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Spoils of War Pythia Chapter Five |
Hercules left when the sun was at its highest, taking Celæno’s advice to follow the path of the stream instead of the direct route he had tackled on the upward climb. She flew with him for a way, as elegant as any bird of prey in her mastery of the air.
Trust Aphrodite, he found himself thinking as she wheeled in to land on a rocky outcrop some way ahead. No matter how mad she might have been, she could never totally spoil something beautiful ...
But maybe that was part of the punishment. To retain something of that distant appeal - and yet turn out to be something monstrous and loathsome on close inspection. No doubt, claws deep in corpses, and mouths stained with blood, that was exactly what her sisters had become, embracing their curse and reveling in the power it offered them.
He made a quiet note to speak to his sister the next time he saw her. To ask what she’d intended - and whether there was any hope for Celæno, who’d retained some spark of humanity, and so suffered the more because of it ...
"The falls are only a short way below now," she called, stretching one wing to indicate the path he needed to take. He nodded his thanks and started in that direction, only pausing to turn towards her, and look up at the savage creature in whose hands he had just entrusted the care of his best friend.
"Celæno," he said thoughtfully, "If anything happens to Iolaus while I’m gone ..."
"It won’t," she promised softly. "He will rest and grow strong. We will hunt together for a while. And I will see him safely to your side when you return. You will always be welcome on my mountain, Hercules. Son of Zeus. Friend to Iolaus. Friend to Celæno. I will not forget."
"Thank you," he breathed - and she was gone, in a swirl of raven feathers and with a wild whoop that echoed and re-echoed across the mountainside. Hercules stood there for a moment longer, looking back up at the jagged peak.
Then he laughed softly to himself, and set off down the trail, shirtless and swordless, running for the sheer joy of it, reveling in his own strength and enjoying the chance to simply be for a while. He’d be back at the village in no time - and then he’d have to deal with all those mercenaries, escort Doryagus to Ornea, find a way to make his excuses, and hope no-one else needed his help too urgently so that he was able to return.
He had a sneaking suspicion that - on this occasion - Iolaus might have got the better half of the deal ...
It took him three weeks.
Three days to chivvy Doryagus and six of his men into the city.
Four days to make his statement in the law courts and see the warlord sentenced for his crimes.
Another two to accept the hospitality of the city elders, and two more to escape it gracefully.
Five days on a detour dealing with the rumors of a Chimera that turned out to be a lame lion who’d turned mankiller.
And the last five retracing his steps with the news that Doryagus had bribed his guards, stolen a boat and was heading upriver with well over a dozen fellow escapees, most of whom were convicted murderers.
There were some days he wondered if Xena’s punitive approach to justice wasn’t a better solution after all.
He arrived at the village of Nacla late in the afternoon, to find it - once again - filled with the swirl of smoke. He beached his skiff a little way down the river and carefully made his way into the settlement, skirting the outbuildings and keeping to cover until he could determine what was going on. It appeared to be the meeting house that had been set afire, though the blaze was now extinguished; the villagers were huddled together in the open space that faced the river landing, with most of the unsavoury bunch that Doryagus had recruited standing guard around them. There were two men missing, which wasn’t an encouraging realisation; the warlord was busy admiring his horse, which Hercules had decided to leave in the villagers' care.
Now what am I going to do? Hercules wondered, crouched down at the corner of the smoking building and examining the scene with worried eyes. For what must have been the thousandth time in three long weeks, he wished for the reassurance of his partner’s presence, missing - not just the welcome addition of his help in the coming combat, but all the rest of it: the ability to share his concern over the safety of the villagers, the encouragement of the man's smile as they readied themselves for the fight - and the sheer energy which Iolaus brought to each and every thing he did.
Still - needs must as the fates weave; there was no time to fetch his missing comrade, so he would just have to deal with this on his own.
Doryagus climbed into his saddle, using its height to re-establish some of his old authority. He launched into a pompous speech, all about how he was going to restore his honour and how this place and these men would form the core of his new order. It went on for several minutes, but since the gist of it was that the villagers should now consider themselves his slaves and that his men would be entitled to take whatever they wanted from them, Hercules grew bored very quickly. He stood up, strode out into the open and stared across at the pontificating warrior with impatient eyes.
