"Not very good, were they?" Hercules said, realizing as he examined himself that he hadn't even broken a sweat.
"Oh, no, they were great," Iolaus assured him, posing with hands on his hips. "We were just better, that's all."
Hercules nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
He started up the road, shaking his head. Iolaus was wrong, of course; the bandits hadn't been great at all. To call them mediocre would have been kind. Pathetic, in truth, was more like it. He hoped they didn't intend to make their living as thieves; with skills such as theirs, they would undoubtedly starve before the week was out. Or kill each other off by mistake.
Several hours later they made camp beside a shallow creek. Iolaus hunted their supper and cooked it over a low fire. Stars pricked the night sky. A faint splash disturbed the water.
"I'd like to know something," Iolaus said as they bedded down for the night.
"What?"
"Why do they always come one or two at a time?"
Hercules frowned.
"I mean, there were ten of them, Herc. Ten! If they had all come at us at once, we would have had a harder time of it."
It was a point. It seemed that in most battles they found themselves in, the enemy tended to hold back its best advantage.
"Maybe the next time we fight outnumbered, we should point it out to our opponents,' Hercules suggested as his eyes closed.
"What, and get ourselves killed? Are you nuts?"
Hercules laughed silently.
A minute later Iolaus wondered if maybe they shouldn't sleep in shifts.
Hercules grunted.
"They may come back, you know. They might try to take us under cover of night. It would give them courage, not having to face me. Us."
Hercules grunted.
"I mean, they were pretty awful, when you think about it, but that doesn't mean they won't get lucky if we can't see them to fight them."
Hercules rolled onto his side and draped an arm over his ear.
It didn't work.
"If we're asleep, they could capture us without much trouble. Or kill us."
Hercules grunted, louder.
"Tell you what—maybe I'll just sit up for a while. I'll wake you when I get tired."
Hercules began to count to himself, betting he wouldn't reach fifty.
When he reached twenty he heard the distinct sputter of Iolaus snoring.
"Good night, friend," he whispered. "Sleep well."
Emerald green and thick, a plain of low grass flowed to the horizon without a tree, without a flower.
Nothing moved.
The sky was too blue to look at, without a cloud or bird to mar its surface.
Nothing moved.
Slowly Hercules looked to his right, turning in a complete circle, fingers twitching uneasily at his sides.
Nothing moved.
Without the sun for guidance, he was lost.
He took a step anyway, and his high woven boots made no sound in the grass, and the guards that protected his arms from wrist to elbow reflected no light.
Nothing moved.
No sense of time, no sense of distance. Neither the plain nor the sky changed as he walked, checking from side to side, checking behind him, checking above.
Knowing he was being watched, and growing angry because he could not find the watcher.
And nothing moved until he felt a faint rumbling beneath his soles, a rumbling that threw him off stride and forced him to stop.
The sky darkened.
The grass began to sway.
Ahead of him the ground began to shift, to swell, to rise into a mound from which the grass fell like stones.
The rumbling intensified, a stampede of invisible creatures much larger than cattle.
The mound split open.
The sky darkened further.
A shadow rose slowly from the mound, thick and wide and filling the air with the stench of something that had rotted for centuries at the bottom of the sea.
He took a step back.
The shadow grew.
When the sky turned to storm-ridden night, lightning on the horizon, wind damp with cold rain, he saw the eyes in the shadow.
They were green.
And they watched him.
Though he wanted to run, the eyes held him; though he wanted to cry out, the eyes refused to give him his voice.
When they expanded, he believed at first they were growing. Then he realized the shadow had begun to glide toward him, soundlessly, and there was nothing he could do but stare at the watcher, struggle to move, and widen his own eyes in terror when he saw the white that began to glow below the eyes.
With a groan that sounded almost like a cry he wrenched around and began to stumble through the grass, not looking back, not daring to look back, not even when he felt the stench of the shadow's breath on his back, not even when the ground bucked and rolled, not even when he knew he would not escape.
When at last he fell, he rolled immediately onto his back.
He saw the eyes.
He saw the shadow.
He saw the white glow, and soon saw that it came from the white of the shadow's fangs.
And that's when he heard the quiet, mocking laughter.
"No!" he yelled, and sat up so quickly a cloud of dizziness passed over him. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then looked around quickly.
Iolaus was still asleep, snoring. The fire had almost died in its bed. Stars still shone. The moon had begun its slow descent to morning.
There was no monster out there, and no laughter.
He blew out a slow breath and lay down again, cupping his hands beneath his head. Dreams that powerful did not come to him often; when they did, he paid attention.
At the moment he had no idea what the dream meant, or what formed that killing shadow.
But he knew the laughter.
It belonged to Hera.
Holix was exhausted.
He was nearly drained of all but the energy to get him to his favorite place above the sea rocks.
Yet it wasn't just the work that tired him; it was the city itself.
