By Morgan
This story contains scenes of graphic sex between a man and a woman and/or extreme violence. If you are disturbed by this type of scene, please read the PG13 version of this story at Ceallach's Writer's Corner.
Hercules/Iolaus/Hera/Jason/Alcemene belong to Universal Studios and Pacific Renaissance and no copyright infringement is intended.
The whitewashed house shone in the morning sunlight. Around the doorway a vine twisted higher than he remembered it, hundreds of tiny flowers open upon it. Standing in the open doorway was the elderly, but still, to his eyes, beautiful woman who was his mother. Her hands were full of lavender gathered from the small garden. She offered a smile of pure joy to her famous son as he strode quickly toward her.
"Welcome home."
Hercules grinned as he lifted his mother in his strong arms. Used to her son's foibles, Alcemene returned the hug without protest.
"It's good to be home," he told her.
"How was Corinth?" Jason asked, watching them from a few paces away.
"It's still there," Hercules evaded. Then, seeing Jason's worried look added, "There was some trouble, but we dealt with it, Jason. Iphicles is a good king." Jason had given up the throne of Corinth to marry Alcemene, and he still fretted over events in his home city.
Hercules let go of Alcemene, looking around. "Where's Iolaus?" he asked. "I thought he would be here by now."
"He'll be back in a day or two," Alcemene told her son.
"In a day or two? Where is he?"
"Iolaus met a girl on the road. He's taking her home." Jason winked, his implication obvious. "You know Iolaus."
Hercules frowned slightly, his eyes worried. "I do, and that's not like him."
"You didn't see the girl," Jason grinned.
"Ah. Pretty?"
"I'd say so."
Alcemene looked between the two men. "Hercules, what is it? You're worried."
He was silent for a moment, then decided to tell them. "I’m just uneasy." He led the way into the house. "I passed that old shrine to Hera on the way here." He saw his mother’s expression and added quickly, "No, nothing happened. It’s old, overgrown. But I’ve been feeling… as if something’s wrong, since." He turned to Jason, making an effort to shake off the mood. "So, tell me about this girl."
Jason seemed happy to oblige. "Iolaus seemed quite smitten. She'd been attacked on the road and he happened along."
"Now, that sounds like Iolaus," Hercules commented.
"She was pretty. A blonde, about his height, blue-grey eyes…oh, and she had a tattoo, right here." Jason touched his temple.
"Tattoo?" That uneasy feeling was back, suddenly.
"Mmm. I didn't get a good look at it. Something green." He saw his stepson's frown and smiled, misunderstanding. "He's a grown man, Hercules."
"I know."
Alcemene moved to stand between her husband and her son. "Your instincts are usually good, Hercules," she said quietly. "Are you just bothered by that shrine, or are you truly worried about Iolaus?"
He shrugged. "Maybe I should follow them. If I'm worrying over nothing it won't matter. If not…" He left the sentence unfinished.
Three days earlier.
"Please! Somebody help me!"
Iolaus stopped at the sound of the scream. He drew his sword and crept toward the sound. He saw a woman kneeling on the ground, her back to him. There was no sign of anyone else.
Warily, he moved forward.
She twisted round when she heard him coming, and he saw the body in the grass before her.
"It's all right," he reassured her. He sheathed his sword and held out his empty hands to show he was harmless.
"Help us?" she said. As Iolaus got closer he could see tears in her eyes.
He crouched down beside the man’s body, but needed only a quick glance to tell him the man was dead: a gaping wound to the chest told its own story. He went through the motions anyway, checking the man’s neck for a pulse, holding a hand beside his lips to look for breath and finally he gently closed the man’s eyes, looking up at the girl, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry. It's too late…" He stopped as she began to weep. Feeling very awkward, Iolaus moved to her side, and touched her shoulder in a gesture that was supposed to be comforting.
She turned and clung to him, crying against his chest.
He put his arms round her, patting her gently on the back. Eventually, when her storm of weeping passed, Iolaus risked speaking to her. "Your husband?" he asked gently.