"I think I’ve heard enough," he announced pointedly. "You get marks for persistence - but that’s about all."
"Hercules!" Doryagus reacted with brief alarm - then broke into a broad grin that didn’t bode well. "Thought you might be following me." He lifted his hand - and the two remaining members of his band stood up from hiding places on the roof of a nearby building. They were armed with loaded bows, which were pointing down at the gathered villagers. "I took out a little insurance this time. Hope you don’t mind." He clicked his fingers and two more of his men strolled over, hefting lengths of chain. "I believe you’re going to surrender to me," the warlord continued conversationally. "Since I doubt even you could catch every arrow before it found a child …"
Stalemate.
The warlord clearly meant what he said, and he was right. Hercules was on the wrong side of the crowd and would never reach the most vulnerable members of the group in time to protect them, even if he had the speed and impetus to leap across the distance. He frowned, letting out a small and frustrated sigh, and slowly lifted his hands, offering them up in front of himself in a gesture of reluctant surrender.
"Thank you," Doryagus smiled, signalling his men to complete the transaction. They swaggered forward, with arrogant grins, no doubt planning on the tales they might spin of how the mighty Hercules had surrendered to them without a fight …
And a wild war cry shattered the tenseness that hung in the air, a bold defiant yell that came seemingly from nowhere. A lithe figure dropped, quite literally, out of the sky, spinning in mid air so that a well aimed foot connected with one of the swaggering warriors. An equally well aimed back hand struck the second. By the time the whole descent was complete and the new arrival was rolling back to his feet with an eager bounce, both men were flat out and groaning, probably unaware of what had hit them.
Unlike Hercules, who was staring at the unexpected interloper with astonishment. At the leanly muscled warrior in a ragged purple patched vest, whose hair tumbled in unruly golden locks and whose eyes were flashing with an eager azure fire.
"Iolaus? But what about - ?" His eyes flicked from the man up to the roof and his sudden sense of terror evaporated into relieved - and wry - comprehension.
"The archers?" his partner questioned with a grin. "What archers?"
And he leapt sideways, striking out with his sword at the nearest startled convict, easily relieving the man of his own weapon and tossing it to the closest villager who - having caught it with automatic reflex - then realised what it was and joined in the fray.
Chaos erupted. Half the villagers screamed and took to their heels. Doryagus fought to control the panic of his horse, and most of his men charged in to attack - those who weren’t already lying dazed and battered on the ground.
The son of Zeus held back for a moment, still staring up at the roof. The roof - and the creature that occupied it, her raven black wings held out for balance, her back claws raking splinters from the ridge beam - and her head thrown back in a cry of delight as she watched battle break out below her. Hercules grinned, grabbed at a mercenary as he hurtled to the attack, picked him up - and threw him over the remaining villagers’ heads to land, sprawling and winded, on top of three of his comrades.
"I thought," Iolaus called over his shoulder, ducking the swing of an axe blade, "that you were taking this guy to jail!" He straightened up, under the axe wielder’s reach, and took him down with a lightning hand, sword hilt and kick combination that was almost too fast to see.
"I did," Hercules protested, hauling a convict away from a villager and slamming him backwards and forwards a couple of times before he threw him away. "He escaped."
"Oh." The hunter acknowledged, dodging back as two burly warriors sprang at him from either side. "I see ..." His two attackers collided with each other; they took a moment to disentangle themselves and he paused to wait politely while they did so.
Then knocked them both over with a spinning jump kick, turning just in time to deflect a descending sword blade with the edge of his own. Since there seemed to be only two or three men left standing by now, Hercules punched the one he had hold of to persuade him to stay out of trouble and stepped back to watch the rest of the fight, enjoying the sight of his friend in action. It was clear, both from the easy way that he moved and the controlled power that backed each directed blow, that he had taken no permanent damage from his injuries - and that his convalescence had been a successful one. If anything, he was more spirited than ever, even finding a moment to toss his sword straight up into the air so that he could lash out on either side simultaneously. Both opponents staggered away; the sword dropped straight back into his hand and he spun, using the blade to defend himself from the third and last man just as he closed for an attack.
