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Spoils of War Pythia Chapter Three |
Iolaus was dreaming.
He knew he was dreaming; there was an odd quality to the images that assailed his senses, and they shifted seamlessly from one nonsensical situation to another. He was walking through a wheat field, one that stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. The wheat was new, still fresh and green. Scarlet poppies were scattered through it, clumps of them, bright and vivid splashes among the verdant crops.
"My harvest," Ares said, his arm sweeping out to encompass the world. "Planted by mortals, reaped by mortals - and savoured by me." His laugh was wickedly amused; he reached down and picked a poppy, pressing it to the leather of his jerkin so that it sat there, red against black, just above his heart.
Iolaus looked down in puzzlement - then stepped back in horror. The corn rippled away, revealing plowed furrows, out of which emerged angled and rotting limbs, shattered bones, and the gaping eyes of long dead skulls.
"Welcome to the fields of war ..."
Hooves thundered past him. A hand reached down and plucked him up; he was riding at speed, the world flying by at an impossible rate.
"If I ride fast enough," Xena declared with wild relish, "I can conquer the whole world." She glanced back, her face twisted with puzzled pain. "So why do I feel so empty? Why isn’t the hate enough?"
He put out his hand to comfort her and she recoiled from his touch. "Don’t," she begged, anguish flaring in her eyes. "Don’t touch me. Don’t make me feel ..."
She reined in, reaching to push him away with a desperate hand. He tumbled down, falling over and over - and landed on something soft, something that gave beneath him and cushioned his fall. A storm of feathers flew up, an explosion of blue black brilliance that floated down slowly, settling like a dark blanket over the entire world.
"Hate is never enough," Alcmene smiled. "And you have to feel. However much it hurts, you have to feel. Even in the fields of war the poppies bloom. Such a fragile flower. But so bright. So beautiful ...
"Hate is strong. But love is stronger."
"You tell him, sister," Aphrodite laughed, appearing out of nowhere to sit beside him. "Trust your heart, hero. Not your eyes. Go with it, okay?"
She vanished.
Alcmene vanished.
He was lying alone in a vast bowl of feathers, supported by them, warmed by them, held and comforted as if by loving arms.
"You going to lie there all day?" Hercules asked, his eyes laughing. "Come on. We have to save the world, remember? You and me. Back to back. Heroes ..."
Heroes, he echoed, and woke, a shift of perception from dream to reality in which the blue black feathers remained -
- and into which the sound of conflict filtered; the scream of something inhuman and the panted breath of effort, the noise of fist against flesh and the clash of steel against stone.
Herc? was his first disorientated thought, the peculiar dream still fresh in his mind, and then: Celæno?
Shadows were shifting in the soft flicker of reflected light. The whole cave reverberated with the echoes of impact; dust drifted down from overhead.
What the ...?
He struggled to his feet, the effort stirring pain and sending waves of dizziness to assail him. The feather blanket tangled round him and he dragged it up, wrapping it round his shoulders like a cloak so as to keep some of the warmth around his shivering frame. He didn’t know what was going on, but he wasn’t about to lie there like a helpless child, waiting for who knew what to come through the archway and find him. The fact that he felt like a helpless child was not part of his reasoning; somewhere out there was the woman who had tended his hurts and held him in his fever. He had a duty to try and help her - to protect her if she needed it.
Or at least discover her fate ...
He staggered forward, favoring his damaged leg and trying to ignore the flare of pain in hip and shoulder. The world shook a second time, accompanied by a screech from Hades that held both pain and challenge. He nearly fell, keeping his uneasy balance with difficulty.
What is going on out there?
He had no weapons, or the strength to use them even if he had. But that didn’t stop his effort filled struggle to reach the wall beside the archway. He rested his weight against it when he got there, pausing to wipe some of the sweat from his eyes. He heard the sound of something metal clattering against stone, and then a terrific splash, backed by the whoosh of beating wings.
Big wings.
He swallowed hard, steeling his resolve, and staggered around the barrier, hoping he had the strength to step back if he needed to. He didn’t know what to expect.
It certainly wasn’t what he saw.
The outer cavern was larger than the one he’d just left. There was an archway at the end of it, through which blue sky was visible. A pool lay at the lowest slope of the floor, between his vantage point and the exit. But it wasn’t the pool that drew his eye.
The air was filled with movement, with the sweep of wide wings; sleek wings, coated in glossy blue black feathers. The creature they supported was a monstrous thing, with four scaled limbs that each ended in a savage handful of talons. Between them was a humanoid body, the lower half draped in more feathers, the upper torso bare and supporting a pair of pert breasts. A dark tumble of hair fell around its face - her face, he corrected instantly, recognising the thing as unquestionably female - concealing its features. She was letting loose a deep throated scream, her claws reaching out, her wings lifting her above her opponent.
