KNOW THYSELF
BY MAGGIE
Prologue - Without Hope
A hot, windless day, the blanket of it suffocating all energy and thought, and yet the heroes still rode out, dragging their black, angry shadows behind them through the muggy heat. Old wives, widowed, and younger wives, old men and young children, the dream catchers and begetters of the myths and legends to be, all lined the streets, blinding and sheltered alike, in the ecstasy of the moment, caught up in the focus and the fervour of the posse, in agony at being left behind to wait, not knowing what would be in store for their loved ones, who were off on the Hunt.
Deeper still ran the pain of the knowing it was not them; no great deeds of passion and courage for them, this day or any other. That their lives were only fated was the deepest pain of all.
Those who rode out today, by any measure, heroes all, had destinies, each and every one. There would be tales told, song sung, around campfires and in the halls of the mighty; a living measure of these heroes' immortality.
There was one young boy however, confused and desperate, his anguish clear, yet muffled by the impotence of his young age, who did not share the fervour of the riders, or their admirers.
On an errand for his mother, the small body using its angry limbs like paddles against the strong currents of the crowds, pushed and shoved its way through, the familiar blond head drawing the taunts of the older boys. Ignorant, and having done less with their greater number of years, they knew nothing of the burgeoning wisdom already in that small, pale head. Born in pain, it was, growing in pain, and yet was still wisdom, instinctive to the person he was becoming.
He did not look at the riders, his face - shedding the confusion and sadness which rampaged inside him - directed anywhere but the steadily receding procession of warriors, as he ran. When he had managed to free himself from the main press of bodies, he turned and, more in anger than caring, called back to the older boys.
"What if they don't come back?" he shouted, unnoticed tears already forming in the blue eyes as the words, released from the bonds of mere thought, impacted more on his own memories and imaginings, than on the intended victims. Turning back and continuing on his course home, he didn't wait for any response, too bound up now with his own wayward and headstrong feelings to care.
His mother, baking loaves and preparing the quail for dinner, looked up, startled out of her domestic activities, as the boy came rushing in and banged the bag of spices, she had sent him to buy, down on the table and then rushed past into his room, slamming the door behind him.
"Iolaus? Iolaus! What is it?" she called after him, going to the door and knocking softly. Most mothers would have gone barging in with an acerbic tongue for such behaviour from their children, standing no nonsense. Erythia had more of the measure of her boy than most parents though, seeing in him, not only aspects of her husband, but also aspects of herself; those aspects presented themselves to her as a mirror of herself, and reading them revealed as much about herself as it did Iolaus.
Other boys would not perhaps be all that bothered by a missing father, not thinking that the lack of any news was a cause for alarm or grief. There were more than enough wars - warlord against peasants, warlord against warlord, provincial king against provincial king, Greece against the rest of the world - to swallow up soldiers, many of whom had families back home, for many years, without respite. Mostly, however, those soldiers at least returned home when the fighting was done for awhile, before taking off again to fight for some cause or other, somewhere else. At least the wives and children had proof, from time to time, that the husbands and fathers were still alive, and still caring about those they left behind.
Skouras, however, was not among these. He had not come home to his wife and son for many a long year, and no news came from him, no hastily scrawled note written in some campaign tent somewhere before a battle, not even a message passed to some soldier on his way back home with some injury, who might pass by the town.
All that young Iolaus and his mother knew of the great general, Skouras, was the occasional mention, by soldiers who had fought with him, of the success of some maneuvre of his, or some deed of glory on the field of battle, told to locals in the nearby tavern, who would then pass on the news to Erythia, knowing her situation.
Some boys, she knew, even were their situation similar, would revel in those deeds of glory, and successes in battle, acting them out with their friends and considering, in pride, their fathers to be mighty warriors, admiring them and wishing to be like them when they were grown. That Iolaus did not share such enthusiasm was also clear to her, and it pained her heart when he came home, bruised and bloodied after a fight, which was usually provoked by his candid and unpopular opinions on the subject of war in general and soldiers in particular. There had been no sign of any injury from what she had seen as he'd come rushing in from the street, and she wondered what could have happened to upset him this time.
There was no reply to her enquiries for awhile, and she decided that it might be best if she were to leave the matter and get back to what she was doing; that Iolaus would come out in his own good time was also known to her, from past experience, especially if he was hungry. Smiling to herself, she began to make some of the little spiced cakes that her son liked so much and when they were done, she left them on a chair just outside his room, in the hope that he would smell the sweetness and come out.
