one was counting on three deaths today, not two. No doubt he'd have been content with adding Brennus to that tally - until the Fates had handed him a far more appropriate sacrifice.

The fifth element was spirit. With power over that, the demon would be able to open a permanent pathway between the planes - and if the soul that gifted him with that power was also gifted with Immortal blood …

No. You can't let that happen, Iolaus. You can't!

"Don't do, it Brennus," he pleaded, lowering the torch and spreading his hands in desperate appeal. "He's lying to you. Once he has what he wants, he'll just - "

"Oh, be quiet," the nobleman snapped. He snapped his fingers at the same time - and the floor under the hunter's feet bucked with sudden violence.

Whoa …

He was thrown back and sideways, tumbling right to the edge of the drop and barely able to stop himself from sliding over it. The torch spiraled away from him, twisting as it descended so that its light illuminated the softly shifting surface some thirty feet below. Eventually it hit water and went out with a soft hiss. It was a long way down.

"Iolaus!" he heard Hercules call. "Get out of here …"

No can do, Herc.

He picked himself up instead, glaring at Brennus with a decidedly irked look. The man was clearly not going to listen, no matter what he said. Unless - "Was it worth it?" he asked with sudden inspiration. "Giving up the boy - watching her die? Just so you could do a few parlour tricks?"

The nobleman's face darkened immediately. "I said - be quiet!"

This time Iolaus was ready for the floor's attack; he was already in the air, throwing himself into a hasty forward flip so he could avoid the ripple of movement altogether. He landed on a black tile a little further along the jutting spur of rock, and immediately stepped backwards as its surface shivered under the impact. The black tiles couldn't be trusted. He had to remember that.

"Oh," Brennus growled, a little mockingly, "you're quick. But that's not going to save you. Not here."

{Finish it, Brennus. We don't have time for this.}

"Then make time," the councilor snapped, throwing creature in the mirror a one-eyed glance of impatience. "This isn't going to take long. This annoying little insect hurt me. I'm going to pay him back."

"Iolaus …" Hercules' growl held angry impatience. It was followed by a grunt of effort as the son of Zeus made another struggling attempt to break free of the stone.

Yeah, Herc, I know, I know …

They were caught - almost literally - between a rock and a hard place. While the hunter had succeeded in distracting Brennus, he'd also managed to put himself right where the nobleman seemed to want him - lined up for a vengeful attack. All he was really doing was playing for time. Time that Hercules was having no success in using, despite his best efforts.

"You want me?" Iolaus taunted, not at all sure what the next move ought to be. Maybe he could get Brennus within his reach … "Come and get me."

The councilor smiled evilly. "I don't need too," he announced smugly. He pointed to a spot behind the hunter's shoulder. "I'm already there …"

"Iolaus!"

He didn't need Hercules' warning; he was already spinning round, aware of the sudden surge of power which had been summoned into being somewhere behind him. He'd been so careful about the floor, watching every move Brennus had made. But he'd forgotten, if only for a moment, that the man had power over water too.

An amorphous shape had risen up, out of the surging sea, far below. It spawned long writhing tentacles which slithered over the edge of the ruined promontory, glistening in the flicker of the torchlight and moving with determined speed. Iolaus had barely had time to register the nature of the looming menace before it struck; he dodged one curling limb, ducked another - and then fell sideways with a startled yell as a third grabbed his ankle and tugged it out from under him. He hit the floor with a pain filled grunt and then began scrabbling desperately as the grip on his leg started to drag him back towards the rest of the creature's flailing limbs. He heard Brennus laugh, heard Carnivean echo it - and, over the two of them, heard his partner voice a howl of anguished frustration.

He was upside down and swinging by then, suspended over the darkness and the waves it concealed. Cold water slithered over him with fingers of ice, engulfing him, smothering him. He fought and squirmed against the crushing grip, but to no avail. He was dragged into the elemental's liquid embrace, and they fell together, down into the hungry, surging sea.

"Iolaus!"

If Hercules had been frantic to escape before, that was nothing compared to the frenzy which seized him as he watched his best friend being dragged to his doom. The remnants of his anger, his disappointment, his sense of betrayal - all of them dissipated like so much mist before the wave of horror which filled his heart. It didn't matter what the man had become. He was still Iolaus - and, in the instant that death loomed up with malignant intent, that truth ripped through his partner's soul with an impact akin to of one of his father's thunderbolts.

No. No!
Noooo!!!