A twist of the weapon disarmed the convict. A flurry of kicks and punches brought him to his knees.
And one final, almost casual, tap tipped him over completely.
Iolaus stood for a moment, recovering his breath, then turned to favour his partner with an affectionate frown. "You - uh - feeling all right?" he asked. "You left most of them to me."
Hercules smiled. "Just thought you might like the exercise," he said. The frown held a little longer - then collapsed into a laugh as the hunter strode forward to clasp his partner’s upper arm with a friendly hand.
"Good to see you, too, Herc," he grinned.
Good was not the word for it. Hercules took a moment to drink in the man’s presence, returning that comradely gesture with one just as friendly, wrapping his fingers over the solidity of a muscled shoulder and giving it a gentle shake. The right shoulder. The one that - just three weeks before - had been livid with infection and darkened with savage bruises. Iolaus glanced at the contact and looked back with a rueful smile.
"I got scars," he admitted. "But - uh - " His eyes flicked up to the rooftop and the Harpy that perched there - and the smile widened slightly. "I think they were worth it. What are we gonna do about - " He turned towards the spot Doryagus should have been occupying and his shoulders immediately slumped. "Oh great," he sighed. "He’s escaping again."
The warlord had regained control of his horse - and was now riding away from the village as fast as the animal could carry him.
Hercules frowned, looking around for something to throw. A good sized turnip would do ...
" I could - " he began to say, but Iolaus waved him to silence.
"Don’t bother," he advised generously, taking a couple of steps sideways so that he could get a better view of the nearby roof. "Hey!" he called up. "Princess! You do me a favour?"
Celæno looked down at him with a wicked smile. "For you?" her melodious voice purred. "Anything ..."
He laughed, turning to point at Doryagus’s rapidly vanishing figure. "Just bring him back for me. And don’t hurt him!" he added hastily as she launched herself upwards.
"Spoilsport," she called down. Her wings dug deep into the air - and she sped off like an arrow, a dark shape hurtling towards unsuspecting prey.
"Princess?" Hercules queried skeptically, giving his partner a curious look. Iolaus shrugged.
"Well - she is. Was. They all were. She told me all about it. We - uh - talked a lot," he explained, his reaction somewhat defensive since the look remained quizzical.
Hercules let his eyes narrow as he studied the man beside him. He’d been anxious about him all the time they’d been apart, conscious of having left him in the care of a creature who was - by her very nature - both unpredictable and no longer entirely bound by human measures of morality. She’d promised not to hurt him, but that didn’t mean she could keep that promise - and it hadn’t stopped the Son of Zeus worrying about him. Now he found himself wondering about the wisdom of leaving a man like Iolaus alone with a beautiful woman - whether she’d turned out to be a monster or not ...
Just - talked?
Well, whatever had - or hadn’t - happened in those three weeks, his friend certainly looked good on it. The Harpy had obviously kept her word - and an enforced vacation in the fresh mountain air had undoubtedly contributed to the rest of the miracle. "She - uh - take good care of you?" Hercules asked, not fishing as such, but interested in the answer all the same. Iolaus - who was busy watching the progress of Celæno’s hunt - broke into a broad grin.
"Oh yeah," he breathed. In the distance, horse and rider were abruptly separated; a dark shape arched back into the sky, carrying a heavy burden. A moment later Doryagus was dropped in a sprawled heap in front of the two of them, the warlord practically squealing with terror. The Harpy winged back and came in to land behind him, her return drawing gasps of alarm from the assembled villagers.
"Not one scratch," she announced proudly, restraining her captive’s attempt to rise with a reach of a taloned claw. He took one look at it and froze, quivering like a frightened rabbit. She tilted her head a little to one side and looked at Hercules with amused delight. "Welcome back - friend," she said and he smiled.
"Nice catch," he observed and she laughed, giving Iolaus a sideways glance as she did so.
"I’ve been - practicing," she admitted and the hunter chuckled.
"Tell me about it," he agreed wryly. "We were over a thousand feet up the first time she let go of me …"
A thousand - ? Hercules looked from one to the other as he assimilated this astounding piece of information.
"I needed the height - and I caught you," she protested. "Didn’t I?"
