Heart of A Lion

by Arianna18

An ambush, a collapsed rope bridge and Hercules plunges to the depths of a ravine. Enraged, Iolaus defeats their enemies and sets out on a quest to find his friend, hoping against hope that Herc is alive. His journey takes him to an unknown island populated by strange goat people and led by a mysterious 'Lady' who has a golden lion by her side.

HEART OF THE LION

by Pythia and Arianna

The fall would have killed an ordinary man. It certainly killed the bandit leader, who followed his victim into the crevasse scarcely five minutes after the collapse of the flimsy bridge. Four of his men plummeted after him; the rest fled in terror from the blond haired whirlwind who was dealing death as if it had suddenly become the latest fashion.

Iolaus hadn't even seen most of them. He was fighting with tears in his eyes, striking out in anger and fear, venting rage and terror with a ferocity that few, if any, could withstand. The fury had descended on him like a red mist, enveloping his senses as he clung to the fraying ropes, watching his best friend tumble away from him, into the depths of the mountain cleft.

Hercules hadn't stood a chance.

They'd tracked the bandits into the hills and then up onto the mountain, following carefully concealed trails and faint signs left on old routes that otherwise seemed long abandoned. The raiders had already

proved themselves to be ruthless; they'd killed six families on their last rampage, seven children being among their victims. It was hard to say who had been most intent on pursuing their trail; Hercules with his burning sense of justice, or the outraged hunter, who'd marked the slightest sign and followed the barest trace with a skill that had more to do with instinct than information. Whatever the reason, the trail had led to the fragile rope bridge...and the ambush, set by desperate men, unable to believe they had been pursued so doggedly.

Iolaus had volunteered to test the suspect construction, conscious that if it failed to support his weight then there would be no chance of it doing so for his partner. He'd traversed three quarters of it, relaxing with confidence once he'd realised that the thing was stronger than it looked. A casual wave of his arm had encouraged Hercules to start crossing; the son of Zeus had been exactly half way across when the raiders had leapt out of concealment and begun their assault.

A flurry of arrows had dropped both heroes to the doubtful safety of the crossplanks. It took a few moments before either of them realised the strategy of the attack; the arrows were being aimed, not at them, but at the tensioned ropes that held the flimsy bridge in place behind them. Flaming arrows; one, then another hit their intended target...and the hemp, long since reduced to tinder dryness by the high mountain air, flared into instant conflagration.

Hercules had recognised the peril first; his cry of warning had lifted his lighter partner into a forward sprint, despite the fact that he was heading for a dozen or more drawn swords. More arrows had flitted past

him, and the fire had taken hold right where he'd been lying, springing up in sheet of eager flame.

Everything had fallen into slow motion. The son of Zeus had staggered back, caught between conflagration and inferno; the shift of his weight had added extra tension to the weakened ropes...and the whole construction had given way at the far end, spilling him down into the gorge. Iolaus, further away from the fire and already moving with decided impetus, had thrown himself forward as the support dropped from under his feet. His hand had found a grip on the edge of one of the duckboards just as he, and it were slammed hard into the unyielding wall of the cliff.

Which had hurt.

A lot.

Even so, his thoughts had not been on his own misfortune. He'd swung round with the impact, dangling one handed above a two, three hundred foot drop while the flaming debris tumbled away below him...and the sound of his name howled up from the depths, getting fainter and fainter as the owner of the voice that spawned it dropped towards his doom.

"Iooolllaus ..."

It was then that the mist had descended. Then that the rage had seized him, driving him up the remains of the bridge with a righteous fury that burned brighter than any of the arrows had done. It was only when the rest of the band had fled, when there was nothing left to strike at and nothing left on which to wreak revenge, that the anger had ebbed away, leaving him bleak and empty, bereft of all emotions except fear and grief.

Herc ...

He threw himself down at the edge of the cliff and stared into the crevasse, blinking through tear blurred eyes as he tried to make out what lay below. It was a slender gorge, probably shattered through the otherwise solid mountain by some ground shaking conflict between gods and titans, way back before history began. The walls were steep, but not sheer, forming an angled V that linked the two lower valleys on either side - along with the twisting blue ribbon of a river that filled the bottom of the channel.

Water.

He could have fallen into the water ...

There was a chance. A slender one perhaps, but still a chance. Hercules was the son of a god; he could take blows that would cripple a lesser man and had survived events that spelt certain death for mere

mortals. What was a drop of a few hundred feet to him?

But what if it was on to solid rock, or into shallow water?

He might have immortal blood, but he wasn't invulnerable, which meant there was a good chance he was lying down there with shattered bones and torn muscle. And in desperate need of help.

Iolaus hurriedly wiped the moisture from his eyes and clambered to his feet. He wouldn't do Hercules any good just lying there thinking about it. He had to get down there, and fast.

Of course, the quickest way would be to jump ...

He dismissed that idea with an impatient scowl and cast around to assess the other options available to him. The remains of the bridge were little more than smoking embers; the trail it had served led further up into the mountain, not down, and the place in which he currently stood was little more than a flattened ledge cut into the otherwise steep, almost sheer, slope. It was less than a hundred paces wide and fifty deep, littered with angled boulders, which were probably remnants of the same ancient conflict that had opened the gorge.

In fact, the only possible source of cheer in that entire bleak landscape was a small stream that tumbled down the side the trail and across one edge of the ledge before it cascaded into the crevasse.

Iolaus walked across to dip his hand into the water and run it over his face while he thought about his next move. The water was sharp and cold, hinting at ice higher on the mountain and he stooped to drink, only

now realising how parched he was. The fight had taken more from him than he'd first thought, but he had no time to consider that. He had to get down into the ravine.

Which was exactly what the stream was doing ...

He stood up and strode back to the cliff edge, looking at the place where the tiny stream cascaded over it. It had followed that path for centuries...and in doing so had cut a narrow chimney into the rock, a flue

that funnelled its tumbling water and offered a possible method of descent.

'Thank you,' he breathed to whichever of the Fates had decided he needed a break. Pausing only to snatch up his discarded sword to shove it into the scabbard on his belt, he lowered himself into the cramped fissure, his back to one side of it and his feet and hands pressed against the other.

It was a tight fit, but that was probably just as well. The walls were slick with moisture and had been worn smooth over the years. Had the space been any wider he might not have been able to keep himself braced

and, as he was only too aware, it was a long way to fall. He took a deep breath and began to inch his way down.

"Hang on, Herc," he whispered, "I'm coming ..."

It took him over an hour. The water sluiced over him like an endless curtain of liquid ice, and the protest of his legs and arms slowly shifted from nagging complaint to screaming agony. More than once he had to

pause, pushing his back into the rock so that he could lift his head out of the pounding impact of the falling stream. The flue widened as he descended and he eventually had to turn over, crabbing down with his feet

on one surface and his hands on the other. By the time he reached the bottom he was practically at full stretch; at the very last his boots lost their purchase on the water slicked rock and he fell face first into a

deep pool some ten feet below him.

Still, he was down, and he clambered out of the water, shivering with cold and wondering if he was ever going to get the feeling back into his limbs. The bottom of the ravine was wider than he'd expected it to be. The water that he had spotted from above was actually quite a deep river several paces wide; it rushed headlong down the angle of the gorge, white water foaming as it surged around jumbled rocks and over intermittent rapids. It had left only a narrow beach on which he might walk.

The discovery was encouraging. If Hercules had hit the water rather than the wall then he would have been swept up in the current and washed down into the lower valley. Still, before he followed up on that

possibility, he had to check the less welcome one, so he trudged up the curve of the beach, looking for signs he hoped not to see.

Broken planks littered the shoreline and a flock of crows flooded up as he reached the point right below where the bridge had been, a dark plume of living smoke that lifted his heart into his mouth.

The dead bandit was not a pretty sight. He hadn't been much of a looker to begin with but, disembowelled by the the spire of rock that had broken his fall and with his head splattered like a pumpkin across the rock, he was a perfect candidate for Hades' hall of horrors.

Iolaus' stomach churned and he stumbled to the water's edge, fighting the nausea and failing. He was no stranger to death; he'd seen enough of it on the battlefield, not to mention elsewhere in his long career in the hero business. Men died messily, whether run through with a sword or devoured by monsters, and he'd long ago learnt to quell his reactions to those kind of sights. It was just that the image of the dead man was all too easily substituted for a similar one in which the central character had honey brown hair and the sculptured musculature of the strongest man who ever lived.

"Don't," he told himself severely. He grimaced the thought away, and bent to rinse the bitterness out of

his mouth with the sweet cold waters of the river. His hand plunged down...and stopped, because he'd caught sight of the second corpse, jammed against a jutting rock in the river itself. It was another of the

bandits, this one with his dead arms flapping obscenely in the current. Iolaus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand instead and hurried away, stumbling back to the purer water of the cascading stream. Had he not been on an urgent quest he might have offered the dead men a little courtesy and found time to bury them, but he doubted they would have been so considerate, and he had more immediate things to do.

Like find his missing friend.

He followed the river down the length of the narrow canyon, hugging his soaked and chilled shoulders as the last of the sunlight was swallowed behind the rise of the mountain. It was still quite early in the

afternoon, but the chasm was deep and the angle of the autumn light was shallow. It wasn't long before he was walking in an almost stygian gloom, an early twilight in which the hurried rush of the river was his only company.

"Hercules!" he called, but there was no familiar cry to answer him. Instead the sound echoed and re-echoed along the fissure and disturbed a shatter of loose rock from the heights. Several boulders the

size of his head and larger spattered down into the river and he hastily pressed himself against the nearest stone wall while it rained unwelcome debris. Clearly yelling was not a good idea. He picked his way

along the beach ever more cautiously after that, moving as quietly as he could.

'Gods, but I'm cold,' he realised, teeth chattering as he hugged his shoulders even tighter in a vain attempt to stop himself from shivering. Cold...and exhausted, the demands of both the fight and the nerve stretching descent beginning to catch up with him. But, he didn't have time to worry about it.

He trudged onwards, forcing one foot in front to the other and driven by a growing sense of anxiety. The force of river was fast and fierce; it was almost certain that Hercules had been caught up in its tumbling waters, since there was no sign that he had crawled out of the torrent at any point along its route. But that was almost as bad as the initial impact of his fall; he would have been battered and bruised by the white water currents that carved their way down its stone filled channel. He was going to need help, and if Iolaus didn't find him soon, it might be too late to make a difference.

"No way," the hunter denied fiercely, clambering down a line of stepped terraces and getting himself soaked again in the process. The river spilled over the drop in a pounding waterfall, pooled out below it

to form a shallow edged lake, and then spilled over again, forming a foaming curtain that fell into sudden depth. It, and he, had reached the end of the crevasse; Iolaus found himself looking out across a golden

fertile valley, one cradled on all sides by the soaring walls of the mountain.

"Wow, " he breathed, taking in the sight with a sense of astonished wonder. The place was beautiful, a world poured into a stone cup, with a deep blue lake at its centre and a profusion of verdant forest spread out to fill its curved bowl. The late afternoon sunlight speared down across the angled wall of the mountain, cutting the valley into two, one half bright and lit with autumn golds and reds, the other already deep in shadow.

And, on an island that sat at the centre of the lake, it glinted off the white marble walls of a ornate palace, making the distant stone shine like crystal alabaster. It looked for all the world like one of the frescos of Elysium that he'd seen painted on temple walls. So much so that he glanced back up the ravine wondering if perhaps he'd slipped much higher up in his descent than he'd thought and had arrived in Hades's realm without his being aware of it.

The narrow fissure had not changed; the mountain's shadow still filled its depths and the river thundered through it with indifferent haste.

"Don't be ridiculous," Iolaus chided himself irritatedly, wading across the pool to investigate the possibility of climbing down the edge of the waterfall. "You can't be dead. You're cold, you're tired and

you're hungry. You wouldn't feel any of that in the Elysian fields."

At least, given his experiences on the Other Side, he didn't think he would.

Climbing down was out of the question. The water sluiced over the edge in one continuous curtain, and the rock at either side had been worn completely smooth. The current was strong and it tugged at his knees as he edged closer to the precipice to investigate his other options. There was no sign of his missing friend in the water; he must have been swept along with the main flow of the river and down into the valley some twenty or thirty feet below.

That's not so far ...

The churning water would have cut a deep pool at the foot of the drop, and beyond it the river poured into the waters of the main lake at the valley's heart. It looked as it there might be other buildings on the island, the hints of roofs and walls screened by the autumn colours of the forest. Buildings meant people, and the presence of people in the hidden valley meant that Hercules might have already found the help that Iolaus was desperately hoping he didn't need.

"I sure hope they're friendly, " the hunter muttered to himself as he took one last good look at the layout of the land below. "Oh well. Here goes ... " He took a deep breath, one step back, and then ran for the

edge before he could change his mind, leaping straight out into thin air.

"Woooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! "

He plummeted feet first down the face of the waterfall, his head tipped back, and his arms upraised so that he could pierce the surface of the lower lake like a bolt shot from a crossbow. Even then the impact was

a hard one. It drove out what little air remained in his lungs and raised a plume of water that surged up around him with a resounding kooorrrrploooshhhh!

He went deep.

Really deep, with a heavy weight of water pressing in on him from all sides. A giant hand squeezed his chest with relentless force and he struggled desperately to reverse his downward plunge. The water was

dark and cold; he couldn't breathe, and he quickly lost all sense of direction. His arms flailed and his legs kicked, fighting against the drag of the churning, swirling water which had seized hold of him. He'd

aimed to leap out, away from the impact of the plummeting water, and had he been fresh he'd have had little difficulty escaping its clutches. But the climb down into the canyon had been demanding and the long walk after it had added to his exhaustion. He just hadn't realised how much until he found himself calling on strength that just wasn't there anymore.

Gods...

Stars began to dance in front of his eyes. He was being battered by the currents and fought for escape, his usual reckless bravado being overtaken by a sense of agitated panic. That was a mistake; he gulped in water instead of air and frantically choked on it.

Which way? Which way!

He had no idea...and realising that, he stopped struggling altogether. If he couldn't fight the whirlpool then he just had to survive it. He forced himself to go limp and concentrated on calming the pounding

demands of his heart, letting the swirl of water take him wherever it wanted. The dancing stars didn't go away, but the darkness that lay behind them receded a little; he was rolled over and over, tossed and

tumbled like a discarded toy while he focused his attention inwards, the way his eastern master had taught him, seeking stillness in a single, centred point of calm...

The afternoon light was waning when the patrol found him. He was lying on his stomach, his head resting on one arm, on the long sandy shore not far from the palace gardens. They skirted around their discovery warily, wondering where he'd come from...wondering if he was even still alive. His body seemed bruised and battered; the skin on his arms was badly scraped and his golden vest was torn and bloodied. The scent of his blood stirred their own, setting once wild hearts beating a little faster. This had never happened before - and they only knew of one other who matched his statuesque form. The one who ruled the island, ruled their lives, owned their souls ...

Questions crowded their minds as they warily circled the stranger on the beach. Was he was like her? Was he too, a god? But how could a god be so badly damaged? It confused and puzzled them. One bold warrior was just prowling close enough to determine if the creature still breathed, when a low moan startled them, sending them into further confusion. Whatever he was - he was alive.

They argued and they muttered among themselves, some suggesting they just leave it alone, some wanting to kill the thing before it became a threat, and others fearing what it might do should they try. Finally, they decided to send for the Lady. She would know what to do. When the stranger moaned again, and stirred weakly, trying to rise, only to fall back again onto the sand, one loped away, racing to the palace to find her.

"You've found what?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she listened to the slightly garbled account from the lowly warrior.

"Like you, but male. On the beach...injured. Please, come," he begged, his voice low and gruff. It was clear that he was wary of her, and as well as unnerved by what they had found on the shore.

Intrigued, and a little concerned, she set out with the warrior back to the beach. She had thought herself safe here, far from the prying eyes of mortals and gods, safe in this secret domain she had created out of the wilderness. But it seemed, she thought with a flare of anger, that even this wild, untamed and isolated place had been penetrated by some foolhardy adventurer. Like her? Well, someone from outside this place would be like her...they certainly wouldn't resemble the other inhabitants of this magical isle.

As they crossed the lush gardens, brilliant in the late sun of the afternoon, she wondered what manner of man had managed to find his way here. She'd thought her fortress well hidden, too isolated from the rest of the world to attract any attention. The mountains all around were steep and should have discouraged even the most intrepid explorer. The river from the outer valley ended in that plunging waterfall. Whoever he was, he must have come by chance, by accident. This could never have been his destination.

When they came out onto the beach, her view of the man was blocked by the guards surrounding him.

"Out of the way," she commanded impatiently, and they scattered before her. She didn't recognize him at first, but there was something familiar about him. Something about the well muscled lines of his body … "Turn him over - onto his back."

Her word was always command, no matter how wary or afraid her people might be. They hastened to comply, the warriors of her palace guard jostling to be the one to pull the heavy man onto his back, and then looking up in consternation when their mistress gasped in surprise and recognition. He was the last person she'd been expecting, and she felt a moment of panic, wondering if indeed her refuge had been found. But, then, taking in his battered appearance, she relaxed. No, this was not a man who had planned his journey over that waterfall. Whatever had brought him here, it was chance, not intent.

Being pulled over had roused him somewhat. Coughing, he came back to consciousness briefly, his eyes widening when he saw the beings around him. Dark, swarthy faces, jutting jaws, wide feral eyes and pointed ears...wolves, but not wolves...men. Dazed, he couldn't take it in. His eyes skittered amongst them until they came to rest on the beautiful woman standing in their midst, staring down at him. He would have liked to stand, but his body wouldn't obey him. He felt as if he'd been beaten by the Titans, and so cold that he wasn't sure he would ever feel warmth again. He managed to lift one leaden arm, his hand outstretched toward her in entreaty.

"Help me," he murmured, before succumbing again to the dark, his arm dropping heavily back onto the sand.

"With pleasure," she purred, a light of cruelty glowing brighter in her eyes. She recognized him from the night she'd pulled him from the giant shell. At the time, he'd been encased in a sheath of pearl, unconscious. He would not know who she was. So long as she never let him leave this place, she would still be safe.

Turning to four of the warriors, she said, "Bring him, but be careful of him." She didn't want the son of Zeus any more damaged than he already was. No, she had plans for him. Her eyes scanned the waters, glittering pink now in the last of the day's sun, wondering...then, with a thoughtful frown, she turned to the remaining six warriors.

"There may be another... like him but smaller - with yellow hair," she informed them, before commanding sharply, "Search the shore - and if you find him … tear out his throat and feast on his flesh."