He heaved and battled against his unnatural bonds with all his might, heedless of protests from bone and muscle, fighting for freedom, needing to be free; his eyes were fixed, all the while, on the twisting, writhing, struggle that could only have one possible outcome. The rock shook but it did not yeild - and the rippling, translucent column of water gathered up its victim, engulfing him, smothering him. Drowning him.

He can be hurt …

The single line he'd managed to write in that new rulebook was about to become the only line - and it would no longer be a rule, just an epitaph.

"Nooo!" Hercules howled his denial at the world, straining against the cold grip of the stone, his muscles bulging with effort and the sweat running off him like a river. All to no avail. The more he struggled, the tighter his bonds became; no matter what he did, he could not break free.
The elemental dropped away, dragging its captive down , taking all hope with it; there was a distant and unmistakable splash - and then nothing. Just the soft, muted thunder of the surf, somewhere in the darkness, far below.

No …

The son of Zeus felt his heart break. Felt the old scars tear open, filling his soul with bitter, desperate pain. His world had been nothing but darkness after Sumaria; he'd learnt how to live again, but there'd always been a piece of him missing, a numbness, a nagging, empty ache which nothing could dispel. Not Morrigan's love, which had been a false refuge, an escape he'd clung too, long after it was clear that it could never be. Not the defeat of the darkness which had been Dahok; that had held no sweetness, and even less satisfaction - just a job which needed to done and, in the doing, had destroyed the last hopeless shreds of his hope. Not even bringing his best friend's shadow back into their own world had served to fill that empty space. Just made it deeper, painting it with echoes and poignant regrets.

Until the day the light came back into his life.

The day the brother of his heart returned to his side …

Iolaus.

He breathed the name like a prayer, relaxing down against the cold stone and resting his forehead on the polished tiles. Tears prickled his eyes; there was a tightness in his throat and despair in his heart. His strength had betrayed him; when the need had been there, it had not been enough. It had never been enough.

"Don't be too, upset," Brennus advised, moving to stand beside his captive and look down at him with amused eyes. "Give me a few moments and you'll be well on your way to catching him up. Oh," he added, as if just realising what he'd said, "no - no, that's not right. He's probably on his way to Elysium. Your destiny is a long way from there. Isn't that so, Carnivean?"

The shadowed shape in the mirror laughed. It was a grating, unpleasant sound. {Perhaps,} it murmured softly. {Perhaps not. Who can say how far our arms might reach?}

"Elysium?" Brenuus questioned, his robe rustling as he turned to consider the mirror and it's occupant. "Is that possible?"

{All things are possible,} Carnivean announced confidently. {Once I have what I need …}

"Of course." The councilor gave his captive another satisfied pat to the shoulder and strode away, his feet making very little noise on the polished floor. Hercules held himself very still. Stricken by grief, he'd relaxed completely, abandoning all attempt to escape the trap which held him - and when he had done so, he'd felt his fingers, which up until then had been held fast within the stone, move a little.

All things are possible …

Even escape from the seemingly inescapable. He'd been fighting to be free, and his fight had simply served to tighten his bonds. It wasn't strength he needed. It was gentleness.

Gods.

If he'd only known - if he'd only realised that it was his own struggle which had held him fast - then he might have been able to use all that time which Iolaus had been trying to buy him. Might have been able to wriggle free in time to prevent the tragedy which now seared his heart and chilled his soul. Now - now, it was too late. Because, while he might be able to free himself and save his own skin, he'd never make it in time to save the children - and his sword brother was gone, his sacrifice, once again, offered up in vain.

Forgive me, Iolaus, Hercules prayed, slowly starting to slide his hands free of the treacherous stone. Because I will never forgive myself …

Brennus was doing something down by the altar, marking out patterns on the tiled floor with a mix of scented oil and coloured chalks. Carnivean swirled in his mirror, long, taloned fingers pressed eagerly against the inside of the glass. Elentra was crying, a soft, despairing sound like the whimpering of a trapped animal.

All other sound died away. The distant murmer of the sea grew silent. Even the torches guttered without noise, their fitful light flickering hints of shadows across the distant dark walls of the cave. Only those soft, desperate sobs remained, each one striking like a knife in Hercules' already wounded heart.

If I just had a little more time …

The silence exploded with a resounding sploosh. Light suddenly flooded the cavern, filling it with a dazzling brilliance. Hercules looked up and blinked in astonishment. Brennus dropped the bowl he'd just picked up. Carnivean let out an agonised scream.

And a incensed angel surged up from the depths in a flurry of wingbeats and golden feathers, flame rippling down the sword in his hand and his eyes alight with fury and indignation.

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