Of Gods and Monsters

Author’s Note: Just a creepy-ish tale for Halloween. I don’t own Herc or Iolaus, sadly, and mean no copyright infringement on RenPic/Universal. Just a non-profit story because Soterios commanded it. Comments always welcome.

Hercules stepped out of the hold, squinting as his eyes made the momentarily painful adjustment from the darkness of the underbelly of the ship to the brightly sunlit deck. The crew were bustling around, busy at their morning tasks, and the demigod nodded to them as he made his way to the bow. Iolaus was already up and standing at the railing, gazing out at the horizon.

“Hey,” Hercules greeted as he planted himself next to his friend.

“Morning,” the hunter answered automatically, his eyes fixed on the calm blue sea.

The demigod shot a subtle, yet appraising, glance at his partner. After so many long years together, secrets between them were practically impossible. And he could easily tell Iolaus was... distracted, to say the least. Casting his own gaze out to the horizon, Hercules pondered the reason.

Their trip to Rhodos hadn’t been a pleasant one. They had gone at the request of the wife of one of their old Academy comrades who had fallen ill and didn’t have much time left. Both of them had worried they’d be too late, but they arrived to find their old friend still clinging to life and were able to spend his last few days with him. They reminisced about the Academy days and all the trouble they always seemed to find themselves in, Hercules and Iolaus doing the bulk of the talking near the end when Alcestor grew too weak even for conversation. But they were bolstered by the fact that he had seemed truly happy to see them, and that as he listened to their good natured bickering, a glint of fond amusement was visible behind the pain in his eyes. And when Celesta came for him, the two heroes found small comfort in the fact that they were able to ease his passing, no matter how remotely. But it was still hard to see him go. Beyond a boyhood friend, they had also all fought side by side in many battles, and throughout the years Alcestor had proven himself to be a brave, loyal, noble companion. And that’s how Hercules chose to remember him. A strong and vital soldier, as opposed to the emaciated, incapacitated, dying man they had said farewell to. And a small part of him couldn’t help thinking that if his friend had to be taken too soon, it should have been on the battlefield where he was in his glory. As opposed to the lingering illness that had stolen his life inch by painful inch. Maybe Iolaus was thinking the same thing.

“You ok?” the demigod asked, giving the hunter an opening.

But Iolaus merely shrugged, seemingly finding the gentle waves lapping at the boat fascinating as he was unable to tear his gaze away from the sight to meet his friend’s eyes.

“You know,” Hercules began conversationally. “We’re going to be sailing right past Naxos.”

“Uh huh.”

“We could always stop off there for a few days,” the demigod persisted, thinking that maybe his friend needed a little downtime. They so rarely got a break from the chaos of their lives and while they both relished in the adventure, sometimes it could get a little overwhelming. It was always good to grab a few days to de-stress whenever the opportunity arose. And Hercules couldn’t deny he could also benefit from a little peaceful quiet time. A chance to recharge and come to terms with himself and his life. It seemed like a perfect solution. “We could hit that fishing spot of yours again.”

“I think I’d rather just go straight to Corinth,” Iolaus told him flatly.

“Since when do you ever turn down a fishing trip?” Hercules demanded. “Come on, spill it. What’s wrong?”

The hunter was quiet for long moments, then he sighed heavily and turned around, leaning his back against the railing.

“I had this dream last night,” he admitted, running a hand through his windswept curls. “I can’t really remember much about it, but it left me feeling...”

“Uneasy?” the demigod supplied.

“To put it mildly.” Iolaus finally looked at him, and Hercules could see the earnestness in his blue eyes. “Herc, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“It was just a nightmare, Iolaus,” the demigod tried to reassure his friend. Even though his own skin was starting to crawl. The hunter didn’t get “bad feelings” often, but when he did, it usually meant major problems for both of them.

“It was more than that,” Iolaus insisted, shaking his head for emphasis. “I can’t explain it, but I feel like we’re sailing straight into trouble.”

“Well, that’s not really a premonition,” Hercules joked lightly. “Given our history of landing in trouble, it’s more like a foregone conclusion.”

But the hunter wasn’t in a joking mood and he pushed away from the railing and started to walk away, pausing after a few steps and turning back to his friend.

“Maybe I’m letting my imagination run away from me, but I’m not going to feel good about this trip until we drop anchor in Corinth. And even if you think I’m crazy, just humor me and promise me you’ll be careful until we get there, Herc.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” the demigod said with conviction. “And I promise to be careful.”

Satisfied, Iolaus turned and started walking once more, but was halted by his partner’s voice.

“Any hints on what I should be looking out for?”

The hunter paused, inadvertently glancing out over the sea and feeling a shiver of dread run through him as he did so, although he couldn’t fathom why.

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Despite Iolaus’ ominous warning, the voyage passed peacefully for two days. The waters were calm, the weather was balmy, and the headwinds were strong and in their favor. Hercules passed the time lending a hand to the crew, as he and Iolaus had undertaken their standard practice of trading labor for free passage. When they weren’t working, they fished from the deck or played cards with the sailors. But instead of relaxing, the lack of anything amiss seemed to make Iolaus even more edgy. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else as the hunter laughed and joked with the men over a few mugs of ale in the evenings, but Hercules could tell his friend was getting increasingly antsy and ill at ease. For his partner’s sake, the demigod could only hope they continued making good time and would reach Corinth at record speed.

But on the third day the bright blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds. Throughout the afternoon they grew and converged and expanded, and began to grow dark. The wind picked up during the night and the waves grew rougher, and the gray dawn found the ship facing down the makings of a severe storm.

The sky vented its rage against the boat, enacting vengeance upon the craft for some unknown crime. As the vessel heaved and rocked in the surging waves, the men fought long and hard to keep the ship upright and on course. But as the day wore on, staying on course became the least of their worries. As it became a futile effort to try and navigate by the black sky, the captain abandoned the wheel, figuring they could deal with where they ended up later. The important thing was to keep the ship from capsizing long enough to get there.

