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Even the son of Zeus can't always save everyone. It was a fact of his life. It was something he had thought he had come to terms with. Not accepted, no, never that. Even knowing he would sometimes fail, Hercules would never stop trying. Yet it seemed he had been wrong, again. He couldn't come to terms with this.
Atlantis was gone. The doomed island had taken its entire population with it, sinking with terrifying suddenness beneath the waves of Poseidon's ocean. A once-great city, gone. Others, the few who, like the woman at his side, had lived outside the city, outcasts to the city dwellers, but because of that free from their strange, isolationist rules. Gone. Prisoners and slaves, forced to mine the crystals that allowed the city-dwellers to live in their own kind of luxury. But for the few Hercules had been able to save, they, too were gone.
Perhaps thousands of lives. The only survivors of the island's destruction were on board the ship where Hercules stood now. No more than twenty men, those Hercules had been sailing with when their ship was wrecked, Hercules himself, and Cassandra, who had known of the disaster before it happened, and whose warnings had gone unheard, unheeded.
There should have been something else he could have done. Not to save the island: it was clear that nothing could do that. But to save the people, to warn them somehow. They weren't all as guilty as their king. The king…that madman had deserved his fate, and a worse one. Hercules, a warrior first and foremost, would waste no regret there. But the people hadn't known. Disaster wouldn't sort guilty from innocent. They had all died. Masters and slaves, women and children.
Cassandra had tried to warn them. No one would hear her.
Perhaps, in the face of that, there was nothing he could have done, either. If they wouldn't listen to one of their own, would they have listened to him? Making the effort to shake off his black mood, Hercules turned back to Cassandra with a smile as she spoke.
"You know, Hercules, I've got a feeling…"
"Oh, no," Hercules said with mock-dread. "Not another vision."
Cassandra turned to him, her eyes sharing his laughter. "No, just a hunch. We're going to be friends for a long time."
They gazed out over the ocean together. What was it, Hercules wondered, about facing death together that fostered this sort of closeness? Perhaps it was just their narrow escape, but he felt closer to her now than he had felt to anyone since Serena. He wasn't ready to name this feeling love; the tragedy of his second marriage was too close, still too painful, for him to open his heart in that way. But there was a comradeship between them, and an instinct that might be purely imagination, that they had more in common than he had yet learned.
He shook his head slightly at the thought. Cassandra was right. They had become friends. He hoped they would be friends for a long time.
Hercules had no idea, on that day, that the adventure just past was only the beginning of the strangeness Cassandra would bring into his life.
***
Ten Years Later, Corinth
The dock was busy. It was good to see it this way again. The recent war had affected trade badly, but apparently not permanently. The normal bustle of the harbour: men shifting barrels and crates as ships unloaded, ship captains bargaining with traders for supplies and kids gathered along the wharf gawking at the ships and sailors was a welcome sight to Hercules as he pushed his way through the crowd to the ship just anchoring. There was a sharp tang to the air he remembered from his own childhood: salt and fresh fish combined with rotting debris in the water and the heat of the day.
Hercules looked up as the gangplank descended from the ship. There she was, watching for him from the rail. He waved and smiled a greeting. Cassandra waved back.
As she reached the dock, Hercules greeted her with a hug. "Cassandra. It's so good to see you again." She hesitated just a little before returning his embrace. Hercules noticed. He drew back, keeping one of her hands within his. "Welcome to Corinth." He drank in the sight of her, grateful to see her well and happy. It had been a long time and in recent months he had missed having…a friend…at his side. Cassandra hadn't changed at all since the day they met. Oh, her hair showed just a little grey, the skin around her eyes was a little more lined…superficial things, unimportant. The essence of her: the strong personality and generosity of spirit that had attracted him to her in the last days of Atlantis was unchanged.
"Thank you." Cassandra squeezed his hand once, then pulled away.
They walked together from the dock. Hercules tried to make light conversation, pointing out a few sights as they walked. He could tell she wasn't really listening. When she answered a question he had already asked her three times, he stopped her. "Cassandra, what's wrong? Are you in some sort of trouble?"
Cassandra's dark hair bobbed as she shook her head. "No…not trouble."
"You know you can tell me anything. What is it?" With sudden intuition, he guessed, "Something you've dreamed?"
She hesitated, then smiled weakly. "You know me far too well." Scarred by her experiences in Atlantis, when she had been mocked for her visions of disaster, then tortured by those who thought she must know more than she had said, Cassandra never talked about her gift any longer. Making a new life in a strange country had been difficult enough without the fear and superstition her gift often engendered. She kept her visions to herself, and if she saw something she wanted to prevent, she tried to find other ways to warn people. Hercules, though, who had been with her in Atlantis, knew her gift well. It had saved their lives, one night.