"Aaahhh," Iolaus had been lying on his back for a good minute or two before reflex and need took over and he remembered how to breath. He convulsed into a gulp of air, gagged on the mixture of oxygen and water that resulted, rolled over, and proceeded to cough and choke for several minutes, crouched on his hands and knees in the shallows where he'd been washed up.

"Euch-oo," he gasped eventually, sitting back on his heels with a decided effort and taking a wary look around. There was a blur of tree branches overhead, a narrow river at his back, and the sweep of

a boulder strewn gravel beach right in front of him. He appeared to have been deposited at the deepest point of a current cut curve; he was flanked by rising banks on either side.

Okay.

He'd made it this far – more or less. Which meant there was a good chance that Hercules had also been washed up on shore somewhere. All he had to do was find him …

Iolaus pushed himself onto his feet, fighting a sudden vertigo that made the world tip around him. He lurched to the nearest bank, and stumbled to his knees, beginning the long crawl up and away from the island's river and the lake. He was freezing, and needed to build a fire before he collapsed. Finally, panting, he made it to the top and rolled over onto his back, staring up into a darkening sky, the sun fast slipping down below the mountains. Gods, he was exhausted.

But he couldn't just lie there, much as his body resisted moving any further. Rolling stiffly, he pushed himself to his feet again, using a tree growing on the edge of the bank for support. Then he leaned back against it, trying to take stock of his environment. Looking across the stretch of water he could just about make out where the weight of the waterfall hit the surface of the lake - which meant that the buildings he'd seen were somewhere to the west, through the thick, dark forest which followed the shoreline around the island.

Well, that was one piece of luck. He could have ended up on the valley-side shore of the lake and had to swim across to get help in the search for Hercules. As he stood and gathered what remained of his strength, shivering with cold and numb with exhaustion, he thought about the churning chaos of tumultuous water which had brought him here; given the currents and the force of the whirlpool, he figured it was likely that Hercules had also fetched up on the island, rather than on the far side of the lake.

Gods, he hoped so anyway. If he felt this wiped out from trekking most of his way to the island, he couldn't begin to imagine the state his friend might be in. Herc might have been badly hurt in the fall and the subsequent battering in the river even before he'd plunged over the falls; his buddy could be in dire need of help and Iolaus could only hope that the folks on this island had found him and were already caring for him.

He wanted to keep going, needed to know Herc was there...that he'd been found and rescued...and that he was alright. But the hunter and warrior in him both knew he'd not do his best friend any good if he pushed himself to absolute collapse. - and he was teetering on the edge of that collapse right now. Frozen, soaking wet, half-drowned and exhausted, he couldn't go much further before it got too dark to see. Furious with his own weakness, feeling guilty, as if he was abandoning Hercules, he moved inland, so that a fire would not be easily seen from either the lake or the river.

Until he knew if the natives were friendly, there was no point in taking any chances.

He plodded deeper and deeper into the forest, slowly gathering an armful of dry wood as he went. Finally, he came to a small, turf floored glade just as dusk was blanketing the valley in deep shadow. He collapsed to his knees, and, using two small pieces of flint he'd found near the river, managed to spark a small fire, patiently feeding it until he could feel its warmth begin to penetrate his body. He shrugged off his vest, laying it on the other side of the fire to dry and pulled off his sodden boots, placing them next to his vest. Too tired to function any longer, he lay down with a groan, born as much from his overpowering anxiety about Hercules as it was by his own battered muscles and aching weariness.

"Please, Herc, gods, please be alright," he whispered, his voice choked with fear, as he shivered in the darkness.

In moments, his awareness of the world around him had faded into the unconsciousness of complete physical and emotional exhaustion.

She led the burdened warriors back through the gardens and into the palace, moving swiftly across the paved patio, through the wide double doors and into the light, airy salon beyond. She ignored the tastefully placed plants and the artfully tiled walls, decorated in the soft blues and greens of the sea, and moved on, out into the cold marble hall, her bare feet making no sound as they sank into the thick carpets. Her dress swirled and glittered with light each time she passed one of the brilliantly lit silver candelabras, while the shadows of her vulpine followers danced and flickered around her. She led them up the broad, sweeping staircase, then down another long hall to a guest room. She called to servants as she strode regally through her domain, issuing sharp commands. The wolfmen trudged silently behind her, their heads lowered in respect.

Warm water and bandages arrived almost as quickly as they had, servants bearing pitchers and basins, heaps of thick, plush towels and rolls of linen. She snapped her fingers and gestured impatiently toward the man sprawled now on the floor. There had been no point in putting him on the bed while he was still soaking wet, muddy, with blood seeping from his many rough abrasions and cuts. They hastened to her will, and soon the injured man was washed clean and dry, his wounds were bandaged and he was settled in the massive bed, his nakedness covered with a thick, downfilled quilt.

The servants kept their heads down as they worked and their tongues silent. All the same, they marvelled at the man they cared for, never having seen anything quite like him before. He was huge, larger than any other on the island, even the tallest of the warriors, and, from the look of his well muscled frame, he'd be strong. They could see he'd had a hard journey; he was covered in bruises, and skin had been scraped from his arms, chest and back. There was a long gash along the left side of his face, although it wasn't deep, and they found no broken bones, which surprised them, given the evidence of the difficult passage he'd had getting to the island. The worst of his hurts seemed to be the large lump on the back of his head, so, barring some hidden internal injury, he should heal. His hair was long, the colour of dark honey, and there was beauty to his features that was unfamiliar to them...except, of course, for the Lady herself. They trembled a bit as they worked, wondering if he would be like her.

They wondered as well how hungry he'd be when he finally woke up.

If he woke up.

She had ordered spiced wine, which they'd set to warm on a small brazier at the side of the room. Once her guest was settled she carefully poured some of her special elixir into a goblet, and topped it up with honey and warmed wine. Then, with great patience, and with one of the servants to support his head, she managed to get all of the liquor into him. When she was finished, she dismissed the servants and studied her unexpected visitor, thinking as they had that, despite the bruises and the gash, there was a certain beauty in his features. She hadn't expected company, and had been concerned at first. But now, she was not unhappy with this unexpected turn of events. It was too bad she couldn't enjoy him as he was, but she couldn't afford that luxury. The sooner she had him deeply under her spell, the better.

No, Hercules will not remember me, she thought with a thrill of anticipation. And soon, he won't remember anything at all.

She laughed, the sound cold and hard, like crystal chimes in the high mountain air.

It was the snap of a stick which alerted him. The hastily muttered, "Shhh" which followed warned him there was more than one other person in his immediate neighbourhood. Slitting his eyes, he warily scanned the area on the other side of the now dead fire, but could see no one there. The sounds had come from somewhere close behind him.

He was chagrined to notice it was full light, that he had slept well past the dawn. Some hero to the rescue he was turning out to be. Not knowing how many there were, not liking his vulnerable position on the ground at their feet, Iolaus decided to give them a little surprise. They'd find he wasn't quite so helpless as he might look, a battered figure curled unconscious by a dead fire. Ignoring the stiffness of his muscles, he rolled suddenly, yelling loudly, as he came around and up onto his feet...to stand in shocked surprise at the sight of the beings who had been stalking him.

They'd turned and fled as soon as he appeared to be on the attack, disappearing into the shadows of the forest like startled fawns.

"Hey!" he'd called after them, but they were long gone. He relaxed his stance marginally, frowning as he tried to assimilate what he'd just seen. They'd been kids. Literally. Well, sort of.

There'd been five of them, bounding away with a capering gait. Small creatures who might have been relatives of Pan; he could have sworn he'd glimpsed cloven feet, jutting ears and tiny horns. But other than that they'd looked exactly like a bunch of children somewhere between eight and ten or twelve years old – especially since they'd been dressed in well worn, faded cottons and linens. The girls had been wearing tattered shifts, and the boys cloth pants and tunics. Their faces had been strangely angular and their hair had been an odd mixture of colours, streaked brown and gold on one, black and white on another. The impression that lingered though, was of startled eyes; deep, soft brown eyes, fringed with thick long lashes,

Kids.

More scared of him, it seemed, than he was of them.

He bent to pull on his now dry vest and boots, kicking at the ashes to ensure the fire was completely out. He'd managed to hang on to his sword, and his pack – well, his pack was probably still lying somewhere on that narrow shelf of land high above the ravine, right where he'd left it. That's if one of those bandits hadn't snuck back and stolen it by now. While he dressed, he kept a wary eye out on the dark, silent forest around him. The ones who had found him might have been children, but that didn't mean their parents weren't somewhere near by.

They'd headed west in their flight, back toward the palace and the scattering of buildings he'd seen through the trees just before he'd jumped over the cascading waters of the falls. Cautiously, he set off in the same direction. He was hungry, but there was no time to hunt now. He'd keep a look out for berries or other fruit...not his favourite breakfast, but it would have to do. He'd lost enough time in his search for Hercules.

He'd gone about a mile, and he figured he had to be getting close to the settlement, when he spotted one of the youngsters ahead of him on the trail, looking back at him, as if wondering if he was dangerous or not. He hadn't been mistaken. She did have angled lower legs, with delicate cloven hooves where there should have been feet, and tiny, jutting horns which curled up from either side of her head. Her ears were pointed too; little tufts of hair quivered on each tip. Poised to run, graceful in her own way, she stared at him, her face pale in the uncertain light of the deep forest.

Iolaus didn't have it in him to terrorize children. He raised his hands, in a gesture of peace, and walked with a slow, measured pace toward the kid...trying not to scare her, smiling a little to seem even more harmless. When he got a little closer, he called out softly, "It's alright...I don't want to hurt you. But I've got some ques..."

The blow on the back of his head sent him stumbling forward onto his knees, one hand braced on the ground in front of him, fighting the darkness, cursing his own careless stupidity. A heavy net came down over him, and he thrashed instinctively, still trying to clear his vision, when a second blow sent him into oblivion.

He woke reluctantly. His head was pounding viciously, and he raised a hand to tentatively touch the site of the greatest pain, finding a lump the size of a walnut on the back of his head. Wincing, he realized he also had suffered a bad gash on his face, if the thickness of the padded bandage was anything to go by. Opening his eyes, he blinked against the light which seemed to stab into his eyes, adding to his misery. Lying still for a moment, taking stock, he found there was no single place on his body that didn't hurt. He felt like a battered, limp doll, bruised badly, torn if not broken. Smothering a groan, he forced himself to examine his surroundings.

He was lying in a deep, warm and very comfortable, feather bed, a goosedown quilt covering his naked body. It was a large, very bright room, with a wall of windows overlooking a lake and the snowcapped mountains in the distance. The slate floor was covered with a richly designed persian carpet in shades of blues and greens, and the walls were painted a light sea green. He had the peculiar feeling of being in the water, the shimmering reflection of the lake on the walls adding to the illusion. There were two low chairs in front of the hearth, in which a fire blazed, warming the room. A pine wardrobe stood against one wall, and large double doors led somewhere beyond this room.

Frowning, he let his head sink back into the fluffy down pillow, covered with fine linen, and tried to remember what had happened, how he had come to be here...wherever 'here' was. His mind felt as if it was wrapped in thick cotton, dulled, his thoughts slow and muddled.

There'd been a bridge. Shattered images of fire and then a terrifying sensation of falling overwhelmed him, making him grab the bed as if he was about to fall off. Darkness, and water...sharp rocks and boulders, a feeling of being pounded relentlessly, helplessly, another long fall...so cold...an endless struggle for air. Then, more darkness. A beach, and strange creatures...a woman...now he was here.

He felt a nagging anxiety. Something...no, someone...was in trouble. Concentrating, groping for the memories, he finally came up with wild blond curls, blue eyes...a friend? A warrior on a bridge. What had happened to him when the fire erupted and the bridge collapsed?

He fought the pain, the dizziness and the muddled sense of confusion. Someone, a friend, was in trouble... somewhere. Probably hurt. He needed to find him. He pushed himself up on his right elbow, curling to the side, groaning with the effort of bringing his legs around to sit drunkenly on the side of the bed. He had to stop, to let the vertigo pass before he could go further without collapsing.

The door opened then, causing him to move his head too fast to see who was entering. The room spun again, and he moaned softly, a hand coming up to press against his forehead, covering his eyes. He heard a light step, and a floral fragance wafted toward him. He forced his eyes open again and regarded the stunningly beautiful woman who was moving toward him with a concerned smile on her perfect face. She had eyes the colour of a tumultuous sea, flaming red hair and alabaster skin...and an elegant gown of azure silk draped from one creamy shoulder and flowing like water to the floor.

"You shouldn't be trying to get up yet, my friend. Please, you need rest," she said kindly, laying a soft hand on his shoulder, applying a gentle pressure to encourage him to lie back down. It didn't take a lot of persuasion.

As he sagged back onto the bed, he frowned, trying to remember. "Where am I?" he asked, his troubled blue eyes filled with confusion.

She smiled again as she pulled the quilt up to his chin and tucked it under his shoulders. "In my palace on Jewel Lake," she told him, her tone one of reassuring calm. "You washed up on the beach yesterday, and you've been unconscious ever since. That must have been quite a blow you took to the head...and I can only assume you came into the lake by way of the waterfall. You're lucky to be alive."

He smiled wryly at that, replying, "I suspect that's thanks to you, and whoever found me. I don't remember much of anything...but," he continued with a worried frown, "I think I have a friend who's in trouble."

Her brows arched at that, but she only shook her head. "I'm sorry, we've found no one else. If your friend also went over the waterfall, he may not have survived. There is a terrible whirlpool at its base, and it would take considerable strength to escape it."

Looking away, his eyes clouded with worry and frustration. Why couldn't he remember? The thought that something had happened to that blond friend grabbed at his heart, and tightened his throat with fear and grief. But he couldn't even remember the man's name. He pushed a hand through his hair, turning back to her when she spoke again.

"What's your name?" she had just asked. She'd kept her tone light, curious...but the answer was important. If he remembered who he was, despite the injuries and the potion she'd given him last night, she might yet have to kill him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he replied, embarrassed to be so muddled he hadn't even introduced himself. "I'm..." But, the name wouldn't come. His face went blank with shock. He couldn't remember his own name. His heart pounded with renewed anxiety, and he felt a profound sense of dislocation. Gods! Who was he?

She saw his confused fear, and the hesitation spoke for itself. "It's alright...you've suffered a very bad blow to the back of your head. I'm sure everything will seem much clearer when you've gotten more rest." She bent to the table by the side of the bed, and poured a clear liquid from a flask into a crystal goblet. "Here," she said, leaning over him to support his head, "Drink this. It will help ease the pain."

His natural sense of caution blunted by his injuries and her very evident kindness and concern, he drank the liquid, finding it slightly sour, but not unpleasant. A feeling of wellbeing pervaded his senses almost immediately, followed by irresistable drowsiness. Lying back, eyes closed, he heard her cross the room, and close the door again behind her.

It was then, just before he succumbed to sleep, that he realized he hadn't thought to ask her name...and she hadn't offered it.

She leaned back against the door she had just closed so gently, her smile of concern turning to one of calculated satisfaction.

He might not know who he was, but she did. And, with the amount of that potion she'd already managed to persuade him to drink, he never would remember. He belonged to her now, for her to do with as she pleased.

She pushed away from the door, and ambled along the opulent hallway, her arms crossed under her breasts as she considered the situation. He would make a fine addition to her estate. Another day, and he'd forget even how to speak, and he'd be enslaved to her will. She smiled again thinking of how she would amuse herself in turning Zeus' son into a beast, little more than a guard dog, crouched at her feet.

But, she frowned momentarily thinking about Hercules' comments about a friend. If that troublesome blond runt had survived, he could mean trouble.

It was a good thing she had already set the wolves to hunt for him along the shoreline and in the forests around the palace.

When Iolaus woke later that morning, he groaned softly at the heavy pounding of the headache behind his eyes. Squinting, he looked around trying to remember what had happened and to figure out where he was. It looked like a cross between a small stable and a children's play house, toys scattered about, straw on the floor. From where he was tied against the wall, it appeared as if he was in a stall. Twisting his head up to examine the bindings holding his arms above his head, he frowned. The ropes were so inexpertly tied, he could free himself with little effort. It didn't make sense.

Pushing past the pain in his head, and everywhere else in his body it seemed every time he moved, he forced himself to remember. "Herc!" he gasped, as the memories cascaded in, one after another, reminding him that his best friend was lost, probably badly hurt, if he was alive at all. Iolaus pushed that last thought aside. Hercules was alive, that was all there was to it. He wouldn't believe anything different until he saw his friend's body for himself. Impatient to be on his way, he pulled at the ropes, then paused, hearing the creak of a door, seeing a shaft of light cut across the floor beyond the stall.

Whispered voices, soft footfalls.

Feigning unconsciousness, Iolaus let his head drop to his chest, but he kept his eyes open a sliver to see who was coming.

It was with some relief that he recognized the kids from before, remembering wryly that these little things had managed to trap him and knock him out. And drag him here from the looks of it. He'd noted wisps of long grass and weeds adhering to his vest. They entered the stall tentatively, as if they were afraid of him, but driven by curiousity, unable to resist the allure of mystery and danger.

When Iolaus cleared his throat and lifted his head, they jumped back in alarm. There were four of them, wide-eyed, and trembling a little, as if ready to bolt. "It's okay," Iolaus said softly, with a slight, gentle smile, "I won't hurt you."

They watched him a moment more, but since it seemed safe enough, they edged forward again. "Are you a god?" one asked timidly.

Caught by surprise, Iolaus gaped then snickered at the thought. "No...I'm not a god. What made you think I might be?"

"Well," offered one of the older ones, the girl, "you are one of her kind, the Lady in the palace...and she's a goddess."

One eyebrow lifted in thoughtful speculation, Iolaus murmured in reply, "Really? What's her name?"

They all shrugged, as another piped up, "Nobody knows...she just tells us to call her Lady."

Setting aside that mystery for a later time, Iolaus just nodded sagely at the answer, then carried on trying to find out if they had heard anything about Hercules being found. "I came to the island looking for a friend. He's a very big man, long hair. He might be hurt. Do you know anything about him?"

When they all shook their heads, he felt disappointment wash over him. But, he forced it away. Just because they hadn't heard anything, didn't mean Hercules hadn't made it this far. Sighing, he studied them for a moment, then asked, "Why did you capture me?"

They looked at one another, wondering who could explain their sudden, unconsidered action. It was the older girl who once again replied, "We wondered if you were a god, and thought you might be dangerous. When you chased us, we were afraid and so we ambushed you...hurt you before you could hurt us. Then, we thought we could take you hostage, and maybe hold you for ransom. We figure the Lady would pay us to give you to her."