"No." She shook her head. "I didn't really know him… I'm trying to get home, you see. I paid him to protect me…"
Iolaus listened, not understanding more than every third word of her story. As far as he could make out, she was afraid of travelling alone, had hired the man to accompany her home, and they had been robbed on the road. She was in such a state; he was sure he hadn't got the whole story.
Even so, years travelling with Hercules had taught him what to do when faced with a maiden in distress. Especially one who, he now noticed, was as attractive as this one. Her golden hair smelled of roses. Her dress was low cut; because she stood so close to him he had a great view of her breasts: the principal asset of her emphatically female body. Her dress was torn below the waist, giving him an occasional glimpse of her leg, too.
"Look, if you need to get home, I can take you there. How far is it?" he asked her, hoping it wouldn't turn out to be Troy, or somewhere equally far. Or, maybe, hoping it would: he didn't mind the thought of spending a few weeks in this woman's company.
"About two days journey, maybe three," she said. "But I can't afford…"
Iolaus shrugged. "No charge. Look, I've got some friends in the next village." He meant Alcemene and Jason. "We can get some food there, and I'll let them know where we're going. OK?"
She raised her eyes to his. There were colours there he'd never seen before, whole rainbows swirling in the depths of her irises. Her lips were trembling with suppressed tears.
That did it. Iolaus was in love.
She forced a weak smile. "Thank you. I'm Iris."
"Um, I have a tiny confession," Iolaus admitted, shamefaced.
"What?" Her blue eyes widened nervously.
"You see, Iris, I was expecting to stay with Alcemene. I can't actually afford an inn. Not if we need to buy food as well."
She began to breathe again. "Is that all?"
"It's getting dark. We have to stop somewhere."
"There's a farm not far from here, or there should be." Iris looked around them, searching for the lights. "We could probably sleep in the barn… if you were willing to chop wood, or something…"
For her? Anything. Iolaus agreed quickly.
It turned out to be easier than they expected. The farmer was a man he and Hercules had helped two years before, and he gladly agreed to let them use the barn. Iolaus was a bit concerned about Iris: she didn't seem the type who'd be happy to sleep in the hay, but she seemed to settle down to sleep quickly.
Iolaus spared a few thoughts for Hercules before he slept. He would probably worry when he arrived at Alcemene's to find Iolaus missing. Well, if Herc was delayed at Corinth he'd never need to know Iolaus had been away.
In the middle of the night Iolaus woke abruptly. He sat up, his heart pounding. For some reason, he was sure he was not alone. It was pitch dark in the barn; there was not even a window to let the moonlight in. Iolaus felt for his sword, got a firm grip and kept still, listening.
He could hear Iris breathing not far from him…nothing else.
There was a rustle as she shifted restlessly in her sleep. Silence. Then, into the silence, she called out.
"Please!"
It startled Iolaus almost out of his skin. She was talking in her sleep, just mumbling. Nothing, after that first cry, was distinct. She sounded distressed.
Not sure what to do, Iolaus crept toward the sound. Gingerly, he reached out a hand and touched what he hoped was her arm.
She came awake with a gasp. "Iolaus?" she cried. Her voice sounded very loud in the darkness.
"It's all right. I'm here."
She hit him – at least, that's how it felt.
"Ow!" he protested.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?" Her hands, searching in the darkness, found Iolaus's leg, slid up to his chest and then round to his back.
He was surprised – pleasantly, mind you – to feel her lips find his mouth. She kissed him…a serious kind of kiss that made his legs turn to jelly. Her questing tongue parted his lips and explored his mouth. She tasted wonderful. The sword fell from his hand as he held her to him. The urgency of his body's reaction surprised him: it was only a kiss, but suddenly he was so hard it was almost painful.
Finally, she paused for breath and he leaned away from her. "Iris? You know, we shouldn't…"
She was shaking in his arms. A warm hand encircled his, guiding his fingers to her breast. He felt the soft, warm flesh beneath his hand, heard her gasp when his fingers found her nipple. He found he wasn't surprised she was naked.
"Please, Iolaus," she whispered, her breath warm on his neck. "Help me drive the nightmares away."