It took a little while but it worked; or at least she thought it had. The door swung open and the elfin-featured little face emerged and spied the cakes on the chair. His reaction to a suspiscion confirmed was totally unexpected however. Iolaus stood in the doorway, trying to speak, but it seemed the words could not get past his throat; his fists clenched and opened repeatedly at his sides and Erythia responded immediately to his distress. She rushed over to him and kneeling beside him, tried to put her arms around him, but he fought free of her and ran over to the door of the house, obviously intent on flight. She called after him once more and, for a moment, this seemed to stop him.
"Iolaus, by the gods, whatever is the matter? What has happened to distress you so?"
"You made the cakes!!" he managed to squeeze out, before bursting into tears and running from the house.
"Iolaus!!" she cried out, worried now, and having no idea what the sin was in baking his favourite cakes.
It was no use. Her son might be small for his age, but he could run faster than any of his contemporaries and he had already disappeared into the confines of the busy marketplace.
'Oh, by the gods,' she thought wearily, 'what's going to become of us? Skouras, I do wish you'd come home ...'
Chapter One - Chance Meeting
Dusk found young Iolaus still tramping around the countryside, aimlessly, calmer now, though still out of sorts, and finally beginning to get hungry. Tripping over a rock in the middle of a field, which, had there been more light, he would have seen and avoided, served to draw his attention to the fact that it was getting dark rather quickly and he was farther from home than was safe, even for the grown-ups. Still on the ground where he had fallen and nursing a throbbing ankle which was probably twisted, Iolaus looked around him, properly taking in his surroundings, or what he could now see of them, for the first time in hours.
He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when the rock moved and he edged a little closer, just to make sure it really was just a rock. A rock that someone had left a dark, tatty old rag on. The rag moved, and despite the pain in his ankle, Iolaus scrambled back six feet.
"What is it? Who's there?" he called out nervously, very aware now, and frightened by the fact that he was out in the middle of nowhere, relatively speaking, and there was no-one around to aid him if he was in trouble.
And he probably was, he realised as the rag-covered rock resolved itself into someone waking up from where he had curled up and fallen asleep.
'Strange place to choose for a nap,' thought Iolaus, as he tried to melt into the long grass in the vain hope of going unnoticed by whoever it was; but it was no good, as the figure had already seen him. Iolaus heard a small laugh and a pleasantly light voice speaking, apparently to him.
"If that's hide and seek you're playing, I'd say you need some more practice. What're you doing out here so late? Did you get lost or something?"
The stranger, sitting crosslegged in the grass and dusting the odd pieces of grass seed and pollen out of his jacket and longish, tousled fair hair, was looking straight at Iolaus, but he didn't seem about to pounce on him or anything else like that. In fact Iolaus had the strangest feeling that he should know this man, although he could not recollect from where. At any rate, he could tell instinctively, that the man meant him no harm. Curious and yet naturally wary of strangers, the boy answered more harshly than was needful, and yet his reply begged further conversation, even if Iolaus was not aware of what the natural response would be.
"What's it to you? Why should you care?"
"Hey, there's no need for that," the stranger returned, not unkindly, and with a certain concern in his voice. "You shouldn't be out here on your own in the dark, it's dangerous for anyone, let alone a kid your age. Where d'you live?"
At once understanding where the conversation was going, Iolaus backed up again, the stonewall tone in his voice, revealing his desire to be anywhere but home right then. "I'm not going home!" he stated flatly, "I'm looking for someone ..." He stopped, realising for the first time, what it was he had just said without thinking. Clamping his lips together, sullenly, he refused to finish the sentence.
Tear-heavy eyes glinted in the moonlight, prompting a surge of compassion in the stranger, which expressed itself in a sudden drop of the fair-haired head, and a stillness which seemed to speak of recognition of what the boy was going through. "Who're you looking for?" he asked quietly, the light reflected in his own eyes drawing and holding Iolaus' attention.
More and more there was a sense of recognition, forming a bond between the two of them. Again, Iolaus replied almost without thinking, not registering how badly he felt until the words were out.
"My father." The tears began to fall now and Iolaus would have turned away to hide the fact, but the man, more familiar now than not, was somehow kneeling beside him and drawing him into his arms. The touch, instead of sending the boy's emotions fleeing into hiding, released them, and he cried openly; painful little sobs that shook his small body and bore witness to grief, undealt with and heavier than a boy his age should have to carry around inside him.