"Oh," Iolaus said, wondering again about the mysterious 'lady'. "Have you told her you captured me?"

"Not yet," one of the younger boys said. "We thought it would be interesting to keep you for a few days...you know, so that you could tell us stuff about where you come from."

One of the others nodded eagerly, "Yeah...we thought we were the only ones in the world until you arrived."

Iolaus studied them for a moment, thinking they probably were the only ones of their kind in the world. He'd sure never seen anything like them before, or heard of any beings that resembled them, other than Pan. But, they didn't have the mischievous god's guile. He settled himself against the wall, thinking he'd soon have to free his hands, as his arms were aching. But, there was time, and he didn't want to scare them. Finally, he nodded, "Okay, I'll make you a deal...I'll tell you where I come from if you'll get me something to eat."

They all squeaked in alarm and jumped back, eyes wide and frightened. "Are you going to eat one of us?"

the littlest one quavered.

"Eat you? Gods, no! Why would you think..." he started and then he felt a sick sinking feeling. "She eats beings like you?" he asked, his voice low, appalled.

They swallowed and nodded, panting a little in fear. Iolaus looked away, horrified. Who in Tarturus was this 'Lady' who claimed to be a goddess and who ate kids? Shaking his head, he assured them, "No...no I don't want to eat you. Honest. But, if you've got any apples, or other fruit, I'd be grateful." He'd've liked to ask for meat, rabbit or boar, but given their part animal nature, he couldn't be sure the rabbits or boars of this strange island didn't also walk around talking, dressed like ordinary people.

"I'll get some apples," the little girl piped, then darted away. There was silence as they studied him and he tried to look innocent and peaceful. Finally, he asked, as he loosened the bindings on his wrists, "Would you mind if I took the ropes off? My arms are getting numb and I'll need my hands to eat."

Appalled that their prisoner could free himself so easily, the bigger of the two boys disappeared like a shot and came back with a pitchfork that he held defensively in front of them. "Don't hurt us!" he ordered, trying to sound brave and resolute, but the quivering of the impromptu weapon in his hands revealed his terror.

Iolaus shook his head as he lowered his arms slowly and rubbed his wrists, restoring circulation. "You don't need that. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." Tentatively, the boy lowered the pitchfork until its tines touched the floor.

By then, the little girl had returned with a couple of apples, and either brave or unthinking, she marched right up to him, holding them out in a silent offering which he accepted gratefully

"Tell me about this place," he said just before he took a bite. "Who else lives here? Are there many of your kind on the island?"

"Well, like we said, there's the Lady. And, then there are the wolves..." the boy replied hesitantly, uncertain as to whether he should be answering this stranger's questions.

"Wolves?" Iolaus echoed. "What wolves?"

"They're the ones who are the warriors and hunters. The Lady uses them as her guards at the palace," the older girl explained.

Iolaus frowned as he considered this. "Do they, uh, walk and talk like you do?" he asked.

"Sure," the younger boy replied, mystified by the question. "Why wouldn't they?"

"No reason," Iolaus replied, trying to bring his eyebrows down to their normal position. Goats and wolves...part human, part animal. What was going on here? "And, your folks, what do they do?"

"Some farm, and take care of the gardens and orchards. Others work in the palace as servants," the older boy replied, deciding they might as well answer the questions.

"Do your parents know you've found me?" he asked then, not surprised when five heads silently shook side to side.

Just then, another boy, older than the others, dashed into the stable, causing the kids to jump before they recognized him and relaxed. He was obviously very nervous, shaking a little with trepidation. "They're looking for him," he murmured quietly, with a sideways look at Iolaus. The kid started, and took a step back, surprised to see their captive was free, his unbound hands well occupied with the apples.

"Who is?" asked their captive, caught by the boy's nervousness. The kid was just this side of being terrified, partly by him, but Iolaus had seen that the kid had been afraid when he'd raced in. Something else was worrying the boy.

"The wolves," the lad replied, his eyes wide as he studied Iolaus' unbound hands. "She sent them searching after they found the other one."

Iolaus' head jerked up, and he stiffened in hope. "Other one?" he demanded, his voice tight. "What 'other one'?"

The other kids were as curious as he was, and they all looked to the newcomer for more information. Keeping his voice down, and casting a wary eye from time to time toward the stable door, he explained, "They found another one, like you, only bigger, last night on the shore. He was hurt, but they've taken him to the palace, and Ma says he woke up for a while this morning. She says he doesn't remember who he is."

Hercules was alive!

Iolaus gave a huge, heartfelt sigh of relief, murmuring, "Thank the gods!" when he'd heard the boy describe the other man who had been found. But, at the last bit of information, he frowned. "How does you mother know all this?" he asked.

"She's a servant in the palace. She helped take care of him last night...he was covered with scrapes and bruises, she said. And she saw him again this morning when she went to check to see if he was still sleeping...she was in the hall and heard him talking to the Lady," the lad explained.

Iolaus stood, causing them all to freeze in alarm. "Look," he reassured them again, holding his hands out, his arms wide, "I'm not going to hurt you. But, I have to go to my friend, to make sure he's alright."

The boy who had just arrived shook his head urgently, "No! You can't be seen. The wolves have orders to kill you!"

Iolaus looked at the kid sharply as all that he'd said sunk in. "How do they even know to look for me?" he asked. "And why do they want to kill me?" This didn't make sense. They'd taken Hercules in, cared for him...why would they hunt him?

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I just know the Lady sent them looking for you as soon as she saw the other one...and she told them to kill you if they found you."

'As soon as she saw...' Iolaus thought, and then a light dawned. Whoever the Lady was, she'd recognized the son of Zeus, and knew he travelled with a partner. She wanted Hercules for some reason, but didn't want his partner interfering. Rubbing his chin, he said, "Look, I really have to get to my friend. It doesn't sound like he's safe there. How do I do that?"

The kids looked at one another. "You can't just storm in, that's for sure. There's too many of them, and they'd get you before you got to the palace gates," the oldest boy responded, frowning thoughtfully. "Look, you're going to have to stay hidden here until we can figure something out. We'll try to find out more about your friend...but, you have to promise to stay here, at least until tonight."

Reluctant, but short on facts, unsure of the strength of the enemy, Iolaus nodded. It sounded like Herc wasn't in any immediate danger, so he could afford to take a little time to plan this out, not just barge in like a banshee and get killed for his efforts. "Alright," he agreed. "Until tonight...and then we'll see."

He woke again just before dusk, feeling disoriented and a little ill. His body ached, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. Lifting one hand to push back his hair in a reflexive, unconscious gesture, he stopped, his mouth dropping open as he looked at his arm and hand. This couldn't be right. The arm was covered with dark golden hair, thick, almost like fur, and the nails of his hands looked like claws. Where? What?

He shoved himself up, looking anxiously around the darkened room, wondering again where he was. His mind felt muffled, and he couldn't concentrate. There was something he should do...someone...but he couldn't get it, couldn't remember. His chest was covered with a finer, lighter hair, but still looked more like fur than anything else, and he could see his feet were being to resemble paws.

Shaking his head, trying to clear it, he fought to remember anything, anything at all. His instincts told him that he shouldn't have fur or claws, that this shouldn't be happening. But, it was as if there was a fog just behind his eyes, obscuring everything, who he was, what had happened, leaving him only with a sense of growing anxiety.

When the door opened quietly, letting in a shaft of light from the hall, he growled low in his throat, his muscles tensing. But, when she walked in, he relaxed. He remembered her. The beautiful lady who had helped him. He didn't remember how exactly, it was more a feeling than a memory. He shook his head again, his mind grappling with the need to express itself, knowing it once knew how, but had forgotten the words, leaving him only with sensation, instinct and emotion.

"Ah, you're awake," she said with a smile, reassuring him with her smooth, unhurried movements and calm voice. She was carrying something in her hands, and Hercules heard himself whine a little in hopeful eagerness. He was thirsty, and she had something for him to drink. But, even as he heard the whine, he knew again that something was badly wrong, that he shouldn't be like this.

If only he could remember.

She touched his cheek lightly, gently, as she brought the bowl up toward his face. Eager, he dipped his head, lapping at the warm liquid. It didn't taste very good, but it was wet. "That's it," she crooned to him, stroking his hair. "That's the way, my Hero." Her lips curved in a cold smile, enjoying the joke of the name she'd chosen for him. The potion was working perfectly.

In a few more hours, he'd be more lion than man. Her pet to command as she chose. Pleased, she petted him, as she would a dog, as he slobbered up the remains of the tea. Finished, he looked up at her, blue eyes wide and trusting, growing heavy as the drug took effect.

"You need to rest a while longer," she said softly, as she eased him back down on the bed. He sniffed, liking the smell of her. Everything seemed so vague, and he was so very tired. In moments, he was again deeply asleep.

She stroked his hair which was wild now, more like a mane, pleased with her prize. She'd seen that he was still struggling with his confusion when she'd come in, still sensing that something was amiss. Her lips curved at the word, 'amiss'. It was one way to describe the beast he was becoming...a great golden lion who would lie at her feet, protecting her with his life.

Iolaus paced impatiently during the long day, more than once coming close to breaking his promise to the kids, desperate to find Hercules and make sure he was really okay. The memory loss was probably only temporary...gods, if that's all he'd suffered from that horrific fall and rough journey down the river, it would be a miracle. And, the palace would have a healer, who could probably offer better care than Iolaus could. Nevertheless, Iolaus wouldn't be able to relax until he'd seen Hercules for himself. It still seemed almost too much to believe that his buddy could have survived that ghastly fall, and then what had to have been a bone wrenching, terrifying ride down the river rapids and over the waterfall.

And, a day of rest wouldn't hurt Iolaus either. Though he wouldn't admit it, ever, he'd depleted all of his energy reserves, leaving himself tattered and exhausted, just in getting this far. There were hunters out there, part wolf, part men, who were stalking him, and he'd need to be in fighting form when he finally confronted them. His muscles ached, and so did his head, less urgent now, more a dull throb, but whichever of the kids had hit him had packed a powerful wallop. It was something to consider. They looked like children, but their animal nature lent them strength greater than normal. It meant the adults would likely be stronger than ordinary mortals as well.

He'd heard deep, rough voices a couple of times during the day as unseen beings stalked through the forest beyond the clearing around the small stable. The wolves were still hunting him, the Lady determined to ensure the big man's partner had not survived to find his way to the hidden island world she'd created. But, it had not occurred to them he'd be hiding in a building right on the edge of the huts and cottages of the goats. The wolves preferred to live in caves further back in the forest. So, they passed within twenty feet of him, on their way in or out of the forest between the settlement and the lakeshore.

It was late in the afternoon when one scouting group loped back to the palace, anxious to share their news. He'd heard their excited whines as they'd passed, the occasional eerie howl of the hunt, and it chilled his blood. It wasn't hard to figure out what had gotten them so excited. They must have found the remains of his fire. He hadn't tried to hide his presence, hadn't covered his tracks, though he knew he wouldn't have left much of a trail as he'd followed the kids through the forest. But, he had no way of knowing what kind of trace they'd left once they'd captured him and half carried, half dragged him here. It could only be a matter of time before they traced him here, putting together the small hoof marks around and over his prints with this kid's playhouse. Fortunately, the light was going again, the sky darkened by heavy storm clouds so they wouldn't be able to head out again tonight...and with luck, heavy rains would come, washing away all trace of his passing, prints and scent alike.

The thunder was rumbling in the distance, and it was almost completely dark by the time the kids came again. They smuggled along what food that they could, more apples, some raw carrots and lettuce leaves, a couple of hunks of bread and a wedge of cheese along with a very welcome flask of water. Feeling as if he was starving, he gratefully accepted the gifts, considering it a feast, as he first drank then munched, while questioning them at the same time.

"So," he asked, anxious for information, "do you know how my friend is doing? Have you got some ideas on how to sneak me closer to the palace?"

The kids looked at one another, their expressions closed, avoiding his eyes. Frowning, he felt a chill of apprehension. "What?" he demanded softly, almost afraid to ask. "What don't you want to tell me? Herc's alright isn't he?"

It was the boy who'd told them yesterday that Hercules had been found who finally lifted his soft brown eyes to Iolaus', biting his lip as he tried to think of how to explain what was happening. It was hard because he didn't really understand it himself, just that it had something to do with the power of the Lady. It was his mother who worked as the upstairs servant in the palace, and who had shared the information with her family at dinner that night. She was sorrowful, knowing that what was happening wasn't natural, and that the Lady meant to make the stranger a slave of sorts. Just as she enslaved all of them, binding them to her will.

Deeply worried, Iolaus had moved to grip the kid's shoulder, as he fought back his sense of panic. Gods, Hercules had to be alright. He'd been fine this morning, just confused. What could have happened since then to worry the kids so much, to make them afraid to tell him what was happening. If something had happened, if someone had hurt him, while Iolaus had cowered within the safety of the stable all the long day, the blond warrior would never forgive himself. "Come on," he urged, his voice a little shaky, "I promise I won't hurt you, but I have to know. Has something happened to my friend?"

When the kids all nodded silently, Iolaus felt fear fill his chest, crushing his heart and driving the air from his lungs. "Tell me," he said, resisting the urge to shake the kid in his desperate need to know.

Taking a steadying breath, the boy said uncertainly, "He's changing...he's not the same as he was."

'Herc's still alive,' Iolaus thought with a sigh of profound relief. So long as his friend was alive, nothing else really mattered. They'd deal with whatever injuries he had. But, the kid's words were odd. 'Changing'? "What do you mean, he's 'not the same'?" Iolaus asked, wondering if Hercules had slipped deeper into unconsciousness, once again feeling the fear twine through his gut.

Licking his lips, the boy looked at the older of the two girls. She nodded encouragingly, so he turned back to face this strange being they had found in the forest, still more than half convinced he was a god, no matter what he might tell them. "The Lady has a magic potion. It's how she made us, and the wolves. She puts it into our food. We don't know what it is, only that we must eat it or die. She's...well, she's been giving the potion to your friend."

Iolaus' eyes narrowed, and he rubbed a hand unconsciously over his mouth, surprised that the kids knew they weren't a natural occurrence, but the result of magic. But, this thought was just something that passed over the surface of his mind, hardly noticed, as he grappled with the thought that she was using the stuff on his best friend.

Making him change.

Steeling himself for the answer, his voice tight with worry, he asked quietly, "How is he changing?"

"He's becoming some kind of beast," the kid said very softly, afraid of what this being might do to him for being the bearer of these tidings.

Iolaus swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, and forced himself to breathe. "What kind of beast?" he asked, his voice hollow.

The kid shrugged. "My mother said it was hard to tell at this point. He has golden fur, and paws with claws. He might be turning into a wolf, or maybe some beast that we haven't ever seen except in pictures ... a lion maybe."

The girl added in a quiet voice, "And, mama says he can't talk anymore...he just whines or growls."

"Oh gods," Iolaus swore softly, his voice cracking as he turned away, wanting to deny this could be possible. "How do I change him back?" he asked then, afraid that maybe he couldn't...afraid that Herc had been changed beyond recovery.

"We're never certain," came a voice that made him whirl around, "but we do know that if the potion is stopped, the body returns to its normal state...if the person doesn't die first."

It was an adult goat person, a woman. From the looks on the faces of the kids, and the meaningful glance that she gave the two older ones, it was fairly clear that this was their mother, the servant from the palace.

Iolaus backed up a step, wondering if he should just run. She'd likely give him away, and if she screamed out, the wolves wouldn't be long coming. She caught the wary look in his eyes, and raised one hand. "It's alright, I'm not going to cause you trouble," she said reassuringly. "But, I'd like to know who you are."

"Iolaus," he replied, licking his lips, "my name is Iolaus, and the man in the palace is my friend, Hercules."

She nodded as she again looked down at the children, realizing they were all in danger for harbouring this fugitive from the wolves. Everyone on the island knew by now that they were hunting this being, the Lady furious when she learned they'd found traces of his presence, but not the man himself. "My name is Shanda, and these two miscreants are my children, Brione and Lonny. These others belong to the neighbours," she continued, pointing them out in turn, "Mira, Trone, Arrie and Kori."

Iolaus was chagrined to realize that up until then he hadn't learned the names of the kids. He nodded in acknowledgement, as he asked quietly, "How did you know I was here?"

"Lonny, here, was asking too many questions about the stranger, and both of them weren't as sneaky as they thought when they spirited out the food and the flask of water. I wondered what they were up to, what game they were playing now, and followed them here," she explained. "It's dangerous for you to be here...dangerous for them to be helping you." There was a slight edge of accusation in her voice, as if she were chiding him for using the children for his own purposes.

He winced a little, acknowledging that that was exactly what he'd been doing. He couldn't very well explain that they'd started it, by capturing him in the first place. It would sound childish. "I'm sorry," he said, accepting the criticism. "I didn't think I had a whole of choices once I knew the wolves were hunting me...and I had to have some way of finding out about my friend. You've seen him...is he alright?" He frowned knowing it was probably a stupid question, knowing Hercules was being turned into some kind of beast, but he couldn't help himself.

There was a plaintive, bordering on frightened note in his voice that caught at her heart. Reassuringly, she nodded, "For now. He's recovering from his injuries, which were not serious, and he's been sleeping a great deal as a result of the strength and amount of the potion she's been giving him. She seems to want him healthy...if changed. I have the impression that she knows who he is. Is that possible?"

Iolaus nodded, "Yeah, I had that impression, too, when she sent the wolves out to hunt me as soon as she saw him. Herc and I, well, we travel together and he's pretty well known outside of this valley."

"Can we help them, Mama?" the girl asked, looking from Iolaus to her mother. Because, that's what this was about...trying to figure out a way for this one to help the other one, to save him from the Lady.

Startled, her mother was about to refuse, when she paused and thought about it. She looked at Iolaus, trying to judge him in the dim light, trying to determine what manner of being he really was. Strong, to have made it this far. Determined. He hadn't hurt the kids, and he seemed to deeply care about his friend. She made out the sword at his hip...a warrior, then. He was another being, like the Lady. Might he also have wondrous powers? Could he be trusted? She was undecided. The risks were very great.

"Look, I don't want to put anyone into any danger on our account," Iolaus said firmly, raising his hands, shaking his head a little at the child. "I just need some idea of how to get into the palace, and of how to find him when I do."

"You are only one," the female pointed out to him. "How could you hope to best the wolves guarding the palace?"

Shrugging, Iolaus had to admit, "I'm not sure yet, I need to know how many there are, and how well armed and trained they are. I suspect that they are not seasoned warriors, not trained as professional soldiers, so it shouldn't be too hard to deal with them." His voice was matter-of-fact, confident. The wolves did not frighten him, and she marvelled at that.