"That's it, isn't it? You're troubled by something you've seen."
Reluctantly, she nodded. "I'll tell you about it, Hercules. But…" a glance around the crowded street, "…not here."
"If that's what you want." Hercules started to walk again. "Come on, then. The palace is this way."
She smiled and took his arm as they walked. "How are things with you?" she asked him.
Hercules shrugged. "The same as always."
"Really?" It was Cassandra's turn to look sceptical. "I haven't been hearing as much about the great Hercules recently." She waited for a reply. Hercules said nothing. When she looked up at the demigod, his expressive blue eyes showed only sadness. Cassandra instantly felt guilty. "Hercules, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"
"Don't apologise, Cassandra. I shouldn't lie to you — you're a friend." He hesitated a moment, then went on. "The truth is, things are different, now. What I do…that hasn't changed. But it's not the same since…" the demigod's voice trailed off.
"…Since Iolaus died," Cassandra finished for him, gently.
Hercules nodded. "Ah, don't worry about me. It always hits me harder when I come back to Corinth. We grew up together around here."
"Too many memories?"
A crooked smile. "Or, not enough. I must be getting old. I seem to spend a lot of time living in the past, these days."
"You think that makes you old?" Cassandra, her own foreknowledge weighing heavily on her, couldn't laugh. But she tried to put some cheer into her voice. "Maybe you're getting ready for a change. Moving on from that loss, finally."
Hercules wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and held her close to him as they walked. "Sometimes, Cass, you sound just like my mother."
Coming from Hercules, that was the highest compliment he could give. Cassandra smiled, returning his friendly embrace, and they turned the corner into the palace courtyard together.
***
"Have I come at a bad time?" Cassandra asked. She was looking around the crowded courtyard.
It did give the impression of a city still at war. Soldiers and horses were everywhere, preparations for tomorrow in full swing. Hercules told her, "There's never a bad time to see an old friend. And your timing couldn't be better: we're about to end one war and prevent what could have been another one."
"Then what's all this?"
"The kings are meeting here tomorrow to conclude the treaty. Things are a bit hectic, today, but don't worry — you're welcome. Through here…" Hercules led her through a narrow archway into a smaller courtyard.
The ringing sound of two swords clashing made Cassandra hesitate. But it was just a couple of soldiers sparring. Hercules stopped for a moment to watch, leaning against the rough stone wall and crossing his arms. Cassandra watched too. This sort of thing, so commonplace in the world of Greece, could still frighten and intrigue her. The society of Atlantis where she had grown up had used nothing so crude as a sword.
The younger of the two men wore the uniform of a simple soldier. He handled his heavy sword with some skill. But it was the other man who really caught her attention. He fought stripped to the waist, with his back to her. Just above the line of his belt she saw the vivid scar of an old injury. Long, honey-coloured hair clung to his neck and shoulders, damp with sweat. Cassandra got the impression he was holding back. Their movements turned the two men around and Cassandra saw his face. She gasped with recognition. The man flashed a smile at Hercules, never missing his stroke. After a few moments, by unspoken, mutual consent, both men lowered their swords.
"Good match," the older man said. He set his blade aside and went over to the wall. He picked up a bucket and poured the contents, cold, clear water, over his head. He pushed his now-wet hair out of his eyes and turned back to Hercules with a challenging look. "Are you next?"
Hercules shook his head: no. "I've seen enough of fighting lately to last me a long time."
"Haven't we all?" His gaze shifted to Cassandra, then back to Hercules. "Are you going to introduce us?"
"Oh. Sorry," Hercules said. "This is Cassandra, an old friend. Cassandra, I want you to meet the King of Corinth…my brother."
Brother? Cassandra felt weak. She stared at the man, unable to speak. The men didn't seem to notice her distress.
"Iphicles," Iphicles added to Cassandra. "He always forgets I have a name, too." He smiled good-humouredly. "Any friend of Hercules is welcome."
"Thank you."
"I'd greet you properly, but I think I should clean up a bit first."
"Sure you should. Fine figure of a king you make." Hercules was laughing. Then, more seriously, he added, "What are you doing down here, anyway?"
Iphicles shrugged. "I'm on edge, Hercules. I thought a workout would help."
"Did it?" Hercules asked as they headed inside.