And the men were all doing everything in their power to keep the angry sea from pulling the boat under. They worked to the point of exhaustion, but the will to survive kept them going. Hercules and Iolaus were in the thick of things with the men and had gotten separated from each other in the chaos. While the demigod leant his considerable strength on deck, the hunter was knee deep in water in the hold, getting tossed about the pitch dark bowels of the ship with a handful of other men, trying to keep enough balance to frantically bail the water that the increasingly brutal waves dumped in. They all fought valiantly, but in the end they were no match for the fury of the storm.

The ship slammed into something hard and there was a horrible cracking, splintering sound as a gaping hole was ripped into the hull. Iolaus picked himself up from the tangle of bodies that had been thrown into a heap when the ship had lurched violently and he began to grope around. He preferred to think it was instinct rather than dumb luck that had led him to the ladder, but he gripped it tightly all the same and yelled at the other men to follow his voice and get out of there. They were taking on water fast. It was up to the hunter’s chin by the time the last man had reached him. Once they were all out, Iolaus began to climb up to the deck. The rain coming down through the hatch pelted him fiercely, and although the water was lapping at his boots he hesitated. Pulling his medallion off his neck, he slipped the cord around his wrist and wrapped it tightly, grasping the cold stone in his fist. Scrambling the rest of the way up the ladder, Iolaus encountered chaos on the deck. The wind and the rain and the black sky made visibility just as bad as it had been in the hold. He could hear shouts around him but couldn’t make out any words. The ship lurched again and the wood groaned threateningly. Iolaus was tossed to the deck and slid across it as the boat teetered on its side precariously for several minutes. It finally righted itself, but the hunter knew it wouldn’t be for long. They were going down, and nothing was going to stop that now. So he pulled himself up, using the railing he had landed against for leverage. Really not liking his option, but knowing his only other alternative was getting sucked down in the vortex the ship would create as it sank, Iolaus climbed over the railing. Taking a deep breath, or as much as he could with the rain driving down his throat, the hunter jumped, trying to put as much distance between himself and the doomed vessel as he could.

For long, dizzying minutes the hunter was tossed about in the surging waves. He quickly gave up on trying to swim, for it took all his effort and focus just to try and figure out which end was up. Just keeping his head above water was a struggle, but he held on, knowing with absolute faith and conviction that against the odds, Hercules would find him. And just as one persistent wave started dragging him down, Iolaus felt that familiar, crushing grip around his bicep as he was pulled back up. He tried to help, but realized he was being more of a hindrance and instead just clung to his partner, relying on the demigod’s divine strength to save them both. They weren’t setting any speed records, but Hercules was making some progress as he stroked through the pounding surf. And Iolaus never once doubted that, despite the lack of visibility, Hercules was maneuvering them toward something instead of further out to sea.

Finally the hunter saw it. A flash of lightening illuminated a strip of beach a few hundred yards away from them. He started stroking, able to swim and aid their progress now that he had a clear destination in sight. And miraculously, it began to appear that they were swimming out of the storm. The waves started to become less punishing, the rain and wind less driving. They were spurred on by this and the strip of land grew closer and closer. But in their fatigue and eagerness to reach the shore, neither one noticed the danger from behind. One last wave approached, as if the enraged sea was refusing to let them go. By the time they heard the roaring water it was too late. The crushing wall of water slammed into them, breaking them apart and yanking them down into the ocean’s depths.

Iolaus awoke with a groan. It took him a long time to process where he was and what had happened, and even longer to reach a sitting position without feeling like he was going to be sick or that his head was going to explode. A quick investigation with his fingers revealed a huge, sticky knot on the back of his skull, and the hunter wearily deduced that he must have been hit by debris from the ship and knocked unconscious. Probably the thick of the mast, if the agony in his head was any indication. The temptation to sink back down into the sand and lose himself to sweet oblivion was strong, but the hunter forced himself to his knees. Before he could worry about himself, he had to find Hercules.

Although lightening still flashed offshore, the beach appeared to be out of the storm’s reach. The waves lapping at the sand weren’t of unusual size or strength, and the gentle wind held no hint of rain. It was still dark, but the suffocating blackness of the storm was gone and Iolaus was able to see a body lying on the beach a few feet away. Standing appeared to be out of the question so he crawled over to the prone form, knowing it was his partner.

“Herc,” he muttered, shaking the demigod’s shoulder slightly. But he got no response. Checking for injuries, Iolaus found an identical sticky knot on his friend’s head and a possible shoulder wound, although he couldn’t tell how bad it was in the dark. Shaking badly, he got to his feet and somehow managed to drag Hercules a few yards up the beach, away from the encroaching waves. He rolled the impossibly heavy demigod over onto his back and then collapsed next to him. Hercules was hurt and bleeding, and Iolaus knew he needed to find help, provided they had washed up on an inhabited island as opposed to the many uninhabited ones that dotted their course. He also knew that with the way his head was fiercely pounding, it was a really bad idea to go to sleep. But Iolaus simply couldn’t help it. He was beyond exhausted and woozy and sick and he dropped his aching head down on his friend’s chest, reassured by the strong heartbeat thudding under his ear. He’d just rest for a minute, he told himself, and gather up a little strength and then he’d go find help. Iolaus closed his eyes, but a series of flashes caused him to open them again. He gazed out over the ocean, wanting to make sure the storm was still offshore and not heading their way. A bright streak of lightening flashed through the dark sky, and in the momentary illumination the hunter saw something hovering over the water. Something big. Something monstrous. Something from his dreams. Forgetting about his head, Iolaus bolted upright, an action he immediately regretted. Nausea gripped his stomach as the pain assaulted him anew and his vision swam crazily before his eyes. Then he dropped to the sand, lost to oblivion once more and at the helpless mercy of the danger from the sea.

Iolaus was, rather rudely in his opinion, prodded back to consciousness. He opened his eyes to glare blearily up at the small figure hovering over him.