It was that that decided her. This might be the only chance they'd have to free themselves from the Lady's power over them, and from the terror the wolves posed to the less aggressive goat people. "Some of us can help you," she said, straightening her shoulders, steeling herself against her fear. "But, you need to give me a little time to make the arrangements."

Surprised, Iolaus studied her. "Why would you do that?" he asked.

She laid a hand on the shoulders of her children as she explained quietly. "The Lady made us what we are, and she holds the power of life and death over us. She determines who will serve, who will cook, who will till the land and harvest, who will build and who will care for the gardens and forest. We are her slaves... and, when she feels like it, we are her dinner. It is not a good way to live. She will fight you, and to free your friend, you will need to defeat her as well as the wolves. But, like her, you must be a god, and I have to believe your powers are the best chance we have of being free of her."

Shaking his head, Iolaus protested, "I'm no god. I'm only mortal. But, I will do what I can to free you from her dominance."

"What is a mortal?" she asked curious, firmly believing this was just some other word for god. Perhaps a different kind of god.

Iolaus sighed as he explained briefly, "A mortal is someone who eventually dies, whether of injury, illness or old age."

She shrugged, the definition having little meaning for her. All things died, so maybe even gods died eventually. "It doesn't matter," she said thoughtfully, her mind racing over all the things she would need to accomplish. "I know my husband will help, and my sister is a cook in the palace kitchen. We cannot stop the Lady from giving your friend the potion, because she is controlling that herself. But...the rest of us receive it in our food. The wolves eat meat," she shuddered, and Iolaus didn't dare ask what kind of meat, "so we could refrain from giving them their portion of the mixture tomorrow. It may weaken them, confuse them to some extent."

Iolaus was reluctant to wait so long to get to Hercules. "Couldn't you just help me find a way into the palace tonight?" he asked, his desperate concern for his friend reflecting from his eyes in the dim light that filtered in from outside.

But, she shook her head tightly. "I will trust you, but you must also trust me. It will take another day for us to become ready. By this time tomorrow night, the wolves will have missed two portions...not enough to render them wild, but enough to make communication between them and with the Lady difficult. My husband works in the fields, and he will be able to get others to help us, but he'll need the day to talk with them, and to fashion weapons, however crude they might be."

"A day?" Iolaus really didn't want to wait that long. His grip tightened on his sword, wanting to do nothing so much as storm that damned palace and get Herc out of there. But, he was a stranger in a very strange land. He had no idea yet who the 'Lady' was, or of what other powers she might wield. "How many wolves are there?"

"More than fifty," she replied.

His shoulders sagged. Twenty, maybe even thirty he might have considered taking on by himself. But fifty? Even his confidence didn't stretch that far. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing as he capitulated with a short nod of reluctant agreement. He wouldn't do Herc any good if he got himself killed before he could rescue his friend. From the sounds of things, Hercules didn't have any awareness of who he was or that he even needed to be rescued.

There was a sharp flash of lightning, and thunder rumbled heavily overhead. He could hear the hard patter of rain on the wooden roof of the shed. Well, there was at least that much good news. The rain would wash away his tracks, making it that much safer for him to hide another day.

Hurriedly, she gathered the children to her, preparing to dash through the rain to the shelter of their homes. "Wait here, do not venture outside or let anyone else see you. We'll bring you fresh water in the morning." And, with that, she was gone, trusting him to heed the wisdom of her words. The being seemed not a fool so she hoped he'd curb his impatience for a little while longer.

Iolaus stood back from the partially propped open door, hidden well in the shadows, as he watched them hurry across the open ground toward the buildings that began about fifty feet away. They looked innocent enough, a mother coming after her kids, bringing them in from the storm. He marvelled that the young ones had successfully spirited him into this broken down stable cum playhouse, and assumed it could have only been because all the adults who lived nearby were away at work during the daylight hours.

His eyes lifted to where he could see the upper spires of the palace, gleaming white in the fractured light of the storm. He swallowed, thinking about Hercules being caught there, so close and yet still so out of reach. He felt a surge of anxiety when he thought about how his friend was being changed by that damned goddess' potion. Gods, he had to believe the female had been right...that the effects would wear off with time. He wouldn't even consider that the potion could be deadly to Hercules. Not after all this, not after he'd already survived so much.

"Hold on, buddy," he whispered, his voice a promise and a prayer. "It won't be much longer."

Circe was well pleased when she checked on her guest that night. He'd been disturbed by the thunder, crouching by the side of the bed as he watched the lightning streak across the sky beyond the window. His head turned sharply when she entered, again with that low growl of warning before he caught her scent and recognized her. But, when he saw that she carried food, and more water, he eagerly moved to her side, in an awkward crawl, not yet the smooth gait of a fourlegged animal.

She set the bowls on the floor, and twined her fingers in his mane as he gulped up the food. By dawn, the transformation would be complete and no one would ever suspect that this great, golden lion had once been the demigod, Hercules. It pleased her, to know that she had done this to the son of Zeus, that sanctimonious brother of the overbearing God of the Sea, Poseidon. Between them, they'd exiled her for her part in retrieving the shell containing Hercules' body from the floor of the ocean. Poseidon, in fury, because she'd betrayed him, thwarted his will. Zeus because she'd not done more to help his stricken son, leaving him as good as dead on the beach.

No longer able to stay in her beloved sea, but not safe on the land so long as Zeus or the other gods under his sway could notice her, she'd searched for a place of her own. A place remote from mortals, a place with water to remind her of the sea. She'd found this island, populated only by wild goats and wolves, and had transformed it into her own little empire. Her grip tightened a little unconsciously as she remembered there was still one threat out there. The golden-haired warrior who'd called her that night, who had tempted her to this exile. She loathed him, and wanted him dead. Needed him dead if her secret was to be maintained...because he knew what she looked like. The demigod's partner, Iolaus, would remember her and would recognize her immediately.

The mortal had to die.

The beast at her feet tugged away a little from the way she was gripping his mane, pulling at it. He sensed her anger, and whined a little, wondering if he'd done something to cause it. Not that he thought in words anymore, just feelings and sensations, assessing his environment for threat or security. She was the only one he knew, the one who fed him and cared for him. He belonged to her in some way he couldn't express to himself, merely understood to be his reality.

But, deep within, the beast felt a loss, a keening for something or someone who wasn't there. Though he wasn't always aware of it, when other distractions, or hunger took his attention, it was always there, a part of his being. It made him restless and anxious.

And, that made him dangerous.

Iolaus kept his part of the bargain, remaining caged in the little, shabby stable, growing to loathe its confining boundaries. The female had brought him water that morning, assuring him of her husband's agreement to enlist others to their side, but he'd seen no one else all day. She'd obviously commanded the kids to stay away from him.

He thought about what they were going to do that night, and he realized that inadvertantly, he was the catalyst for a revolution on this little island in the back of nowhere. The goats were desperate for their freedom, desperate to be free of the Lady's malice and the threat of the meat-eating wolves. He wondered if that meant they'd have to kill all the wolf-people...and that idea bothered him. He'd had no evidence yet that they were any more innately evil that their wild counterpart, and he had a healthy respect for wolves as creatures of intelligence and community. He didn't want to slaughter them for no reason other than that they were what they were. It wouldn't be right.

But, he also knew the wolves were cast in the role of enemy in the drama to be played out once the sun had set. Iolaus wondered if they, too, chafed under the 'Lady's' control. If so, there might be a chance to turn some of them once the fighting had ended. He was so deep in thought that he almost missed the slight snuffle on the other side of the flimsy wooden wall toward the end of the long afternoon. Freezing in place, he tilted his head, listening for any other sound.

And, then it came. The soft splash as something moved steathily through one of the puddles left from last night's storm. The slight sucking as feet lifted from the mud. One moving closely behind another. He eased his sword out of its sheath, and stealthily moved back into the shelter of the stall away from the door. It wasn't much, but it would limit their movements, keep them from being able to get behind him. Because he knew they were coming, that his refuge had been discovered.

Watching the patch of light from the door just beyond the end of the stall, he saw the shadows enter silently, two of them, walking upright then dropping once they were inside. He held his sword out in front of him as he waited, holding his breath so that they would not know for sure that he was there, only that he had been from the scent they had picked up.

Two could be a problem he thought. While he held off one, the other could race for reinforcements. Biting his lip, he considered his options, wondering if he could reason with them, deciding not to count on that. He shifted his weight, ready to move as soon as he saw the first wolf at the edge of the stall. The shadows prowled closer, making very little sound. He was impressed with their caution and their skill as silent hunters.

As soon as he saw the head begin to appear around the end of the barricade separating his stall from the one next to the door, he made his move. The timing was perfect. Just as the wolf's head came fully around, and the beast had started to growl, Iolaus brought down the flat of his sword hard on the creature's skull, stunning the wolf-man, as he leapt forward and then dropped, rolling to the side, putting himself closer to the door. As he rolled to his feet, the other wolf-man, shocked into a moment's immobility, had spun on his haunches and was leaping at Iolaus' throat.

He brought his sword up just in time, impaling the beast as it lunged toward him, but its weight bore him to the ground, and it wasn't killed instantly. Furious with pain and anger at having been outwitted by this creature, the wolf-man slashed with his claws, raking through the leather of one leg, drawing deep gouges in the skin, and leaving a trail of claw marks across the man's chest. Twisting on the sword, the wolf-man tried for a grip with its deadly teeth, shifting to try to reach the man's throat, but only able to tear the skin along his shoulder before the numbness and darkness of his injury overcame him, his life force spent.

Iolaus scrambled out from under the wolf-man's body, tugging his sword free, only too well aware that the other beast was stirring, growling with a low promise of retribution. The creature shook his head, trying to clear it, as he turned to face this intruder from beyond their island. He saw that this one was much smaller than the one they had found on the beach, but the smell of blood and the inertness of his partner left him in no doubt of this man's capacity to kill. Yellow eyes blazed with hatred and a desire for vengeance as he began to stalk Iolaus.

"Look," Iolaus said, trying for some kind of truce as he held his sword defensively in front of him, "I don't want to hurt you. I've come to get my friend...the man you found on the beach the other night. I'll fight you if you make me, but couldn't we talk about it first?"

"Talk...no," rumbled the beast, his words coming slow. "Orders...kill..." he snarled as he stalked closer, warily watching the sword in Iolaus' hands. The wolf-man shook his head again, trying to clear it. Even before the hard blow from the sword, he'd been feeling increasingly confused, muddled. Thoughts came hard, and words harder. But, he knew his duty. The Lady wanted this one dead.

Iolaus shook his head once tightly, as he mumbled, "Have it your way." He held his place between the beast and the door, not wanting to risk the wolf-man getting away from him. The being had to be at least as big as he was, probably heavier and stronger. The half man, half wolf had stood to its full height for a moment, but then dropped again, stalking from side to side, edging closer, looking for a weakness, waiting for Iolaus' concentration to falter. The growl was constant now, rumbling in his throat as he grew frustrated, wanting only to sink his teeth and claws into this enemy.

Iolaus was worried about the noise the creature was making, worried that it might draw the attention of others. He had to end this, and end it quickly. Lowering his sword a little, as if it was heavy and he was tired, shifting to favour the leg that had been clawed, giving the impression of weakness, he faked out the wolf-man. As the sword dropped, and Iolaus shifted a bit to the side, the being leapt for his throat. Expecting the move, prepared for it, Iolaus twisted away, dropping as he moved to one knee, bringing his sword up to slash horizontally, catching the throat of the wolf-man who had been unable to stop his lunge once he'd left the ground. The beast twisted a little in the air, raking his claws along Iolaus' arm, but the sword had done its work, and with blood spurting from his grievous wound, the wolf-man dropped like a stone, already dead when he hit the ground.

Iolaus stood silently, staring down at the two creatures he'd just killed. Not quite animals, not quite men. He bit his lip as he lowered his head, looking away for a moment in sorrow for what he'd had to do, the tip of his bloody sword resting on the ground. Sighing, beginning to feel the sting of his own wounds, he turned back, and kneeling, he ripped material from the wolf-man's shirt. First, he wiped his weapon and put it away. Then, he inspected his arm, chest and leg, unable to see much of the teeth gouges on his left shoulder near his neck. Relieved, he found that all of the wounds were shallow, tearing the skin but scarcely touching muscle, and easily staunched. He needed to rip more cloth from the other creature's shirt before he was done, but it sufficed. Once he was finished, he dragged the bodies into the far stall so that no one who looked into the shed casually would see them. Then, he kicked straw over the puddles of blood on the earthen floor.

With a look of weary disgust around the filthy shed, he hoped he wouldn't get any infection. Unfortunately, he'd finished off the last of his water an hour before, so he could do nothing to clean the wounds. Later. He'd take care of them later.

Hero paced the room, feeling increasingly caged, increasingly anxious. His mind could not shape the words, but his heart, and his soul, knew that something was badly wrong. Frustrated, he could remember nothing beyond this room, at least, not when he was awake. His dreams were different, populated with two legged creatures, a sound his heart knew as laughter, flames and fear. He remembered a colour from his dreams that he couldn't name and did not see in this room. There were scattered images in his dreams of one creature in particular, one he associated with that colour, whose fur was bright gold and only grew on his head, who had brilliant eyes the colour of the sky outside at dusk, deep and warm. Sometimes he imagined he could even smell the creature, but again he didn't have the words to describe the smell...yet, it haunted his memory. There were sounds, too, in the dream, voices he couldn't understand, though he'd know the sounds again if he heard them.

The dreams woke him often during the night, sometimes with a start of fear, feeling as if he was falling from a great height, sometimes with a deep ache of missing something, someone. Regardless, he'd get up and pace, back and forth, moving with the sinuous grace of the lion he had become, until he became too tired to stand and laid back down. Only to dream again.

Once in a while, two legged creatures would come to see him. Some were small, with pointy things on their heads, and large eyes that looked at him with something he didn't recognize, but which intensified his sense of danger. Not that they regarded him with any kind of threat, more as if they understood what tormented him, and grieved for it. He turned away from these creatures, unable to bear the look in their eyes.

The other one was different. She came the most often, bringing him food to staunch his hunger and liquid, always a bit sour and bitter, to slake his thirst. She talked to him softly, stroking his fur, scratching behind his ears, until he'd purr for her. With her, he noticed something he didn't understand. When she spoke, he understood some sense of her words, though he could not retain them. Gradually, though, as the hours and days passed, he came to understand that he belonged to her. His mind told him that was good, because she brought food and drink. But, his heart quivered at her touch, not wanting it. It confused him. He didn't understand what was happening, where he was or why. He just was.

Finally, as the light grew again in the sky beyond the wall that confined him, she came again, bringing meat and drink. But, this time, she did not leave alone. This time, she went to the door and called to him, waving a hand before her. He rose on his haunches, his head tilted trying to understand. "Come," she called again. "Come, Hero!" Finally, understanding, he glided to her side and followed her out of the room into the bright hall beyond.

Freedom! He didn't have the word, but he felt the concept. He was no longer caged.

When they came for him just after the sun had set, he was waiting impatiently, eager to be done with it. He needed to get to Hercules, needed to restore him if he could. Desperate to know how his friend was, to rescue him from the peculiar prison in which he'd been locked.

They froze when they saw him, appalled by the ugly wounds on his chest, arm and neck. "What happened?" Shanda gasped, looking quickly around as if she expected wolves to leap upon them at any moment.

Iolaus raised a calming hand. "It's alright," he assured her. "The wounds are only superficial. Two wolves found me and tried to corner me in here...but, the hunters ending up being hunted. Their bodies are back there." A tilt of his head indicated the stall behind him, as he looked with curiosity at the male who had come with her.

Catching his look, the male stepped forward, holding out his hand. "I am Wim, Shanda's mate. There are twenty friends of mine waiting for us, between here and the palace. We don't have much in the way of weapons, tools mostly, but we're ready to stand with you."

Iolaus studied the goat-man who spoke so calmly, with a quiet strength and determination, and found he liked what he saw. He gave the man an engaging grin as he clapped him on the shoulder. "That's great news. Thank you. I know the courage that it takes to face down the wolves and the 'Lady' of the island. But, it will be alright. No one is going to stop me from getting to my friend."

Shanda reached out then and touched his arm lightly, hesitantly. When he turned to her, he saw troubled eyes, shadowed with compassion. "Your friend...he's fully a lion now," she said quietly. "The potion affects the mind, the memories. He may not know you."

Iolaus looked away as he thought about that. Shaking his head, he turned back to her, a confident light burning in his eyes. "He'll know me...I'd stake my life on it," he said, his voice strong, brooking no argument.

Wim and Shanda said nothing but their steady gaze told him that his life was exactly what was at stake, as were theirs. She turned to a bag she'd dropped in surprise when she'd seen his wounds, picking it up and pulling clothing out of it...a long cloak that would cover him and a hat that would obscure his unusual golden curls and cover the fact that he didn't have horns. "Put these on," she directed. "They will keep the wolves from studying you too closely as we move through the village. We're going to enter the palace through the kitchen area. Some of our friends are already there, waiting for us."

Iolaus pulled the cloak around him and yanked the hat down low on his head, leaving his face in shadow. Win nodded and without another word, turned and headed out into the night, Shanda behind him and Iolaus following close. They did not talk as they walked at a sedate pace, in the open, not trying to conceal themselves, so that none would think their behaviour odd. As they walked, others joined them for a few paces, nodding in a friendly fashion, then either moved ahead at a more rapid pace, as if they were in a hurry to get home, or to work in the palace, while others dropped back, sauntering at a more relaxed pace.

Iolaus marvelled at their apparent stoic calm. They had to be terrified, facing a deadly conflict for the first time in their experience. But, they continued, steadfast, with no hesitation. As they moved through the little village, he noted the well maintained cottages of whitewashed wood and thatch, the gardens of vegetables and flowers, the swept paths. There was a sense of order and peace. He hoped it would be the same when the dawn came, and that the new day's sun would see them still at peace, not locked in bloody battle with the wolves.

He eyed the wolves warily as he passed. Some appeared to be on patrol, others on sentry at various locations in the village, more of them as they came closer to the palace. Shanda carried a basket of vegetables, and Wim had a box of tools. If they were stopped, their story was that they were bringing supplies to the palace kitchen and that Wim was going to take the opportunity to fix a few of the chairs that needed attention. Wim would nonchalently nod his head at Iolaus, indicating that his friend was coming along to help. A simple story, and one it turned out they had no need of. Shanda was well known as a servant of the palace and Wim was respected as one of the leaders of the goat community. It would never have occurred to the wolves to consider them potential threats. It was more likely that the sun would be blue in the morning than that such a thought would even arise in their minds.