Who was a man. A warrior in a soft cream leather jerkin and a pair of intricately woven pants who was getting to his feet in the pool, the water streaming off his muscled arms.
Herc?
Iolaus stood and stared for a vital moment, trying to make sense of the tableaux - just as the monster went into a stoop, her talons extended in a killing strike.
"No!" he exclaimed, the word torn involuntarily from his throat as he saw death reach for his best friend. It turned two heads in his direction - and then the creature jinked in mid dive, its stroke going wide and the impetus sending it plowing down into the pool in a flurry of wings and displaced water. It should have given Hercules the perfect opportunity to press home his attack - except that he was just standing there, staring as if he’d seen a ghost, his mouth open and his hands dangling forgotten at his sides.
Which pretty much described Iolaus’ expression, since he had finally caught sight of the monster’s face - and had recognised her immediately.
Celæno?
Oh - gods ...
The shock was too much. What little remained of his strength gave out and he collapsed, unable to hold back his gasp of pain as he fell.
"Iolaus!" Hercules powered forward, all idea of combat forgotten as the unexpected apparition crumpled down into an untidy heap in the middle of the vaulted archway. He’d thought for a moment that he was staring at the man’s spirit; he’d certainly looked pale enough to be a ghost, particularly wrapped in that raven black cloak, his straw gold hair mussed in wild disarray and his blue eye wide with startlement. But that groan of pain had come from a living throat - and it pulled his friend to his side as certainly as a steel pin would be drawn to a magnet.
Once there, he hesitated, going down on one knee and reaching tentatively for the curve of a bare shoulder. "Iolaus?"
The shoulder was warm - which was a decided comfort - and the question earned him a soft groan of response, its owner stirring to roll onto his back and look up at him with effort filled eyes. "Herc?" A warm - if weary - grin lit up those familiar features. "What took you so long?"
Relief lifted an equally warm grin to Hercules’ face. He twisted round and sat down on the smooth rock, taking a moment to catch his breath. "I came as soon as I could," he protested affably. "Took me all of yesterday just to climb the mountain." His grin dropped into more serious lines as he studied the face of his partner - the face he’d thought never to see again. "I thought you were dead. That the Harpy had killed you ..."
"Harpy?" Iolaus’s expression darkened. He struggled to sit up and Hercules climbed back to his knees to help him, a frown settling on his own features as he identified the makeshift bandages that wrapped his friend’s shoulder and upper arm. "Is that what she is?"
"I think so," the son of Zeus affirmed, letting the man rest his weakened frame against his hip and keeping a supportive hand to his undamaged shoulder. He’d had no thought for the monster since that first astonished sight of the blond hunter in the archway; now he turned his head to follow the line of Iolaus’ pensive gaze, focusing on the creature he had earlier been trying to kill.
She was crouching at the far edge of the pool, her wings folded around her like a protective cloak, and she hissed and drew back as she realised they were staring at her.
"Don’t," her voice begged, oddly soft and melodious beside the savagery of her earlier screams. "Don’t look at me. Please …"
Hercules’ frown became one of total confusion. One minute this creature had been intent on brutally tearing him apart and the next she was cowering in the shadows as if confronted by her worst fears. And what was going on here, anyway? This was the monster that had snatched his friend away and yet the man was staring at her as if this was the first time he’d laid eyes on her. He’d been clearly wounded by her attack - badly wounded, going on the pallor of his face - but she just as clearly hadn’t killed him.
And who had treated his injuries when the Harpy possessed nothing but deadly daggers, designed to rip and destroy?
Raven wings and savage talons; a soft embrace and tender caresses. Iolaus stared at the huddled creature below him and wrestled with bewilderment. It had been her claws that had stabbed into him, inflicting the deep wounds that he carried - and yet she had tended him, with a desperate gentleness, as if her life depended on it.
I won’t eat you, I promise, she’d said.
Not a joke.
Not even an exaggeration.
Had he slept most of the night in the arms of - of that?
He suppressed an instinctive shudder, leaning back into the warmth of his friend’s support and finding strength in the man’s presence. Hercules had called her Harpy. He’d come hunting a monster. But had he found one?
He and his partner had faced a lot of monsters over the years. Most of them had tried to kill him, one way or the other. But not all of them had turned out to match the image that initial impressions suggested. Braxis, for instance - who’d proved to be little more than a misguided child. Or Echidna, who was really quite sweet once you got to know her.
So what of Celæno, who’d fought to defend her lair and yet had turned aside a killing stroke for his sake?