The king smiled wryly. "Not really. I'm still worried about Prince Medon. He hasn't been very vocal during the talks and he's the one who might gain from the war continuing."
"I've only met him once, Iphicles, but he struck me as a good man then. Time does change people, but he's in a difficult position, reigning for an incapable king with neither the power nor the title he deserves. Stop creating problems before they even arrive."
It was a joke; the king of Corinth didn't see it as such. "I'm not creating problems. Just trying to anticipate."
Hercules bit his tongue on the light remark that rose to his lips. Iphicles was clearly no longer in a joking mood. "I understand. But we should be anticipating getting this treaty signed. We'll be ready, if there's trouble."
"Is there going to be trouble?" Cassandra asked tentatively. They had reached the staircase; all three paused briefly.
"Not," the king told her, "if the great Hercules has his way." He shot a look at his brother that could have meant anything.
Hercules returned the look with a quick smile. Then he turned his attention to Cassandra. "Come on. I'll show you around," he offered, for his brother's benefit. He led her up the stairs while Iphicles headed off in the other direction. When they had put a safe distance between them and anyone who might be listening, he spoke to her, determined, now, that she would answer him. "What have you seen, Cassandra? Why did you look like that when I introduced Iphicles?"
She frowned, turning away from him. There was a large arched window looking out over the city of Corinth. Cassandra leaned against the side of the arch, gazing out over the city.
"Cassandra," Hercules said carefully. "whatever it is…I don't believe the future is fixed. If you're shown something, surely it's because you can change it."
"You've said that to me before. This time, that's what frightens me."
"What is it?" he repeated.
"I've seen your brother before. In my dreams. The dreams started a week ago, just after I decided to come here. Hercules, all I knew until today was that I'd seen a man: I didn't know he was your brother, or that he was the king."
He stepped close and put his arms around her from behind, silently offering his support. "Do you want to tell me what you've seen?" he asked gently.
"No…but you need to know." She hesitated, leaning back into his strong arms. "I saw two visions, Hercules. I think they're alternative futures. In one of them, your brother is killed." She clearly felt the sudden increase in tension in his body. "In the other," she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "I am."
Cassandra turned to face her friend. Raising her eyes to his, she could see the shocked comprehension in his eyes and knew that he believed her.
***
It was a large chamber. At one end, a fire burned brightly and near that, an alcove displayed something gold. The smoke-stained walls were draped with banners. Prominent among them she clearly saw the scarlet and gold design that was the banner of Corinth. The air was full of voices, some friendly, some menacing.
A bolt of lightning streaked across her vision.
The dark figure of a god laughed.
Lightning, filling the air around her. A feeling of regret, and exhilaration.
An arrow, flying across the chamber. She froze, her eyes fixed on the arrow heading straight for her heart. A shout, barely registered, cut through the air. The weight of a man's body slammed into her. She fell heavily to the ground. Rolling onto her back, she looked up dazedly, in time to see the arrow strike. Iphicles collapsed backward, one hand clutching at the shaft of the arrow buried in his chest.
Lightning, surrounding her body vanished into darkness.
White-hot agony as the arrow struck her. She heard the king's shout: "Cassandra!" It was the last thing she heard, as pain became icy cold and darkness…
Cassandra woke.
This time she could remember more of it. The man in her dream was definitely King Iphicles. She recognised the chamber now, too: it was the King's throne room. The dream had changed, again. Before, the weapon thrown had been a knife.
There was something else different, too. Something that worried her more than anything. This time, she hadn't seen Hercules there.
Shaking, Cassandra turned over in bed, praying she would dream no more tonight.
***
Hercules woke before the dawn. It was a wartime habit: he could never sleep much when he was part of an army and it always carried over for days when the fighting was over. He slid out of the bed and crossed the room to the table. A quick wash in the bowl of cold water waiting there brought him to full wakefulness.
"Well, I expect you're feeling pleased with yourself."
Hercules didn't turn around. He knew that voice too well. "Ares. I should have guessed you'd turn up now."
"How so…brother?"
He turned around then, a false, bitter smile on his lips. "You always show up when you're least wanted, Ares. And Iphicles is about to make a treaty that will keep this area peaceful for years."
Ares sat down, making himself comfortable on the edge of Hercules' bed. "Oh, don't be so sure. Peace is such a fragile thing. Easily broken."
"Well," Hercules replied, mock-friendly, "I'm here to make sure you don't get the chance." He reached for his shirt and pulled it on. "Have a nice day. Brother." He made for the door.
Ares laughed. "Oh, I will. There's a wonderful war about to start in Tripolis."