It seemed it took no time at all to travel the short distance to their destination. Iolaus could feel his heart pounding in anticipation, and he surreptitiously wiped his hands on his cloak, to ensure they stayed dry, not causing any slip with the sword when it was needed. When they entered the kitchens, he looked around and saw a well maintained, well stocked large room, with a square table in the middle, laden with breads and fruits, a massive hearth in which a stew or soup simmered, cupboards and shelves of pots, pitchers, plates, mugs and goblets. The room was brightly lit with what seemed a hundred candles in sconces around the walls, mirrors reflecting back the light.

There were perhaps fifteen goat people waiting there, and more entered behind them every few minutes, until there were thirty beings in the large chamber. They all watched Iolaus silently, acknowledging his leadership, waiting for his instructions.

"Is this everyone?" the hunter asked Wim, who looked around and nodded, pleased to see that others had also elected to join them in this quest for freedom. They carried hatchets and axes, hammers and pitchforks. The women had knives and cleavers...and looked like they knew how to use them. They'd worn their heaviest clothing, to protect them from the slashing claws of the wolves. They were as ready as people who did not know how to fight could possibly be. For his part, Iolaus shed his cloak and hat, to give him more freedom of movement.

Moved by their resolute courage, Iolaus spoke quietly, outlining how he hoped the next hour would go. He would go with Wim and five others directly to the salon overlooking the gardens and the lake, where he had already been informed the Lady was taking her ease. Typically, there would be between five and seven wolf guards with her, and more within calling distance. Iolaus deployed another ten to move back outside, to make their way back to the gardens where they could lie in wait. Once the wolves from outside made their move to support the Lady in the salon, they were to move in, so that the wolves would be trapped between the two forces. The remaining fifteen, he deployed to move through the halls, watching for wolves, to call out a warning if need be, to converge upon the other beings, holding them hostage if possible.

"I'm hoping we won't have to kill many of the wolves," he explained, and was immediately confronted by protests of fear and disagreement. Holding up his hands, he waited until they quietened and explained, "They are victims of her magic and dominance as much as you are. The potion has been withheld from them, so they will likely be disorganized and confused. If we can overcome them, and defeat her, there will be no reason for them to attack us. I'm hoping that when this is all over the wolves and the goats will find a peaceful way to live together on this island. Trust me...they will give us less resistance if they don't feel threatened."

The goat people exchanged dark looks, not altogether convinced the wolves could ever be easy neighbours, let alone easily captured and subdued. But, they would do their best. Convinced that Iolaus was a god, they trusted him and would follow him. Had he known that this was why they complied with his directions so quietly, with so little resistance or fear, he'd have been less willing to involve them. He would not have wanted any to sacrifice themselves on such a false belief. But, he didn't know. So, the plan progressed.

Just before they moved to their respective posts, Iolaus asked if anyone knew where his friend was. "With her," one of the kitchen maids answered. "In the salon."

"Good," Iolaus murmured, glad he'd not have to search the palace for his friend. With a sharp nod, he issued his final instructions. "Be careful, take no unnecessary risks. I don't want anyone to try to be a hero...that's my job. Pair up and watch your partner's back, so that neither of you can be surprised by someone coming at you from behind. Move quietly, to surprise them, but when you make your move, scream and shout, make as much noise as possible, to confuse and overwhelm them. We're going to do this...we're going to win. Have no doubts about that. Now, are there any questions? Is everyone ready?"

They nodded silently back. "Good luck then," he wished them, and turned to Wim, to signal that it was time to move. Some melted back into the night, while others split away, heading out other entrances, down other passages into the heart of the palace. Wim led him and those with them down the long palace corridors toward the salon.

Wim held up a hand, and pointed toward the entrance to a chamber not ten feet further along the hall. Iolaus nodded and moved forward silently, like a ghost. Easing to the edge of the entrance, he took a quick look into the room and spotted six wolves around the walls, standing idly, obviously bored. She was sitting on a low couch, her back to him, facing the wide doors leading out into the garden. He didn't see Hercules. Easing back, he turned to his followers, holding up his hand to signal five, and then raised one finger to signal six. They nodded, solemn and alert, tense, ready for whatever might come, so much as they could imagine it.

The battle, once it was joined, didn't last very long. The wolves, as Iolaus had found with the two he'd fought earlier, were untrained and unskilled. They'd relied on intimidation to keep the goats in line, and the goats, naturally peaceful, had never caused them any trouble. The small band of revolutionaries stormed into the salon, screaming and yelling their heads off. Iolaus moved like a miniature whirlwind, disarming, disabling and when necessary, killing the wolves that came at them. When more poured in from the garden outside, his followers were ready for them, holding them at bay with pitchforks, threatening with hatchets and cleavers.

Iolaus called out as he fought, "Surrender to us...you cannot win. Surrender and we will not hurt you." He dodged the swiping claw of one wolf, rolling and coming up behind the creature, confusing it. He clipped its head hard with the pommel of his sword, knocking the surprised creature out cold. Rolling again, under a wolf that leaped at, and over him, he swept up his sword, severely wounding the beast. It dropped, howling to the marble floor. Another came at him, and another. But, they were disorganized, not thinking clearly, confused. Their movements were awkward, off balance. Iolaus flipped up and over one of the beasts, confusing as he kicked out, catching the other along the jaw and felling it. Whirling, he elbowed the beast behind him, driving it back, then whipped around, bringing the flat of his sword down on its head, knocking it cold.

Circe had twisted around sharply at the first battle cry, shocked to see the much hunted blond warrior spinning into the room, followed by bleating, screaming goat people, who waved their weapons threateningly. She locked her fist in the mane of the lion that sprawled at her feet, cursing her inability to strike down these intruders with the magic she'd drawn upon while in the sea. She needed the ocean, needed the subtle currents and energies, needed the power of the sea and without it, she could do little but create potions and cast simple spells. But, she could not remain in the water, though it was the domain she longed to be. All lakes flowed into rivers, all rivers flowed into the sea...and Poseidon would have sensed her presence, would have tracked her down.

In minutes, the battle, such as it was, was over. She stood and turned to fully face Iolaus and for the first time, he got a good look at her. "By the gods, Circe!" he exclaimed recognizing the witch he'd fondly hoped never to see again.

He knew her...as she'd known he would. "You've done well to come this far, Iolaus," she crooned, her voice a limpid shadow of the magic and music she could weave in the sea. "But, you will go no further."

"It's over, Circe. I don't know why you're here, or what you're up to, but it's done. You can't control or terrorize these beings anymore," Iolaus told her quietly, his eyes scanning the room, wondering where Herc was. They'd said he was here.

She smiled at him, as her fingers gripped the mane of the beast he couldn't see over the back of the couch. "Yes, it is over," she agreed, then she cried, with a yank on the mane of the lion and a sweeping gesture toward Iolaus, "KILL HIM!"

Understanding the command, though he had no awareness of how, the mighty golden beast roared as he leaped over the back of the couch knocking it over, lunging toward whatever she wanted destroyed. The lion hit the floor and leapt again, covering the distance between him and his quarry with a blinding speed and power. The beast only had time to register something, like a blur, a colour...

Iolaus' eyes widened as he saw the lion leap toward him, and understood this was Hercules. He dropped his sword, to ensure that he would not injure his friend, even in defensive reflex. He held out his arms, hands up in a halting gesture, as he cried out over the roar of the beast flying at him, "HERCULES, NO!"

The lion hit him hard, massive paws ploughing into his chest driving him back to land hard on the floor, the beast poised above him, one massive paw on his chest, holding him down. The lion roared out its fury and domination over this small, two legged one and Iolaus shouted desperately, "HERC, STOP... PLEASE!"

Without seeming to hear him, the huge golden lion lowered his head, jaws gaping, intent upon tearing out his victim's throat. Iolaus pressed his hands against the beast's face, pushing back, not to hurt, but to restrain. But, his strength was no match for a raging lion with the power of a demigod. The beast's jaws were poised over his throat, and with a sinking, desperate, hopeless rasp, Iolaus tried once more, thinking it was likely his last breath, "Herc...please, buddy...no!"

No one moved in the salon, all frozen by the desperate tableau before them, the drama of life and death being played out between the lion who had once been a man, and the man, who had once been his best friend.

The massive jaws came down over the vulnerable throat beneath them, the sharp, jagged teeth grazing Iolaus' skin, and the warrior shuddered to know he couldn't stop this, sickened by what the knowledge of this act would do to Hercules, wondering if his friend would ever now be restored to his own being. His fingers twisted in the lion's mane, feeling the sharp teeth around his throat, as he breathed out in a sigh, a prayer, "Herc..."

The lion paused, shattered images and sensations ripping through his mind. The colour, the colour he had seen in his dreams. The voice, the word, 'Herc', and most of all, the smell of this being, arrested his motion. Pulling his massive head back, the blue eyes of the lion bored into the blue eyes of the man, puzzled, confused, seeing the golden hair, seeing the face from his dreams. Sniffing again to be sure, the huge beast growled low in his throat. And, then, he felt something break inside, the feeling of something being lost, of missing someone unknown, was gone, replaced by a surge of almost overwhelming recognition. Emotions the lion could not recognize bubbled through his heart and mind, a feeling of kinship, and a need to protect this vulnerable being.

In some way he didn't understand, and couldn't express, he knew this two legged one belonged to him!

And, not even for the one who had fed and cared for him, would he harm this one that he held captive beneath his paw.

Silence reigned in the salon, the goat-people awed by the lion's restraint, by the way it had stopped it's attack at the man's command. The wolves watched, confused and uncertain. And, Circe watched her pet pull back from the kill with disbelief, knowing the lion could not possibly have any conscious memories of the man he held at his mercy on the marble floor. But, her shock lasted only a moment, overridden by her desperate need to have done with this intrepid blond warrior, to have him destroyed before he could reveal her presence to the gods.

In a rage, Circe flew around the couch, shrieking at the lion to kill the man. Taking advantage of their stunned distraction, she shoved at one of the goat people, tearing the hatchet from the female's hand. Moving with swift resolution, she lunged toward the lion and his captive, intent upon killing the man herself if need be. It was Iolaus and Iolaus alone who threatened her now. If he died, she'd still be safe here.

Alerted by her enraged cry, Iolaus saw her coming over his buddy's shoulder, his eyes widening in horror in the belief that she was going to attack Hercules with the hatchet. Frantic, he shoved at his friend's deep chest, pushing at the leg that still held him down, yelling, "Lookout! Behind you!"

Sensing the fear, the urgency, understanding somehow that there was danger threatening, the lion whirled with a maddened roar, facing down the screaming harridan, standing between her and the one on the floor. Frightened, Circe stopped and backed up, scarcely believing that this creature of her creation could be turning on her. Head lowered, eyes blazing, the lion began to stalk her, and she took another step back, holding out a hand, as if to ward off his attack, her other hand, still clutching the cleaver, raised to strike if need be.

Iolaus scooped up his sword as he rose to his feet, moving to stand beside the lion, his sword in one hand, the other twisted in the lion's mane, holding him back. "It's done, Circe," the hunter said quietly. "It's over."

She looked from him to the lion and back. Then her eyes swept the room, seeing the resolution where before there had only been submission in the eyes of the goat people. He was right. It was over. Turning back to Iolaus, lowering the cleaver, she cursed him. "You are the one who led me to this...you are the one who caused my banishment from the sea. I will see you dead one day...I promise you."

Iolaus snorted softly as he gave her a weary smile, "Get in line, Circe, and maybe you'll get your turn to kill me. But...I wouldn't count on it."

She glared at him, furious with her helplessness before this despised mortal. But, she realized it was hopeless, and that she had to leave, to find another place before either Zeus or Poseidon discovered she was here. With one last venomous look, she disappeared, startling the goat people, confusing the muddled wolves further. Iolaus stared at the place where she had been, wondering where she was now, and found he really didn't care, so long as it was somewhere he'd never be.

Dropping to one knee beside the lion, he let his sword fall to the floor, and wrapped his arms around the beast's neck, burying his face in the animal's wild mane as he whispered with heartfelt relief, "I've got you, Herc...you're going to be okay. I promise."

The lion rumbled deep in his throat, feeling warmth and security, feeling his anxiety slip away. He brought one leg up and around the man hugging him so fiercely, twisting his great head so that the man was caught tight in his grip.

Iolaus laughed and pushed back gently, as he said softly, "Easy buddy...not so hard!"

Snuffling at his hair, the lion loosened his hold, and stood patiently as the man hugged him once more. Then Iolaus looked up and around, startled by the sight before him.

All of the goat people were on their knees, bowing deeply to him, their heads touching the floor. Several of the wolves, not quite understanding what had happened, but caught by the awe and devout atmosphere of worship, had also prostrated themselves before the golden-haired one who had tamed the mighty lion.

Iolaus came to his feet, for a moment speechless. Then, he moved forward to Wim, going down on one knee to raise the male up. "Don't..." Iolaus murmured quietly, but very firmly, "don't ever bow down to me. You are my friends, not my servants or worshippers. I am not a god, not worthy of your devotion."

"Nay, lord," Wim protested, "You knew the lion would recognize you. You drove off the Lady. You have overcome the wolves. Do not tell us you are not a god for we will not believe you. Who but a god could accomplish such wonders?"

An expression of astonished dismay flitted across Iolaus' face, and he sighed heavily as he looked around at the others, who now crouched upon their haunches, regarding him with worshipful expressions. He had no means to convince them that he was no god, and it was clear they would not believe his protestations even if he tried.

Quite simply, he was their god and they were in awe of him.

Standing, he also drew Wim to his feet. Turning, Iolaus gestured to all of them to stand with him. "Alright," he said, understanding that however unwanted was their adulation and worship might be, he was stuck with it, "alright...but, I never want you to bow to me. That's my first command."

They nodded respectfully.

He looked at them, shaking his head a little in bemusement, wondering what to do now. His eye catching Hercules. Moving back to stand beside his friend, he asked quietly, "How long will it take for my friend to return to normal?"

Shanda stepped forward, humble in her demeanor, as she replied, "At least two days, master, perhaps longer... but," she hesitated, almost afraid to remind her new lord of the dangers the potion still held. Resolute, deciding to continue trusting him, she continued, "But, he may die without the potion, or from the pain of the transformation as it's power over him diminishes."

His eyes darted to her. "Herc's not going to die," Iolaus insisted, his fingers twining tightly in the lion's mane. "And, never call me 'master'," Iolaus continued, his voice a little shaky. "Consider that my second command."

"What then shall we call you, lord?" she asked, her eyes downcast. She was mortified that her children had taken this god and held him in that dreary shed, not knowing, not understanding what they were doing. He'd seemed kind, but she had no way of knowing if he would forgive the impudence and lack of respect, or her own initial hesitation to help him.

He chuckled softly as he moved to her, and gave her a quick hug. "Call me 'Iolaus'. That's my name, after all. I repeat, we're friends. You have all helped me to save my friend, and I will be forever grateful to you. Now, it's late. Put the wolves in a place where they can be held safely, but don't hurt them. In fact, give them more of whatever it is that makes them men. Then, go to your homes, and rest. Tomorrow, Wim and Shanda, please come back here. We need to talk about what we do now."

The goat people nodded to him, and drew the wolves from the room, others dragging away the bodies of those who had been killed, as they quietly took their leave.

When they were all gone, Iolaus sighed and shook his head as he turned again to face his friend, his face mirroring the compassion he felt for all that Hercules had suffered. He wouldn't let himself consider the possibility that this might yet kill his friend. Herc was a demigod...if he could survive the fall from the bridge, he could survive just about anything. But, Iolaus knew that Hercules would suffer still, as he returned to his own form. "Gods, Herc...I wonder how much of all this you understand?" he murmured with a kind of despair.

The lion rumbled as he gazed up at the two-legged one in the purple garment, his chest feeling full and tight at the welcome sound of that remembered voice. Iolaus couldn't help it. In relief that his buddy was essentially unharmed, was alive, and in his own way quite magnificent, he grinned and then even giggled a little at the absurdity of their lives. Hearing the sound that had haunted his dreams, the lion responded unconsciously, moving swiftly to the man, and rising up upon his hind legs, he draped his forelegs over the smaller creature's shoulders, his great tongue raking the side of the creature's face.

Iolaus groaned under the sudden weight, amused and not a little touched, but worried that his legs might buckle under the weight of the lion resting upon him. He pushed hard at the lion's chest, calling almost desperately, "Down! Get down, Hercules! Sit!"

The lion dropped immediately at the loud tone of command, a confused, almost hurt look of rejection in his eyes. Seeing the look, feeling it tug at his heart, Iolaus dropped to his knees, again wrapping his arms around the lion's neck, to hug him tightly. "I'm sorry, buddy," he whispered into the lion's mane. "I know you feel lost. But, it's going to be alright, Herc. It's all going to be okay."

But, the fear he wouldn't acknowledge settled in his chest, wrapping itself around his heart, as he clung to the great beast, unwanted tears burning in his eyes. 'Stop it,' Iolaus commanded himself, 'Herc's going to be fine. He won't die...I won't let him go...'

When Wim and Shanda arrived early the next morning, they found their new god entwined with the lion on the floor, and for a moment, they were afraid that the lion had killed the mortal after all. But, as they crept closer, they could see the two mysterious beings were simply sleeping. Iolaus was lying with his back curled against the lion, his head resting on one great foreleg, the lion's chin resting on his head, another powerful foreleg draped over the man's body protectively.

"Lord? Er...Iolaus?" Wim called softly, not sure if he should wake the god or just wait quietly until he awoke naturally. The lion's eyes' popped open, and he growled low in his throat, a warning to stand back.

Wim and Shanda hastily complied, shuffling back to stand just inside the entrance of the salon. The beast was still, completely, a lion and would not begin the transformation back to man before the night, if then. The potions she had given him had been very strong, the doses large.

It was the rumbling deep in the lion's chest that awoke Iolaus, and he stretched, grinning a little to realize the both of them had fallen asleep there on the floor the night before, too exhausted to even consider exploring this great heap of a palace. It had been comfortable enough, the carpet soft and thick, and the lion keeping him warm. 'Not lion,' he scolded himself, 'Herc.'

Pulling away from the leg over his body, Iolaus looked up and saw Wim and Shanda cowering a little in the doorway. He gave them a bright smile and waved them forward. "Come in!" he called. "I'm sorry...I guess we overslept."

Hercules stretched as Iolaus stood, then also rose to stand beside him, where Iolaus could twine his fingers in the great animal's mane. Iolaus spotted the tray Shanda carried with a welcoming grin. She'd brought fruit, bread and cheese, with a flask of water and a goblet. Wim carried a bowl of water for the lion.