Honourable intentions lost to rising lust. He bent his head to take that firm breast into his mouth, dismissing the vaguely disquieting feeling of dêja-vu. She held his head to her breast, her breath coming in little moans of pleasure. He kissed and suckled both breasts, letting his hand wander over her naked body…her stomach, her back, her ripe, round buttocks. He stroked the silken hair between her thighs and she parted her legs in invitation.
Some maiden in distress, he thought, but he was past caring. He felt her deft fingers at the fastenings of his trousers and paused in his exploration of her body to help her. His swollen, throbbing manhood was suddenly released from its leather prison and he shed the trousers quickly. He turned his attention back to Iris, whose hands found his manhood in the darkness.
Iolaus couldn't suppress his moan of delight as she took his penis in her hands, gently rubbing, teasing. Gently, but firmly, she pushed him onto his back and positioned herself between his legs. He felt her hair on his stomach and shivered in anticipation. Her mouth, moist and warm, encircled his manhood. Her tongue explored it, she covered it with light kisses. It was torture, restraining himself, he wanted to take her now, plunge into her depths that he knew would be wonderful.
Unable to stand it any more, he reached down and lifted her head. He kissed her, their tongues met and entwined and fought for pleasure. Not breaking the kiss, Iolaus reached between her legs, found her hot and wet. She cried out when he touched her clit, the sound muffled by his mouth. He rubbed harder, moving his lips over the sensitive skin of her neck, and across her breasts.
"Now," Iris moaned. "Oh, please, now."
He parted her legs and lay between them, his hard manhood touching the wet folds of her sex. She reached for him, guiding him into her. It was more wonderful than he had imagined. She kissed his neck and shoulder as he began to move inside her, slowly at first, wanting to make this last. She grasped his buttocks, pulling him close to her, matching his rhythm and called out his name, "Iolaus…"
She began to move faster as her climax built, and he moved with her, his mouth returning to her breasts. He suckled hard, and she came, groaning her pleasure. Her nails dug into his back. The unexpected pain somehow drove him to new heights of pleasure. He thrust into her, hard, his own orgasm building.
Iris lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, drawing him deeper inside her. She brought a hand to the back of his head, pulling him toward her breast. One final thrust and his orgasm exploded, his seed pumped into her. Iolaus cried out, the sheer release greater than anything he had ever experienced. He collapsed on top of her, his head between her breasts. Her hand was tangled in his hair.
For a few moments neither of them moved. Then Iris reached down to kiss him gently. He returned the kiss and picked himself up, lying alongside her and taking her into his arms. They slept like that, naked bodies entwined, and shortly before dawn, they woke and made love again.
Being a demigod has its advantages.
Travelling alone, Hercules could walk faster and keep up the pace for longer than most mortals. His easy stride ate up the miles. He just had to hope he was going the right way…
As evening fell, he found a tavern in a small town. He paid for a meal and a tankard, and casually asked the tavern-man, as he had asked everywhere he passed, for news of Iolaus and the girl.
"…And she's about so tall." He held up a hand at what he hoped was the right height. "Blue eyes, very pretty. Green tattoo about here. Seen her?"
"Oh, yeah." The tavern-man eyes Hercules speculatively. "Don't tell me: she's your woman and they've eloped together."
"No, he's my friend and I want to catch up with them." Hercules casually placed a dinar on the table. The tavern-man caused it to disappear. "How long ago did you see them?"
"Yesterday. They stopped here for lunch."
"What made you think they had eloped?"
The tavern-man leered suggestively. "Well, they were a real close couple, know what I mean? I figured, they had to be newlyweds, or something."
Hercules nodded as if understanding and moved away, confused. Iolaus, what are you doing?
On the last night of their journey, they made camp in an isolated stand of trees, some distance from the road. They stopped early, spreading a blanket on the ground and relaxing in each others' arms. In the space of a few days, Iris had changed dramatically, from frightened maiden to self-sufficient woman. Iolaus, if he noticed, thought nothing of it. He was too wrapped up in Iris to worry.
While they waited for their meal to cook – a rabbit Iolaus had caught earlier that day – Iris knelt down behind him, removed his ragged vest and began to massage his shoulders. Iolaus leaned back against her body, sighing with pleasure as her strong fingers dug into the muscles of his neck. She moved her hands further down his back, leaning over him so that her hair spilled over his shoulder. Iolaus lifted a few strands of her hair and brought them to his lips.
