Two Thousand Years

Author’s Note: I mean no copyright infringement on characters owned by RenPics and Universal Studios. After two thousand years, cut me some slack... Comments always welcome.

Greece.

It is a tourist hotspot and a traveler’s paradise. White sand and unbelievably blue-green ocean surrounds islands rich with culture and history and myth. Modern nightlife happily coexists with ancient ruins, just as trendy shops flourish alongside street markets reminiscent of times long gone. Intoxicating food and drink, spices and fashions, architecture and entertainment are to be had at every turn. There is truly something for everyone, and never a shortage of things to do or see.

But for me, the typical attractions hold no interest. I don’t care about the latest clubs or restaurants and have no desire to browse the markets for souvenirs, trinkets, or treasures. Without a second glance I bypass historical monuments, not needing to look upon their remains because I saw them when they were new. With quiet purpose I leave the crowds behind, making my way with long familiarity to a quiet, uninhabited part of the country. I could just appear where I want to be, but I enjoy the walk. It gives me time to think and eases my soul. Besides, it’s a tradition. A pilgrimage, if you will.

There are no landmarks or markers, but I don’t need them. I’ve been coming here for centuries, and no matter how the landscape changes I instinctively know which path to take, feeling the pull of some unseen force guiding me on. Until I reach my destination. A seemingly random patch of ground in a seemingly random field next to a seemingly random stand of apple trees. The headstone is long gone, the earth long since smoothed out and grown over. There’s nothing to indicate to anyone that a grave resides here. But I know it’s here, because I’m the one who dug it, a very long time ago.

Iolaus isn’t dead to me. Not really. He’s safe and immortal, in a sense, in the Elysian Fields with his beloved Ania and his boys. I can see him whenever I want. Every day if I wish, and that’s just about how often I pop in. But for some reason I can’t understand, the compulsion is still strong to visit my friend’s grave, even after so much time has passed.

Maybe because it’s a link to the past, to what had been the happiest time in all my eons of existence. Back when I’d been half mortal, traveling the countryside and beyond in my never ending struggle to right injustice and protect the innocent. My life had meant something then. I’d had purpose and I fully believed in my righteous cause, living by a code of honor, courage and nobility. And I’d had Iolaus by my side, every step of the way. The man who embodied everything good and right in the world, and the friend I’d loved like no other. Together we’d been back to back warriors, heroes crusading to end suffering and stop evil. It hadn’t been an easy life by far, but we’d definitely had our share of fun.

Up until advancing age finally took my partner from my side. Iolaus stayed with me far longer than either of us had anticipated, but eventually the time came for him to step back. We’d both known it was coming and had time to prepare, but that didn’t make it any less heartbreaking when Iolaus had to hang up his sword. But with his usual good natured cheerfulness he settled into retirement with relative ease, still finding enough trouble here and there to keep him busy. He outlived all his family and friends, but on his 100th birthday all of Thebes joined together to give their beloved hometown hero the party to end all parties. Iolaus was delighted, and although he was suffering the effects of his advanced age, he was still able to get around and he thoroughly enjoyed himself feasting on the elaborate banquet with his insatiable appetite and flirting with all the women, making pretty girls a fraction of his age blush. Three days later, Iolaus died, slipping away peacefully in his sleep and willfully accepting his place in the Elysian Fields, much to Hades’ ultimate relief. And as a reward for coming quietly, he was transformed back into a man in his prime and reunited with his family. But his happiness was short lived.

Always a man of energy and action, Iolaus quickly became restless with the peace and leisure of the afterlife. Hades was sympathetic but uncooperative, until kind Persephone suggested that perhaps a solution was before them. She’d never liked Charon, finding him gruff and crude, and she couldn’t help but think that he had to be a shock to the newly arriving souls. After being escorted and comforted by Celesta, the recent dead were then subjected to a hideous, leering creature demanding money and trading insults. Not to mention the deep fondness the boatman had developed for wine... And so after a few negotiations, Charon happily retired from his hated job and Iolaus became the ferryman of the Underworld, a position he quickly grew to love. And did for free, realizing from past experience that the dead had other things to worry about rather than coming up with a coin to pay the ferryman. It gave him something to do and he was able to once again help people, picking up where Celesta left off and easing their transition to the other side. And the warrior in him was perfect for dealing with shades bound for Tartarus, making sure they caused no trouble before they got there. He also talked Hades into allowing a few of his friends into sharing the duties, so that they could all have purpose and still have time to enjoy the afterlife. Iolaus fell into a routine, taking his shift on the ferry and then going home to be with his family. He was content, except for one thing. Desperately missing his old friend.