"We thought you would be hungry," Shanda said in quiet explanation, as they moved cautiously into the room. She placed the tray on a table near a couple of chairs, while Wim put the water bowl on the floor nearby.

"Hungry? Starved more like!" Iolaus replied enthusiastically, as he settled himself before the meal, grabbing up a hunk of bread. He waved at the other chairs, to indicate they should sit with him, not wait upon him, as he continued, "Thank you...I appreciate your thoughtfulness. But, really, you don't have to serve me like this. I know the way to the kitchen."

"It's no trouble, Lor...Iolaus," she replied, sitting gingerly in the chair across from him, while Wim pulled up another and sat beside her. The lion had padded silently to the bowl of water and was gratefully drinking, registering in a vague way that it tasted different, not sour and bitter, but cool and refreshing.

Iolaus caught her slip, but decided not to mention it. He couldn't help what they believed. And, he had more pressing concerns on his mind. He needed to know more about this mysterious potion and how it worked. The lion, having drunk his fill, circled warily under the table, then sprawled at Iolaus' feet, his head resting on his paws, his eyes watching, on guard.

Absentmindedly, Iolaus held a large piece of cheese down to the lion, who took it gratefully, as he asked, "Tell me more about this special potion. How long have you been taking it? How often do you need it and is there a large supply?"

Wim complied, responding, "Most of us only take it once a day, but the wolves seem to need two doses, perhaps because they are bigger, heavier. We've taken it all our lives, since we were born...our parents were the first to be given the potion, the first to be transformed from animals into people. Many of the old ones are gone now. Once they became too old to contribute to her liking, she ordered that they be denied the potion. Some died during the transformation back into their original forms, some died shortly after. A few have survived, but they seem to have no knowledge or memory of having been more than they are now. There are only a few left who are still like us, who managed to stay productive enough to escape her sentence."

Shanda added, once Wim had finished, "And, no, there is no large supply of the potion. She created a keg of it at a time, transforming water somehow into something more potent. There was ever only enough to last for a week, so we have but a few days of it left."

Iolaus looked from one to the other, the meaning of her words drilling into his heart, his expression caught between grief and awe as he contemplated them. Without that potion, they might well die. Their children might die. Gods, at best, they might lose all that they were, all memory of what had been. He didn't know what to say, his words stuck in his throat at what they had done, what they had given up to support his challenge of their 'Lady'. Finally, finding his voice, he whispered, "Gods...I'm so sorry. Is there nothing we can do?"

Wim and Shanda shook their heads, and then she reached across the table, to lightly touch his hand, grateful for the grief for them she saw shining in his eyes. "It's alright," she said quietly, "We knew what we were doing. It had to end...the terror, not knowing when she might turn on any of us, when she might order us to serve up one of our own children. She was evil...and we know we are unnatural beings... creations that probably should never have existed. If we return to our old forms, it is only right."

Iolaus shook his head, unwilling to accept the seeming inevitability of their fate. Turning his head away, his hand unconsciously stroking Herc's wild mane, he bit his lip and frowned as he thought about it. Damn, there was no way of knowing how to create the potion they needed. It was a secret Circe had taken with her. Taking a deep breath, he wondered for a moment if he should direct that they deny the stuff to the wolf-people, but that would only delay the inevitable, and be unjust besides. The wolves deserved compassion every bit as much as did the goat-people. But, perhaps, he could delay it, at least for a little while.

Turning back to them, he said quietly, "Maybe...maybe if you take less of the potion, perhaps only every couple of days..."

Wim shrugged and shook his head. "What would it profit us, beyond a few extra days? Nay, Lord, we thank you for your concern, but as Shanda said, it's probably best that it all ends now. Don't feel too bad...we won't remember who we were, and so it will not seem terrible to us, once it's done."

"I'm sorry..." Iolaus murmured, knowing words could never be enough to express the depth of the tragedy that confronted them all. His eyes lowered to the lion resting at his feet, who had turned to gaze up at him, concern in his eyes, having sensed the grief, the sadness that radiated from Iolaus like invisible waves in the air. "How will the withdrawal from the potion affect Hercules? Tell me about how the transformation occurs...all at once or a little at a time?"

"It's a slow process," Shanda replied, compassion in her voice, "and a painful one. She drugged him with something to keep him asleep through most of the change into what he is now. But, we have no knowledge of her craft, no way to ease his way."

Iolaus nodded tightly, his hand unconsciously curling into a fist, the only evidence of his impotent, raging anger as he cursed Circe in his heart for what she had done to all of them. Taking a deep breath to calm his fury, knowing it would do no good, he looked back at them. "I'll stay here with you, until it is done. I'll do what I can for you...and care for those who do not survive."

They nodded silently, but gratefully. While they would not grieve for those who died once they were once again fully goats, they grieved now for those who would be lost, and were glad to know their bodies would be tended to, with compassion and respect. The adults had talked late into the night, and had reached their decision of how they would face the inevitable. Now, they shared their decision with Iolaus.

"We've...we've decided to stop the dosing of our children immediately," Wim said gruffly, his voice tight with grief for their helplessness, for what they had to do. "That way, we'll be able to care for them, help them as they change."

The hunter bowed his head, having to grit his teeth against the sob he felt rising from his chest. His eyes filled when he thought of those wonderful kids, so innocent, so curious, who had captured him, then cared for him. Who had asked their mother to help him, and to help Hercules. He sniffed as he rubbed a hand across his mouth, reaching for the kind of strength and courage they were showing in the face of this horror. Wordlessly, he nodded his understanding, his eyes dark with sorrow and glittering with unshed tears. What could be said, after all? What words could ease their pain, or express his deep grief and frustration at his helplessness. They thought him a god. No doubt they had hoped he might have some means of staving off the reality that faced them.

But, there was nothing he could do.

If they'd held such hopes, they hid them well. Rising, they took their leave. "We'll spend the time left to us with our family, as will the others. We've explained the situation to the wolves as well. They are shocked and angry, but they understand there is nothing any of us can do. They've left for their caves in the forest."

Iolaus stood to walk with them to the doors out into the garden, glorious with its riot of colour under the warmth of the sun, cruel in its uncaring beauty. "I'm sorry," Iolaus murmured again. "I wish there was something I could do. I had no idea of the price you would be paying to help me...and I," his voice cracked, unable to continue. How did one thank others for giving their lives, and the lives of their children, to help best the evil of a goddess they had hated?

Wim laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder, saying with warmth and friendship rich in his voice, "This is none of your doing...none of your responsibility. But, we are grateful for your care, for your sorrow, for us...people you hardly know. You are a good being, Iolaus. We both hope that your friend will recover fully...and that you will remember us."

Iolaus had to swallow hard to push back the lump in his throat, and blink rapidly to clear eyes blinded by tears. Without thought, only wishing to convey the depth of his love for these gentle people, he hugged Wim and then Shanda. "I'll never forget you," he promised, his voice rough with unshed tears.

As he watched them go slowly through the garden to the gate beyond, he wondered if there was a god he could call upon to intercede. Demeter? Pan? But, he shook his head, turning back into the salon, knowing the gods would not care. They had not created these beings, and would not act to save what Circe had wrought.

Left alone with the lion who was his best friend, Iolaus led Hercules through the endless corridors of the vast palace, marvelling at the grandeur Circe had created for her own comfort. Iolaus couldn't imagine how anyone could think they'd need so much. He talked to Herc throughout the day, often stroking his friend's mane, or scratching behind his ears, to reassure the beast who followed him silently, never leaving his side. When they finally found their way back to the kitchen, Iolaus rifled through the stores, finding more bread and cheese, lots of apples and grapes. The soup was still simmering gently over the glowing embers in the hearth, thick now, more like a stew. He found a large bowl and filled it with the food, and then laid it on the floor for Hercules. Filling a smaller bowl for himself, he hoped there was no meat in it, and as he ate, he was glad to find it was only vegetables and beans.

Herc had been stoically starving throughout the day, and now gratefully wolfed up his portion. Iolaus filled another bowl with water for him, then sat and studied his friend, wondering what the transformation would be like. He'd searched through cupboards and cabinets as they'd wandered the palace, hoping to find herbs to relieve pain, but to no avail. Now, with the sun beginning to sink behind the mountains in the west, he went out into the garden, and was vastly relieved to find what he needed there. Gathering the leaves, he returned to the kitchen and placed them in a kettle he'd filled with water, setting it over the fire to brew.

Hearing a scuffle behind him, he turned sharply, then stood silently a moment, staring at his visitors. The kids clustered silently in the doorway, their large eyes torn between looking up at him, and staring with awe at the magnificent lion. Hercules had risen to his feet, but did not sense any danger, so hadn't growled any warning, just watched carefully.

"Come in," Iolaus said with a smile, waving them forward. "I'm glad to see you. How are you?" His concern was evident in his eyes and voice, but he didn't know how much they understood of what was happening, so hesitated to say more.

Lonny shrugged a little, then gave him a slight grin as he responded, "Fine...we're fine. Not confused or muddled. And, we should be, you know, without the potion. By now we should feel the effects of not having it. But...we're fine."

"We wanted to see you, and your friend," Brionne said, as she moved forward, closer to the lion, watching the huge beast warily, wondering if it ate meat.

"It's okay. Herc won't hurt you...you can pet him, if you want. I think he'd like that," Iolaus said softly to reassure them all as he thought about what Lonny had told him. No change, no ill effects from not getting the usual dosage of the potion. He felt hope light in his heart, but held it back. It was too soon, crazy even, to hope they'd be alright. They needed the potion...didn't they? Maybe it would just take a while for the effects to be felt. Certainly, Herc didn't seem to be showing any signs of withdrawal yet.

Mira looked up at him with wide, awestruck eyes. "We think it's your magic that's making it alright... that's making us stay like this even without the potion," she said shyly.

Iolaus' heart broke as he dropped onto one knee in front of her and gathered her into a warm hug, "Ah, sweetie," he whispered, "I wish I had the magic to help you, but I don't."

Lonny looked down at him, his own conviction of Iolaus' power clear in his eyes. "Maybe you just don't know that you have magic," the lad said with a grin. "After all, you didn't seem to know you were a god, either, which is pretty strange when you think about it."

Iolaus had to chuckle at the gentle teasing, not knowing what else to do. These little ones were as brave as their parents, facing an unknown fate with hope and humour. "I want to thank all of you," he said then, looking at each of them in turn. "You hid me from the wolves and brought me food. You trusted me, when you had no way of knowing if you should. It's because of you that I was able to rescue my friend. You're all very courageous...heroes. I hope with all my heart that you will continue to be all right..."

Mira stroked his cheek, as the others settled around Hercules, petting him. He'd relaxed with them, and had laid down in their midst, suffering their attentions with a calm demeanor, even purring a little, softly in his throat. Iolaus caught the child's hand and held it tenderly as he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "You never did tell us where you'd come from," Mira reminded him with hopeful eyes.

He grinned then, remembering that had been why they'd captured him...to learn about the world beyond their lost island. Settling down beside them on the floor, he drew Mira onto his lap, as he replied, "You're right. I owe you the story of the world beyond the mountains. Let's see, where should I begin?" he wondered. "At the beginning, I guess," he said finally. "Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a goddess named Gaia, who came into being. She created this world of ours, a wondrous place, and filled it with beautiful flowers and tall, strong trees. She made the streams and rivers flow from the snow upon the mountains, and from springs deep in the earth, and she made the seas, vast bodies of water, like your lake, but so much bigger it takes days and days to sail across them to the lands beyond. Fish in the water, and animals on the land, she created all that there is...and it was all good. And, then, lonely, she created others of her kind, Titans, to rule the world with her. One of water, one of fire. One of earth and one of the sky. One tall and strong as a mountain, called Atlas. One named Prometheus, who knew the secret of healing. And others besides. And, with them, she made children...the beings who became the gods...Cronus and Rhea, who had many children of their own...Poseidon, God of the Seas, Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest, Hestia, Goddess of the Night, Hades, God of the Underworld, Hera, who would become Queen of the Gods, and finally, Zeus, who would be King."

Iolaus' voice carried on for hours, spinning tales of the earth's beginnings, the wars between the Titans and the Gods, the barring of the giants from Olympus. And, then he told the stories of mortals, stories of heroes, of courage. Exciting tales filled with wonders, of monsters good and evil. Stories of his friend, Hercules, who laid quietly now in their midst, lulled by the sound of the much loved voice.

Night fell, and the hour grew late, until finally Wim and Shanda arrived, to bring their wayward children home. Iolaus looked up with a smile when they entered the kitchen from the hallway beyond. Mira had fallen asleep in his arms, but the others, though drowsy, had been listening avidly, unwilling to go so long as he kept telling them stories. "Hi," he greeted the older goat-people. "I was glad they came to visit, but, I guess I should have brought them home before now."

Wim shook his head, as he gathered Mira into his own arms. "Nay. It's good to see them so happy. We thank you for your patience with them."

Iolaus rose to his feet, and put a hand on Wim's arm. "Believe me, it takes no patience. They're wonderful children and I love them." Iolaus hesitated a moment, looking between Wim and Shanda, then said hesitantly, "But, I don't understand..."

Shanda sighed a little, as she responded. "Nor do we...but, they remain strong, their minds clear," she said with a gentle smile as she ruffled Lonny's hair, "and we are beginning to hope..."

"So am I," Iolaus assured her. "I'll see you all tomorrow...and you kids, come visit whenever you want, okay?"

They all nodded eagerly as they let their parents hustle them gently toward the door and out into the night. Iolaus watched them go, his fingers entwined in Herc's mane. "Gods, could it be a miracle?" he wondered, hoping with all his heart that it was.

Iolaus had led Hercules back up the winding stairs to the chamber he knew must have been his friend's, having found Herc's discarded clothing there. The servants had washed his shirt, cleaned the leather vest and pants, and had mended the tears, leaving everything folded in the pine cupboard. The hunter had laid upon the bed, laughing when the lion leapt up to lie beside him, one foreleg looped possessively across his chest. "Not letting me out of your sight, are you, big guy?" he said quietly, scratching Herc under his jaw. "Well, that's all right...I'm glad to keep you close."

Iolaus studied Hercules in the flickering light of the candle he'd placed on the table by the bed, thinking the mane looked less thick, noting that his friend seemed a little warm to the touch. It was beginning. "Gods, Herc, I hope it won't hurt too much," he whispered. He'd given his buddy a bowl of the herbal tea, a precaution against the pain that would come, and now the lion was drowsy, his eyes unable to stay open as he drifted into sleep. Iolaus curled to place an arm around his buddy's neck, and tried to relax, knowing that once the transformation really began, he'd have no more sleep until it was over.

It was long after midnight when the lion twitched, then whimpered a little, pulled from sleep by the ache that was beginning in his legs and chest. Iolaus was awake immediately, reaching to stroke his friend's mane, calling softly, "It's okay, Herc...I'm here. Don't be afraid."

The lion's blue eyes shone with the reflected light from the candle's flame, trust warring with pain in his gaze. "It hurts, doesn't it, buddy?" Iolaus murmured, then turned to roll from the bed. The lion whined a bit, not wanting to get up, but unwilling to be left alone. Stiffly, he rose and jumped down from the bed to follow Iolaus to the door. "Okay, you can come along...I'm just going to make more of that tea to help the pain," the hunter said as he made his way down the darkened hall to the stairs, the lion limping close at his heels.

Less than an hour later, he poured more of the hot tea into a bowl, adding cool water to make it drinkable and set it on the floor for Hercules. The lion eagerly lapped up the liquid, wondering at the strange though not unpleasant taste, driven by a powerful thirst. Before long, the lion's eyelids drooped, the drug again having a soporific effect. With a low moan, the animal dropped onto the floor, unable to stay awake.

Iolaus studied his friend, wondering whether to leave him here, or try to rouse him, to take him back to the room where he'd be more comfortable as the transformation continued. Finally, he decided it was best to leave Hercules in the kitchen, near the supplies Iolaus would need to tend to him. It would be better than leaving him alone to get medicine and whatever else might be needed. Turning, Iolaus loped back through the palace to the nearest bed chamber, to pull off the quilt, the sheets and pillows, and bore them back to the kitchen, leaving them in a pile in the corner until they were needed. Tense with worry, he pulled up a chair, to sit near his friend. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, Iolaus studied Hercules, wondering what to expect, hoping he'd be able to help stave off some of the pain he knew was coming. Biting his lip, he frowned with deep concern as he began the long vigil over his friend's passage through the agony of Tarturus.

It was midmorning when the lion stirred again, whining a little in unconscious pain, jerking into wakefulness, with a snort and a growl at the ache that had grown in his body, twitching at the sharp bursts of agony that came unexpectedly, with increasing rapidity. Iolaus turned from the hearth, where he'd been preparing more of the herbal potion, and knelt quickly by his buddy, laying a gentle hand on the lion's shoulder. Startled, the lion rolled sharply, clawing out in self-defense. Iolaus jerked as the talons raked his arm, biting back a cry, knowing Hercules hadn't meant to harm him, wasn't aware of what he was doing.

"Shhh, it's all right," Iolaus murmured quietly, knowing it wasn't, wishing there was some way to help his friend understand what was happening. He frowned at the heat radiating from Hercules' body, and winced a little as he noted some of the changes that were occurring. The fur was dry and getting a little patchy, shedding as the demi-god changed back into a man. The long mane was thinning, the texture of the fur beginning to change to the more silken texture of hair. The paws were also changing, growing longer, the digits still webbed together, but growing back into fingers. His hind legs seemed longer somehow, twisting in their shape.

Iolaus' heart lurched, his chest tight, as he realized the kind of agony Hercules was beginning to experience. This was going to be terrible, worse than anything either of them could imagine, as bone and muscle, skin and organs all began the slow transformation back into what he had been before Circe had fed him her foul potion. The lion whined again, then roared in fury at the pain that stabbed through his body, struggling to roll and rise, hoping in his confusion to be able to leave the pain behind if only he could find a place more comfortable. But, his limbs were shaky, made unsteady by what was happening to him, and by the fever that raged through his body.

Iolaus stayed at his friend's back, away from the claws that were thrashing blindly in his agony, avoiding the jaws that were snapping at the air, thinking there was something there that he couldn't see, that was hurting him so badly. Iolaus turned back to the hearth and poured out more of the tea, cooling it again with water. Carefully, he bore it around the thrashing lion, laying it on the ground by his friend's head. But, it wasn't long before he realized Hercules was too weak, too confused by the pain stabbing through him, to rise enough to drink. Gods, he had to get the fluid into him, both to fight the fever and the pain.