Hercules stopped in the act of opening the door.
"And the beauty of it," Ares continued, "is that you can't interfere." Ares placed a hand over his heart, feigning sympathy. "You'll be too busy babysitting your brother. Even the great Hercules can't be in two places at once."
Hercules' brow darkened with anger. "I'll be there," he said determinedly. "I may be a little late…"
Ares' laugh was perfect evil. "You'll be too late, Hercules. I do love a win-win situation."
Hercules took an angry step toward the god of war. In a shower of scarlet sparks, Ares vanished.
***
"Hercules. I've come to find Hercules."
The demigod's heart sank as he heard the inevitable words. Yes, he had been expecting it. Especially after Ares' gloating visit. Now it had happened. Now, he would have to make a choice.
He stepped forward, catching Iphicles' eye as he approached the messenger. "I'm Hercules," he said.
The messenger was obviously exhausted. It looked as if he had been fighting, too: his clothes were dusty and his face and arms showed a number of minor cuts and scrapes. Hercules wanted to believe this was a distraction, a trick of Ares' to get him out of Corinth. But the man's condition made that seem unlikely.
"Hercules. I've come from Tripolis. We need your help."
"What's happened?"
"There's a warlord, a Spartan. His army has our town under siege."
"Then how is it you got out?"
"By luck and deception. Five of us left Tripolis. I'm the only one who made it this far. Please…the attack could come any day."
Curse you, Ares. He could almost hear the god's mocking laughter. Helplessly, he looked at his brother. "Iphicles, I…"
Iphicles understood. "You have to go. It's okay. I'm sure we can manage without you."
"I know you can. That's not the point." More quietly, not wanting to be overheard, Hercules told him, "Ares wants me out of Corinth. I'm not sure why, but that tells me I should stay." But he did know why. Remembering what Cassandra had told him of her dream Hercules felt a chill of foreboding. If he left Corinth, one of them could die.
"If you wait, others will die," Iphicles pointed out. He could have been answering Hercules' thoughts.
Hercules sighed. "You're right, and I have to try and stop that." He nodded, the decision made. "I'll just let Cassandra know what's happening before I go."
***
"Of course you must go."
Hercules turned away from Cassandra, his tightly clenched fist giving away his tension. "Ares is planning something. I know he is. But I can't be in two places at once."
She stepped up behind him, placing her palm against his back, a comforting touch. "Hercules, I shouldn't have told you what I dreamed."
He turned to look at her.
"If I hadn't," she went on, "you'd be on the road already, without a second thought. Wouldn't you?"
Reluctantly, he nodded. "You know I would."
"Then that's what you must do now." She made the effort to smile. "Follow your heart," she added, and was rewarded by seeing him smile back. "Hercules, I don't know when what I saw will happen. You might be back in time." But in her heart, Cassandra knew she was lying. Hercules hadn't been there in her dream.
He shook his head. "You're a poor liar, Cass." Just like Iolaus… And the intensity of emotion accompanying that thought brought tears to his eyes. Why was he thinking of Iolaus now? He turned from her again, pulling away from her touch almost roughly. "I can't do this. I can't leave. If I came back to find either of you dead I couldn't bear it." He didn't realise he had spoken the words aloud until Cassandra answered him.
Her voice was firm. "And if you stay here and nothing happens? How will you feel when you hear how many people died at Tripolis?" The defeated sag to the demigod's shoulders told her she was getting through. For an instant she felt selfish for wanting him to go. The dead of Atlantis had haunted her because she had seen the tragedy coming and had waited too long to warn people. Now she was afraid her foreknowledge would cost yet more lives.
"It's not that simple, Cassandra. I can't measure strangers' lives against family and friends. Not any more."
"You can, because you must. In my dream, Hercules, you weren't there."
"But, I — "
"No," she said quickly as he began to interrupt. "Hear me out. I don't think it means something will happen while you're not here. I do think it means you can't st— can't influence what will happen."
"You know I don't believe that. We make our own fates, Cass."
"But I believe it, Hercules. My life is on the line, here. I wouldn't tell you to go if I wasn't sure."
This time, he let the lie pass. "Alright. I'll go."
She had known he would.
***
It was beautiful. The torches burning brightly on either side picked up every shining highlight in the Fleece. The skull of the ram that had once worn it had been left intact: the horns looked like real gold. It made Cassandra want to reach out and touch, a temptation she resisted.
"I've heard the story since I came to Greece," she said softly. "But to really see it…"
"Impressive, isn't it?" Iphicles' voice made Cassandra turn away from the alcove.