The excitement was almost palpable as the festival grew near. Every day, and most of the night, workers cleaned and repaired the walls, replaced worn roof tiles, and swept the streets. Travelers from inland villages and towns had begun to pour into the city, filling every inn and tavern, sleeping in tents on the outskirts, or taking their chances by napping in alleys. Musicians, dancers, and other entertainers practiced in the plaza; flowers were brought in by the cartload to be strung from roof to roof across the boulevard; the slaughterhouses were working overtime; and chefs were practically melting in the heat of their fires.
Even the rebels had kept a low profile.
Holix had never seen anything like it, and when the stable master gave him a break, he made straight for the rocks before all the energy humming through Themon fried him.
Sadly, he hadn't seen much of his friends lately. But he had heard the great news that both Sana and Cire had been chosen by the council to be among the finalists for the title of summer queen. He was pleased for them, but he was also a little worried-No one had yet explained to his satisfaction why some of the previous queens hadn't remained in Themon. Based on what he'd been able to find out, something like every seventh one simply vanished. Asking the stable master had only resulted in him getting his ears boxed, and the gruff man's wife had dismissed his questions by telling him he was still fresh from the country and therefore wasn't capable of understanding.
As he neared the row of trees, he was surprised to see that someone else was already there. A figure in white, sitting dangerously near the edge of the cliff.
He almost turned around and returned to town; company was exactly what he didn't want right now. It was peace he was after; peace and quiet.
Curiosity pulled him forward, however, and when he reached the trees, he realized the figure was Cire, all hunched over, her face covered by her hands.
>
Unless it was Sana.
He approached slowly, trying not to startle her but still letting her know she was no longer alone.
She looked up, and he stopped.
Her face shone with tears.
"Holix," she said plaintively, and by the husky voice he knew it was Cire. "Holix, help me."
He hurried over and knelt at her side, and was immediately taken aback when she flung her arms around his neck and began weeping on his shoulder. Awkwardly he slipped an arm around her back and stared out to sea, seeing nothing as he frowned.
Finally he whispered, "What is it?"
She loosened her embrace and leaned away without removing her arms. Her head trembled as she cried,
"I don't want to die, Holix. I don't want to die."
Jax made his way quickly through the narrow streets north of the plaza. They were not as crowded as the others; most of the festivities were scattered through the southern, seaward side of the city. Yet there were still enough people here to hide him. His simple clothes marked him as a servant. He was, in effect, invisible, and that suited him just fine.
It was midafternoon when he reached his destination. He was late, but he took several minutes more to make sure he hadn't been followed before slipping into what looked to be an ordinary house.
The woman waited for him.
She was of middle years and, as far as he could tell, youthful appearance, seated as she was in deep shadow on a chair in the far corner of the room. As always, she wore a thin veil over the lower part of her face. He had never seen her in clear daylight, wouldn't know her if he passed her on the street.
He apologized as he entered, and sat on the floor near the entrance, drawing his legs up, hugging his shins.
"No matter," she said. She kept her voice soft.
"Did they do it?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"But there were nearly a dozen of them," he exclaimed angrily. "That has to be enough."
"We're not dealing with ordinary men, Jax. You must remember that."
He scowled. Maybe she was right, but still. . . ten against two ought to have been sufficient odds. Not for the first time he wished he had gone with them. Rotus was a good man, but he had never struck Jax as someone who was capable of leading men into battle.
"So what will we do?"
He could sense her patient smile. "We will try again. There is plenty of time, Jax, plenty of time."
The fingers of his right hand traced a meandering design across the floor by his feet. "What. .." He took a deep breath. "What if we can't stop them?"
She laughed, but kindly. "Oh, Jax, we won't, don't you know that?"
"What?"
"We won't stop them. We can't."
His scowl deepened. He recognized that he wasn't the brightest young man in the world—Holix, for one, was a whole lot smarter, even if he was a farmer— but he thought he had understood the plan from the outset: prevent Hercules and Iolaus from reaching Themon. As a result, Councillor Titus would have no judges, the summer queen would not be chosen, and the people would rise up in indignation and throw the old fart out of office. Simple.
If Hercules and Iolaus actually got here, and the summer queen was actually chosen, the people wouldn't rise up and throw the old fart out of office. Simple.
So why didn't he get it?
"You'll have to trust me," the woman said. "We've done all right so far, haven't we?"
Well, he thought as he nodded yes, he supposed so. If you count dyeing the council-chamber doors green, and writing really clever incendiary slogans on walls, and passing pamphlets around that suggested Titus hadn't exactly been elected king or anything, and didn't have the best record around, and wasn't it a little suspicious that the man remained in power after nearly twenty years?
The trouble was, the council had liked the new shade of green, the graffiti broke up the monotony of all those boring walls stretching one right after the other, and half the people couldn't read anyway, so the pamphlets were pretty much a wash.
Still, he couldn't find it within himself to complain. After all, she had explained at the start that this revolution business was complicated stuff. Not everything was as it appeared to be.
"I'm confused," he confessed.
"Don't be, dear Jax. Just do what you have to, and I'll take care of the rest."