“Cut that out,” he growled in annoyance, seizing the stick that was experimentally poking him in the chest and yanking it out of the child’s grasp. The boy, who looked to be no more than six or seven, shrieked in surprise and took off running up the beach. “Great,” the hunter sighed as he slowly sat up and ran both hands over his face, realizing he’d just run off someone who could have helped him. But under the circumstances, he rationalized, he could hardly be expected to be a morning person. And at least now he knew the island wasn’t deserted. Where the boy had come from, there would be more people. And Iolaus allowed himself a shred of optimism that these people would be friendly and sympathetic to his plight.

The hunter checked over the still form next to him, disheartened to see that Hercules was still unconscious and unresponsive. But his pulse and respirations were strong and steady, and Iolaus comforted himself with that for the time being. Getting to his feet, he stretched his stiff and sore muscles, acutely feeling the strain of the shipwreck. But apart from the aches of having been battered by the storm and a dull throbbing in his head, he miraculously appeared to be unharmed. After taking stock of himself, Iolaus checked out his surroundings. The newly risen sun was bright and warm in the azure sky, and the soft blue-green waves rolled lazily up onto the white sandy shore. Apart from some driftwood that speckled the beach, no doubt the remains of their doomed ship, there was nothing in the calm, peaceful morning that indicated a furious storm had wrecked havoc the night before.

Iolaus turned his gaze inland, but high dunes blocked the interior of the island from his sight. The curious boy’s footprints in the sand would be easy enough to follow, but the hunter was loathe to leave his friend unattended, even to go find help. However, that dilemma was soon solved for him as a band of men crested the dune, striding unhurriedly, but purposefully, toward him, with the young boy following excitedly at their heels. The group came to a halt a few feet away, regarding the washed up strangers somewhat warily, but not with hostility.

“Hi,” the hunter greeted, giving them his most disarming smile. “I’m Iolaus. I didn’t mean to scare the boy there, but I guess he surprised me.”

One man, older than the rest judging by the flowing gray beard he sported, stepped away from the small crowd.

“Your friend appears injured,” he stated, looking pointedly down at the prone demigod.

“Yeah, I don’t suppose you have a healer in your village, do you?” The hope and concern were palpable in Iolaus’ voice.

“I am Tymon, the village elder,” the man introduced himself as he extended a hand. The hunter took it and the demeanor of the crowd relaxed. “My daughter, Anteia, has the gift of healing. Come, we will see to you and your friend.”

The hunter let out a long breath as instructions were given for two men to bring something with which to carry Hercules back to the village. They returned with an improvised pallet made from a partially constructed boat, and though it was no easy task, they managed to get the demigod’s dead weight lifted from the sand. Iolaus wanted to help carry his friend, but he was pulled aside by the elder.

“Let them do it,” he advised, putting a companionable hand on the hunter’s shoulder. “You look a touch wounded yourself.”

“I’m all right,” Iolaus told him absently, his attention on his partner.

“And your friend will be as well,” Tymon promised him. “My daughter has been known to work miracles. He will be in good hands.”

They started to follow the men who were struggling to bear their burden up the dune, but Iolaus hesitated, grateful and almost weak with relief for the hospitality and kindness being shown to his stricken partner.

“Thank you,” he told the elder, sincerity shining brightly from his blue eyes. The man smiled and patted him gently on the back.

“It’s the least we could do,” he assured the hunter, digging his walking stick into the sand as they began to climb the dune. “Welcome to Liadi Island.”

As they walked, Iolaus quickly recounted the events that had caused them to wash up on the island. The elder clucked in sympathy and promised to have someone keep lookout for any other survivors. Overhearing, the young boy, eager to make up for his earlier fear when he’d awakened the stranger, volunteered and went scampering back down the sand to solemnly patrol the beach. Tymon smiled indulgently, but also indicated that he would send a few men out in boats to check for anyone that might still be alive but hadn’t been so lucky as to make it to shore.

They arrived at the small fishing village and elicited much curiosity from the people, but the elder held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture and they respectfully hung back from the procession, holding their questions until a more suitable time. Tymon led them to a large house and the men carrying Hercules transported him to a bed in a side room, easing him down with a collective groan of relief. They quickly stretched their backs and silently took leave and Iolaus found himself alone with his injured partner. At least until Tymon entered, escorting a strikingly beautiful young woman. Her long hair was so pale it was almost white, and her eyes were the exact blue-green color of the sea.

“This is Anteia,” the elder introduced her. “My daughter,” he added for emphasis.

Iolaus realized from his tone that he was staring and he mentally shook himself as he took the girl’s hand and stammered out his name.

“So, you’re the healer?” he asked, reminding himself why he was there.

“Not exactly,” Anteia demurred with a smile that held more than a hint of mystery. “But I can help your friend.”

Iolaus stepped away from the bed, giving her room to work. Anteia bent over Hercules, her smile becoming a frown as her fingers gently probed his swollen, lacerated scalp.

“He took quite a blow.”

“Yeah,” the hunter murmured, thinking to himself that they both had. But he was starting to suspect that the demigod had either seen or sensed the blunt object coming and had put himself between it and his partner as much as he could, absorbing the bulk of the impact. And the fact that he was still out was concerning Iolaus a lot more than he was letting on.

“How old is this wound?” Anteia asked, intruding on the hunter’s thoughts.

“That?” Iolaus glanced at the dark bruising and torn flesh on his friend’s shoulder. “He got that sometime during the shipwreck. Why?”

“It’s already healing,” she announced, a touch of confusion in her voice.

“He’s always been a quick healer,” the hunter replied absently, wondering why that speedy recovery factor didn’t seem to be working on the demigod’s head. The answer he came up with sent a shiver of fear up his spine so he forced that thought out of his mind and focused back on Anteia, who was looking at him quizzically. “It’s a perk of having semi-divine blood.”

“What do you mean?” Tymon asked from the corner where he’d been observing.

“His mother’s mortal, but his father is one of the gods,” Iolaus explained. “Zeus, actually.”

The hunter expected them to be impressed. Everyone always was. But Anteia and Tymon exchanged a glance of what appeared to be scorn. And it was Iolaus’ turn to look confused.

“We no longer follow the Greek gods,” Anteia told him. “Soterios has shown us a better way.”