She smiled up at him. "If that's what's on your mind, let me do this properly."
Oh, those eyes! Iolaus pulled her over his shoulder into his lap and held her face between his hands, kissing her lips, both eyes and finally the tip of her nose. "Do what properly?" he teased.
In answer, she began to undo his trousers. He let her do it, helping her to strip him, and once naked lay back, smiling with anticipation, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Turn over," Iris instructed. Iolaus obeyed, and she began to massage his whole body. Iolaus relaxed to her attentions. She knew what she was doing, where to knead hard, where to go easy. Her hands moved up and down his legs, stroking him like a cat. She leaned over him finally and kissed him lightly between the shoulder blades, her hair tickling his back. Iolaus turned over and kissed her back pulling down beside him. His hands went to the lacing of her top and she allowed him to undo it, slowly, pulling out the laces one hole at a time. When he had finished, her top hung open, exposing her generous breasts.
The temptation to touch was irresistible. Iolaus traced a line from her jaw, down her neck and to her breasts, taking them one in each hand. He slipped the shirt from her shoulders and left a row of kisses down one arm, before returning to her lips. His kiss was passionate, ungentle. Iris responded eagerly, her arms tight around him. When he paused for breath she pushed him away.
He stopped, confused, as she stood and removed her skirt. He reached for her and she pushed him away again, with a secretive smile that seemed to convey a promise. Yielding to her, he lay back again. She straddled his body, the soft folds of her womanhood touching his already eager member. She leaned forward to kiss him and he held her tight to him. Patiently, she moved his arms away and turned her attention to his neck, kissing the sensitive skin, flicking him gently with her tongue. She moved to his shoulder, and down his chest, exploring his nipples with her tongue. She moved lower, kissing every inch of skin she could find. For a moment she paused, resting her cheek on his stomach, then shifted to take his hard manhood into her mouth.
A moan escaped his lips as she began to suck, tasting the fluid that had begun to ooze from him. Her tongue explored the head of his penis, caressing every part of it. Iolaus reached down to hold her head, guiding her movements. It felt so good he didn't want her to stop, but…
Iris lifted her head and looked at him, her rainbow eyes delighted. Beyond words, Iolaus beckoned to her and she raised up, straddling his body once again and impaling herself on his manhood. Iolaus felt her warm depths embrace him and reached for her, desperate to touch, to caress. She began to move above him and he moaned his pleasure. She leaned forward and he reached for her breasts, bringing one to his mouth.
She looked wild, her face flushed with pleasure and exertion, her hair in disarray, her beautiful eyes open as she moved above him, taking pleasure, giving it. The setting sun was behind her, turning her golden hair into a blood-red halo. She was something out of a dream, his wildest fantasy. She began to move faster and he matched her rhythm, his lust building up, his need too great to be contained. They climaxed together, Iris crying out his name huskily as she came. She lay down in his arms, her energy spent, whispering his name over and over.
Their rabbit supper was forgotten.
Later, when Iolaus was sleeping, his tousled blonde head cushioned on his arm, Iris lay propped up on one arm beside him, watching his face. She reached out a hand to his face, tracing his sleeping features without – quite – touching him. Her lips, livid in the campfire's glow, formed the shape of his name.
Abruptly she jerked her hand back. She dragged the discarded bundle of her clothes toward her and found her top, tying the laces loosely back into place. Rooting around in the bundle she found the other item she was looking for. Then she stood and walked some distance away from the sleeping man. Once out of earshot, she raised the object to eye level. She spoke a single word.
What she held was a mirror, of sorts. A concave disk of glass, painted black on the outer side and set into a wooden frame. Its inner surface was reflective and would have served as a mirror. But that was not its purpose. Within the black mirror, the rough outline of a face formed: a response to Iris's summoning.
"We are ready," she told the ghost-like face, speaking aloud. "We'll reach you tomorrow, before noon."
<<He responds well to the drug, then?>> The words resonated in her mind, while the mouth of the face in the mirror moved to match the speaking.