She nodded. "It is."
"I won't have much time to play host today, Cassandra. When the other kings start to arrive…"
She stopped him by raising her hand. "I know. I just hope I won't be in the way."
"Actually…" They began to walk away together. "I was going to ask you to join me. Hercules said I should listen to you."
She hesitated. "I don't think that's what he meant. I don't know anything about ruling a kingdom." Another, longer hesitation. Cassandra took a breath. "King Iphicles…" She had to warn him.
Surprising her, the king reached for her hand. "I know about your vision, Cassandra," he said gently.
Relief washed over her; she hadn't realised how worried she had been. Of course Hercules would have told him. "Do you believe me?" she asked him.
"Hercules does. That's good enough for me."
Such trust…
The king was still speaking. "I can't imagine what it must be like to know the future. What you must be living with… I don't envy you. I wanted you to know, I've done what I can. I've changed some of the arrangements for today and my people have been warned to be on guard. Short of cancelling today's meeting, that's all I can do."
"I hope it will be enough." As the words left her lips, Cassandra realised how that must have sounded. "I'm sorry," she added quickly. "I didn't mean…"
He squeezed her hand gently before releasing it. "I understand. I've been king for a long time, Cassandra. Trust me to know what — " He broke off as an aide approached. "What is it?"
"Prince Medon is here, my king." The man bowed nervously.
"Thank you."
Iphicles turned back to Cassandra, about to take his leave, and hesitated. In that unguarded moment, Cassandra caught a glimpse of the king's isolation, a brief look quickly covered up. She remembered hearing about his wife's death; King Iphicles had never remarried. Nothing, she realised, isolated a person more than power.
Into the silence, she said quietly, "If I'm going to join you today, I should change."
As they walked away, Cassandra toward her room, Iphicles toward his duty, neither of them noticed the servant who watched them leave. She had been working quietly, scrubbing at one of the tables, while they had talked. But the look she directed at the king's back was filled with hatred.
Her name was Matala, but her husband had called her Mattie. She was of average build and slightly below average height, her features regular but not beautiful. Mattie didn't stick out in a crowd. Wearing the plain garb of a servant, no one would give her a second glance. No one had. It was as close to invisible as a person could be.
She was going to kill the heartless cur who called himself king.
She didn't care if she died. As long as she succeeded. She had nothing left to live for, anyway.
Good King Iphicles. So caring. So loved by his people. Mattie knew the truth.
She had been raised by Amazons in the north of the peninsula. Mattie had abandoned her tribe young. She had left them for love. For Andros, the handsome warrior who had been King Jason's emissary to her queen, and who had captured her heart and soul. They had married and lived happily for many years. Eventually, her beloved Andros left the king's service to build a home with his family. They made four children together: their eldest son would have been ten years at midsummer. The youngest was only three.
They were all dead, now.
Killed in the first attack of the war King Iphicles thought he was ending.
And where had his army been? Not defending their farm, that was certain. Andros had tried to warn the king. He could read the signs as well as any warrior. Their valley was the main overland trade route to Corinth, but their defences were weak.
The king had ignored their plight.
The attack had been horrible. Mattie fought with her husband, though her Amazon training was a long time in the past and her skills were rusty. She was overpowered early in the battle. Forced to watch, helpless, as her family, even the children, died. But the attackers — she hardly cared who they were — dragging her off to only-the-gods-knew what fate, had underestimated her badly. Grief and fury lent her strength. She had killed six of them before she escaped.
Now Mattie lived for only one thing. Revenge. The king who had betrayed them must die.
But Mattie's thirst for revenge did not extend to the rest of the world. So let the king make his peace. Let him try to correct his mistakes.
Then he would pay for them.
***
Three Days Later
It was over, Cassandra thought with relief.
The last of Iphicles' guests had left at first light. The treaty that had meant so much to him was in place. And last night she had slept without dreaming. Perhaps her vision had been nothing more than a nightmare.
A slight frown creased her brow at that thought. Cassandra had lived with foreknowledge all of her adult life. She knew the difference between vision and dream. But her dream had been of an uncertain future. The images kept changing…the two alternate deaths had been the only constant. Perhaps Hercules was right and the future could be changed.
In any case, it was over.
At midmorning, Cassandra and Iphicles shared a light meal in the still-formal surroundings of his throne room. One of Iphicles' changed arrangements had been to hold the talks here, instead of the larger hall below. Easier to guard, he had explained when she asked.