“Soterios?” the hunter prodded.

“He is a powerful god who came to us in our most dire time of need.” Tymon took over the narrative as Anteia resumed the examination of her patient. “We make our living from the sea here on Liadi. We have little fertile land and no forests, so our very survival depends on catching enough from the ocean to feed ourselves and trade for what we need. But two years ago a blight hit our water. Our men were out there day and night but they only hauled up empty nets. We prayed to Poseidon. Begged and pleaded and sacrificed to him. But he abandoned us. Our god left us to die. But Soterios heard us. He came to us and made our waters fruitful again. Soterios saved our people.”

“And what’s the payoff?” Iolaus demanded skeptically. “What does he want in return?”

“Just our worship,” Tymon continued. “As long as we give him our allegiance, then our nets are always full, our shores are free from storms, and our island is protected from our enemies.” The elder looked at the hunter and frowned. “You don’t seem convinced.”

“No offense,” Iolaus began in a neutral voice, hiding his sarcasm. “But I’ve never yet seen anyone, god or man, who could demand worship and still be a benevolent being. Those that truly want to help mankind don’t do it for the adulation. And if they do, there’s always a higher price to pay down the line.”

Tymon did take offense.

“You speak ill of our savior,” he pointed out stiffly. “But what of the Greek gods? They left you to die as well, out in that storm. You claim your friend is Zeus’ son, and yet he did nothing to help him.”

“I’m sorry,” the hunter apologized. “And believe me, I do not defend anything the gods do. In my opinion, most of them represent the worst humanity has to offer and I’d die before I’d give them an ounce of respect, let alone tribute.”

The elder relaxed then, giving the hunter an almost patronizing smile.

“It’s all right, my boy,” Tymon told him. “In truth, I applaud your cynicism and your rebellion against gods who turn a blind eye to their people’s suffering. And I understand why you would doubt us. But you will soon understand why we believe. Anteia?”

“Most of his wounds are superficial and already healing,” the girl reported. “But I fear for the injury to his head. He needs Soterios.”

“Then begin.” The elder took Iolaus by the arm and drew him back against the wall. “We can witness the miracle but it’s best to remain quiet and unobtrusive,” he advised.

Anteia knelt on the floor next to the bed, supplicating herself to a large painted symbol on the wall. It was foreign to Iolaus, but he assumed it was a sign for Soterios when she began to pray. Anteia called upon her god, using several ego stroking phrases like, “oh great and powerful savior of Liadi”, that made the hunter roll his eyes. But when she begged for the healing gift of Soterios, something happened. Iolaus watched in fascination as a light began to glow from within the girl, growing brighter and brighter until she was shimmering with radiance. Anteia quickly rose and went to Hercules, placing her hands on his head. The light flowed through her and into the demigod, flaring briefly within his body before it began to fade. And by the time it was gone, Hercules was awake and asking what had happened.

Iolaus helped his friend sit up and gave him a very brief explanation while Anteia and Tymon praised and thanked Soterios. Outwardly, Hercules appeared to be fine. All of his wounds, even the minor scrapes and bruises, the hunter noted enviously, were gone. And he was conscious and coherent, although he still seemed a little out of it. Anteia explained to Iolaus that it was a side effect from the healing. The patient tended to be a little groggy for a short while following the miracle, but, she pointed out, it was a small nuisance compared to the alternative. Iolaus couldn’t argue that, and the girl quickly made up an herbal concoction for Hercules to drink, saying it would help clear out the cobwebs.

Once the hunter was certain his friend was ok, barring a little punch drunkenness, he allowed himself to be led away and cared for. Initially he insisted he was fine, but Anteia was adamant that he allow her to see to his wounds and he never could say no to a beautiful woman. She finally admitted what he knew, that none were serious and that he’d heal fine on his own, without Soterios’ help. He waved off the herbal drink she tried to force on him, but he did eagerly accept a bath and a change of clothes. The dried salt water was making his skin itch, and the hunter had sand chaffing him in places where there just should never be sand. Once he was clean and dry and his hurts had been attended to, Iolaus returned to his partner and found him sleeping peacefully. Anteia offered him a room where he could rest awhile if he wanted, and as a giant yawn split his face the hunter realized there was no point in denying that he could use a little nap himself. He collapsed onto the bed, his tired body sinking down into the softness, and within seconds he fast asleep.

Iolaus awoke to two surprises. The first consisted of his clothing, clean and dry and neatly folded and left for him in his room. His medallion was resting on top of the pile. Somehow he had managed to keep hold of it all through the storm, but when he’d removed it from his wrist before his bath he’d noticed the cord was badly frayed. However, upon examination he saw that it had been replaced with a new, strong cord. Slipping the treasured item over his head, enjoying the feel of the weight of the cool stone against his chest, the hunter focused on his second surprise. A parchment with a note from Anteia, explaining that she and her father had gone to Soterios’ temple for a ceremony and they’d be gone most of the night, but she’d left dinner for her guests. Iolaus realized he was starving and hurriedly got dressed before going to wake Hercules.

They sat down to a hearty meal of fish stew, thick bread and cheese, and olives. As they ate, they discussed the recent turn of events.

“Do you think it could be possible?” Iolaus wondered. “Do you think this Soterios could be a benevolent god?”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Hercules answered doubtfully, then shrugged as he took a sip of water. “But I guess anything’s possible. He must have some kind of power or influence though. The sea is Poseidon’s realm and storms are Zeus’ department, but did you notice that the closer we got to this island, the calmer things got?”

“Yeah,” the hunter said thoughtfully. “Tymon mentioned something about Soterios keeping their shores safe from storms. That makes sense I guess. How the beach was left untouched when the storm was raging just a few hundred yards away.”

The two heroes both cringed slightly, remembering their exhausting battle to survive the tempest.

“Well, I guess you were right,” Hercules conceded. “We did sail straight into trouble. At least we made it through and it’s over now. Right?”

Iolaus stared down into his bowl, suddenly losing his appetite. That monstrous... thing he’d seen over the water. It was just an illusion from the storm. Or a hallucination from the bump on the head. It wasn’t real. But, why was it still haunting his dreams? And why was he still having a bad feeling that chilled him all over?