Pain of another kind made pale and still the face of the man who held him while he cried; pain that was not quite rage, not quite guilt, but hovered in some other place in between the two emotions. Had there been anyone around to see, it would have been obvious that the boy's admission evoked a sense of caring about him in the stranger; and the hand soothing the boy's back was gentle. "Who is your father?" he asked. "Maybe I've seen him; when did he go missing?"
The shrug of the small shoulders puzzled the man; confusion spoke clearly enough in his face, even though it was nearly dark now, for Iolaus to see he had better clarify the state of affairs. "It was years ago," he replied, and he looked away from the shock which had replaced mere confusion in the other's face. "He's a soldier; a general now, or so we've heard. He went away to fight in wars and he hasn't come back."
The stranger held him steadily before him, as if afraid that the boy would fall or maybe run, and held his eyes once more. "Not even for a visit?"
Iolaus shook his head. Looking back at the man with him, the field and the darkness forgotten, he saw something in his face that he couldn't identify, except to know that it frightened him a little. "What's the matter?" he asked, nervous again, and the man must have picked up on the fear as the expression, whatever it was, immediately softened to a smile once more, and the hands freed him, to stand on his own.
"It's alright; it's nothing, but ... what is your father's name?" It seemed merely a curious enquiry now, and Iolaus told him, without thinking much about it. Truth to tell he was both hungry and tired now, and suddenly home didn't seem to be such a bad prospect anymore.
"My father's name is Skouras."
The man had gotten to his feet and Iolaus could no longer discern the exact expressions on his face in the darkness now, but it seemed to him, that a shadow passed across it, leaving the familiar stranger in the grip of some sad memory. Iolaus knew all about those; they were all he had of a father he had virtually never had, and they were few enough.
"And what's your name?" the man asked him, looking down at him. Iolaus thought he could interpret a smile through the darkness, but he caught something glinting on his cheek for a moment, and he knew that if smile it was, then it was a sad one. Perhaps this man was missing someone too?
"I'm Iolaus," was the simple reply, and he saw the man nod his head slowly, as if he had known it all the time.
"I think we'd better get you home, before you fall asleep on your feet, Iolaus," the man said and offered his hands. "Do you want me to carry you?"
Iolaus nodded sleepily and was soon riding pick-a-back, his arms around the stranger's neck. The man talked to Iolaus as they went, telling him stories of deeds more truly heroic than fighting in wars. They were tales of monster's slain, injustices repaid, wrongs righted, and Iolaus began to see that perhaps not all heroes were to be hated. He even felt that he wanted to be like the people in the man's stories when he was older. The sound of his voice was soothing; interesting and easy to listen to, and slowly it was sending him to sleep. So it was that when the talk turned to food, and a supper that might be waiting for him, it did not immediately register in his mind.
Suddenly he remembered the cakes, and guilt flared up in him, rousing him from his doze, and he clammered to be put down. "I can't go home, I can't do it, she'll hate me!" he cried out in distress. "Oh, why did she have to make them?"
Putting Iolaus down, the man put his arms around the trembling body once more until the boy became calmer. Seeing a group of boulders at the side of the road, he led the boy over and sat down, settling his young charge beside him. "Iolaus ... Why can't you go home? Who's going to hate you? What shouldn't she have made?" The questions followed in an orderly succession, and slowly, giving the boy time to listen. "I don't understand," the man continued, "so you're going to have to help me out, here."
"It's my mother," the boy began, awkwardly, obviously fighting with something that was eating him up. "I got upset when the men rode out today to find some bad men who've been raiding the town. I thought they were just soldiers, but I think maybe they're more like the people you were talking about."
"They reminded you of your father ... Skouras ..."
Iolaus nodded, fighting and winning over tears this time, and charged on with his explanation. "I went rushing in the house, and I went to my bedroom and I wouldn't come out, so my mother made my favourite cakes, and it's not fair, she shouldn't have to, I shouldn't have been like that, and it hurt, and I shouted at her and ran out of the house ... She must be worried about me ..."
The little voice trailed off, and Iolaus stood, desolately biting his lip, unsure of what it was that he wanted to do. On the one hand he wanted to rush into his mother's arms and tell her he was sorry and stroke her long hair in a young interpretation of comfort; on the other, he felt that she must hate him for acting so selfishly and he did not want to go back to face that.