Iolaus looked up and around the kitchen, and spotted a metal funnel on one of the shelves. Rising, he grabbed it and a mug from another nearby shelf, and then returned to his friend's side. 'This is going to be tricky,' he thought as he brought the bowl of tea back behind Hercules' head. Filling the mug with the fluid, Iolaus stroked Hercules' shoulders and back, trying to comfort him, ease him somehow, and let him know he wasn't alone. Gradually, the thrashing slowed, but the man-lion growled continuously with the pain, his eyes clouded, confused by what was happening. Taking a deep breath, Iolaus reached forward, over the lion's body, the funnel in one hand, the mug of tea in the other. Carefully, he tried to slip the tip of the funnel into his buddy's mouth, but Hercules, not understanding, jerked away with a muffled roar. Iolaus hastily pulled back from the snapping jaws, setting the mug on the floor beside him to free his hand to again stroke Herc's head reassuring as he murmured softly, "Easy, easy, Hercules. Gods, I know it hurts bad, but you have to let me help you. Please Herc, don't fight me. Easy, shhhh, easy."

Again, the creature gradually quietened under the reassuring hand of the two-legged one he trusted, comforted by the voice and the flow of soft sound, words he didn't understand. Gently, Iolaus again brought the tip of the funnel to his buddy's face, slipping it between the sharp fangs, and this time, watching him, the lion didn't fight. Sighing with relief, Iolaus reached for the mug, and slowly poured the liquid into Hercules' mouth. At first, the lion didn't understand, and choked a little, thrashing again. But, he was so hot, so thirsty, that this time he calmed himself and accepted the cold metal thing, ready for the welcome liquid that poured through it, swallowing painfully, but gratefully.

"That's it," Iolaus whispered, "that's a good boy. Shhh, this'll help take away some of the pain. That's it...take all of it." Finally, he was done, and golden eyes again clouded as the drugged darkness muffled the demi-god's mind, blessedly easing away some of the pain.

Throughout the day, Iolaus kept giving Hercules the medicine whenever he woke enough to take it. Although he was a little worried about giving him so much, Iolaus didn't know how else to help his friend combat what had to be horrific, blinding agony as his limbs changed form, as his body transformed and his head shrank back to it's former shape. Even in the drugged sleep, Hercules thrashed and whimpered, sometimes moaning dreadfully with the sharpness of the relentless pain that knifed through him. Iolaus gently massaged muscles that stretched in ways that were never intended, trying to relax them and ease some of the torment, hour after hour.

The kids came again that afternoon, but were quiet when they saw how much the lion was suffering as it changed. Never having seen the man, they had difficulty imagining him, but they could read the depth of Iolaus' worry in his eyes, and in the drawn expression of his face. He looked up when they came in, speaking softly, worried that Hercules might be dangerous, react defensively if he realized strange beings were nearby, "Shhh...I'm not sure it's safe right now. Maybe, though, you could help me."

They all nodded, eager to render whatever assistance that they could. Turning to Lonny, Iolaus cocked his head toward the nearly empty keg of water. "Could you bring a few pails of water, to help me fill that again?"

Lonny nodded, and was off like a shot on his errand. Iolaus turned to the others. "And, you guys, could you go to one of the bedrooms and bring back another quilt, more sheets and more pillows." They were gone almost before he'd finished his request.

It didn't take them long. By the time Brionne was back with the bedclothes from one of the chambers, Lonny had brought in one pail of water, pouring it as quietly as he could into the upended keg. Brionne took off, returning a while later with her own pail of water. Between the two of them, they had the keg filled again in less than half an hour. By then, the other kids had long returned with the quilts and sheets and pillows from another of the chambers. Iolaus smiled a little wearily in thanks for their kindness. "You'd better go now, before he wakes up. He doesn't know you, and he's in a lot of pain. I wouldn't want him to hurt you in his confusion," he said quietly, feeling Hercules beginning to stir again under his hands.

"Will he hurt you?" Lonny asked, troubled by the new long and still bloody gashes on Iolaus' arm, knowing that the lion had probably caused them while it thrashed about in pain.

"No...not deliberately anyway. Don't worry, I'm being careful. Now, go on before he wakes up...and thanks for your help," Iolaus replied softly, giving the lad a reassuring grin.

They all nodded solemnly, then quietly edged away. "We'll check again on you later," Brionne promised just before they disappeared into the hall, not waiting for Iolaus to reply.

Iolaus stood and filled a large bowl with water, cool from the well, and grabbed some rags he'd found in a cupboard, then turned and knelt again behind his friend's body. Hercules was still curled on his side, still more lion than man, but his body was misshapen, the fur bristling and rough as it dried further, partly from fever and partly from the transformation. Iolaus soaked a rag in the water, wrung it out, and then began to bathe his friend's hot, tormented body, the coolness of the wet cloth bringing its own relief.

Although he hadn't said anything to the kids, wouldn't even really admit it fully to himself, Iolaus was growing ever more concerned about Hercules. As the hours had passed, and the fever had risen despite his efforts to fight it, Hercules had become increasingly lethargic, keening eerily, and almost constantly, with the pain. His buddy got little relief now from the herbal tea, drowsing lightly, but never free of the agony. It was exhausting him, and his breathing was growing ragged and shallow, panting from the effort of simply existing.

Earlier, Iolaus had gotten him to accept some broth, not much, but the only nourishment he could get into his friend to help fuel his body and fortify him for the internal battles his body was fighting. Now, however, when Iolaus again tried to get some of the broth into Hercules, he gagged and retched, unable to take anything, unable to swallow, as he transformed internally as well as externally. Biting his lip, trying to still the growing fear in his own chest, Iolaus went back to bathing his friend's fevered body, stroking slowly, massaging the tearing muscles as he went, trying to help the only way he could. As he worked, Iolaus murmured constantly, words of reassurance, soothing in their sound. Words of entreaty, when his breath would catch, that compelled Hercules' attention and drew his buddy back to him from the brink of a deeper and more lasting darkness.

'Gods, I wish I knew how she stopped this pain, what magic she used,' Iolaus thought to himself, thinking that Shanda had said nothing about this agony of transformation when Hercules had changed into the lion, saying only that he'd slept through most of the experience. It tore him apart to see his friend suffer like this and not be able to do anything to take away the pain, to bring any real relief. And he was afraid, desperately afraid, not knowing how much more of this his buddy could take, wondering at what terrible and dangerous changes were going on inside the abused body, understanding only too well why many of the old goat-people had not been able to survive the transformation back into their original forms.

It was only then that Iolaus realized the kids had still been fine. For a moment he paused his ceaseless ministrations to his friend, thinking about their continued wellbeing. He didn't understand it...and glad as he was that they seemed to be surviving the withdrawal of the potion with no ill effects, it also worried him. If they didn't change when the drug was removed from their system, what did that mean for Hercules? He was changing, that was undeniable...but, would he get stuck somewhere halfway between man and lion, until the pain and the strain of the transformation of his body exhausted him to the point of death?

Hour after hour dragged by, Hercules becoming more man than lion, with legs and arms still covered in patchy fur, fingers still clawed, his brow still heavy and his nose broad, but his mane now hair. The demigod curled tightly in on himself, as if trying to hold in the pain, but nothing could make it go away, nothing could alleviate it. Iolaus had covered him with the quilts, trying to keep him warm against the fever chills that wracked his body, and had cushioned his head with a pillow. Hour after hour, Iolaus bathed him with the cool water, fighting the fever, and forced the herbal tea into him, knowing he needed the fluids, grateful that his friend could again tolerate nourishment, hoping the herbs were doing some good, helping in some small way to blunt some of the agony his friend was suffering.

The pain seemed to ebb and flow now, peaking into terrible spasms of agony. When Hercules convulsed with the unbelievable torment that raged through his body, crying out wordlessly for relief, Iolaus would gather him into his arms, supporting his head and shoulders against his own body, trying to give comfort, wishing he could take the pain away, suffer it himself, to give his friend relief. Sometimes, in his delirium, Hercules struggled and struck out, his claws raking Iolaus' chest and arms, but the hunter held on, oblivious to his own pain.

After one of those terrible episodes, deep in the night, Hercules had looked up at the man holding him so tightly, his eyes clouded with confusion. He knew he should know this man, and images again were tormenting his mind, images of fire, sensations of falling, of fear. But, when the fear threatened to overcome him, he found strength in the eyes that gazed down into his with such love and compassion, and found a measure of comfort in the arms that held him.

Finally, just before dawn, Hercules laid limply in Iolaus' arms, his awesome strength drained, almost spent, by the hours of relentless suffering. The fever still raged, but had at least stopped climbing. Looking up at the man who held him, his eyes cleared a little, sparking with some awareness. He still didn't remember this man's name, but he knew without any doubt that the blond man with the warm, caring eyes, was important to him, and he murmured weakly, "Friend."

The hunter took a shuddering breath, having to blink back tears of relief as he drew Hercules more tightly against his chest. "Yeah, 'friend'. It's me, Iolaus. And you're Hercules...I've got you buddy, and I'm not going to let you go," he murmured back past the lump of relief that had formed in his throat. Thank the gods, his mind was recovering, his memories returning. He could speak again! Iolaus leaned down and lightly kissed the sweated forehead, then pulled away, and stroked his buddy's dampened hair back from his face. "You're going to be alright, Herc," Iolaus reassured him, hoping the transformation would soon be complete.

The fur was all gone now, and Hercules' body was his own, but it still seemed wracked with pain, convulsing as the waves of it overcame him, time and time again, until Iolaus wanted to weep with grief at his friend's continued terrible suffering.

"Hurts," Hercules gasped once, as he shuddered again with the pain that coursed through him.

"I know, buddy," Iolaus whispered back, "gods, I know. But, it can't go on much longer. Just hold on, Herc...don't fight it. Just, let it wash through you."

Hercules nodded numbly, weak with exhaustion, tormented by a terrible thirst. "Water?" he asked, his voice little more than a breath of air.

Iolaus filled a mug from the bowl of cool water he kept near by, and supported his friend's head as he held it to his lips, tilting the cup slowly, letting Hercules take it a little at a time, wondering if his body would tolerate it. Hercules turned his head away from the mug and sighed as he relaxed back against Iolaus' body. "Tired," he whispered, his eyes clouded with pain.

"Try to rest," Iolaus encouraged him. "I've got you...there's nothing to worry about...just rest."

Sighing again, Hercules nodded weakly and let his eyes drift closed. The pain was still there, but the waves came less often, and seemed less strong when they did. Grateful for the brief respite, Hercules let the darkness close over him.

Leaning back against the hearth, still cradling his friend in his arms, Iolaus let himself relax a little for the first time in two days, and slowly, he too drifted off to sleep.

When the kids found them like that, so quiet and still, they were frightened, and loped off to find their parents. Shortly after, Wim and Shanda arrived, moving quietly, trying not to disturb them, just trying to ascertain if they were both all right. But, Iolaus heard them and jerked awake, confused and disoriented at first, having been deeply asleep, and still exhausted by his long vigil. He rolled his shoulders a little, to ease his own aching muscles, and yawned, shaking his head a little to clear it.

"Are you all right?" Shanda asked, her concern clear in her voice.

"Yeah," Iolaus replied, quietly so as not to disturb Hercules. He touched the sleeping man's brow lightly, and was relieved to find the fever was gone, having broken while they were both asleep. "He's getting better...he talked a little last night."

Wim smiled, gladdened by this news. "Do you want us to get help to move him back to a bed chamber? He might be more comfortable now in a bed, than on that hard floor."

For a moment, Iolaus hesitated, not wanting to disturb Hercules' first natural sleep in days, but then he nodded. "Yes, thanks...he'll rest better if he's more comfortable."

"Good, I'll just go for some of my friends, and we'll bring a litter to carry him on, to be as gentle with him as possible," Wim said, turning back to the door.

Meanwhile, Shanda had been studying the blond mortal, a frown of concern forming as she noted his haggard appearance, the fresh wounds on his body that he'd cleaned but left unbandaged to heal in the air. "Have you eaten anything recently?" she asked.

It was an unexpected question, and Iolaus had to consider it for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, I can't remember when I last ate, to tell you the truth," he admitted with a weary smile.

Nodding briskly, she turned to put a kettle on the fire. "Well, you need to before you make yourself sick. Once we have your friend settled in a bed, you're going to have some bread and soup, and then you're going to go to bed yourself. You look exhausted," she scolded gently.

"No, I..." Iolaus tried to object, but she turned to him, lecturing in a quiet but firm voice. "Yes. We can watch over your friend now. He's past the worst. But you...look at you. Covered with deep scratches from his claws, and the older wounds from the wolves, worn out...you'll collapse yourself if you don't soon get some rest."

Iolaus looked away, his eyes falling again to his friend's face. His body ached with fatigue, and his mind felt almost numb with it. Nodding, he silently accepted that she was right.

"Good," she said, turning to pull out a round of cheese, and then began slicing a loaf of bread.

Iolaus had been unwilling to be too far from Hercules, so they had finally compromised, pulling a downfilled mattress from a bed in one of the other chambers, and laying it against the wall in the room where they'd tucked Hercules into bed. He'd been so deeply asleep that he hadn't roused as they moved him and got him settled more comfortably. Dropping down upon his own makeshift bed, and dragging a quilt up over his shoulders, Iolaus was asleep in moments, secure in the knowledge that Wim and Shanda would watch over his friend.

It was late afternoon when Shanda shook his shoulder lightly, rousing him. "Hmmm?" he muttered, his body unwilling to give up the comfort of sleep.

"He's calling for you, and restless," she called to him, shaking him again, more firmly.

Her words penetrated his consciousness, and roused him fully. Iolaus rolled smoothly, coming to his feet and moving to the side of the bed in what seemed to be one continuous motion. Hercules was indeed restless, thrashing weakly in the bed, only semiconscious. "Damn," Iolaus swore softly when he realized the fever was back.

"Iolaus!" the demigod called out, struggling to wake up. His dreams had been terrifying. There was a bridge and fire. Iolaus was somewhere ahead, separated from him by flames. The bridge was collapsing and he was falling, calling out his friend's name, hoping his best friend would survive.

"I'm here, Hercules," Iolaus replied, hitching a hip up onto the bed so that he could lean over his friend, brushing his hair back, while one hand gripped a muscled shoulder reassuringly. "Shhh...it's alright, buddy."

Hearing the longed for voice, following after it, Hercules struggled back toward consciousness. As his eyes cleared, he made out the features of his best friend, glowing in the rays of the late afternoon sun that flowed in through the window. He shuddered with the realization that he was awake, that Iolaus was real, alive and well. He reached up and grabbed Iolaus' shoulders, pulling him down against his chest, holding him in a desperate hug of relief. "You're alive," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "There was a fire...I was so scared..."

"I'm fine, Herc," Iolaus reassured him, pulling away. "But, you've had a hard time."

Frowning, Hercules tried to remember, and his eyes flicked around the strange room, pausing and widening when he saw the two goat-people standing quietly behind Iolaus. He brought his gaze back to Iolaus', troubled and confused, as he said, "I don't remember. What...? Where?"

"Don't worry about it," Iolaus consoled him. "You're safe, and that's all that matters right now. You need to rest...and I need to help you fight this fever."

Turning to Shanda, he asked, "Would you bring a basin of water and some rags? And, maybe some herbal tea?"

"Of course," she replied, turning to the door, Wim following behind to help carry back the needed supplies.

Turning back to Hercules, he saw that his friend was anxious, feeling disoriented with not knowing what had happened, or even where he was. "You're in a palace, on an island, in a lake hidden in the mountains," Iolaus said quietly. "You fell into a river, and it eventually brought you to the shores here."

Hercules frowned trying to remember but unable to sort out the fractured images in his mind. The stiff soreness of his body, the occasional sharp stabs of pain, and the confusion of the fever defeating his efforts. Wanting to ease his worry, Iolaus again gently stroked his hair back off his forehead, drawing Herc's eyes to his own, as he offered quietly, "I'll explain everything when you're better, I promise. There's nothing to worry about now so just relax, will you, and rest. All you need to think about is getting better. Okay?"

Reassured, Hercules nodded once and sighed, wondering at the pain he felt and the heavy exhaustion. He couldn't remember ever having felt so weak before. Whatever had happened, Iolaus was right. He needed to get better before he could really focus on anything and understand it.

Wim came back with the basin of water and the rags Iolaus had requested. Thanking him, Iolaus turned and began to bathe his buddy's body, cooling his hot skin, bringing a measure of relief. Herc's eyes drifted closed, secure in the knowledge that Iolaus was there, that he was safe, and finally he slipped back into sleep. Iolaus roused him briefly, to get him to take a mugful of tea, but then let him drift away again, knowing sleep was the best thing for him now. Tucking the quilt securely around his shoulders, Iolaus stood back and just watched him for a while, deeply relieved that the worst was over, certain now that Herc really would be all right.

Finally, he turned and left the chamber, in search of Wim and Shanda. Now that he knew Hercules was okay, he needed to find out what was happening with the others.

Iolaus found them in the salon, looking out into the garden where the kids were playing quietly. When they turned at the sound of his footsteps, he smiled at them warmly as he moved across the room to stand beside them. Looking out at the kids, he queried softly, "They're going to be all right, aren't they?"

Shanda turned to him, tears in her eyes as she nodded mutely, overcome with the realization that her children were well and strong. Wim put an arm around her shoulder as he, too, nodded, replying, "We don't understand it, but all of the children in the village are fine. And so are the wolf cubs. You'd never know they'd stopped taking the potion. If anything, they seem even brighter, more alert, with more energy than ever."

Nodding, Iolaus felt himself relax, accepting that for whatever reason, the kids were going to be okay. But, his brow furrowed a little, as he regarded them with concern. "What about you, and the rest of the adults?" he asked, worried about them.

Shanda sniffed, and dabbed at her eyes. "We don't understand it, but we seem to be alright, too. Only the old ones, and the old wolves, the ones who had been transformed from animals originally, have begun to revert to their former beings since we all stopped taking the potion yesterday."

'Only the original ones,' Iolaus thought, as he mulled over her words, seeking to understand what was happening and why. Looking back out at the kids, he murmured quietly, "Maybe, since you were born as you are, you cannot revert back to the bodies of goats or wolves. Maybe, this is just who and what you are now, and you never really needed the potion to hold this form."

Wim rubbed his face as he considered this. "Makes sense," he finally allowed, finally letting his muscles ease from the tension he'd felt since they'd stopped the potion. He'd worried that the change was just taking longer, since they'd taken the potion all their lives, but there was no denying that their bodies were not reacting the same way as did the old ones. He smiled finally, lighting his eyes and giving him a younger look as the strain eased from his features. Iolaus realized it was the first time he'd seen Wim smile. There hadn't been any reason to smile before now.