“It is over, isn’t it, Iolaus?” the demigod demanded.

The hunter looked up and met his friend’s gaze.

“I’m not sure that it is, Herc,” he answered softly.

In the morning Tymon announced that a boat was scheduled to make a trade run to Melos in three days time and that it would take Hercules and Iolaus to the bigger island where they could catch a ship bound for Corinth.

“And in the meantime you will stay here as my guests,” the elder informed them. They both thanked him for his kindness, but he waved their gratitude aside. “It is as Soterios commands.”

Later in the day Iolaus managed to catch Anteia alone and he pulled the girl aside for a private conversation.

“I’m worried about Hercules,” he confessed to her. “Physically he seems fine and he’s acting more like himself, but he’s still a little bit... I don’t know. Sluggish, I guess.”

“The side effect of the healing is stronger for more severe injuries and illnesses,” she told him. “Perhaps his wound was even greater than we feared. But he’ll soon be fine, I promise. I’ll make him some more tea and that should perk him up. And if it doesn’t, Soterios will know what to do.”

“You talk to him? And he really answers?” Iolaus questioned.

“He speaks with Father,” Anteia explained. “He interprets Soterios’ wishes for us all. I’m merely a channel for Soterios’ healing power. Just a vessel for his gift.”

“Oh, I think you might have one or two gifts of your own,” the hunter said charmingly.

She understood his reference, but ignored it.

“Father has the real gift. I’d give anything for the ability to communicate with Soterios.”

“So, why Tymon?” Iolaus asked.

“He used to be Poseidon’s high priest. When Soterios came to us, it was natural that he’d choose Father to be his interpreter.”

“But why can he only speak through one man?” the hunter persisted. “Why can’t he speak to all of you?”

“We don’t question the will of Soterios,” Anteia said quickly. A little too quickly and automatically for Iolaus’ liking. His natural curiosity was piqued and he tried to find out more about Soterios, where he’d come from and what kind of a god he was, but the girl immediately became evasive and excused herself to go make the tea for Hercules.

And Iolaus soon found out that Anteia wasn’t the only one who grew uneasy with the subject of the supposedly benevolent god of Liadi. He walked the town and conversed with some of the people. They were friendly enough, but when he broached the subject of Soterios they instantly became guarded. Most seemed a little too eager to worship the god, singing his praises with a hint of desperate enthusiasm. The hunter had seen it before, and he could guess what the driving force behind it was. Not love or respect or gratitude. But fear.

When Tymon found out Iolaus had been questioning the villagers and “interrogating them” about Soterios, the hunter saw another side to the elder. The man was angry with him, and Iolaus suspected he was really furious but doing his best to control it so he would not appear to be overreacting. Tymon accused the hunter of trying to spread his “god-hate” through the town and was slandering something he knew nothing about. Iolaus protested that he was merely curious and ventured to suggest that maybe Tymon could answer his questions. But the elder just coldly ordered him to stay away from the villagers and left the room.

“Something’s not right,” Iolaus insisted later that night as he paced around Hercules’ room. “Those people are not followers of Soterios because they want to be. They’ve been forced into it somehow, and they’re afraid of what will happen if they don’t.”

But while the hunter found a sympathetic ear in his partner, the demigod remained strangely quiet. Something wasn’t right with him, either, Iolaus concluded. Hercules was always the first one to encourage free thought, but he was certainly dropping the ball with this one, just when the hunter really could have used his help and backing. Sighing heavily, Iolaus chalked his apathy up to the “healing side effect” and silently wished he’d snap out of it soon. He certainly wasn’t going to be calling on Soterios for any more favors.

It was late, but Iolaus left the house and went outside for a walk. He told himself he needed to clear his head, but subconsciously he knew he wanted to stay awake to stave off the nightmares. They were still vague and fractured to his waking mind, but the monstrous, shadowy image was never far away. And it terrified him.

As he roamed the streets, the hunter became aware of how quiet it was. Granted, given the hour, he wouldn’t have expected to have seen much activity. But the village was deathly silent and still and if he didn’t know better, he’d have said it was abandoned. He thought back over his short stint on Liadi and he realized that he’d never seen a solitary soul after night had fallen. Something was going on in the village, that much he already knew. And it appeared to happen once darkness descended. Knowing Soterios had to be involved, Iolaus changed direction and headed for the huge temple that sat on the outskirts of the village. As he neared, he could hear a rhythmic chanting, although it wasn’t in a language he recognized. But the door was bolted and there were no windows in the building, so after circling the structure a few times Iolaus gave up and headed back to Tymon’s house in frustration to face the nightmares. Maybe this time the images would come clear and he’d start to get a clue about what was going on.

In the morning Tymon announced that a large school of fish had been spotted in the cove at the north end of the island and that he was taking his boat out for a bit. Iolaus asked to tag along, partly because he was bored and partly because he thought it was a good opportunity to corner the elder and maybe get a few answers. To his surprise, Tymon agreed and they soon were on the beach, shoving the boat into the surf. They paddled along the shoreline, almost companionably, and soon reached the cove. Large rock outcroppings surrounded the deep water, giving it a shady, almost dark feel. Not the sort of place in which fish usually schooled and Iolaus voiced his doubts.

“Trust me,” Tymon urged him. “My information comes on good authority.”

“Let me guess,” the hunter muttered as he stood and gathered the nets in his hand to cast them. “Soterios told you.”

“You just can’t let it go, can you? That’s going to get you into trouble someday.”

Iolaus didn’t see the paddle swinging at him until it was too late and he couldn’t avoid the blow. The elder still had strength enough left for a good hit, and the hunter was knocked out of the boat into the water.

“I’m sorry, my boy,” Tymon murmured, almost wistfully. He gazed over the side of the boat where the water was bubbling and churning fiercely. Just as Soterios had said. “I didn’t want it to end this way, but you asked too many questions.” Picking up the other paddle, the elder began to row back.

When he arrived home, Anteia greeted him with a kiss and an expectant look.

