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Phidias placed his hands on his hips and regarded the block of granite skeptically. It sat there staring malevolently back at him from the edge of the crossroads, practically daring him to do his worst. And his worst was just what this job was likely to be. How had he let himself be talked into this again?
Oh. Right. Hercules. That's how.
"I want something tasteful to memorialize him, Phidias. Something that captures his strength and spirit. You're the only one who can do him justice."
His father-in-law had always carped on about how Phidias' ego was going to land him into trouble one day and it looked like the old buzzard was right. He still couldn't figure out how he'd ended up agreeing to do this job without the right to choose the stone himself. No sculptor worth his salt would agree to that and yet, that's just what he'd done. Phidias shook his head in disgust. The stone was the heart and soul of the work. The right choice would come alive under his fingers; the wrong choice would be just another slab of rock.
And this, he thought sourly, was just another rock. Hercules might be half god, but his talents obviously didn't include the fine arts. Phidias crossed his arms and slowly circled the granite, frowning. This was impossible.
He'd known Iolaus personally; had been friends with him for years--ever since Iolaus had rescued him from his overzealous attempt to bring realism to the statue of a harpy. He'd just wanted to see one up close, so he could get the details right. Was it his fault the creature had mistaken him for a hunter out to kill it?
Iolaus had heard his cries for help and charged in, swinging his sword and causing the harpy to take flight with a shriek. It had flown high into the sky and then turned and dove back at them, faster than Phidias could follow. Iolaus had simply cocked an arrow in his bow and waited. When the monster was too close to avoid it, he let it fly. The arrow pierced the harpy's right eye, causing it to tumble out of control and fall dead at Iolaus' feet.
When Iolaus asked him why the harpy had attacked, Phidias confessed that he was a sculptor and had wanted to observe how it moved so he could make the statue look real. Iolaus had just snorted. Then he'd pointed at the harpy on the ground and told Phidias that now he could study it all he wanted. It might not move, but at least it couldn't attack him while it was dead.
After that, Iolaus had made it a point to visit whenever he could if he was near Athens. Sometimes he showed up with Hercules in tow, but more often he was alone, dragging the carcass of whatever menace to the area that he'd just killed. Unless, of course, it was something too big to drag and then he'd insist that Phidias go with him to take a look at it. He always joked that he wanted to make sure that Phidias got it right when he finally sculpted that heroic statue of Iolaus.
Phidias stopped and briefly closed his eyes. For the first time it really sank in that his friend was gone. There'd be no more weird animals and monsters to view, no more tales of adventure to listen to over a friendly cup of wine. This really was impossible, he thought despairingly. How could he capture the vibrant man he remembered in this cold hunk of rock?
He sighed and stepped around to the far side where he halted and held his breath. For a moment he thought he'd seen Iolaus' face in the stone. His vision flickered again and the answer was right there in front of him. It was a solid piece of stone, as dependable as Iolaus himself. The granite didn't contain a full statue of Iolaus waiting to be shaped. No, it would be a mere hint of the man, sword at rest, ready to emerge and once again become the hero that Phidias had known.
Suddenly suspicious, he narrowed his eyes and gazed across the meadow to see Hercules standing just this side of the trees. Phidias blinked when Hercules smiled at him. Damn know-it-all demi-god. No doubt Hercules had seen the potential in the stone. Still, he needed Phidias to make it come alive, didn't he. He turned away, refusing to see the shine of tears in Hercules' eyes or to acknowledge that his own eyes were filling.
Phidias hefted his chisel and wooden mallet and focused on the stone. The rough work would go quickly--the shaping of the block into a decent obelisk. But revealing the heart of the hero within would require the use of all of his skills and concentration. For his friend, Phidias would do no less than his best.