Cassandra hadn't expected to like him. The thought of kings still brought back horrible memories of the last days of Atlantis; but Hercules' brother bore no resemblance to her former home's insane king. Iphicles was friendly, and charming, and he obviously cared a great deal for his people. He spoke of those who had died in the war with sincere regret.
Haunted by her vision of this man's death, Cassandra found she was greeting each day with a little more apprehension.
She lifted her cup of well-watered wine. "To peace."
Iphicles smiled back. "To peace," he agreed. "I wasn't sure we could do it."
"We didn't. You did," she corrected. There had been many arguments between the kings before agreement was finally reached. Sometimes, Cassandra hadn't been sure they would ever agree.
"I just hope I don't have to do it again," he grimaced. Then he grinned, turning it into a joke. It was amazing how much his mood had improved since the day before. Then he looked up. "Please tell me it's good news," he said.
Cassandra hadn't even heard the messenger approach.
"Hercules is here," the messenger told them.
"You can always rely on my brother to be late for the party," Iphicles told Cassandra.
She stood, a light remark on her lips. An out-of-place movement caught her eye and she looked toward it. She saw the woman raising a crossbow. Saw the hatred in her eyes. She even had time to register the deep basket that must have concealed the weapon.
"Iphicles!" she began. But the arrow was already in the air.
Cassandra moved forward, reaching out, shoving him — she hoped — out of the arrow's path. Her eyes fixed on the woman, she saw the arrow's path. Realised her mistake. Began to duck. Too late.
Pain. White hot, searing through her breast. The impact threw her backward. As if from a great distance, she heard Iphicles' voice, in confused anger. "Cassandra…"
It hurt so much. She hadn't known she could hurt so much.
"Cassandra!" The voice changed. Shouting for help. Then leaning over her, filled with anguish. She could no longer hear the words.
Cold. So cold. She tried to keep her eyes open, but everything was blurring, turning grey.
Tired. Easier to just give in to it.
Grey became black.
***
A shutter had been placed over the window. Hercules removed it. Cassandra shouldn't lie in the dark. He knew it was absurd, knew it couldn't possibly make a difference to her now, but the feeling persisted. Cassandra had been full of life, she loved the outdoors, the sunlight. To shut her away in darkness simply because she was dead…
He pulled up a stool and sat down beside the bed where she lay. Iphicles' physician had removed the arrow from her chest. A pad of bloodstained linen covered the wound. She had been gone before they had begun to bandage it…and what would have been the point, when it was too late? There was surprisingly little blood. Her clothing was only stained around the wound itself. The warm-toned light of the setting sun spilled over her face from the window, tinting the pallor of death. She could almost have been sleeping. Her regal features showed no sign of pain. She looked at peace.
Hercules reached out a hand to touch her cheek, just brushing her skin with the backs of his fingers. He needed that contact, somehow, the coolness of her skin the final evidence that it was too late for him to help.
Proof that he had lost another friend.
"Cassandra," he murmured. No more than that. Just her name, offered to the darkening room. I'm so sorry.
A mocking voice behind him spoke. "Spoils of war."
Hercules was on his feet so fast he overturned the stool he had been sitting on. "You will pay for this, Ares," he spat. He took two steps toward the unwelcome intruder. The god of war was the last person he wanted to see right now.
"Why blame me?" Ares asked casually. "I didn't kill her." He was obviously having fun.
Hercules frowned. "Not directly. But we both know you're responsible. Now get out."
"Make me," Ares challenged.
Hercules didn't want a fight. Not here, not now. Deliberately, he turned his back on Ares, moving back toward the bed. He resisted the urge to turn around and see if the god was still there. Just pretend he was never here… Hopefully, Ares would quickly tire of being ignored.
Hercules heard the sound of a sharply indrawn breath. It had not come from the god behind him. Disbelieving, he stared at Cassandra. Her body.
He saw her lips move slightly. Saw the unmistakable rise and fall of her chest.
But it wasn't possible. Moments before she had been cold and dead.
He reached for her hand, searching for a pulse. He didn't need it. As his fingers made contact with her skin he felt her warmth. "Cassandra…?" he tried to say. He found his voice was barely even a whisper.
Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his.
And he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling her gently into his arms. Incredulous tears filled his eyes; he felt like laughing. "Cassandra. I thought I'd lost you."
"Hercules." Her voice was soft, but somehow stronger than he had expected. "I…I was…"
"Dead," Ares supplied.
Amazingly, Hercules had forgotten about him. Slowly, he turned his head, still holding Cassandra in his arms. A disquieting suspicion formed in his mind. "Ares, did you do this?" It had to be the work of a god. Had to be. She had been dead.