“It’s done,” Tymon relayed. “Now what of Hercules?”

“Don’t worry, Father,” the girl purred, swirling the steaming tea in the mug in her hands. “One more dose of this and he’ll be a completely compliant guest of honor.”

“Good,” the elder said with satisfaction. “Soterios’ will be done.”

Iolaus was NOT in a good mood as he climbed the steep, rocky outcropping. He vented his anger with a stream of inventive curses, really outdoing himself as he pulled himself up over the top. Only to find a woman there, watching and presumably listening to him. But with his current level of fatigue and agitated state of mind, he had no room for embarrassment and could only manage a “sorry”.

“I’ve heard worse,” she said with a grin that made her look strangely familiar. “And I saw my husband rowing off, so I’d guess you probably have good reason to be upset.”

“Your husband?” That perked the hunter up considerably. “Tymon is your husband?”

“Technically,” the woman replied with an air of palpable disgust. “But I might as well be dead as far as he’s concerned and that suits me just fine.”

“Anteia,” Iolaus blurted out. That was who the woman reminded him of. Her hair was gray and her eyes were dull, but she was definitely an older, sadder version of the beautiful girl.

“My daughter,” she acknowledged. “Although she’s more her father’s daughter, I’m afraid.”

Iolaus got to his feet and brushed his hands off on his wet leather pants with a grimace of distaste.

“I’m Iolaus,” he introduced himself. “And I think you and I need to have a long, long talk. I don’t suppose there’s a tavern on this end of the island, is there?”

“No, unfortunately,” the woman smiled, her eyes reclaiming a little of their former sparkle. “But I’ve got some aged wine that will take the curls out of your hair.”

“In that case,” the hunter said grandly with a sweeping bow. “Lead the way.”

Nerine, as she introduced herself, escorted Iolaus to her home. And he was shocked to see that for her, home was a big, drafty cave with few accessories.

“You live here?” he asked incredulously.

“I have no choice,” she told him quietly. “I was driven out of the village with nothing but the clothes on my back and forbidden to ever return. I don’t have a boat and no one ever comes to Liadi, so where was I going to go?”

“But how do you get by out here, all alone?” Iolaus was torn by compassion for the woman and anger at those who would banish her to such conditions.

“My sister comes here once a week,” she confessed. “It’s forbidden, but she comes anyway and brings whatever supplies she can. It’s not an easy life, but I manage.”

“But I’ve seen all the boats moored on the beach,” the hunter pressed her. “Why don’t you take one of those and get out of here?” To him, it would certainly be worth the risk involved to escape an isolated existence in barren conditions.

“I’ve thought about it,” Nerine told him. “Thought about it a lot. But I’m too afraid.”

“It wouldn’t be an easy journey and there might be some danger involved...”

“No,” she interrupted. “I’m not afraid of the journey. I’m afraid to go near the village. It’s probably silly, but so far I’ve escaped the curse and I’m afraid that if I go there I’ll fall victim to it as well.”

“Curse? What curse?” the hunter demanded.

“You know, the curse,” Nerine said impatiently before she saw his blank look. “You don’t know. Well, let me get the wine and then I’ll start at the beginning.”

They sat in front of the cave in the sun, passing the bottle of dark wine that indeed had a kick to it. Iolaus quickly went over how he’d come to be on the island and then he listened intently as the woman told her story. It mirrored the one Tymon had told him, with Liadi falling to famine and all their prayers unanswered by their patron god, Poseidon. But when Soterios arrived, Nerine was the only one who didn’t see him as a savior.

“The people were starving,” she said softly, her eyes taking on a distant look as she got lost in the past. “I suppose I can’t blame them for taking what Soterios offered. But they took it without question and without suspicion. I didn’t think we should turn from Poseidon, but nobody would listen to me.”

“You really didn’t think Poseidon would save you, did you?” Iolaus asked gently.

“No, I guess not,” Nerine sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. If you have faith in something, it can’t be just when things are going well. We believed in Poseidon for so long. To lose our faith in him when times were hard wasn’t right. It devalued everything we’d always stood for. But in the end, you can’t feed your family with convictions. So the people embraced Soterios and gave themselves to him without a thought. Even my own husband. Tymon had been a loyal priest of Poseidon most of his life. But he turned on a heartbeat and denounced our god, even encouraging the few uncertain people in town to accept Soterios as our new savior.”

“But you resisted,” the hunter concluded.

“Vehemently,” she confirmed with a sad smile. “You know what they say, if something seems to good to be true...”

“Then it probably is,” Iolaus finished, in agreement. “What about Anteia?”

“She was as taken with Soterios as her father,” Nerine continued. “Maybe even more. When Tymon relayed she was to be the vessel for Soterios’ healing power, I thought she was going to erupt from excitement. She thrived on the power she felt at being one of his chosen, and it only made her more driven and more obsessed with Soterios. I think she has designs on being his interpreter one day, and I wouldn’t put it past her to make it happen, even at the expense of her own father.”

The hunter digested what he’d been told, trying to match up the picture Nerine painted of her ruthless, conniving daughter with the image of the beautiful girl who had compassionately healed his best friend. It didn’t make sense, and yet his gut was telling him to believe the woman next to him.

“So what happened to you?”

“I was already on thin ice for my refusal to accept Soterios,” she explained. “But it was killing me to see what this obsession was turning my daughter into. I tried to reason with her and get her to turn away from Soterios, but instead she told Tymon of my blasphemy. So he banished me from the village, ordering me never to return and forbidding any of the people from having any contact with me. Under punishment of death.”

“I’m sorry, Nerine,” Iolaus told her sincerely, reaching out to cover her hand with his own.

“I didn’t know it at the time,” she sniffed, dabbing discretely at her eyes. “But my exile was actually my salvation.”

“From the curse?”

“Once Soterios had everyone lured in and securely in his clutches, he cursed them. In the light of day everything is normal. But when darkness falls, a horrible change comes over the villagers. They turn into monsters, hideous mutations of the sea creatures. And Soterios threatened that he would make the curse permanent if his will is not served. As long as they worship him, they’re allowed normality during the day. But if he’s defied, they’ll become monstrosities forever, forced to exist only in the sea.”