In the end however, the man persuaded Iolaus that he really did have to go home, and that he was absolutely certain that his mother would not hate him, that she would understand and that she would just be very glad to have him home.
"You promise?" asked Iolaus from his place back up on the man's back, the journey renewed.
"By the strength of Hercu - er ... Hephaestas."
"Hephaestas?" Iolaus enquired, puzzled. "I've heard about him in school; I didn't know he was strong."
"Hey, he makes all the weapons and armour for the gods; you have to be pretty strong to do that, you know," came the reply. Iolaus nodded, and went back to dozing off again, not hearing the small sigh of relief.
When he awoke once more, it was to find himself being lifted down outside his house, where his anxious mother was waiting for him.
"Oh, Iolaus!! Thank the gods you're alright; come here!" and she wrapped him up in a warm embrace, hugging him to her for a long time. All Iolaus knew was that it felt good and that he was hungry. When she finally let him go, he dashed inside and began devouring the cakes which were still on the chair outside his room. Face beaming, he watched happily as his mother invited his new friend into the house, and gave him something to eat and drink.
Hunger abated, Iolaus, remembering his manners, got up from the chair and went to introduce the man to his mother, when he realised that in all that had happened, in all they had talked about, he had forgotten to ask him his name.
"Er ... Salmoneus," the man replied, as if he wasn't quite sure about it, which was a little odd, but then Iolaus was too happy to be home with his mother to care much about it.
"Well, Salmoneus, I am so grateful that you brought my son back to me; tell me, do you have a place to stay for the night? We don't have much room here, but you'd be very welcome."
Salmoneus however, declined the offer, declaring it to be very kind, but that he was neither friend nor family and so could not impose. He did ask if there was an inn nearby where he could get a room, and that he would be very glad to pay a visit the next day.
And so it was agreed. He was about to leave when Iolaus suddenly thought of something and, calling for Salmoneus to wait, he dashed into his bedroom and came out again a moment later and put something into Salmoneus' hand.
"What's this?" he asked, and looking down saw a small, wooden carved boar, which had been crudely painted black and brown.
"I made it at school," Iolaus told him. "I want you to have it."
The man's eyes lit up and he gave the carving a thorough examination, looking very pleased with it. "It's great, Iolaus, thank you. Are you sure?"
The boy nodded proudly and 'Salmoneus' opened his pack and put the little carving inside. Then, without further ceremony, he left, and Iolaus, exhausted by the day's events, got ready for bed. His mother came in and talked to him for a little while before he slept.
"So, then, Iolaus; where did you come across Salmoneus? He seems like a very nice man; you were lucky you met him and not some bandit on the road," his mother finished up scolding him, although he knew she didn't really mean it, he could tell by the laugh in her voice.
"He was asleep in the middle of a field," he declared, to his mother's consternation.
"By the gods, what was he doing sleeping in a field?" she gasped out. "I do hope he has the money for a room at the inn; perhaps I should go and find him and insist that he stay with us ..."
She was about to do just that, when Iolaus reached over the bedclothes and put his hand on her arm to stop her. He was the man of the house now and he knew that they didn't really have enough for three, and that Salmoneus knew that too. "He'll be alright, mother; he knows how to look after himself," he told her. "He's a hero."
His mother looked back at him, open-mouthed. "But ... I thought you didn't like heroes, Iolaus."
"No, mother, it's soldiers and people who fight wars and stuff that I don't like; there's a difference," he stated proudly, enjoying the fact that he really could understand the value of the one and the useless waste of the other.
"Well," his mother declared, surprised. "That's a turn-up at the temple, as my old grandmother used to say, and no mistake. Whatever will you come up with next?"
"I love you, mother," Iolaus told her, feeling comfortable and secure enough now, to apologise for his earlier behaviour. "I'm sorry I ran off, but I felt awful that you were being nice to me, when I hadn't thought about you ... you know," he faltered, trying to get his young brain around the more adult concepts and emotions that his situation tended to evoke. "I should've been nicer; it's not your fault," he offered generously, leaving his mother more puzzled than ever. She could see he was tired though, so she didn't press him for any more explanations, letting him instead, turn over on his pillow and drift of to sleep to the sound of her sweet voice singing a cradle song. It was something she hadn't done for quite awhile as Iolaus had told her in no uncertain terms, one night, that he was too big for such things, but he was glad of it tonight, and he let the sound wash over him, as he sank down into slumber.