And that old friend missed him even more. It was excruciating for me those years following Iolaus’ death when I was forced to try and carry on alone, without my partner, friend, and heart’s brother to look to for the help, support, inspiration and comfort that I had come to take for granted. I went through the motions because I knew Iolaus would be disappointed in me if I didn’t, but the adventure was meaningless without his warm light in my life, and my heart was no longer in my deeds, no matter how great. Dutifully I secured justice for the downtrodden and protected the innocent but without passion or enthusiasm or any strong sense of self-preservation, for I found it hard to cling to life when the best part of me was gone. So it was perhaps inevitable that Ares finally managed to get the drop on me, more to his surprise than my own, and the question of my immortality was settled once and for all.

Being a full god was something I’d never wanted, but my new divinity allowed me constant and immediate access to Iolaus and my family and friends, so I embraced it. I spent long stretches in the underworld, playing with my children, holding my wife, listening to my mother fuss over me, and just being with Iolaus, drawing strength from his humor and his compassion and the love that poured from his giant heart. While I could never fool myself into thinking that I belonged there with them, it was at least a comfort to pretend for a little while.

And as the years passed, something extraordinary happened. A thing that I’d been fighting for all my life. People began to turn away from the gods, choosing to rely on themselves and each other instead. They found true heroes among them and as their faith waned, so did the Olympic pantheon’s power. The gods remained immortal beings, but their abilities became severely limited. Gone were the days of flattening villages, creating havoc with nature and spreading mass chaos. Most of the gods retreated to Olympus were they remained, holed up and toasting their forgotten glory. A few, like Ares and Aphrodite, continued to play in the mortal world. The effects they could have, good or bad, were subtle and localized, but it was still better as far as they were concerned than spending eternity growing moldy and pining for the good old days.

The newest god wasn’t bothered by the change. I retained my strength and I was long used to helping people one life at a time. And I couldn’t very well miss what I’d never wanted in the first place. In fact, it was a relief for me not to have to worry about keeping up with my divine relations and having to repair the damage they caused. It just left me more time to spend on the other side.

But as the mortal world had progressed, so had the underworld. Hades had to divide up the Elysian Fields, creating new sections every few years so the souls entering his domain would find a world similar to the one they had left behind. Shades were given the option to progress with the times if they so desired, and I think Iolaus would have gladly moved through the ages for he was always eager for new experience. But Ania was content to remain as they were, in their little replica of the ancient world, not having any desire for change. So Iolaus catered to his beloved wife’s wishes, satisfying his curiosity by pumping me for information about what was going on in the world above. The world I moved through anonymously, with no mortal ever the wiser and thinking I was just another one of them. Maybe a little stronger than most, although I always did my best to keep my true strength under wraps.

It wasn’t always easy. People hadn’t necessarily become more violent, but their weapons had. And bullets were harder to catch than arrows. It never quite seemed to sink in that I was immortal now and beyond such dangers. I suppose something from my mortal side stayed with me in that regard, making me exercise caution where I shouldn’t have feared to tread. But that caution served another purpose, in that it allowed me to raise far less question than if I’d outwardly proved myself to be invincible. As it was, it was often hard enough to step in and do my good deed and slip away anonymously. Some things never change. Like the gratitude of the innocent, their need to believe in heroes, and the public exaltion of those heroes. Something I would gladly do without, for I am quite happy to have my legend pass into myth.

So I move among mortals undetected and unsung, traveling from place to place and stopping only long enough to save a life here, help someone out there. And then I’m gone. There’s no room for attachment here. I can’t allow myself to become personally involved, for that would mean watching them age, watching them die while I linger on. No, I learned the hard way that a detached compassion is best. It does get lonely, and I admit, sometimes it’s depressing when I think of how many centuries I’ve been battling the same greed, the same hate, and the same evil. But where it has endured, so has generosity and kindness and love. As much bad as there is in the mortal world, there is more goodness to counter it. And on the days when that realization isn’t enough to shake me out of a melancholy mood, one reproachful look from Iolaus usually does it.