And who now cowered away from him, ashamed to show him her true face ...
Trust your heart, hero. Not your eyes.
The words that had whispered through his dream echoed through the back of Iolaus’s mind as he looked down at the monster by the pool. How should he measure monstrosity? Through a creature’s looks - or by its deeds? She had hurt him, that was true enough. But she’d tried to make up for it afterwards.
He glanced up at his friend, seeing the wary frown with which he was considering the situation. Hercules would not have seen her other face, only this one, which - once you got past the deadly claws and the mouthful of razor sharp teeth - actually had a sleek beauty of its own. If she was a Harpy, then she outclassed every other member of her kind that he had ever met.
Why had she abducted him?
What was it that she wanted?
He breathed out a weary sigh, knowing that he had no answers to those questions - and that the only way he was going to get them was to ask her.
"Celæno," he said quietly. "Come here."
He felt Hercules’ hand tighten on his shoulder, the gesture conveying an anxious are you sure? He flashed him a reassuring glance - which he was well aware would have been far more reassuring if he looked a little less like one of Charon’s potential passengers.
Down by the sparkle of the water, the raven wings shivered. "No," she breathed, a soft sound of distress.
"Yes," he insisted, holding out his good hand in encouragement. "Please? We need to talk." He threw another brief glance in his friend’s direction and adopted what he hoped was a winning smile. "I won’t let Herc here hurt you, I promise."
Hercules grimaced at him, an affectionate reproach in his frown. Celæno lifted her head and stared at the two of them - then she flexed her shoulders and half flew, half leapt across the intervening distance. She landed in a crouch, splaying her claws on the rock and folding her wings around herself like a cloak.
"You have found what you came for," she hissed, looking at the son of Zeus with a challenging eye. "Take him and go. Leave me." The challenge faded. Her face took on haunted lines - and she turned her head, suddenly unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Just leave me," she begged.
"Now hold on a minute," Iolaus protested, more confused than ever. "You drag me all the way here - wherever here is - for the gods know what reason, you nearly kill my best friend, and you just want the two of us to walk away as if nothing happened?" He shared his bewilderment with his partner who shrugged.
"I don’t have a problem with that," Hercules said quietly. "I was the one that started the fight. I came here in anger, thinking - well, I was wrong. And if you mean no threat to anyone I will gladly leave you in peace."
"Well, I have a problem with it," Iolaus reacted hotly, twisting round to glare up at him. "Two problems actually," he added shakily, sinking back against the man’s warm support as the world spun around him in response to his sudden movement. "For one thing," he gasped, "I’m in no fit state to walk anywhere - let alone down a mountain that’s just taken the son of Zeus a day to climb. And for the other - " He returned his attention to the Harpy, who was still staring down at the ground. "I think I deserve an explanation. Don’t I?"
She shivered, making her feathers rustle and her claws scrape against the rock. "You won’t understand," she said, her voice almost too low to hear. The wounded hunter frowned.
"Try me," he growled, then regretted his gruffness. "Listen - Celæno - " He reached out his hand, moving a little more carefully this time. "Talk to me, okay?"
She lifted her head, staring at his outstretched hand with unreadable intent and he swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. He might have misjudged this, and if he had, then he’d just offered up a perfectly good hand to a creature that ate human flesh.
The same thought had clearly occurred to his partner; he felt Hercules tense behind him, readying himself for action.
Hold it, Herc. Just give her a minute here ...
After a moment that felt like a lifetime, Celæno let out a small sigh and dipped her head to rub her cheek against his fingers, a curiously gentle admission of trust. "I hurt you," she whispered. "And now you have seen me as I am. The moment is past. I will be content with what little you gave me."
Her skin was warm and soft, and her hair fell like a sleek caress along his arm. "You were right," he decided. "I don’t understand. What did I give you? Other than a lot of worry and effort, that is."
She lifted her head - and became the woman, a slender shape draped in raven feathers. "Only my soul," she answered sadly.
Hercules was always of the opinion that practically any problem could be solved by talking it out - and it was clear, kneeling there, with a weak and wounded man cradled against him while the savage creature that inflicted those wounds turned into a decidedly attractive woman, that this particular occasion was going to demand a long conversation.
One that probably should begin with - Uh, Iolaus - I really think we should get you somewhere a little more comfortable than this ...
The last time he’d seen his friend look so pale was just after his encounter with Hera’s Enforcer - which had also happened to be just before he died. He didn’t think there was any danger of that happening here, but he’d climbed an entire mountain trying to come to terms with just how much his partner meant to him - and he wasn’t about to risk having to go through that again. Not for a long time to come.