Iris's voice faltered. "I… I don't know. It didn't seem necessary."
The eyes in the mirror flashed fire. <<Foolish girl! It will be necessary. If you are to complete your journey.>>
"I know. It's just that…the drug could kill him."
<<That is not important. What matters is our orders. You will obey.>>
Iris bowed her head. "I will."
The face in the mirror faded to cloudiness the vanished, leaving the mirror blank once more.
Iris lowered the mirror and turned back toward Iolaus. There were tears streaming down her cheeks.
The road ran alongside a slow moving river. Iris stopped Iolaus as they neared a spot where the riverbank ran low, telling him she wanted to bathe and clean up before she reached home. She pulled the waterbag from his pack as she walked down to the water's edge.
She filled the waterbag, slipping a quantity of liquid from a vial in her belt into the water. She stoppered the bag and tossed it to Iolaus, who smiled at her, automatically taking a drink.
"Iris?" he called, coming closer to the edge, "What's going to happen when we do get there?"
She paused in the act of taking off her dress, misunderstanding. "What – what do you mean?"
He moved close to her, putting one arm around her waist, the other hand caressing one exposed breast. "You know what I mean. What happens to us?"
"I'm not married or anything," she smiled up at him. "But I don't know what will happen. Isn't that up to you?" Oh, how she hated the lie.
Iolaus released her and she continued undressing. He was talking, rambling. It was one of the signs of the drug taking effect. Well, at least he wasn't reacting badly to it. Now all she had to do was wait.
To fill the time, Iris continued her bath. She could feel Iolaus' eyes on her and knew he enjoyed watching. She performed for him, tantalising him with the sight of her wet, nude body. At one point she turned back to Iolaus and suggested he have another drink. He did as she said without comment.
Iolaus was sitting on the riverbank, watching her with unfocussed eyes as she came out of the river. She quickly pulled her dress back on before she spoke to him.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
Iolaus gave a somewhat dopey smile. "I feel great," he said.
Iris heard the characteristic slur in his voice and began to relax. Still, a part of her was hoping he would shake off the effects.
"You'll do fine," she told him. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm sorry I had to do this, but it's necessary."
He was watching her eyes, that silly smile still on his face.
"If the drug has done its work, you'll obey me now, whatever I tell you to do. I only gave you a small dose, Iolaus. It will wear off by noon." She paused, biting her lip. "I hope you'll be able to forgive me."
"…and she's very pretty. Blonde, blue eyes. Green tattoo about here." Hercules was getting very tired of offering the same description. So far that day, no one appeared to have seen Iolaus. If Hercules was on the wrong road, he could make up the time, but still…
Nearby, a woman looked up from her sewing. "You're looking for Iris?" she called.
Hercules turned to her quickly. "I wasn't told her name. I'm looking for my friend. They were travelling together."
She stood up. "Sure sounds like Iris. Pretty blonde with a peacock tattoo…"
"A peacock tattoo?" Hercules repeated, sharply.
The woman seemed not to notice his sudden change of mood. "Well," she went on, "if it's Iris you want, the temple's on the other side of the hill." She pointed. "About halfway up."
"Thanks." Hercules started to leave, then turned back. "By the way…" he asked as casually as he could, "whose temple is it?"
But he knew the answer before it was given.
"Hera."
It was like waking up, suddenly, from a dream, although somehow Iolaus knew he had not been sleeping, exactly. He tried to get up and found that he couldn't move.
He remembered reaching the river with Iris, remembered her wanting to bathe… After that there was nothing. Or, almost nothing. A few images. Nothing coherent. Iris! Where was she? Had something happened to her?
Alright, Iolaus, don't panic just yet, he told himself firmly. Let's start by working out what's happening to you. He looked at the ceiling above his head. Vaulted stone, stained dark by smoke. Light was coming from torches, not the sun, and wherever he was, it was cold. It felt like underground. Directly above him hung a huge, black mirror, easily six feet in diameter, its surface smooth but slightly concave.
Iolaus was lying on his back, on a stone surface not quite flat. His arms were stretched out behind his head, his wrists and ankles immobilised by something that felt unpleasantly like chains.