Iolaus. I reach out and rest a hand on the grass that covers his mortal remains. He wasn’t perfect. On the contrary, he was reckless, stubborn, impulsive, and too easily beguiled by a pretty face. But in all my long years of walking the earth, I can say with absolute confidence that a better man has never lived. He was all heart and courage and to this day I remain humble and grateful that my life was blessed with his presence. Iolaus was overshadowed in his time, and these days he is little more than a footnote in the mythology books. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as those stories really are myths now, being so distorted from the truth of what really happened. Those old bards really took “artistic licence” to a whole new level. But I can understand why they did it. At the time they were just trying to tell an exciting, shocking story. They couldn’t have known that there would be such interest in centuries to come, and that their fables would be taken as fact.

I try not to take it literally, but there is insult to be found with how I’m described in these books. A hulking, brainless brute with a club and a will to smash. And Iolaus is my nephew, a tidbit that he finds hilarious. But it saddens me. Because the world doesn’t know who he really was in life. His heroism is lost to the ages, and he deserves so much more than that. After all, the violent thug in the lion skin is still touted as the greatest hero of them all. But what nobody knows is that Hercules would have been nothing without Iolaus by his side. He would have been lost early on to his own pride and ego and he would have fallen into the darkness of his demons without the pure light of his partner to illuminate him.

I close my eyes and have a few silent words with the ghost of my friend at his grave. Then I rise and brush myself off, my yearly pilgrimage over. It does sadden me, but it also strengthens me to think back on that long ago time. Reminds me of what I stand for and what I fight for and why I need to carry on, doing what I do. But as I turn away and begin to walk through the peaceful countryside, enjoying the warm sun and the blue sky, a thought strikes me. Maybe I’m not so powerless after all...

Iolaus doesn’t have to be forgotten. Not in this age of instant communication. I could tell his story, share his life with the world, and give the people another hero to believe in. A book, perhaps. One that would have to be marketed as fiction, because I’d be laughed back to Olympus if I dared to insinuate that esteemed poets like Hesiod and Homer and Ovid were really just a bunch of crackpots with active imaginations. And if I claimed to know firsthand, who would believe me? But fact or fiction, Iolaus could finally get the recognition that he deserves. And there are still enough dreamers out there to embrace his legend and allow him to live on.

I make my way back to the city and linger long enough to pick up some pastries for the kids and a bottle of ouzo to split with my friend. Because once Iolaus is done on the ferry tonight he’s going to want to sit down and hear about what I did and saw, as he puts it, “up there”. I debate with myself whether or not to tell him about the book idea, pretty much knowing what he’ll say. He always was humble where his own talents were concerned and no doubt will be skeptical that anyone, especially now, would care about his life. But he’ll also be miffed that I’d reduce him to a boring book, when a movie or a television show would be a much more glorious medium to showcase his deeds.

I pay for my purchases, smiling slightly to myself, wondering as I often do how the merchants would react if they knew they were dealing with Hercules. The real Hercules, in the flesh, minus the lion skin and the club. Or would they even react? After all, an immortal strongman isn’t that awe inspiring in this day and age. Not when technology and nature and peoples’ own creativity has made head turning into an international pastime. Some old Greek god wandering the streets probably wouldn’t even be worth batting an eye. And yet, I think the interest is still sleeping there. Interest in Iolaus’ story, and mine, too.

We did have some wild adventures together. Full of danger and triumph, some losses and many victories. Love, birth, grief, death, rebirth... It’s the stuff of great storytelling. And it would be a kick to see it told right for a change, the way it really happened.

The more I think about this, the more I start to see the potential. It started as just a crazy notion, but the idea is growing on me. And once Iolaus gets hold of it, he’ll nag me about it until I’m forced to see it through. I chuckle to myself as I move through the crowds, making my way away from their eyes to seclusion where I can disappear and journey down to the underworld. These mortals may not know that Hercules walks among them, but it might not be long before, through the magic of modern media, Hercules and Iolaus are living in their hearts once more.

After all, given my long, long years in existence, I can honestly say that stranger things have happened.

Finis

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The Iolausian Library