Fortunately - or not, depending on how you looked at it - Iolaus had begun to shiver, his weakened body protesting at the demands he’d been making of it. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his hand sliding away from the woman’s cheek as even that effort became too much. Her expression shifted into alarm and she looked up, seeking Hercules’ eyes with a hint of desperation. "Help him," she pleaded softly, and he nodded grimly, bending to gently lift the stricken warrior into his arms.
"Is there somewhere - ?" he asked, and she waved him through the archway into the inner cavern.
"My nest is warm," Celæno offered, her voice filled with anxious guilt. "There is water if you have need of it, and - there is rabbit, fresh caught this morning. I thought - "
"Water will do for now," he interrupted, not unkindly. "Is there any wood for a fire? And something to replace these bandages? They need changing."
"You will have all three," she promised. He heard her turn away, then felt the sudden buffet of air against his back as powerful wings lifted her in pursuit of her errand.
Hercules sighed. "What is it with you and women?" he asked the man in his arms, not seriously expecting an answer.
"Sheer - dazzling - charm," Iolaus murmured into his shoulder, each word a soft gasp of breath. "I guess."
"Mmm," his partner reacted skeptically. "Either that or Aphrodite has a lot to answer for ..."
"Hey," was the effort filled comeback. "She finds me - irresistible - too, you know?"
"Right," the son of Zeus laughed, reassured by the exchange. "I’ll tell her that, next time I see her." He was wading through ankle deep feathers by now, heading for the thickest part of the heap.
"Don’t - you - dare," his friend gasped, the last word ending on an arching gasp of pain as he was lowered into the waiting softness. "Gods!"
All thought of friendly banter was lost in concern as Hercules carefully unwrapped the sweat soaked blanket of feathers to study exactly what his friend had suffered. The shoulder looked bad; blood and pus were beginning to seep through the makeshift dressing. The man’s ribs were scored with livid scratches - and the wound on his thigh was weeping, surrounded by ugly bruises. At least the laceration on his hip was cleaner - as was the one on his buttock, although that was patterned with bruises as well.
"She plays rough, doesn’t she?" Hercules murmured, a little shaken by the extent of the damage.
"Could have been worse," Iolaus said, relaxing his shaking frame into the soft support of the unusual bedding. He caught his partner’s puzzled look and smiled. "Could have been - facing the other way," he pointed out, finding a weary grin as Hercules worked that one out - and winced, with feeling.
"Ouch," he considered, reaching for a fresh blanket to tuck around his friend’s shivering body. There were several, stacked up on a ledge at the back of the nest, and all woven from the same dark feathers that lay in abundance around them. It was clear that Celæno had been living in this place a long time, using what few resources she had to make herself comfortable.
A flurry of wind announced her return; she came laden with an armful of dry wood and a roughly woven basket which she handed down to Hercules with care before she landed at the edge of the nest and shifted to her more human form. A fine drift of feathers had been disturbed by her wingbeats; they settled slowly as she moved to sit on the other side of the injured man.
The son of Zeus was already investigating the contents of the basket; a clay jug, stoppered with a plug of green leaves, a bundle of the dried moss, strips of softened hide - and the gleaming blade of a knife, which she must have retrieved from among the hunter’s discarded clothing. That was welcome, since it meant he could cut the old dressings away without needing to wrestle with knots. As for the rest - well, it was hardly a healer’s medicine chest, but -
I suppose she makes do with what ever she can find.
He sighed, reaching to tug - first his jerkin over his head, and then the shirt after it. "Tear this into strips," he requested, throwing the softer fabric across to the Harpy. She caught it distractedly, staring at him for a long moment before giving herself a little shake and bending to her allotted task with determination. "About this wide," he instructed, colouring a little at the amused look Iolaus was giving him. "Here," he growled, tugging the leafy stopper free from the jug and reaching to support the man’s shoulders so that he could drink a little of its contents. "It should be poppy juice," he apologised softly. "But there isn’t any. So - " He retrieved the jug, propping it back in the basket. "I’ll just have to be as gentle as I can."
"Just do what you have to," came the soft response, the words an offer of trust as well as an acceptance of necessity. Hercules nodded, pausing to lay a reassuring hand to his friends arm - then turned and picked up the knife.
She watched him work with wondering eyes. She’d seen men butchered. She’d seen soldiers cut their way though ranks of their foes and leave bloody swathes of death in their wake. But she’d never seen a warrior use his hands with such gentle precision, or witnessed the skill needed to heal instead of harm. He cut away her makeshift dressings, frowning at what he found beneath them, and carefully padded the weeping wounds with moss so that they would stay clean while he moved away to build his fire.