Chapter Two - Heroes
The next day he was up bright and early and looking for Salmoneus to come down the street to the house. His mother barely managed to get some breakfast into him, he was so excited. He wanted to hear more of the tales that had so roused his interest the previous day, but it was more than that; he felt as if Salmoneus had been put there in the field, just so that he could find him, as if he was some gift from the gods. Eventually, Iolaus caught sight of the fair hair and the dark jacket which, in the light of the morning, he could now see was a dark wine colour, decorated with what his mother called, 'rag patches'. Jumping down from the stool by the window, Iolaus ran out of the house to greet his new friend, who, smiling broadly, picked him up and carried him back to the threshold. Iolaus' mother was there to meet the pair of them.
"Welcome to our house, Salmoneus; Iolaus and I are both pleased to see you."
"Thank you," 'Salmoneus' returned. "I'm glad to be here." He took the chair offered to him by the firepit and followed her and Iolaus around the small living space which formed the main part of the house, as if he could not get enough of seeing them.
"I can't stay long, I'm afraid," he offered finally, and Iolaus face fell at the news. "I'm sorry, but there is somewhere I have to be and I'm late already; but I have time for a tale or two before I go," he told the boy and was rewarded by a beaming smile, as Iolaus scuttled to settle himself at his feet, ready to listen.
He spoke of a much-misunderstood she monster, who had lost all but one of her children in Hera's service, and of how he and a friend had helped her and her giant husband to keep that one last child from turning bad as all the others had, making them ripe for slaughter. When that tale was told, he turned to a story about a group of gladiators - prisoners of a cruel rich man who used them for his and his wife's and friends' entertainment, and to make him money, by wagers laid on the outcome of the battles - whom 'Salmoneus' and his friend had helped to gain their freedom ...
"... the rich man and his wife had no choice but to agree to disappear into exile and they never bothered anyone ever again," he finished, returning Iolaus' excited and satisfied smile with one of his own.
"You really are a hero, aren't you Salmoneus?" the boy said, looking back at his mother as if to say, 'I-told-you-so', though not in a thoughtless way. It was clear to Salmoneus that he loved his mother very much, and would do anything for her, if asked.
Reaching down, the older blond tousled the boy's blond hair fondly. "You know, Iolaus ... you're a hero too," he told him quietly but sincerely.
The boy looked surprised and pleased, though a little puzzled. "I am?" he gasped out. "Why?"
Looking back at Iolaus' mother for a moment, 'Salmoneus' proceeded to explain.
"You haven't had your father around the place to look after your mother and you and to provide for you both, for a long time, have you?"
Suddenly serious, the boy shook his head in agreement, still looking up at Salmoneus and wondering what he was going to say.
"How have you managed?" their guest wondered, looking back towards the boy's mother for a moment.
Seated, hands at rest in her lap, near the table, she told him how her son helped her with the livestock, pigs and goats mainly, and that when the time came, they took them to the market to be sold. "The pigs go to the butcher, of course, and the goat's milk and cheese brings in some money all year round," she explained. "I keep a patch of cabbages too; it's enough."
Their guest smiled in silent, but mutual recognition of the fact that life was really harder than she was making it out to be, but that a brave face was indeed half the battle. He returned his gaze to Iolaus and put a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"You help your mother with all that?" The boy nodded. "And you go to school too, learn all your lessons? Fetch and carry, run errands?" Iolaus nodded again, more eagerly this time; beginning to see what Salmoneus was trying to tell him.
"Do any of your friends have to do all that?" 'Salmoneus' asked him.
Iolaus was tempted to say no, but he knew that would only beg trouble; his mother knew the truth of that matter anyway. "Well, yes, some of them."
"But do they have brothers and sisters, who are there to help them, and to play with?"
This time Iolaus could say yes, and truthfully. "And they have fathers, or at least, ones that come home," he finished the idea off, understanding now that there was more to being a hero than just slaying monsters and righting wrongs.
"You are a hero, Iolaus," Salmoneus told him, seeming proud of him, "and you always will be. Your mother is very proud of you; I can tell."
"And I'm very proud of her too," stated Iolaus, going to his mother and putting his arms around her and hugging her.
"Oh, my word, boy, get on with you!" she exclaimed, flustered, and getting up, she began busying herself, pounding the life out of a piece of dough.
'Salmoneus' got up from his place by the fire and went to pick up the small bundle he had brought with him, in preparation to leave.