"Well …" Iolaus’s teasing smile collapsed in alarm as a flung stone impacted against his shoulder. "Ow! Hey - " He spun, barely dodging a second stone, which Hercules caught before it hit anyone else. "Who threw that?" the hunter demanded, his eyes flashing with anger as they scanned the mob that seemed to have gathered behind them. The villagers were grouped in a tight huddle, led by several men armed with pitchforks and swords wrested from unconscious convicts. Another stone flew out of the crowd; it hit the Harpy, who hissed and stepped back, her wings flexing. Doryagus started to bolt - and Hercules knocked him out with a distracted backhand, his attention focused on the advancing villagers and their determined faces.
"Get out of the way, Hercules," the man named Zenon demanded, brandishing his pitchfork. "If you won’t deal with her, we will."
"She’ll steal our livestock," one voice wailed angrily.
"Foul our river."
"Eat our children."
"Hey, hey. Whoa. Whoa!" Iolaus reacted, stepping in front of Celæno and lifting his sword in her defense. ""She’s not here to eat anyone. You tell 'em, Herc. She just saved them."
Zenon stabbed forward with the fork, and Hercules caught it, snapping the wooden shaft with one clench of his hand. "Iolaus is right," he announced sternly. "The Harpy came to your aid. Don’t repay that with violence."
"I should go," Celæno murmured, tensing her wings to fly away, and Iolaus half turned, putting out his hand to prevent her flight.
"Don’t," he requested. "I won’t let them hurt you ...." He tailed off, wrestling with a rueful grimace as if he just realised what he was saying. Hercules heard the Harpy chuckle softly. If anything it was the crowd that were in danger; Celæno was perfectly capable of rending the entire village limb from limb if the mood took her.
"She’s a monster," Zenon growled, his bravado backed by murmurs of support from the mob. "She has to die. No-one will be safe until she’s dead."
"Now - just - wait a minute," Hercules requested, putting up his hands to dissuade the forward surge that followed this conclusion. "What harm has Celæno done to you? Has she ever attacked the village? Taken a child? What crime is she accused of?"
"Well - she’s a monster," Zenon repeated, as if this were sufficient justification all on its own.
"She takes sheep in the winter," someone piped up from the back of the group.
"Yeah - and she snatched him away in broad daylight ..." The speaker had raised an accusing hand to point directly at Iolaus - who gave him a withering look and turned to share a exasperated ‘duh’ with the Harpy who crouched at his side. She laughed. Hercules smothered a wry grin of his own.
"Listen, people," he said. "Celæno isn’t here to hurt anyone. She didn’t eat Iolaus -and she’s not going to eat any of you. Matter of fact, she could be a real help to the village if you just give her a chance."
"Help?" Zenon appeared to have been elected spokesman for the entire community. "How can that help us?"
"She already did," Iolaus interjected. "She didn’t have to come down from the mountain today. You owe her."
The villagers murmured among themselves for a moment or two; finally an old man pushed forward to the front - the same old man who had sent Hercules up onto the mountain three weeks before. He frowned at Celæno, then at the warrior beside her before turning back to face the crowd. "They’re right," he admitted reluctantly. "She’s lived on the mountain for as long as I can remember - and while I’ve lived in fear of her for all that time, she’s never taken anything more than a sheep or two in the deep winter. We thought," he went on, turning towards Hercules, "that the battle you brought here had woken her old hungers. That once she’d tasted human flesh no-one would be safe. When you came back - before - we just assumed that you’d - that she was gone." He turned again, staring at Iolaus with a decidedly perplexed expression. "Looks like we were wrong - on both counts. Unless this young man is his own ghost, sent back by Hades to confound us ..."
Hercules glanced at his partner - just as he sought his friend’s face in return. Their eyes met, the mutual contact conveying a great number of things, most of which would be very hard to put into words; then Iolaus grinned. An incorrigible, delighted kind of grin. "Mmhuh," he denied emphatically. "Been there. Done that. I’m no ghost. You can be real sure of that."
"So what?" Zenon demanded belligerently. "She’s still a monster. Maybe she didn’t kill you - but what’s to stop her from taking a child instead of a sheep next winter? When she gets hungry? Will you be here then?"