Stay calm, he told himself again, though less convincingly this time.
Mingling with the smoke from the torches was another smell: faint but distinctive. Frankincense, bay…something else. Incense. He was in a temple.
Iolaus craned his neck as far as he could, trying to see behind him. After several failed attempts, he managed to move a little. A bronze statue of a female towered over him, stained dark like everything else, the face stern and unrelenting. It was decorated with peacock feathers.
OK, Iolaus. Now you can panic.
He tugged at whatever held his wrists. It had no effect. He tried again. Hercules could have done it. Maybe. Not Iolaus.
It was then he heard footsteps. He wrenched his head to the side, searching. There was a woman moving around the room with a taper, lighting candles. Iolaus watched her, debating whether or not to speak. The room was filling with white smoke and the cloying smell of burning incense.
Then the woman turned toward him. She walked to where Iolaus lay, coming slowly into his field of vision. He recognised her.
"Iris?" The word was out before he realised he had spoken.
She looked totally different. Iris was robed as a priestess, in green and blue, with a wide collar of some highly polished metal. Her hair was swept back from her face in waves, held there somehow as if the wind was constantly blowing into her face. She wore jewels at her ears and wrists. She had a peacock eye tattooed on her left temple. But he had kissed every inch of that face. How had he never noticed a tattoo?
She was also holding a long, hook-pointed knife.
Iris seemed to look through him, not at him. She placed the knife on the stone beside his head. The hilt gleamed at him, taunting.
By the gods, she's beautiful. He almost voiced the thought: highly inappropriate, given the circumstances. She was still standing there, looking past him.
"If you're going to kill me, Iris, get it over with." Iolaus' voice betrayed him, cracking on the last word.
She turned her head, met his eyes at last. "My orders are to wait," she said quietly. Her eyes were grey, the rainbows he had always seen there, gone.
He held her gaze. Was it possible he read doubt in her eyes? Wishful thinking, he supposed. "What are you waiting for?" he asked her, not really expecting an answer.
Iris was silent. She raised her eyes to the black mirror overhead.
And Iolaus understood. "Gods, it's Hercules, isn't it?" White-hot anger, at himself as much as at her, replaced fear. "You bitch! You manipulative bitch. You planned this all along didn't you? I can't believe I fell for it. I can't believe I thought you loved me."
He had the satisfaction of seeing her blanch before he had to close his eyes against his own tears. Betrayal hurt worse than any knife.
He was expecting it, but still the statue of Hera above the temple doors sent a chill through Hercules. He had fought Hera and the creatures she created for years, but today he was walking straight to where her power was greatest. Hercules knew there was a good chance he would never walk out. But if Iolaus was in there…
Resolutely, he marched up to the doors.
Every sense was alert as he walked through the open, unguarded gateway. The doors led through to a small courtyard – close quarters if he had to fight there – on the far side of which was a steep staircase.
Hercules heard a sound behind him and ducked just in time as a sword swept through the air where his head had been. He spun round, one hand thrown up to catch the sword. He twisted the weapon from the swordsman's hand, spun the sword in his own palm and struck out, with just enough time to register the presence of others. He ran his attacker through and as the masked figure fell, he turned to face the rest, noting with distaste that the blood on the sword he held was not red.
That was his last thought for a while, as he cut his way through the creatures. They were all masked; he had no idea what they were. He parried and killed, whirled and killed again, and again.
In the end, there was one of them left: a robed and hooded figure standing at the bottom of the stairway. Hercules, sword in hand, advanced.
"Where is Iolaus?"
The figure raised a gloved hand, silently.
Hercules felt a weight slam into his back. He fell forward, regaining control of his body just in time to prevent himself sprawling at the figure's feet. He rolled and sprang up, grabbing the figure by the throat and pulling the hood away.
"How many times," asked Hercules, catching his breath, "am I going to have to kill you?" He stared straight into the amphibian features and mad eyes of Hera's Blue Priest. There was a dark jagged line around its neck: the memory of a wound that should have – had, surely – killed it once. A wound that Hercules inflicted.
"As many times as you like, Hercules," the creature rasped. "I'll keep coming for you." It wrenched itself free of Hercules' iron grip.