The war god leaned back against the doorframe. "Much as I'd love to have you in my debt, brother, I'm afraid I had nothing to do with it."
Hercules frowned, confused. "But you knew…"
Ares laughed, the sound filling the small chamber. "Of course I knew! I'm a god!" The smile vanished and his eyes glinted. "You want to know more? I might tell you. But you have to ask me nicely. Later, brother." He disappeared.
Hercules turned back to Cassandra quickly. She was shaking. "Cass…"
She smiled weakly. "What's happened to me?" she asked him.
"I wish I knew," he replied sincerely. Cassandra must be even more confused than he was. Hercules realised he was still holding her close and, suddenly embarrassed, he laid her back on the bed. The bloodstained dressing fell away from her chest as she moved.
Cassandra glanced down, her gaze attracted by the movement. She reached for the linen dressing, then touched her chest, where the fabric of her dress was torn and stained. Beneath her fingers, the skin was smooth, unmarked.
"How is this possible?" she wondered.
Hercules shook his head. "I don't know," he confessed. "But right now, I don't care. I'm just happy you're alive." Unbidden, memories of Iolaus' death in Sumeria came to mind, and he wondered if he was making a mistake in not looking for an explanation. He pushed the thought aside just as quickly. It could wait. "How do you feel, Cass?"
"I…I can't believe this, but I feel fine. I feel great, in fact." Then her expression changed as she remembered. "Iphicles! Is your brother — ?"
"He's fine," Hercules interrupted. "Everything is fine."
And his heart lifted with joy because he knew that was true.
***
It was night, and the castle was quiet. In the light of the single candle, Hercules could see Cassandra's face as she slept, undisturbed by dreams. It had been a rough day for her…well, obviously. Cassandra hadn't asked Hercules to stay with her, but he had sensed her reluctance to be alone and when he had offered his company she had accepted with obvious relief. He had tried to joke: "Iolaus always said dying ruins your whole day." …but neither of them had truly found it funny.
It was fortunate that few in the castle had realised Cassandra died. Only Iphicles and his physician had known for certain. To Iphicles, Hercules told the truth, to the physician, he spoke blandly of the gods and hoped that would be enough. No one had seen her since Hercules carried her from the throne room: she would be able to make a remarkable recovery over the next few days.
Which took care of the explanations as far as others were concerned. Not for Hercules, though. And certainly not for Cassandra herself.
With the help of a mild sleeping draught, Cassandra had fallen asleep quickly. Hercules, sitting on a quickly made-up palette on the far side of the room, wasn't so lucky. His mind was full of questions.
This wasn't the first time he had known someone who died and then returned to life. Iolaus, Lyla, Xena…but in each of those cases, there had been an obvious, if sometimes unlikely, explanation.
He did have one way to find out, Hercules remembered. In his irritating way, Ares had promised him answers. ("You have to ask me nicely," Hercules remembered with a surge of anger.) Why would Ares offer to help him? What could he have to gain?
Once, Hercules would never have considered it. But much had happened to change him in the past decade. His own brief time on Olympus, for a start. He had seen too much in the year that followed: the gods of other countries, the ultimate evil of Dahok…and then there was the issue of his own immortality. He had stopped caring about the question long ago, but forced to confront the question again, with an answer that wasn't the one he wanted… It had changed his perspective on a lot of things. He would always resent Ares: the war god's delight in slaughter disgusted him and they would always be enemies. But Ares had his place in the scheme of things. And once Hercules acknowledged that, other things became possible.
Even so, to be forced to ask Ares for help…
How else would he find out? Ignorance would be more dangerous than knowledge, especially if the only cost was his pride.
He rose from the palette and headed out of the room into the corridor, leaving the door ajar in case Cassandra should wake. The torches on the walls provided plenty of light. Opposite the room was a narrow window. Through it, Hercules could see flickering lights from the few buildings in the city still awake. It was a tranquil night.
"Ares," he said aloud, quietly.
"Somehow I thought you'd be calling." The god appeared in a soft burst of crimson light, his body blocking the view from the window.
"You know what I want, Ares."
The god offered an amused smile. "And I told you you have to ask nicely."
Hercules turned away from him, pacing on the stone tiles. "She was dead. Then suddenly she was alive and there's no sign of the wound that killed her. If I hadn't seen it myself… Ares, she's going to come to me for answers and I have nothing to give her." He took a deep breath. Come on, Hercules, it won't hurt you too much. "Ares, if you do know what's happening, please tell me."