"No," Hercules answered candidly. "But you can stop it. By ending your own fear and hatred. You have a choice - to treat her as an enemy and to live forever in fear of her shadow. Or to make her your friend - and to benefit from that friendship."
"Benefit, Hercules?" the old man asked.
"Benefit," he repeated firmly. "Next time a - a would be warlord comes calling, Iolaus and I probably won’t be here. But she will. She’s your neighbour. Make her a good one. Give her the sheep she needs in the winter - and I’m sure she will defend your village and its people whenever the need arises. If you’re plagued by wolves, then call her. You’d do that, wouldn’t you, Celæno? Hunt wolves and keep these people safe as best you could?"
The Harpy stared at him, stepping back to studying the line of hostile faces that were fixed on hers. She flexed her wings, her body arching uneasily beneath their reach. "I - I don’t know," she breathed. "They fear me, Hercules ..."
"Then teach them there is nothing to fear," he said. "Not from a friend."
"A friend," she echoed softly. "Friends - trust each other." Her eyes darted from his face, across those of the wary villagers and settled on the sympathetic look that Iolaus was giving her, his lips touched with an encouraging smile. "I cannot change what I am," she protested and the smile widened a little further.
"I sure hope not," he retorted warmly. "Go for it, Princess. It may not be easy but - I have faith in you."
"So do I," Hercules added with equal fervour. She glanced at him as if to test the truth in his words.
"Then I will try," she said softly. She dipped her head once, then lifted it again, spreading her wings as she turned towards the villagers. "From this moment forward, this place is under my protection. You are my people, and I will watch over you as I watch over my mountain. If ever you have need of my help then make a signal with smoke as you have done today, and I will come. I will come in friendship - because my friends ask me to. I am Celæno. I give you my word."
And having given it she leapt into the air - and was gone.
Hercules must have had a distinct sense of deja-vu while they were loading Doryagus and his men into their stolen boat, but at least this time he had help - and the help was warmly aware of how welcome his presence was, since the son of Zeus even laughed out loud at one of his jokes, which had to be a sign of something, although Iolaus didn’t like to speculate as to what. The villagers kept giving him dubious looks and were talking about him in whispers whenever they thought he couldn’t hear. He wasn’t all that bothered about their reaction to him, although he was amused to find that he could intimidate the convicts by just going near them. He even did it deliberately a couple of times, just to see Doryagus jump - and it earned him a patient look from Hercules, who probably would have frowned at any other man, but knew him well enough to know that he’d grow tired of the joke soon enough.
As for the villagers ...
Hercules had taken the old man to one side and had a long talk with him; the result was that he’d promised to keep Zenon and others like him from doing anything too precipitate next time the Harpy flew over the village. He might have made the promise from fear, but the Son of Zeus had every reason to hope that the people of Nacla would keep their side of the bargain and - by doing so - eventually come to see their unlikely neighbour in a new light. Iolaus had no fears that Celæno would not keep her word. Three weeks in her company had taught him a great deal about her.
But he did feel a little sorry for the next bunch of bullies that passed that way ...
Hopefully she’ll just scare them a little.
Her name alone ought to be enough to keep all but the worst away.
Doryagus would help with that. He practically begged them to take him back to Ornea, although he grew more resentful and uncooperative as the time to depart grew closer. One more enemy to add to a growing list, but - as Iolaus had cheerfully pointed out - when the list started with Hera and Ares, having a man like Doryagus tagging on to the end of it was just a minor consideration. It was good to feel that the Harpy’s name could be added to the other list, the one of friends and allies that more than balanced their accumulation of foes.
They set off the next morning, lashing the little skiff behind the larger boat and poling out into the main current so that it would take them downstream. The weather was good and the river running high. They would be back in the city within a few days - after which they could head home for Corinth and the chance of a brief respite before trouble called on them again.
Hercules took the rudder, leaning into the weight of the current with casual ease. Iolaus manned the bow, dividing his attention between the river ahead and the captive men gathered in the curve of the hull. Some of them were getting bold, muttering among themselves and hurling the occasional taunt at their captors in the hope of hitting a nerve.