"I have to get going," he told Iolaus, ruffling the boy's hair again and giving his mother a warm smile. Dusting her hands off, she came across to shake his hand and thank him once more for finding Iolaus the previous day and bringing him home.
"You're very welcome," he told, and, for a long moment, looked as if he wanted to say more; but then he smiling in farewell, he turned and walked out the door, Iolaus following after him, as the boy was, naturally, unwilling to let him go.
He walked alongside Salmoneus, struggling with something that he wanted to say himself; unsure of whether or not he should. Finally, he caught hold of their guest's jacket and tugged on it, to get his attention. He stopped and seeing the boy's mood, drew him over to sit on a low bench at the base of the town well.
"What is it, Iolaus?"
"Please ... Will you see if you can find my father?" he asked earnestly. "I don't mind looking after my mother, but I can't help her with everything," he quietly admitted. Looking up from under blond lashes, he whispered, "She cries sometimes, but she doesn't want me to know."
An immense, knowing sadness appeared in the older blue eyes, suddenly red-rimmed with unshed tears. "I know," he whispered back, though not so much in deference to the mood of their conversation, as because he was having trouble getting the words out. "Don't worry, Iolaus," he said finally, blinking the tears away and shaking off most of the grip of the sadness. "Your mother will be happy again, one day; I promise you."
"Really?" exclaimed Iolaus, happier now, as he found that he believed what Salmoneus had said. "How do you know?"
"It's magic," came the grinning reply.
"Like ... from the gods?" Iolaus was amazed.
"Yeah ... Sorta like that, yeah," 'Salmoneus' confessed conspiratorially.
Iolaus reached out and took his new friend's hand in his, needing to ask the one question which was still burning in him. "Will I ever see you again?"
Thinking about the bronze mirror which hung in the home of Hercules' wonderful mother, Alcmene, Iolaus' departing friend, nodded eventually, chuckling a little to himself. "Yeah; you will. Though it won't be in quite the way you expected." Looking around him and sniffing the air, as if sensing some change in the weather, the man nodded to himself a moment, before returning his gaze to Iolaus.
"I really have to go now," he said, and the light coming from the depth of his eyes made Iolaus feel sad and yet proud, and somehow taller, all at the same time.
Later, when he thought about it, he couldn't quite say what made him come out with his parting words; all he knew at the time was that he couldn't not say them. "I love you; I wish I had a friend like you I could play with."
Kneeling to hug the boy, the man chuckled to himself once more. "You will, Iolaus; you will. Soon, I promise you."
"Magic?" the boy asked again.
"Magic," came the cheerful agreement. Then the man was on his way, leaving Iolaus to stand and wave farewell. "Look after your mother," came drifting back to him."
"I will," murmured Iolaus, his eyes fixed on the back of the man's blond head as it disappeared finally, into the market crowds.
He was still standing there, deep in thought, when some of the older boys spotted him and ran past bumping into him and knocking him over. Rolling to his feet, Iolaus turned to face them, ready to defend himself. For the first time, he felt, instead of fear, a new confidence in his ability to give as good as he got and he balanced himself on his feet, ready for anything.
"Look, it's crybaby," called the tallest of the boys, who came sauntering over and threw an amateurish punch in Iolaus' direction. He put a little too much weight behind it and, to his dismay, he found himself falling to the ground on his face, as Iolaus simply dodged the punch, faster than the bully could throw it.
Over the course of the next five minutes, Iolaus discovered the surprising and delightful fact that due to his being smaller and lighter than the other boys he could actually move faster than they could, which meant that he could avoid their moves and let the force of their own aggression do his work for him. Once they had gotten that particular message, they ganged up on him, but Iolaus simply ran away, evading their chase easily. He didn't much like that they called him coward, but, in his heart now, he knew that that wasn't true. He could see that the odds against him in a straight-on fight were unfair, and he could suddenly appreciate that simply avoiding that kind of trouble was actually the wise thing to do. After all, he couldn't look after his mother if he was all bashed up, could he?
With this in mind, he laughed quietly at the boys from his position halfway up a tree on the edge of town, as they went running past, looking for him. Once he was sure they had gone out of the immediate area, he climbed down and went home. He had to help his mother make up some more cheese, which they would then take to the market to sell. For a change, instead of considering the unfairness of his situation, he found he was actually looking forward to the task.
In fact, with the parting words of the magic stranger still echoing in his mind, he realised that he had more to look forward to in his life than he had ever before imagined.