They spoke for another two hours, planning ways to disrupt the parades and feasts that were to begin the next day. By the time he left, his revolutionary fervor had been renewed, and as he hurried down the street he couldn't stop himself from raising his arms and yelling "Down with the tyrant! Down with Titus!" just for the fun of it.
Hearing his shouts, a nearby cobbler darted out of his shop and looked up at his roof. "By the gods, what happened? Is he stuck?" Not seeing anyone up there, he shrugged, looking baffled.
Jax sighed, shook his head, and hurried on.
Despite what his leader had said, maybe it was about time he got Holix involved.
Holix was bewildered, as well as still exhausted.
Cire had finally stopped crying, but she hadn't stopped clinging to him. Not that he was complaining, he wanted the gods to note, but this wasn't like her at all. Or her sister. Although they were servants for one of the richest families in Themon, they certainly never acted servile around their friends. Their tongues were tart, their humor biting. Despite their own lowly station, they couldn't quite get over the fact that Holix hadn't been born in a city, and they laughed at him for being a country bumpkin.
Until now.
"Cire," he said soothingly, stroking her back and feeling guilty for liking it, "you're not going to die.
What makes you think that?"
All too soon she pulled away, plucked a cloth from her long sleeve, and dried her eyes.
"Last night," she said, her voice quavering with emotion, "I heard them talking."
Them; the family she worked for. She seldom called them by name, at least not in his presence. It had nothing to do with the fact that he worked in a stable while she and Sana worked in a fine house; it had everything to do with the fact that she couldn't abide them—husband or wife, or any of their eight children.
"They thought I was asleep."
He waited patiently, thinking he had never seen her so beautiful, here on the hillside, the sunlight caught in her hair, her cheeks flushed and gleaming.
' 'They were talking about another woman, a queen they had known from many years ago. She ..." Cire gulped back a sob and lowered her head. "She was found the next morning."
He frowned. This was the first time he had heard that any of the queens had stuck around after the rites and festival. Surely this was a good sign.
Cire shuddered. "Part of her, anyway."
Or maybe not.
His eyes widened. "Part of her?"
She nodded. "Her foot, and some of her leg."
He swallowed heavily. "But that doesn't mean anything, Cire. She must have... I mean, she must have
..." He stared blindly at the water, trying desperately to think of some logical explanation. All he could remember was the fishing boat he had seen, vanishing into the shadow. No one had ever mentioned it, and even he had come to doubt his own eyes.
"Do you remember that boat?" she asked. She had shifted to kneel in front of him, their knees touching. "The one you said you saw the other night? But we didn't see it?"
He nodded.
"They were talking about other queens, Holix. You were right—every seven years one disappears. And they ..." She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head.
He didn't know what to say. Right here was where the summer queen would be enthroned. From this spot, at sunrise, she could see both the sea to the south and, far beyond the trees, the fields to the north. No one would be with her; it was part of the ceremony, part of the blessing of the fruits of the sea and land.
If the rumors were right, this was the seventh year.
"They were all servants, y
ou know," she said.
"All of them? The queens?"
She nodded. "The ones that vanished, yes."
Boldly he reached out and took her hands, tugged at them until she looked up. "That still doesn't mean you're going to die, you know. I mean, maybe you won't be chosen."
She stared.
He blushed. "No, wait, I mean, of course, you'll be chosen. I mean, you're the most beautiful woman I've—" He stopped. He grinned inanely. "I mean, maybe they'll choose Sana. She's—" He stopped. He considered. "I mean, naturally, you're more beautiful than she is, but—"
"We're twins, Holix," she said, smiling shyly.
"Well, yes, of course, you are. But beauty isn't.. . 1 mean, she's ... that is to say ..." He sighed loudly. "I think I'll just go lie under a chariot."
She laughed, leaned over suddenly, and kissed his cheek.
Holix clamped his lips shut. They wanted to kiss her back, they wanted to babble, they wanted to take back the chariot bit, but they only succeeded in emitting a groan.
When she calmed, still holding his hands, she began watching the flight of a gull over the rocks. The tide was on its way in, and waves crashed against them, sending spray and foam into the sunlight.
"There was someone with them," she said, refusing to meet his gaze. "I heard them say they didn't want Sana to win." Her tone turned bitter. "She's too valuable, they said. Almost. . . almost like family, they said. The other one, the visitor, said a proper donation to the proper gods would probably fix that."
She did face him then, her expression hard and dark. "It was Titus, Holix. Titus Perical, and I heard the money change hands."
He almost said, Impossible.
He almost said, You must have been dreaming.
But the look on her face told him he'd be wrong on both counts. Which meant Councillor Titus already knew who would win the summer queen contest. Which meant the judges would only be going through the motions.
"But how?" he asked. "How could he?"
"I don't know," she said in a soft voice. "And 1 don't care. All I know is, they want me to die. For some reason, I'm going to be the summer queen." She squeezed his hands tightly. "That means a sacrifice, Holix. I'm going to be a sacrifice."
They both looked out at the water, and the afternoon sun turned abruptly cold.
Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 02 Page 4