The Trials of Hercules (14 page)

“Another heartbeat and you’d be sleeping outside the gates,” the gatekeeper says.

“Another heartbeat and we’d be counting down the last of our heartbeats,” Iolalus says with more humor than I could have dared to muster at such a moment. We truly had been only a heartbeat from death. By Eury’s rules, if we hadn’t made it through the gates we would have failed the task. My hands tense on the reins as we make our way through the city streets, which, in the evening dusk, are lit only by the flickering candles in people’s windows.

“What are we supposed to do with the money?” Iolalus asks.

“Take it directly to Eury. The order was to bring him the reward. I won’t be sent under and neither will you for missing some minor technicality.”

“I’m not going up there,” Altair protests. “Something about that place doesn’t sit well with me.” He holds out his bony hand. “You were brilliant today. Just amazing.”

I shake his hand, but shrug off the praise that does nothing but send the acrid taste of self-loathing to my tongue. I’ve strangled the life out of another living creature. I’ve done what I was told to do. Nothing else.

Altair rides away whistling a tune that sounds like a robin’s call. Iolalus and I turn to head up the road that will take us to the Solon’s villa.

I’ve only been to Eury’s home on a few occasions back when our mothers insisted we get together for feast days. It had always been bright with lights from one end of the massive house to the other, even into the courtyards and gardens. Now, as I approach the house’s vast veranda, darkness shrouds the property. Without lights, the oversized villa seems like a sleeping monster that will attack if we dare wake it.

I knock on the front door while Iolalus holds the horses that have resumed their earlier skittishness. Eury’s tall servant answers carrying a candle in one hand.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to see Eury.”

“He would rather not see you. I’m to collect the reward from the Nemeans.”

I hesitate, but I don’t want to be up here any longer than necessary. My back throbs from the lion’s cuts breaking open on our ride and I’m desperate to cleanse them. I hand the satchel over and wince at the burn of another wound pulling apart. Without a word, the servant shuts the door.

Once to the bottom of the hill, I breathe easier. The first task is done. It has given me no feeling of atonement for killing my children, but I have succeeded in keeping Iolalus safe and that in itself is satisfying. I only hope I can continue to protect him throughout the next nine trials.

A few people roam the streets enjoying the night air. As we pass, they cheer us and some of the children make snarling roars and pretend to claw at the horses.

“I think you’ve earned a few fans,” Iolalus observes as we enter the Peacock Gate. The courtyard is lit by warm light cast from torches set in sconces along the walls. A figure in white strides down the yard’s central path. “And here’s another.”

“Shut up, Iolalus.”

We dismount our horses. Iolalus unties the pelt as Iole approaches us. Her face glows in the dancing light of the flames.

“Herc, Iolalus, come we’ve kept dinner for you. And your things have arrived—they’re in your rooms.”

“I’d like to bathe first, if you don’t mind. And we have this.” I gesture to the pelt.

“The pelt. I wondered about it.” She rubs her hand over the lion skin that hangs over Iolalus’s arm. A stab of jealousy pierces my gut. “The whole city was chanting your name,” she says looking up at me. The flame of one of the courtyard’s torches glints off the gold flecks in her eyes and I can’t help but marvel at how they sparkle.

“Eury couldn’t have liked that,” Iolalus says. Iole shifts her gaze to him breaking the spell and bringing me back to myself.

“No, after the show he ranted to the engineers that the feed was to go only to his house and to switch his electricity back on. Turns out, the electrical lines to Eury’s villa shorted out during the initial switch. I don’t quite understand it all, but from now on the feed can only go to the arena. Eury is left in the dark.” Her voice carries a hint of humor at this notion.

“The pelt is a gift for the Herenes. Should we put it back here?” I ask turning to the work area behind the main complex.

Iole lets out a horrified gasp. I jerk around ready to fend off whatever has startled her.

“Your back!” She rushes to me, but I step away from her touch. Her hand lingers in the air a moment before she drops it to her side. Her face shows a mixture of concern and disappointment. “You’ve got blood seeping through your tunic. Didn’t you have it tended to?”

“There wasn’t time. I’ll wash the wounds in the bath.”

“No, you’re going straight to the medics.” Before I can avoid it, she grabs my arm and pulls me toward the hospital wing. I glance back to see Iolalus grinning at me.