“Well, that’s one way to ensure a full temple,” Iolaus mused, feeling sick over what had been done to the villagers. “Nerine, do you know what Soterios is? I mean, is he really a god or something else?”

“I’ve never seen him,” she answered. “He appears only to Tymon.”

A flash of the creature from his dreams ran through the hunter’s mind, and he had a feeling Tymon wasn’t the only one to have seen Soterios.

“Ok, well I understand why they had to get rid of me,” Iolaus began slowly, sorting out his thoughts. “I was getting a little too close to their secret. But my friend is still back at the village. What would they want with him?”

“I don’t know,” Nerine replied, shaking her head. “Outsiders to Liadi are discouraged, so if you were treated with hospitality, then Soterios must have ordered it.”

“But why?”

“He must have some plan. He wanted you alive for some reason.”

“Not me,” Iolaus muttered, an idea striking him. “Hercules.”

“What?”

“Hercules is the son of Zeus,” the hunter explained rapidly as things began falling into place. “It’s him they want. They just kept me around to keep him happy.” He glanced over at Nerine, who still looked confused. “Don’t you get it? Hercules is the nephew of Poseidon.”

“They’re going to sacrifice him to Soterios,” she exclaimed, her face going white. “The ultimate insult against their former god!”

“Over my dead body.”

Iolaus jumped up, prepared to go storming back to the village, but Nerine sprang to her feet as well and took his arm.

“You can’t, Iolaus,” she told him. “You’re no match for a village full of creatures. And they will do anything to serve Soterios’ will. This is suicide!”

“I’ll be ok,” the hunter reassured her. “It might seem hard for you to believe, but my friend and I, well, we’re like a two man army. The odds aren’t good, but we’ve been up against worse.”

Nerine stared into his blue eyes, reading the determination and the strength there. She released him and smiled.

“Somehow, I believe you. After all, you are the first man to ever survive the monster in the cove.”

“Not much of a monster,” Iolaus scoffed, hiding a teasing grin. “Just a giant eel. I could kill one of those in my sleep.”

“No one ever has before. How did you do it?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” he told her. “Let’s just call it an old hunter’s trick and leave it at that. Now I want you to stay here, all right? When this is all over, I’ll be back for you and we’re getting off this island.”

“Be careful,” Nerine begged him.

“I’m always careful,” Iolaus lied, squeezing her hand reassuringly before he turned and began loping recklessly over the rocks, heading down toward the village, silhouetted against the setting sun.

Something was wrong. Hercules knew that much, even though he was so foggy and muddled that he didn’t know where he was or what was going on. But something was definitely wrong. He heard a voice trying to soothe him, but that only increased his agitation. Something was placed at his lips, but he lifted a heavy hand and awkwardly shoved it away.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s waking up.”

“I can see that,” Tymon snapped in a stage whisper. “Why?”

“It must be his divine blood counteracting the drug,” Anteia told her father. “Hold him down and I’ll try to get more into him.”

“Forget about that,” the elder hissed. “We must start now. And by Soterios, you’d better keep him under control.”

Tymon stepped away from the altar and the congregation immediately fell silent and gave him full attention. He began to chant and the people soon joined in, their voices raising in a melodious singsong rhythm as they praised their god and prepared to present him with a great offering.

Iolaus. That’s what was wrong. Iolaus was missing. Hercules began to stir, his fuzzy mind latching onto a sole thought. He needed to find his friend. But something was holding him down. The demigod opened his eyes, struggling to focus. But it was dark in the temple, the only light coming from the full moon shining down through the holes in the roof. More weight pressed down on him, and Hercules squirmed feebly, moaning softly.

“Father, it must be done now!” Anteia commanded as she struggled to restrain the demigod.

As the congregation continued to chant, Tymon turned and marched back to the altar. He hovered over the demigod and called out to Soterios, entreating upon him to accept their gift. The blood of his enemies, offered in sacrifice. Anteia released Hercules and took up a silver tray, holding it out to her father. Tymon selected a long, curved knife and held it aloft as the chanting grew more frenzied. Then he poised the blade in the air over the restless demigod and prepared to drive it down into his semidivine heart.

But then chaos erupted. The chanting stopped, replaced by shrieks as a flaming wine bottle came sailing in through the skylight. It shattered on the floor, spraying burning alcohol everywhere. Iolaus soon followed his diversion, jumping down through the hole and rolling through the flames. No one paid him any attention as they stampeded each other in their panic to flee the building. But the hunter couldn’t ignore them in kind.

“By the gods,” he whispered as the fire chased away the murky darkness and cast a bright light on the monstrous creatures that no longer looked human. It was a sea of scales and fins and claws and spines and other amorphous projections, all pushing and shoving to get to the door. Definitely a sight he’d never forget, but Iolaus didn’t have time to stand and stare. He ran to the altar, checking Hercules’ eyes and cursing as he realized he’d been drugged. The hunter began frantically calling to his partner, shaking him and slapping him lightly until he roused him enough to get him off the altar. Smoke and fire filled the building, but somehow Iolaus managed to navigate through to the door, half dragging his friend who was leaning heavily against him.

They made it outside and the hunter let Hercules collapse once they were far enough away from the doomed structure. He bent over with his hands on his knees, coughing the smoke from his lungs. But he didn’t have much time to recover, for a band of enraged creatures was slowly advancing on them. Desperately wishing he had the sword that had been lost during the shipwreck, Iolaus waved the only weapon he had, a burning brand from the temple. Surprisingly, it worked and the creatures backed off slightly.

“Herc, you still with me?” the hunter asked over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the monstrous army.

“Yeah,” came the rough reply. “Everything’s just so fuzzy...”

“Well, the sooner you can pull yourself together, the better,” Iolaus advised him. “I need your help here, big guy. We’re in some serious trouble.”

“You don’t know how right you are.” It was the creature closest to them. Unrecognizable with a misshapen face, antennae, and a large, snapping claw. But it spoke with Tymon’s voice. “Soterios is coming for you.”