Hercules raised the sword.
Iolaus watched the face appear in the mirror above him. Was it shameful to be terrified? He didn't know. It made no difference, anyway.
Hera. Queen of the Gods.
Pain in his wrists told Iolaus he had been struggling against the chains.
He heard a scream of pain. Iris.
"You told me he wouldn't have to die," she was saying.
<<Do as I command.>> The hard voice of the goddess was everywhere. <<Hercules will die… knowing he failed to save his friend.>>
Iris cried out again. She moved. slowly, reluctantly, toward Iolaus.
<<First him, then Hercules, Iris.>> Hera's voice filled the chamber, a tangible presence.
Iris's hands closed around the hilt of the knife.
Iolaus found his voice again. "Don't do it, Iris. Please. You don't have to do this." He was begging. He didn't care. Suddenly there was more at stake than his own life.
<<Kill him, Iris. You lose nothing. He hates you now.>>
"Fight her, Iris." Iolaus kept talking, as if that alone might keep him alive, end this nightmare.
"I can't!" She raised the knife above his heart.
"You can. You're stronger than this. I know. Iris, I love you." He had been babbling, hardly knowing what he said. Yet when he heard himself say the words he realised their truth.
Despite what she was, despite what she had done… in spite of everything, he loved her.
The knife froze in position above his heart.
Iolaus looked into her eyes. He was going to die. It may as well be with her face before him, the truth on his lips. "I love you," he said again. "I love you." He had not the strength to speak again, but he kept mouthing the words, certain he could not reach her, hoping he would. I love you. Love you… The memory of her filled his mind: he remembered her beautiful, rainbow eyes, her moist lips parted, the sweet taste of her, the scent of her hair. He heard again her voice crying his name as she drowned in orgasm. Her face filled his vision, his mind. His eyes held hers, refusing to close even as the blade began its deadly descent.
Cold hands fastened tight around Hercules' neck. Fighting for breath, he reached desperately upwards, seeking a hold on anything. Anything to get this creature off him. The priest chuckled madly, watching the hero's face turning as blue as his own skin. The hand seeking purchase fell away, the body beneath him went limp.
The priest smiled, sure of victory, revealing a mouthful of sharply pointed teeth.
Hercules' fist slammed into the side of its head.
Hercules rolled over and scrambled to his feet quickly, ready to strike again if need be. He reached for the fallen sword, raised it high over the body… and blinked. The creature was gone, completely.
Hercules swore under his breath, raising a hand to his injured throat.
"Iolaus!" he shouted. Nothing wrong with his voice, anyway. He hurried to the stairway and paused, unsure which way to go. The cloying smell of incense led him down.
"Iolaus!" he shouted again, hoping against hope that his friend was still able to answer him.
The stairwell led to a single door. Hercules pushed it, and it didn't move.
But he was not going to let a door stop him now. He tossed the sword aside, gathered all his considerable strength, and charged the door. It splintered and burst open with a crash.
The sight of the temple froze him in his tracks for an instant.
Iolaus lay chained on an altar, a woman standing over him with a blade raised. Above them both, Hercules saw a circle of black, and in its inky depths the unmistakable eyes of his stepmother.
For an instant, everything was still. Then the blade began to descend.
He would never reach them in time.
"Iolaus!" he shouted, a useless cry of grief.
And Iris plunged the knife into her own heart.
"No!" Iolaus screamed.
Hercules was already running toward the altar.
He heard Iolaus cry out. He had no time to wonder.
There was a burst of light as every torch and candle in the chamber flared up. A wall of fire separated Hercules from Iolaus. The heat was drowning him. He tried to leap through it. It followed him. He stopped still.
Hera's laughter filled his head. Hercules looked up at her eyes in the mirror, blind fury taking over. Was there no one in his life, nothing he could care about that she wouldn't try to kill?
The fire began to close on him. He smelled his hair beginning to burn.
Hercules ran to the chamber wall. The slowly closing ring of flames moved with him. He found a torch burning in a metal sconce and ripped both from the wall. He thrust the burning end of the torch into the stone floor, quenching the flames.
<<You can't put out every torch in time, Hercules!>> Hera mocked gleefully.