11

I
OLALUS

The hammer pounds nail after nail into the boards of my new home. My own home, one I designed and built, not one of the hovels the polis gives to vigiles. It’s on the site of my grandfather’s old home, in the heart of the city amongst the people. Bang, bang, bang and another nail drives in. From the distance someone yells at me.

“Iolalus, up!”

Standing in front of the frame of my new home, I can’t figure out why Herc is yelling at me in such an urgent, annoyed tone. The pounding continues even though there is no longer a hammer in my hand.

“Get up now!”

My home fades to fog as I groan my way out of my dream. My eyes open to see bright light streaming into my room.

Dear gods, how long have I slept?

Herc pounds again and I bolt up out of bed. Blood rushes to my head as I stagger to the door and yank it open.

“What?” I ask rubbing my eyes.

A woman’s gasp focuses my attention. Iole spins around turning her back to me. Herc throws me a scolding glare as I shrug an apology. How was I to know I needed to put on a tunic before answering?

“Get dressed and meet us in in the courtyard. We need to get ready. Or do you require more beauty sleep?”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Two,” Herc says as he and Iole head toward the staircase at the end of the hall. I dress in a rush and snatch up my sword, club, dagger, bow, and quiver of arrows, then dash down to join them.

Although the approaching bank of clouds makes it seem risky weather for dining in the courtyard, a breakfast of thick toast and scrambled eggs has been laid out alongside a platter of fruit and cheese. Herc sits with Iole on a curved metal bench, but not close enough to seem as if they are anything more than two people waiting for a shared acquaintance. Herc’s own collection of weapons rests beside him.

“So, what now? Train a man-eating dog?” I ask as I fill a cup with the fragrant tea the Herenes brew and pile a plate with food. Herc gives a heavy sigh. “A giant, man-eating dog?”

Herc hands me a piece of paper. “This was in the post slot. Apparently our cousin can’t be bothered to come to us in person.”

I take a mouthful of buttered toast before setting down my plate to read the letter. By the second sentence I’ve stopped chewing. When I finish the note, I swallow the lump of bread that has turned dry in my mouth and have to read the words again to be certain my sleep-fogged mind isn’t still dreaming.

“He’s kidding, right?” I ask.

“I doubt it. Have you ever known Eury to joke?”

“The hydra? The nine-gods-be-damned-headed water serpent of the Lerna District? No one can kill that thing. I mean, why would you want to? She’s no trouble any longer. No one lives near her swamp and Granddad rerouted the waterways so boats don’t have to pass through there. Do you remember how scared I was of swimming as a kid?”

I laugh at the memory and even the corners of Herc’s mouth turn up slightly. I grab my plate and gulp down my mound of eggs.

“Yes, you thought every body of water was home to a nine-headed monster.”

The moment I set down my empty plate and tip back the rest of my tea, one of the acolytes begins clearing the breakfast dishes. I barely manage to whisk two more thick slices of buttered toast from the tray before the efficient woman takes it away.

“Iole, do you agree it’s cruel that a young boy should hear daily reports of how many people had been killed by this territorial demon?” I ask. As we head back to the stables, I finish off both slices of bread.

She agrees, then adds, “But I don’t understand this task. We learned to live with her. This isn’t some ravenous lion with a taste for people.”

“The only idiots who get killed by Old Lerna now are stupid teenagers trying to prove themselves brave by taunting the poor thing. She’s quite useful for weeding out Portaceae’s morons,” I say brushing the buttery crumbs from my hands.

“You saw the instructions. ‘By tomorrow, bring back as much blood as you can carry,’” Herc says.

“Why?” I ask. I have more to add to the question, but the words stick in my throat and I stop in my tracks when I see what waits for us in front of the stables. “Chariots?” I blurt as I step over to brush my hand across one of the wheels in awed wonder. The blonde boy, Cy, has two horses out and is attaching a chariot to one while the other waits its turn. On the floor of one chariot is a pile of water skins. “And skins?”

“You’ll need them to carry the blood,” Iole says.

Cy is capable with the animals and keeps asking for their patience, but it’s plain he doesn’t have the skills or the strength just yet to hook up the vehicles properly. I help the boy with the chariot he’s working on as Herc tends to the other.