Even that was a fascination for her; she had no need for fire, and had never learned the trick of making it. To her, the leap of flame was something associated with the sacking of cities and the scream of explosives. The gentle warmth of a hearth fire was merely a distant memory, one that was stirred as she witnessed the easy way this broad shouldered hero struck sparks into his wood pile and made flame, feeding it with some of the moss so as to encourage its heat.
Her hands tarried in her assigned task, her eyes distracted by the powerful ripple of muscle that shaped his now naked torso. He seemed unaware of his own beauty, of the sense of quiet strength that draped around him like a cloak. Son of Zeus, her prize had called him, words offered with affection, not accusation. He had some of the aura of Olympus, but none of its arrogance; if the gods had fashioned the base clay from which he’d been wrought, then better hands than theirs had completed the work. One of them, she suspected, lay weak and wounded beside her even now. The memory of the way they had fought together only sweetened that realisation - and added to the burden in her heart.
I would have struck to kill, had he not cried out …
She had not expected the man to have discovered her lair so soon. Finding him there had startled her - and his attack had been fierce. She’d fought to defend herself, and the heat of their battle had roused her baser instincts and unlocked deep desires. The yearning for blood, the need for death, had brought her to screaming pitch - until one desperate word had recalled her to her senses, and left her reeling with shame.
The game was over. Her prize was lost, all in that one moment. Once he had seen her true face then he would turn away as all the others had done. It was a measure of his heart that he had not condemned here there and then; she had half expected him to demand her slaughter and for his brother in arms to complete the deed. Perhaps she would have welcomed it …
A soft touch drew her attention. She looked down - to find her chosen warrior’s hand resting lightly on the curve of her arm, his sky blue eyes considering her with a wary smile. "Hey," he teased, his voice reduced by effort but clearly tinged with laughter all the same, "I know he’s worth staring at - but you abducted me, remember? Or did you just think - there was too much of him - to carry, huh?"
She stared down at him. His hand was warm against her skin, the gesture offered with easy intimacy. Yet he had seen her. How could he bear to touch her, or even to look at her? "It crossed my mind," she admitted, taking his question seriously and he looked a little taken aback.
"Oh," he breathed and his hand slid away, coming to rest on the blue back softness of her robe where it lay among the looser feathers. She stared at it for a moment, then lifted her eyes to study him, considering the lines of his face and the tumble of gold that framed it. Even like this - pale and drained of his strength - there was a brilliance about him that was hard to define. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew the chance was past and her hopes dashed, but she found herself reaching for his hand, lacing her fingers through his with tentative need.
"I chose you," she whispered fiercely. "He may have the strength, but you have the fire."
His fingers tightened around her own with friendly pressure. "Not right now, I don’t," he sighed. "But - thanks for the compliment, anyway."
His touch stirred her blood; her heart was beating way too fast, and her soul cried out with a need that refused to be stilled.
He knows what I am, she reminded herself sternly and gently disentangled her hand, returning to the task she’d been given with determination and venting her savage energies on the fabric. His companion came back from the fire and crouched down beside her, dipping his hands to pick up the results of her effort.
"Good," he acknowledged, favouring her with a smile she felt she didn’t deserve. "Now - can you help me for a moment?" A look of apology chased across his features, directed at his companion. "This is probably going to hurt ..."
It did. He’d heated the knife blade in the flames and now set about using it to clean the infected wounds. He needed her to hold his patient as he dealt with the punctures she’d made in his shoulder and arm, and she steeled herself for the task, trying not to look too eager as she wrapped her arms around the injured man.
"Bite on this," the surgeon suggested, offering over a bundle of hide. Her warrior did as he was told, his body tensing against hers as strong hands uncovered the damage and began their work. He endured with gritted teeth, grunting as the knife blade touched tender flesh. She shivered inwardly, her baser appetites stirred by the scents of fresh blood and scorched meat; it was almost a relief to realise he had become dead weight in her arms.
Almost.
The fact that he had fainted was not a reassurance, and she cradled him carefully as his fellow warrior finished his work and laid clean strips of cloth over the treated wounds. "I think that’ll do it," he concluded anxiously, helping her lay his comrade back into the warmth of the nest and cover him with blankets. "It's just rest he needs now. And food, if there is any ... Did you say there were rabbits?"
"Yes," she answered, looking up from her study of a pale face to find steel blue eyes staring at her. The man’s consideration was unnerving; it was less than an hour since he had fought her with merciless intent, his strength more than outmatching her own.
He wanted to kill me then.
Does he still want to?
"Good," he decided, concluding his inspection with a thoughtful frown and getting to his feet. "Then I’ll go make breakfast."
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