"I don't have to!" he retorted. The words cost him dear: his lungs filled with burning air. With all his mighty strength, Hercules hurled the sconce into the surface of the black mirror.
It shattered.
A thousand fragments of glass, spinning, deadly sharp, scattered across the chamber, raining down on Iolaus' vulnerable body, flying at Hercules, who protected his eyes with his arm.
A second later the fire was gone. Hera, too, was gone, her absence almost tangible.
Finally, Hercules reached Iolaus. A smile of relief played about his mouth, a light remark was on the tip of his tongue. What he saw in Iolaus' face killed both.
In silence, then, Hercules freed his friend from the chains, his strong hands breaking the locks easily. He helped Iolaus to sit up, and followed his gaze to the body of the woman on the ground.
Iolaus went straight to Iris' side. He cradled her in his arms. Her blood was everywhere. It should have been his.
"Iris?" he murmured.
Her eyes fluttered open.
The knife was still in her chest. Iolaus remembered its wicked hook-point and shuddered. He couldn't remove it: the hook would do even more damage as it came out.
He looked into her eyes, wanting desperately to speak to her, to hear her voice. She would never speak again.
Iolaus knew the exact moment she died. Her body became limp in his arms, her eyes became blank. And in that moment, he felt Hercules' hand on his shoulder.
"Iolaus. We have to go. There's nothing more you can do for her."
For an instant Iolaus hated his friend. Then the truth began to penetrate. With a gentle hand he closed Iris's eyes.
Silently the two men walked away from the temple.
Iolaus just sat there, his shoulders hunched, silently staring into the dark river. Everything about his posture shouted "go away".
He had barely even spoken since they left Hera's temple. Hercules, sensitive to his mood as always, had not tried to get him to talk. It was just as well.
How could he explain to Herc that he fell in love with a woman who was sent to kill them both? Gods, he could still feel the weight of her body in his arms, still smell the temple: incense mixed with smoke mixed with blood. How could he tell his friend that every time their eyes met he saw her…that he couldn't help but blame Hercules a little for her death.
Iolaus glanced again toward the friend with whom he'd shared so many adventures. The sad blue eyes met his, briefly, them looked beyond him. Iolaus saw Hercules' mouth twist in a bitter smile.
Then he felt a gentle pressure on his head and heard a voice say, "Sleep. In the morning you'll remember. And there won't be so much pain."
Iolaus closed his eyes and slept.
At dawn, the river was no longer black, but sparkled with light and life. Iolaus was sitting on the bank, watching the play of the sun on the water. There was a light rain falling, a drizzle, no more. It woke Hercules.
"Iolaus?" Hercules called.
Iolaus turned. He flashed his familiar grin then turned back to the river. He felt, rather than heard, Hercules move to stand beside him. "It was your father, wasn't it?" Iolaus asked. "Last night."
Hercules nodded. "He wanted to talk to me, and didn't want you to hear." It sounded like an apology.
Iolaus looked back at his friend. "Herc, I don't mind. Whatever he did to me… Well, yesterday I wanted to drown myself in this river. Today… it's better. Not alright, but better."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Iolaus shook his head. "Sometime. Not now."
"Whenever you want, OK?" After a beat, Hercules went on. "Iolaus, Zeus told me some things last night. I don't know if you're ready to hear it…"
"What? About Iris?"
"Yes."
Iolaus considered, and decided he did want to know. He listened, not daring to interrupt, as Hercules told him a story he would never have believed if told by anyone else.
Iris was not truly human, but born of nymph, and fathered by one of the gods. She was a slave to Hera, her messenger, owned by her in a way Hercules did not understand.
"She had no choice about any of the things she did until the end," Hercules told his friend. "Whatever you did, whatever it was you said to her, set her free to make her own choice for the first time in her life."
Iolaus closed his eyes. I love you…
Hercules paused in his tale, seeing his friend's pain. "There's one more thing," he said. "Zeus told me that her father was there in the temple. He took her with him…"
"She's alive?"
"I don't know." Hercules looked up toward the west, where a rainbow was forming in the rain-wet sky. "But I think so."
THE END