"Well, whatever the cause, I'm very glad, my friends," he said, grinning at them. "I was worried about you." And that was an understatement. He'd been heartbroken at the thought of what was going to happen to them and it was wonderful to know they were safe.

Shanda gazed at him thoughtfully, still more than half convinced, as was just about everyone else on the island, that he had done this for them, somehow working a quiet magic to save most of them from suffering withdrawal from the potion. Maybe the old ones just weren't as strong, and couldn't respond to his magic as the younger and healthier members of the community could. Whatever he might say, they all believed him a god. Humble perhaps, and modest, but still a god for all of that.

"You'll leave, won't you, when your friend is better?" she asked softly, dreading the answer.

Surprised by the question, and caught by the brittleness of her voice, Iolaus nodded, his eyes narrowing as he studied her, wondering why she seemed so...worried. "Yes, our lives are elsewhere, we don't belong here. You'll be fine, we won't tell anyone in the outside world about you. You'll be safe, I promise," he reassured her, thinking that it was fear of others coming that bothered her.

She looked away, biting her lip, so Wim replied to the unspoken question in Iolaus' eyes. "We're...we're not sure what to do when you go. We don't know how to rule ourselves, how to make decisions. We've always had gods to direct us, you, the Lady. What will we do when you are gone?"

Iolaus took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he studied them, sorry to hear that they still considered him a god. But, he understood their uncertainty, and their fear. If the society here crumbled, and fell into anarchy, the wolves would make short work of the more peaceful goat-people. Frowning to himself, he knew he'd have to do something about stabilizing their society before they left.

Looking back toward the hall, thinking about Hercules and knowing his buddy would need a couple of days of rest at least, Iolaus nodded to himself, deciding on what he would do. Turning back to them, he asked, "Do you have a school, or a hall somewhere, that is large enough for everyone, the goats and the wolves, to be present at the same time?"

Wim nodded, wondering at the question, "Yes, here in the palace, on the far side, there is a throne room. It's a massive hall and we'd all fit into it easily."

Iolaus grinned, "Good. I want you to tell everyone, and make sure someone lets the wolves know as well, that I want you all here tomorrow. I'm going to teach you about something called democracy."

"Democracy?" Shanda repeated, puzzled by the strange word.

"That's right," Iolaus affirmed with a broad smile, winking at her. "Now, go on, both of you, and spread the word. I'll see you both tomorrow."

Iolaus was up most of the night, tending to Hercules, bathing his buddy's fevered body over and over, and forcing him to drink water and tea. The demigod drifted in and out of his fevered dreams, sometimes calling out in fear or despair, clearly reliving the fall from the bridge again and again in his dreams. Iolaus spoke to him quietly, reassuring him, calming him while his own heart ached at the horror Hercules had endured ever since those damned bandits had trapped them on the bridge over the chasm.

Finally, sometime before dawn, the fever broke, and Hercules settled into a natural sleep. His features were drawn and pale, and Iolaus frowned as he wiped his friend's body free of the sweat that had poured from him, noting how thin the demi-god had become over the last terrible week. Drawing up the quilt, he touched Hercules' cheek lightly with the back of his fingers, glad to find the skin cool and dry. Maybe the worst was really over and his partner finally on the road to full recovery.

Iolaus slumped into a chair by the bed, once again recalling for himself those dreadful moments as Hercules had fallen, crying out his name, until there was only silence. He pressed his eyes closed against the tears, and took a deep, sobbing breath, finally letting himself let go of the fear he'd carried since that moment, the fear that Hercules had been hurt, and would maybe die. The fall had been terrible, the fear for his friend driving him on all that long, dreadful day, long past the point of his own exhaustion...and then, to have heard that he was alive, only to find him changed into a lion by that damned witch's brew...He'd been so afraid. Afraid that Hercules wouldn't ever really change back. Afraid the transformation might kill him. Afraid that he might never recover, never know or remember anything of their lives together. Afraid, constantly afraid.

Leaning forward, Iolaus brought a hand up to cover his mouth, while he wrapped his other arm around his body to hold in the sobs of relief. But, he couldn't hold back the tears that spilled from his eyes and poured down his cheeks. He shuddered in his relief and gratitude to the Fates for allowing his best friend to survive the fall and the wild passage down the river, to survive what Circe had done to him. It was finally over, and Hercules was going to be okay. A long time later, the tears stopped, and he took a deep breath, sniffing a little as he brushed his fingers over his face, wiping away the wetness. Leaning back against the chair, he closed his eyes for a few minutes, but he knew the dawn was coming. He had to think about what he'd tell the goats and the wolves, and for that, he had to be more awake.

Rising, he checked on Hercules again, reassuring himself that his buddy was sleeping soundly, and then he padded from the room, silent as a cat, heading through the corridors and out into the garden, finally coming to the beach. Stripping, he waded into the icy water, smothering a yelp at its chill. Diving, he immersed himself, then came up to swim several lengths back and forth along the shoreline, working out the kinks and stiffness of muscles that had been tense for too long. Wading back out of the water, he shivered as he dried his body with his vest, then slipped back into his clothes.

He headed back up to the house, and using a sharp knife he found in the kitchen, he shaved himself, taking care not to nick his skin. He tried not to giggle at his own silliness when he thought he'd not make much of a god with little cuts all over his face. Because he'd finally decided to accept their will and act like the god they believed him to be, understanding it was necessary if his idea was going to work. The natural antipathy between the goats and wolves would gradually prevail unless they would accept his commands to live peacably together. So, to be honoured and obeyed, his commands remembered as part of the foundation of their emerging society, he had to be a god, for a few days at least.

Sighing at the deception, not comfortable with it, Iolaus headed down the hall and up the stairs to check on Hercules and then wandered through the palace until he found his way to the throne room. He was waiting there for them, sitting on the throne raised by several steps above the level of the floor, looking fresh and rested, his eyes bright and his face relaxed in a soft smile of kindness.

Iolaus spent the day explaining the concept of democracy to them, describing how they each had a right to vote for who would lead them, and make decisions about their community when such decisions were needed. He talked about the role of the governing council, about the gravity and almost sacred nature of their responsibilities to lead wisely, with compassion, even with love for the whole of the community. Every couple of hours, he took a break, to rest his voice, and to check on Hercules, bringing his friend a thick, nourishing broth, and more of the tea to relieve the residual ache in recovering muscles. By the end of the day, he'd taught them enough to govern themselves, and had answered all the questions they could think to pose him. As he'd talked, he'd stressed over and over that the wolves and the goats had to work together, each with their different skills, to keep the community strong.

Finally, as the late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows, he stood and raised a hand, commanding them to kneel before him. He was their god, and they knelt without question, bowing their heads before him.

"I have three commands for you," Iolaus said, his voice ringing out strong and clear across the great hall. "The first is that no one is above another. You are all equal, and all have the same rights and privileges in your community." He waited, until they all nodded.

"The second, is that each of you is responsible for the others. You must each help those who need it, whether as a result of illness, bad luck or accident. If kids or cubs are left orphaned, you are all responsible for ensuring they are cared for and raised with love. When some grow old, unable to grow or prepare their food, or to catch it," he said with a glance toward the wolves, "you will ensure that none go hungry."

Again, he waited until they all acknowledged their understanding and acceptance of his words.

"And, finally, my third command, is that no one will eat anyone else." He hid his grin when the wolves started at that command, knowing it was meant for them. Keeping his voice stern, his gaze uncompromising, he continued, "There is meat enough in the forests, to be hunted and caught. Rabbits, deer, and other creatures. Never is anyone to eat another who walks, talks, is aware or is one of the children, too young yet to speak their own words. Do you understand?"

The wolves nodded, in awe of this god who had come among them, who had triumphed over the Lady and over them, who had changed his friend back to man, and who had somehow saved them all when they'd stopped taking the potion. They owed him their lives and the lives of their cubs, and they would never forget that.

Iolaus nodded solemnly. "Good. I'm pleased with you, all of you. You are good people, kind and noble in your way, courageous and caring. These are my commands to you, and I enjoin you to remember them, and to teach them to your children, and then to their children, so all will remember and honour them in all the generations to come. When I return, for I will return from time to time, I want to find you all well and thriving together." He waited a moment, letting the silence grow, knowing they held him in a kind of awe and would speak of this day for as long as their kind existed in this world. While he hated to deceive them, uncomfortable with his acceptance of the role of their god, he was also filled with love for them, and a kind of pride that he was able to help them create their own community, enabling them to live together in peace.

Finally, he lowered his hand, and his face eased into a smile that brightened the hall, his eyes dancing with humour. "Go now," he said to them, "and live forever in peace. I wish you health, happiness and long life, always."

They cheered him then, conveying the love and respect they held for him in their hearts. Shaking his head, he waved to calm them, but they would not be restrained. Finally, laughing, he stepped down from the dias and walked amongst them, patting them on their shoulders, ruffling the hair of the young ones, making his way from the hall. Once he was gone, their voices fell away, and they left then, going out of the palace, returning to their homes in the village and the forest caves.

When Iolaus entered Herc's room, he found his friend awake and struggling to sit up. "What was all that yelling," Hercules asked, relief in his eyes when he saw Iolaus, "I was afraid something was wrong."

"No," Iolaus smiled at him as he crossed the room to his side, "nothing's wrong, Herc. In fact, everything is just fine."

It was a week before Hercules had recovered enough to handle the arduous trip out of the hidden valley. In that time, Iolaus had the goat-people help him build a small boat, slender and curved at each end, with two slatted seats. He carved the four paddles himself. Throughout that whole week, while working on the beach, he studied the mountains round about, his practiced eyes seeking another, easier, path out than the one he had led him here. Finally, he decided on their route. It would be steep, and difficult, but not impossible. And, he'd take great care not to leave a back trail, so that no one could ever discover a path over those mountains to this isolated and enchanted island.

Hercules had realized over the past week, from things Wim and Shanda, and their kids, along with their friends, had said that they all considered Iolaus a god. While they kept him company, when Iolaus was out working on the boat, they told him the stories of how Iolaus had come to be amongst them, of how he had led them against the Lady, and freed them from her domination, driving her away. With a kind of awe, they told him of how Hercules had attacked Iolaus at her command, but had stopped his assault just before killing their god, having somehow remembered him...and had then protected him from the Lady's attempted assault with the cleaver. Hercules shuddered to think about what he had almost done, sickened by how close it had been.

During those days, they also told him of how Iolaus had cared for him, mentioning in passing the wounds he'd suffered, causing Hercules to wince again with regret for actions he couldn't remember. He'd been amazed to learn he'd been a lion, but since he was listening to folks who were partly goat, he had no difficulty believing their words. And, they'd told him of how Iolaus had somehow kept them all alive and aware, making sure they didn't regress when they stopped taking the potion, following that story with the one of how Iolaus had taught them what democracy meant, and the commands he had given them.

Hercules listened to their words, from time to time gazing out of the window to watch Iolaus at work down below on the beach. Smiling to himself, he only nodded in agreement with them when they called his friend a god, and credited him with miracles. As far as he was concerned, Iolaus was better than any god he'd ever known, and deserved whatever praise these beings heaped upon him. In the following days, as he got stronger, he walked with them around the village, and let the kids excitedly show him where they'd hidden Iolaus in the stable, the traces of the wolves' blood still visible on the straw that covered the ground. Then, they took him further afield, showing him where they'd captured Iolaus, and then where they'd found him sleeping by his fire, deep in the forest. Hercules followed the scant trail that remained after the rain that had fallen, broken branches, crushed plants in the undergrowth, until he came to the place where Iolaus had climbed the steep bank from the sandy shoreline. Standing there under the trees, he looked across the lake at the thundering waterfall, and shook his head at the chances his friend had taken to follow after him, to make sure he was alright.

In the evenings, Iolaus filled in some of the other blanks, telling Hercules of his journey along the river, glossing over the difficulty of it all, and making light of the terror of the whirlpool under the waterfall. And, finally, Hercules learned it had been Circe who had created this place and who had poisoned him with her potion.

"Circe?" he murmured, remembering vaguely the beautiful, red haired woman who had stood over him on the beach, and who had seemed so solicitous and helpful while she cared for him on his arrival. "What would Circe be doing here, so far from the sea?"

Iolaus shrugged, as he replied, "I'm not sure exactly, but I gather it had something to do with the time she brought you back from the depths of the sea, when you were trapped in that giant shell. She sure seemed to blame me for what happened."

Seeing the concern in his friend's eyes, he turned the conversation to the subject of their departure, and his idea of climbing up out of the valley. Hercules let Iolaus distract him, but he filed away the knowledge of Circe's grievance, determined to safeguard Iolaus from her vengeance should they ever stumble across her path again. His memory had almost fully recovered, and he remembered the bandits that had ambushed them. But, when he asked Iolaus about them, about what had happened after he'd fallen into the gorge, his buddy just looked away, a strained look on his face as he shrugged and mumbled that he'd 'handled it'. Hercules could never get him to reveal any of the details of those moments when he'd been driven by a fury so great it had consumed him, launching him into the midst of the bandits like an avenging angel, rampaging with a mindless violence, blinded by his rage, until those who had survived fled from him to save their skins. Those were terrible moments Iolaus didn't care to remember too clearly, and certainly didn't ever want to talk about.

Once, Hercules referred to the now healing wounds on Iolaus' arms and chest, his eyes clouded with regret and sorrow as he murmured, "I'm sorry...I didn't know what I was doing."

But, Iolaus just shook his head and waved away the apology and the feelings of guilt. "It wasn't your fault, Herc," he said firmly, "Circe is responsible for all of it. Forget it."

Hercules looked down, a troubled frown over his eyes, and he hesitated a beat before finally saying, "They told me I almost killed you..."

Iolaus looked up sharply, sorry to learn that his friend had heard about those frightening moments, but then he just smiled, as he replied, "Hercules, look at me." When Hercules looked up, confused by the bright smile, Iolaus continued, "I told them you wouldn't hurt me, and you didn't. Somehow, even after all she'd done to you, you remembered me, and stood between her and me, protecting me. Don't ever think you came close to killing me...it wasn't ever a possibility."

Hercules let out his breath in a long sigh, relieved beyond words by what Iolaus had just said. His eyes clearing, he smiled tentatively, in response to the bright grin Iolaus was bestowing upon him, and he nodded, silently confirming that he'd never do anything to hurt Iolaus, not so long as any part of him could recognize the man he loved with all his soul.

Finally, it was time to go. The goats and wolves thronged around the palace on the morning of their departure, wanting to bow before them until Iolaus again commanded them never to bow in his presence. Hercules watched and listened with a quizzical look on his face, one brow cocked high under the bangs that fell across his brow, his eyes twinkling with private amusement and pride. Iolaus caught the look, and blushed a bit, shrugging in awkward and embarrassed acknowledgement of Hercules' silent teasing and evident enjoyment of the devotion being heaped upon him as they made their way through the throng. On the beach, the hunter hugged Wim, Shanda and each of the kids who had found and sheltered him. "I'll never forget you," he promised, his voice full and his eyes glistening in the sunlight.

"No more will we ever forget you, my Lord Iolaus," Wim asserted, daring to use the title he felt so strongly that this self-proclaimed mortal so richly deserved. Iolaus waggled a chiding finger at him, but couldn't resist Wim's smile, and simply waved as he turned away, helping Hercules pull the light boat into the water and climbing with practiced ease into its prow. Turning back, he called to them, "Remember all that I have told you!"

And, in response, they cheered loudly, until the boat was well out on the lake, taking their god and his friend far from their island.

It took the whole day for them to climb up out of the valley, the way being difficult and steep. Often, Hercules had to reach back and pull Iolaus up when there were no hand or footholds within his reach. But, finally, they made it, late in the afternoon. Turning back, before heading down the other side, relieved to find the slope there easier, they looked out over the valley, down at the palace still shining white in the sunlight. Part of the valley was deep in shadow, but the rest was a riot of colour, reds and oranges, yellows, and deep greens, the lake shimmering turquoise, flat and still. A light mist rose from the base of the waterfall, and all seemed bathed in a kind of peace. It was an enchanted place and for all of her evil, Circe had created something of great beauty here in the wilderness. And, she had created beings of great nobility.

As they turned to continue on their way, Hercules frowned a little as yet another fragment of memory surfaced in his mind. "Iolaus," he asked, in a tone of disbelief mingled with dismay, "did you tell me to 'sit', like I was some kind of pet?"

Iolaus looked up at him, catching the humour lurking in his friend's eyes, and giggled as he turned to lead the way down to the forest on the other side of the mountains. "Well, Herc...it seemed the thing to do at the time. I guess you had to be there."

Hercules groaned theatrically, pretending to be greatly offended by his buddy's cavalier treatment of the lion he had been. "I was there, Iolaus...that's the point! How could you command me to 'sit'? Did you forget it was me? Or have you always wanted to treat me like your own personal pet 'hero'?" he asked, deliberately using the term the Shanda had told him was Circe's name for him.

Iolaus just laughed, then turned to look up at his buddy, his eyes dancing. "Well," he said, mischief glinting from his eyes, "it would only be fair...sort of balances Ares always calling me your pet mortal, don't you think?"

Hercules laughed with him, as he shook his head, and playfully shoved Iolaus along ahead of him. But, his eyes softened as he took a last look back over his shoulder at the enchanted island far below, knowing he'd be there still, trapped in the body of a lion, unaware of who he'd been, if his friend had not come after him, braving wolves and the power of a goddess to save him.

"Hey, c'mon Herc!" Iolaus called, having gotten some distance ahead while the demi-god had dawdled at the top of the mountain, lost in his thoughts. "I want to be in the forest, with a good warm fire, before the sun is finally down. Hurry up!"

"I am yours to command, my Lord Iolaus," Hercules called back, laughter in his voice as he quickened his pace, slipping a little on the shale as he eased his way down the mountain behind his best friend.

"Give me a break," Iolaus snorted, turning to lead the way to the forest below.

Hercules just grinned, and wondered what Iolaus would think if his buddy had known that he hadn't been kidding.

The next day, they followed the edge of the forest around the rim of the mountain and down until they came across the path that led up from the narrow ledge and the ruin of the bridge that had once crossed the chasm. Iolaus knelt, frowning as he worked out the faint signs left after the storm the week before. Finally, nodding, he pointed out the tracks and they set off, once again on the trail of the bandits they had promised to hunt down and bring to justice.

Behind them, the quiet rumble of the waterfall tumbling down into the hidden valley slowly faded into the silence of distance.

Finis