For long moments they remained at a standoff, the tension growing to excruciating levels. But then the ground began to shake slightly, and something large crested the dunes leading from the beach. Iolaus audibly gulped at the sight. The monster from his nightmares had risen from the sea and was rapidly advancing. It walked on two legs, dragging a flippered tail behind it and covered in dripping seaweed. Two pairs of tentacles waved in the air, and a thick, elongated head ended in wide, gaping jaws filled with rows of teeth. It pushed through the crowd of stunned villagers, aghast at seeing their savior for the first time, and came to a halt in front of Iolaus, snarling fiercely.

“Wow,” the hunter spoke up. “You are ugly, even for a god.”

Soterios roared and charged and Iolaus ducked the powerful arms that sprung from the torso, above the tentacles. But the creature swung its tail, smacking the hunter in the back of the head with a brutal blow. He staggered and fell, dropping his torch and seeing stars, and before he knew it, Soterios was hauling him up off the ground.

“Just like I planned,” Iolaus said sarcastically, before a scaley hand closed around his throat.

“Let him go!”

Darkness was clouding his vision, but through it the hunter saw Hercules, on his feet and brandishing a huge piece of driftwood. A tentacle shot out and grabbed the weapon, yanking it out of the demigod’s hand and swinging it at him. Hercules tried to duck, but he was still a little woozy from the drug and was caught with a glancing blow. But as Soterios focused his attention on the demigod, his grip on Iolaus slackened enough for the hunter to be able to wrench free. He staggered back, gasping in air as he tried to distract the creature from his friend.

“Come on, you overgrown pile of sushi,” he taunted. “Come and get me.”

Soterios complied, and the hunter quickly realized the flaw in his plan as he ducked the swinging driftwood. Hercules came up behind the creature with the torch he’d recovered, only to be disarmed once more by another of the lightening fast tentacles.

“Good one, Herc,” Iolaus called out to his partner as he jumped over fire and ducked under driftwood. “Why don’t you see if there’s anything else around here that you can arm it with!”

Never one to rely on weapons, Hercules grabbed the creature’s tail, digging his heels in as he pulled, managing to yank Soterios off balance and dumping him heavily onto the ground. As the monster struggled to get up, the two heroes regrouped.

“We need a plan, and fast,” Hercules panted. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

Iolaus put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, feeling him trembling and realizing that the demigod still hadn’t fully shaken off the effects of the drug and was operating solely on willpower. And then a chilling thought hit him.

“What if this thing really is a god?” he murmured. “As in immortal?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Despite his fatigue, the demigod grinned broadly. “I think I have enough left in me for one more move.”

“Oh no,” the hunter groaned as Hercules rose to meet their advancing foe. “Not Thermopylae!”

But for all his misgivings, Iolaus took his place at his partner’s side. They worked in tandem, relying on their long years of fighting together to keep them in synch. Ducking and dodging and forcing Soterios to commit to the attack, until the creature was frustrated, and a little dizzy, his strategy forgotten as he lashed out in anger. The two heroes got into position and as Soterios charged, Iolaus braced himself against his partner’s back and caught the monster with both feet. Hercules flipped the hunter over his shoulders and the momentum carried Soterios up into the air and sent him sailing through the sky. He landed squarely in the ruined temple, and while the fire had died down it was still burning enough to ignite the creature. And the all powerful savior of Liadi died, kicking and screaming as the flames consumed and destroyed him.

Once Soterios was gone, the curse was broken and the monstrous creatures became human once more. Most of them apologized profusely to the two heroes, and in a way Hercules and Iolaus could understand why they had done what they’d done. It was a severe sentence over their heads if they didn’t comply with Soterios’ demands, so the villagers had felt trapped with no choice. But they also didn’t seem to have learned much from their ordeal either and had rather a cavalier attitude about the situation. They played the victims of circumstance and no one seemed to have any guilty feelings about killing innocents or banishing a woman to a harsh, lonely existence. So the demigod and the hunter took their leave as soon as the sun rose, having been granted a boat in payment for freeing the islanders from their false god. Nerine refused to go with them, despite Iolaus’ urges. She had been welcomed back into the community and chose to stay with her family. Her marriage was probably beyond repair, but she wasn’t yet willing to give up on her daughter. The hunter had grave doubts about that, for not only did Tymon and Anteia appear unapologetic for their actions, they actually seemed upset that Soterios was gone. But Nerine stood firm, so Iolaus wished her well and set off with Hercules, both of them more than happy to leave Liadi behind them.

It was a long trip to Melos and not one easily undertaken in a small boat. But the two seasoned warriors made it with no major problems. They sold the little vessel and used the money to pay for passage on a ship bound for Corinth. After what they’d both been through, they decided they deserved a relaxing journey where they didn’t have to work.

“So,” Hercules began as he leaned on the railing next to his friend. “Just to clarify, that was the trouble we were heading for, right? No more bad feelings or omens?”

“Nope,” Iolaus replied cheerfully. “I predict clear sailing all the way to Corinth. No more trouble for us.”

“Good.” They fell silent, just watching the water, and then the demigod turned to his partner with a straight face. “Are you as bored as I am?”

“Worse,” the hunter groaned theatrically. “Hey, maybe Iphicles will have something for us to do. You know, stop a power crazed warlord menacing his borders or take on a monster from an outside province.”

“You really want another monster so soon?”

“Well, as long as it doesn’t have tentacles. And as long as you don’t arm it before we fight.” Iolaus laughed and ducked out of reach as Hercules tried to grab him. “And speaking of tentacles, guess what’s on the menu for tonight?”

“Are you serious?”

“I heard from some of the crew that the galley chef likes to serve ‘em up fresh. Really fresh. As in they’re still twitching and moving. And with the suckers still attached.”

“You’re making this up,” the demigod accused his friend.

“If you say so.” Iolaus wore an infuriating grin as he started to walk off. “See you at dinner.”

Hercules sighed heavily and pushed himself away from the railing.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

Finis

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