The god's smile didn't reach his eyes. He looked like a snake that's just spotted a fat mouse. "It's quite simple, brother. She's an immortal."
"She was dead," Hercules objected.
"That's the point. They die, usually of injury, occasionally of disease, but they don't die for long. Sometimes only minutes. Then they revive."
"They?"
"She's not alone. There are others, many others, like her."
Hercules' eyes narrowed suspiciously. He didn't like this: the answers were coming far too easily. "And that's it? That simple?"
Ares chuckled mockingly and made a rocking gesture with his hand. Maybe, maybe not.
"What aren't you telling me, Ares?" he asked. "I don't believe you're trying to help me out of brotherly love."
Ares took a step toward him. The torchlight caught his earring and it flashed. "Ah, well, I admit there's a possibility I could gain something from all this." He shrugged, apparently dismissing the idea. "Her kind are warriors, Hercules, all of them. She will be, too. They have to be."
"You're not making sense." Cassandra, a warrior? Hercules couldn't picture it. She had the strength of mind, certainly, and the determination, but she was a peaceful woman. She loved her garden and her quiet life. The image of her with a sword in her hand…it was ridiculous.
"You only get so much information for free, brother. And I'd hate to spoil the surprise. I will tell you one more thing, though. Your friend will need to find another of her kind for help. She'll only survive if she knows their ways. The rules of the Game."
"Game? What are you talking about?"
Ares wagged a finger at him. "Ah, ah. You just ran out of questions."
Hercules shook his head. "That's not good enough, damn you. How do I know anything you've told me is the truth?"
"Ask any of the other gods," Ares shrugged. "They'll tell you." He vanished, leaving a shower of sparks falling in his wake.
Sighing, Hercules returned to the bedroom. He wasn't sure he'd really learned anything. He paused, glancing again at the sleeping Cassandra. He remembered the day they had escaped from Atlantis, watching the island sink beneath the waves. He remembered, too, her words to him on the ship: We're going to be friends for a long time.
I have a hunch you were right, Cassandra. The two of us have a long time.
***
Epilogue: A few weeks later
It was a bright sunny day. Hercules had to shield his eyes against the noon sun as he gazed out across the water. "There she is," he called to Cassandra, spotting the familiar masts at last. "Look."
She moved to stand at his side and looked where he was pointing. "She doesn't look like much."
He grinned at her. "She's a rough ship, but she's seaworthy. And the Captain is a friend. We'll be fine."
Cassandra looked uncertain. She turned away from the view, sitting on the low stone wall that separated them from the busy docks. "Are you sure about this, Hercules? You don't have to come with me, you know."
But I do, Hercules thought.
The day after he had spoken with Ares, Hercules headed out into the city of Corinth. He went straight to the temple of the one goddess he hoped would be honest with him about all this: Athena. What he had learned there hadn't reassured him. She had confirmed everything Ares said, but told him little more. "You have to learn this for yourself, Hercules," was all she would say. Athena had, however, cleared up one thing that had bothered him.
"Well, of course Ares has something to gain," she had laughed. "It's got nothing to do with Cassandra, though."
Hercules frowned. "Then I don't understand."
"It should be obvious, little brother. If you want to help your friend, you'll be leaving Greece. Probably for a very long time."
Her declaration had hit him like a punch in the gut. Of course. It was obvious. "But I can't do that," he had said aloud. Help Cassandra…and leave Greece to Ares' tender mercies?
Athena had shaken her head, as if at a foolish child. "You can do what you must, Hercules. There are others in Greece who oppose Ares. Xena, for one, and she'll be around for a long time to come. You should heed your own wisdom for once."
He knew what she meant. Follow your heart. One thing was sure, since he had lost Iolaus, his heart was no longer in Greece. Ares, damn him, had known that already.
Shaking his head, Hercules told Cassandra, "Cass, we've been through this. You don't really want me to stay behind, so stop offering me the chance. I want to come with you." He had already said his goodbyes.
A few hours later, as Nebula's ship sailed out of Corinth, Hercules stood on the deck looking back at the city. It was hard to realise he wouldn't be back…at least, not for many years.
But in his heart, he knew this was the right choice for him. The bards who told of his adventures too-often used his name alone. He was the hero, his the story. Hercules knew different. Iolaus had been so much a part of everything he did. With his friend in the Elysian Fields a part of Hercules had died, too. His heart would never change. He would always want to help people and to inspire people to help themselves. But he no longer wanted to be Hercules.
Time to let the name pass into myth. Time to let Hercules die.
Time to think of the future.