"Hey," one of them called as Nacla vanished from sight around a bend, "munchkin! Yeah, you at the bow. Is it true what they say? 'Bout you and the Harpy? You must be pretty desperate to want something like that in bed ..." The rest of the bunch laughed raucously, swapping lewd comments, none of which were complementary. Iolaus tried to ignore them, leaning on the bow rail and toying with the amulet that hung around his neck.
"I bet she plays rough. Takes the lead, so to speak?"
More laughter. Iolaus smiled quietly to himself.
"She’s a biter. I bet you she’s a biter."
"Nah," one of the others contradicted. "She’d be all claws and slobber."
"Yeah. But would you want a bedwarmer that’d eat ya soon as look at ya? Scaled and feathered? Be like bedding a chicken."
That spurred more laughter. Iolaus shifted his weight and stared thoughtfully up at the sky.
"Chicken lover," the convict taunted boldly. "Cluck, cluck cluck cluck ..."
The rest of the men broke out in a chorus of chicken calls, finding vicious pleasure in the game even if their intended victim wasn’t rising to the bait. They had begun to sound exactly like a henhouse with a fox loose in it when a raven black shape dropped out of the sky and landed on the cross boards just behind the bow. Silence fell abruptly.
"Hello, Princess," Iolaus murmured, greeting her with a smile.
He’d long since got past how intimidating she could be at first sight, although the savagery of her claws and the powerful shift of her wings were something he would never forget. He had learned to trust his life to those wings, and, after that first precipitate snatch he’d always been cradled in those claws with determined gentleness. Perhaps he’d picked up a scratch or two, but even Hercules could play a little rough when they sparred together, and Celæno had never meant to hurt him. Not even that first time.
And she taught me what it felt like to fly ...
Actually, she’d taught him what it felt like to fall - but her teasing game had turned out to be wonderful fun; knowing that she would swoop down and snatch him up at the last minute had given those wind buffeted tumbles a breathless excitement all of their own.
The group of convicts were all desperately trying to shuffle back to the maximum length of their chains; many of them would have been unconscious while she stalked the village, and only Doryagus had got a real good look at her. No doubt to them, the word Harpy had conjured images of the foetid, ugly creatures that most people had heard of, even if they’d never seen one. But Celæno was no ordinary Harpy; if they were just ugly chickens, then she was a true bird of prey - and she possessed a sleek, wild presence that might terrify even the most battle hardened of men.
"I remembered," she was saying softly, "something about friends. Friends - say good-bye when they part."
He shook his head. "No they don’t," he corrected with a grin. "They say - farewell, until we meet again."
"They do?" Her eyes lit up and her lips curved into an almost shy smile. "That’s - that’s much better than good bye."
"Yeah. I know." She was wearing a single poppy in her hair, reminding him of that first day they’d flown together. He’d still been weak and nursing damaged muscle and she’d been so anxious in carrying him that she’d dared not go any further than a patch of narrow meadow close to her lair. He’d picked the poppies on a whim, recalling the dream he’d had - and woven them into a circlet for her dark tresses, setting bright splashes of scarlet against raven black. On the Harpy they’d looked savage, like splotches of blood. But on the woman they had sat like a crown of flame. "You know," he sighed, savouring the darkness of her eyes, "If we were alone, right now ..."
She smiled, a wicked, warm smile, filled with a wild fervor that quickened his heart. Celæno might have chosen to live alone, away from the tumult of battle and the fever of war, but she was still a creature of passion and there was a part of her that craved excitement and adventure. That liked to be challenged. "I could arrange it, " she purred, glancing over her shoulder to where Hercules stood at the rudder bar. Iolaus laughed.
"Thanks but - no, thanks," he chuckled. "You might never let me go."
She echoed the laugh with a soft one of her own, lifting one front foot to curl its talons gently over his shoulder and leaning forward so that she could look directly into his eyes. "What makes you think I will?"
She sounded serious. For one brief second his heart faltered. He found himself considering the possibility that he might have been wrong about her after all -
- and then relaxed as he realised that she was only teasing him. Even so, there was a hint of wistfulness in her eyes; she’d spent a long time alone on her mountain and had made no secret of how welcome she’d found his company. Iolaus suspected the look he was giving her held some of that same quiet regret. After what had happened between them … He smiled, tucking those memories safely way in his heart. That was then. This was now. And she was waiting for his answer.