Chapter Three - Trick Or Treat
The roof was leaking again.
'Dammit,' thought Iolaus, 'I guess I really will have to fix that.' Raising his eyes to the ceiling he was confused to find that it seemed to have disappeared and the rain was coming down on more than just his face. Becoming slowly aware that he was soaked through and cold, he looked around to find out what had happened to the rest of the house. Had there been a big wind which had taken the roof off? Was the rest of the house still standing?
There was no house; there was no anything. He was in a field in the middle of the gods only knew where, and for a moment or two he could not for the life of him remember how he got there. Then, slowly he remembered being on his way to Laurencia to meet Hercules, and becoming suddenly very tired and curling up in the long grass for a doze. And he had dreamed ...
The events of the dream came back to him, bit by bit, as he let himself think back. 'What a strange dream,' he mused. 'It must've been that goat's cheese I had for lunch ...'
Clearing the foliage and leaves from the base of one of the trees he made himself a dryish spot and sat down, wishing he had some way of making a fire. As he sat down, something jabbed him in the stomach and reaching under his belt, he pulled out the offending object.
It was a small, painted wooden carving of a boar. How in Hades had that gotten there? It had been a dream ...
Hadn't it?
Forgetting about the wet and the cold, Iolaus carefully scanned the immediate vicinity with his eyes, ears and hunter's instincts, in search of gods. After all, how else could he have lived a dream? Things like that didn't happen every day.
No gods appeared however, and since he could think of no satisfactory explanation, he decided to put the matter to the back of his mind. Right now there were more important things to be dealt with. Deciding that the best way to get himself warm again would be to get on his way to Laurencia, Iolaus quickly got his bearings and proceeded on his way.
Chapter Four- Another Journey
Once Atamos was dealt with and the young dragon, Braxus was on his way back to Tarsus, the two friends were once more on their way to the next monster, the next wrong to be righted ...
Iolaus remembered the small confabulation he had been presented with before the trouble they had just dealt with had begun.
"Herc; do you know of any god capable of moving someone through time?" he asked doubtfully. He was disturbed by the answer, not expecting his friend to have an answer.
"Well, there's Chronos, but he's one of the Titans, or was. The only one left, so far as I know, is Prometheus. Why d'you ask?"
Iolaus hesitated; would Hercules think he had gone mad, if he told him what he thought had happened?
"Iolaus ... What?"
"It's ... kinda hard to explain. I seemed to have had a dream."
Hercules grabbed his hands and examined them carefully. Iolaus pulled them away, shaking his head.
"No, no, Herc, not that sort of dream; no funny trees, pointy rocks or anything like that."
"No overwhelming impulse to travel North or anything like that?"
"No, no," Iolaus reassured him, "although it was a strange dream and ... Well it seemed to have been more than a dream."
"What d'you mean?" asked the demi-god, easily matching his stride to that of his friend and fellow warrior.
Iolaus told him everything he could remember of the time he seemed to have spent with his younger self, and when he had finished, he showed Hercules the small carved boar. "When I woke up, I found this tucked in my belt. What d'you think it means?"
Puzzled, Hercules looked at the small, painted, wooden animal. "Iolaus, I have no idea; but maybe we can find out. Feel up to a visit to Prometheus?"
"Sure; if you think he'll know anything."
"He owes me a favour or two. It's quite a trip ..."
Chapter Five - Shadows Of The Truth
"There is no easy way to explain what happened to you," Prometheus told him. "Time exists because people exist. The two are interlinked. And perhaps the child you met was not you."
"Not me!?" Iolaus exclaimed, getting lost in the intricate thread of the meaning of Prometheus' words. "How could it not be me?"
"You have no memory of such a meeting in your own childhood?" Prometheus enquired.
Iolaus shook his head; he had already sorted through his childhood for any recollection of such a meeting, but had found none. "No, I don't. But if it wasn't me, then who was it?"
"When you ask your oracles for answers about your futures, you mortals are given an answer in the form of a riddle."
"That's right."
Prometheus nodded to himself. "Yes. That is because the future is not dependant upon time but upon the hearts and the deeds of men. The future is not set in stone; it is dependant upon the actions and the words of mortals, moment by moment. Each moment recreates the flow of time; so it is possible that the Iolaus you met exists within a different stream of time, which is parallel to yours. Do you see?"