“Lerna’s blood is poisonous,” Iole says as she strokes the head of the horse Herc is working with. “I think Eury is planning to sell the blood to the Areans. They’ve been itching for war again. With weapons tipped in the serpent’s blood, no one will stand a chance against them in battle.”

“It’s bad policy to mettle in the affairs of other city-states, especially the Areans,” I say running the long reins from the horse’s head to the platform of the chariot. “Who’s to say the day they get the blood, they won’t use it against Portaceae?”

“We don’t have much of a choice. It’s either get the blood or—I’m sorry I got you involved in this.” Herc hangs his head low as he busies himself with checking over his horse’s harness again.

“You didn’t get me involved,” I insist. “I volunteered. Besides, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I clap him on the back. Herc gives a light wince, but nothing more.

“His wounds,” Iole warns.

“They’re fine. I heal quickly,” Herc says.

“But they—”

“Your Herene medics are quite skilled,” he says throwing his quiver of arrows onto his back and stepping into his chariot. He gives his horse a light flick of the reins and cuts a tight circle to head for the courtyard. I follow after him in my own chariot and we ride out of the House of Hera. Looking back, I give Iole a final wave goodbye.

“The good news about being assigned this task is it means Eury’s servant gave him the money,” I say to Herc the moment we maneuver the chariots through the Peacock Gate and onto the Hera Way. After only a block, people begin flocking from other streets to see Herc and me on our chariots. I‘m glad for the slowing as it gives me time to get used to the long, cumbersome reins. After a few blocks I get the feel for their weight and am ready to give my horse some slack. Cheers of praise and good luck hum through the crowd, but Herc ignores them.

“How is that good?” Herc asks.

“I thought the guy might run off with it and we’d be sent under after only one task.” My chariot hits a hole in the road. The vehicle tilts, but bounces back to right just as quickly. I widen my stance to stay better balanced.

“Glad you can see the bright side of this. Let’s just hope it goes as quickly as the lion.”

“In a hurry to get back to someone?”

“Shut up, Iolalus.”

I don’t know what kind of establishment Iole is running at the House of Hera, but her horses and chariots are built for the long distance races Portaceae once held. I have vague memories of attending the races as a boy, but not like the older people of the polis. They can still recount moment by moment the excitement of the races in which each lap was a battle. A single race lasted twelve laps at break neck speeds around the mile-long track on which riders fought for the best position to clear the hairpin turns. It was as much a test of the horses’ speed as the riders’ bravado.

Once Eury took the Solonship, it wasn’t long before the track fell into disrepair and the pounding of hooves drove ruts and holes into the surface that was supposed to be smoothed after every race. When race after race saw champion Astorian horses bred by Poseidon himself breaking legs or suffering career-ending injuries, the horse owners abandoned the lame steeds and refused to bring their mounts to any race in Portaceae.

These Herene horses could be those abandoned steeds or at least their offspring. Once outside the city gates, we let them fly and they never flag over the journey north. They even pull against the reins to go faster. When we dare to let them set their own pace, the chariots glide over the road like a sleek boat on a placid lake. Just as racing chariots were designed to absorb shock and reduce the strain on the driver, so are the ones Herc and I have our feet planted on—they may even be the same chariots that once whipped around Portaceae City’s racetrack. As I lean into the padding along the chariot’s front edge, I doubt even Eury’s carriage provides a more comfortable or more exhilarating ride.

Thanks to its lack of use, the Lerna Road hasn’t been rutted by the hooves of horses or the wheels of carts and remains in good enough condition to allow the horses to speed along. We’re making excellent time, but the perfection of the morning is ruined by low clouds settling down into a thin fog. The moisture and wind race over me and chill my skin. When an uncontrollable shivering takes hold, I’m forced to slow my horse and wrap my cloak tight around my shoulders. Herc, who has his chariot alongside mine, also slows.

I have only vague memories of a time when the Lerna District was populated and those memories may only have been formed from tales my grandfather told me about the area. As with other poli, Portaceae is divided into districts such as Nemea to the east, Augea to the south, and the now-defunct Lerna to the north. The Solon cannot be expected to be everywhere at once—especially not a Solon as incapable at the job as Eury—so each district has a governor who manages the land, collects rents from tenants, and serves as judge.