"Because you’re my friend," he said softly. He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, and tangle his fingers in the silken smoothness of her hair. "Because I trust you." She turned into the contact, pressing her cheek into his palm. "And just - because …" He leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to her other cheek, gifting this - her cursed face - with the gentlest of kisses …
Hercules leant into the rudder to compensate for the next bend in the river and watched as Celæno leaned forward, unable to help tensing a little as she reached for his partner’s shoulder. He’d seen the damage those claws could do, and even a small misjudgment on her part might cost his friend dearly. There were several gasps of involuntary alarm from the watching prisoners, followed by an almost universal dropping of jaws as the man in the bow leaned forward in turn to place a delicate kiss on the Harpy’s upturned cheek. The son of Zeus smiled to himself, shaking his head with quiet amusement. He might have known ...
Then he grinned, wondering - first if he might be jumping to one too many conclusions, and second - if it really mattered one way or the other. It was nothing more than a parting kiss, a gesture of friendship; Hercules had seen his friend dispense such gifts a thousand times. This one was particularly gentle - but then its recipient was poised with a deadly claw resting right above her benefactor’s heart.
I hope she’s not the jealous type ...
Iolaus had a warm and generous nature - and had never seen harm in sharing a little meaningless pleasure with a willing soul. There were always plenty willing too - from independent women who wanted nothing from him other than a moment or two of his time, right up to hero besotted maidens who craved the opportunity to boast that once - just once - they had been in the arms of a real man. Hercules preferred commitment to chemistry as a rule, but providing nobody got hurt - and he included his partner in that consideration, since the man had been badly wounded in such encounters once or twice - he felt uninclined to moralise over it. Would Celæno be any different from all the other such ‘friends’ that Iolaus had made over the years?
Apart from the fact that she was a Harpy, the victim of a tragic curse?
Or that she’d nearly killed him, not so long since?
He watched the two of them move apart , sparing a moment to glance at rest of their audience. Doryagus had a look of absolute horror written across his face; most of the others were open mouthed with astonishment. Celæno stepped back reluctantly, uncurling her taloned hand with care. She stood for a moment, her eyes fixed on the man in front of her - and then her wings opened and bit down, launching her high into the air above the boat.
"Fare well, my friends," she called down, including the son of Zeus in her consideration. "Until we meet again."
Hercules lifted his hand to wave her farewell; Iolaus, with his usual flair for flamboyance, blew her a kiss. She laughed, soared upwards like an eagle - and sped away, back to the tranquillity of her mountain lair. The man at the bow stood and watched until even the dark dot that marked her flight was lost among the rich blue of the sky. Then he smiled to himself and reached down to pick up one of the dark feathers that she had left behind ...
The air had a bitter bite as she climbed higher, seeking a place where she could see the map of the land laid out below her. There was her mountain, quiet and undisturbed beneath the afternoon sun. There was the village that she had vowed to protect - and would, whenever the need arose. And there was the river, curving away into the distance, its waters leaving the valley just as he was leaving it, seeking other places and other sights, out there in the wide world.
She hovered there for a long time, watching the progress of the boat, watching it grow smaller and smaller, moving further and further away until she could no longer see it at all. Even then she stayed where she was, her eyes on the distant landscape into which it had vanished.
Farewell …
A beat of her wings and she was spiraling down, heading for the land above the falls and the safety of home. The warmth of his kiss still lingered on her cheek; the memory of him warmed her heart as no other had done for a very long time. More than just the memory. She - Celæno - had friends. True friends.
And a new promise, with which to salve her cursed and wounded soul.
Until we meet again.
It was more than she’d ever hoped for.
More than her curse deserved.
She knew her lair would feel empty from now on; there would be no smile waiting to welcome her return, and no echo of voices would chase the silences away from her grotto. But while she would sleep alone in the emptiness of her nest, it would be to dream of times when she had cradled the hard muscled line of a man’s body against hers; to dream of the sweetness of his blood and the light in his eyes.
The heat of battle would always call to her.
The thrill of victory would always fire her soul.
But for now, and for ever, her heart would belong to the spoils of war ...
Iolaus admits to having got a little carried away during the course of this tale. Just how far, he is not prepared to say ...