Iolaus, more confused than ever, had to admit that he did not, although Hercules had a certain gleam in his eye, that said he had understand the meaning, if not the details of Prometheus' explanation. "How was it caused?"
"Perhaps something in this parallel child needed the help that only you could give him. After all, Time is a servant of man, not the contrary."
"That makes mortals seem all important," commented Iolaus, his mind ablaze with half-truths and contradictions. "I've always had the impression that that honour was taken by the gods," he added, a touch sarcastically.
"If you can call it an honour where the gods are concerned," muttered Hercules, half to himself.
"It is an honour," stated Iolaus, quite seriously. "And I didn't say they necessarily deserved it."
Prometheus actually smiled. "There is an answer to that riddle; but I do not think you are ready for it. For now, think on this;" and the last of the Titans came forward a little more, which lent a conspiratorial air to his words. "The time of the gods is slowly waning. A greater power, which has always been and always will be, is coming up into the light, for good and all. Perhaps it is this power which has caused this strange event in your life."
"What power?" asked Iolaus, trying and failing, at that moment, to imagine a force greater than the gods.
"Ah, but you know the answer to that; you have seen an emissary of that power yourself," Prometheus replied mysteriously.
"I have?"
Beside him, Hercules nodded slowly to himself, sure that his suspicions were correct. "It seems, Iolaus, that, despite your assurances to the contrary, 'funny trees and pointy rocks' had a little more to do with what happened to you, than you thought."
Iolaus was about to come out with another puzzled exclamation, but then stopped and thought about what Hercules had said, doing his best to marry it up with Prometheus riddles. He looked back up at Hercules, finally, dawning realisation hand in hand with awe, on his face. "That little baby?"
Hercules, his gaze locked with that of Prometheus, saw the confirmation in the Titan's eyes. "Yes, Iolaus, that little baby. I said I had a hunch, didn't I?"
"... That what the three of us were about to witness was more important than anything we had ever done;" murmured Iolaus, his gaze reflecting inwards on the memory for a moment. "Yes, I remember."
"I have a feeling that that ... force, will be more benevolent towards mankind than any of our 'gods'," commented Hercules.
Iolaus pondered this statement for awhile, going over that compulsive journey North that he, Hercules, a thief named Trinkulos and a farmer by the name of Ures, had taken. A mission, something they all, with the exception of Hercules, had felt that they couldn't not do. It had been revelatory, and the feeling accompanying their task had been one that he had not felt before then, and had tried in vain to recapture since. If this strange dream that had been more than a dream, had come from the same source, then he had been visited by this unnamed 'force', twice now, and Iolaus wanted to know why.
He turned to Prometheus, and tried for several moments to find the right words. In the end, the only thing that would present itself was,
"Why me?"
Prometheus smiled to himself and shook his head. "I can only tell you what I know for a certainty. I am a catalogue and keeper of elements. For such an answer as you require, I think you must look to yourself." With that, Prometheus returned to the great seat which he normally occupied, indicating that the audience was over.
Iolaus - feeling great weariness with mysteries of all kinds and beings of power who, instead of telling what you what you needed to know, merely deepened the mystery - turned back to Hercules, hands thrown in the air in a familiar gesture of mild disgust, hoping for something a little more comprehensible.
His friend merely picked up the pack he had taken with him for the journey into the mountains and gestured for them to start back. "Come on, Iolaus; I think we've learned all we're going to."
They started back down the mountain.
"So, Herc; what did you think of all that? All those riddles?" Iolaus asked him in the conversational way they had between them. 'What do you think?' was one of Iolaus' favourite questions.
"Well, Iolaus, I think what it all amounts to is ... that what you've been searching for all your life ... you know, some kind of recognition, is actually something that you already have. You remember you asked me where you were going, that night you had that dream?"
Iolaus nodded. "I remember."
"Well, I think that what happened to you then and what's happened to you now, is some higher force's way of telling you that what you think of yourself, is more important than what other people think of you; and that what you are is important in itself. Really, that you should just live your life the way you do, and not worry about things like that. What do you think?"
"You're asking me?"
"I'm asking you," smiled Hercules, arms crossed and leaning against a snow-covered boulder that stole into the path down.
"Well ... I think ... that if it's true, that some force, or whatever, thinks I'm ... important ..."
Hercules nodded in confirmation of that thought.
" ... In that case, I think it's your turn to get the ales at the next town ..."
If laughter could have melted snow, there would have been quite a thaw on the mountainside, that Spring day.
THE END
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