Thanks to all those who have reviewed chapter 1, and my apologies for not getting round to writing chapter 2 until now as unfortunately real life has to intrude and the priorities of my job have to come first – it does, after all, pay the bills! I also wanted to find a clear direction for this story to be able to continue.

So, I hope that you enjoy this 2nd instalment, and I of course welcome an reviews as I continue on with the story!


The world shook...and Poseidon spoke.

Hidden by swirling grey smoke within the shadows of his temple, the Oracle stood motionless before the ceremonial fire, her eyes seeing nothing except the eternal dance of the flames and what they held within, seemingly oblivious to the shouts and cries echoing through the shadowed columns and of the falling debris from above. Beneath her voluminous cowl her lips moved in silent prayer, the words flowing from mouth without conscious thought, a chosen one of the God trained from her cradle to open the veils between worlds and to see beyond them as only the chosen ones could.

Dimly she was aware of her name being called, of fleeting shadows in the murky, dust-filled distance, but even as the very ground beneath her bare feet moved and the rumbling sounds filled her ears she could think of nothing but the fire before her. Power coursed through her slender form, emanating from beyond her ability to know but rising, rising and rising again within her, consuming her in its fiery grip. Others, untrained and unknowing, would not have understood, but as the moon waxed and waned, as the seasons moved one to another and she had learned the ways of the Gods, so she had learned to accept such feelings as the gifts of her holy office.

But this was different. It was a brutal fury the like of which she had never known, a tidal wave of savage anger that pulled her with it, passing through her, over her, around her until nothing seemed to be left of her and she knew not where she ended and another began, filling her with a dread and terror as it had never done this many years before.

Before her unseeing eyes the fire grew, its flames leaping and roaring, building higher and higher to obliterate all else with its heat and thirst for destruction, and within its heart she heard it, heard the deep, booming voice that had echoed in her sweetest dreams and had dogged her most terrible nightmares, that had directed her every action, her every word in this sacred place and that had reverberated all through her life from her earliest years.

The voice of Poseidon, calling to his messenger, drawing her nearer to the inferno.

And, as the flames grew ever stronger, she had no choice but to obey.


"Gods!"

Hercules, roused from his ale-soaked stupor, staggered to the door, heaving it open to stand and stare, bleary-eyed and swaying, out into the Palace grounds. Around him the basso rumbling continued, the very floor beneath his feet seeming to vibrate and judder as if by the action of some live creature below. He tried to focus against the sudden harshness of the torchlight, his fogged brain seeing only shifting shapes and colours, and he squinted as he heard shouts and screams echoing through the night from beyond the stout walls of the royal gardens.

Walls that appeared to be moving...

"Hercules!"

Hearing his name called above the cacophony of noise he whirled, almost falling as a large piece of ornately carved marble crashed to the tiled floor beside him, his eyes seeing little through the choking layers of dust. Choking, he slumped back against the door frame, his lungs fighting to breathe through the miasma surrounding him even as slender hands grabbed at his own and he heard Pythagoras's voice at his side.

"Keep down!" He was shouting, "Keep down!"

More pieces of carvings fell, their smashing impacts joining with the terrible, grinding rumbling from the ground below. Unseen by either of them, the city itself trembled and shuddered in the grip of the quake, the ancient buildings juddering as their very foundations twisted and tore. Roofs and columns, unable to bear the sudden strain, teetered and collapsed, trapping and killing those who sought to flee, the broken stones splashed red with their blood as the life left their eyes.

Then, abruptly, it was over.

Coughing and retching, the two friends, one a burly wrestler with more tales than truth within him, the other a man fascinated by the minutiae of life, held onto each other for a few minutes before attempting to rise, their clothes covered in grey powder and broken fragments of tiles, looking about them with incredulous, disbelieving stares. Statues that had been pristine were now shattered, the earth that they had stood on rent asunder as if by a giant's hand, the cracks extending like a spider's web up into the palace buildings themselves, and over everything lay a thick pall of black smoke, evidence upon the wind, if any were needed, of the many cooking fires that had been set free to ravage the roofs and timbers alike.

A scene of destruction, and of a God's wrath visited upon his servants.

Still trembling a little, Pythagoras turned to his companion, his voice low and full of horror.

"Have you ever seen the like of this?"

For a long moment, Hercules did not answer, then, without looking, slowly shook his head.

"No," He said, his own voice hoarse. Gods, but he was thirsty, his throat parched beyond belief from the dust laden air "Not as big as this"

Pythagoras's eyes widened. "Then what..." He began to say, but a glance from Hercules stopped him from continuing. There was anger in that glance, the same anger that had consumed him only hours before when he had witnessed the death of his beloved Medusa, the woman he'd loved and lost and then lost again when Pasiphae had attempted to use her as a deadly weapon against the armies of Atlantis. Cursed by her own curiosity, she had lived as a recluse, veiled from the world and knowing that with one look she could turn men to stone. Pasiphae had found her, had told her she could cure her, and she, deep in despair and desperate, had believed her. Using magic Pasiphae had tricked her, and it had only been through sheer luck that Jason and the Oracle had found a way to defeat both the curse and Pasiphae's influence.

But the joy of her freedom had been short lived.

Atlantis had been attacked once more and, as she had tried to tend to the wounded, a stray arrow had embedded itself in her, its barbed point tearing through flesh to find her heart beneath. Hercules had raced to her, shouting for Pythagoras, but it had been to avail. She had died in his arms, the breath leaving her body even as he held her tightly to him and looked down into her eyes. So young she had been, so young and full of life once more.

And it had been taken from her, as swiftly as a thief might take a purse in the night.

Amidst the destruction and chaos, the big man seemed so alone, the fury and sorrow of his soul etched upon his face, and Pythagoras felt his heart go out to him. He had lost the one thing that had meant so much to him, and, unlike the curse, it could never be reversed.

The sounds of shouted calls shook him back to reality, and he looked round to see men of the palace guard running towards them, their own clothing and armour dishevelled and torn. Ilios, the seasoned veteran that had succeeded Dion as their Captain, came to them, his face streaked with grime and blood from a gash on his forehead, his chest heaving beneath his battered leather breastplate.

"Thank the Gods you are alive!" He gasped, grabbing at Pythagoras's hand," Given the damage to the Palace, we had thought the worst"! He looked over Hercules's shoulder, frowning "The King is not with you?"

"He wasn't with the Queen?"

Ilios shook his head. "No, they had retired for the night, but when the maidservants went to fetch them, only the Queen was present"

Hercules looked at the man, as if seeing him for the first time. "Was she hurt?"

"No, Gods be thanked!"

"But there was no sign of Jason?"

The man's silence told them all they needed to know, and despite his own sorrow, Hercules felt concern rising within him as he exchanged glances with Pythagoras. Jason was no fool, but he had often done things before without thinking them through. If he had decided to take some notion into his head, then who knew where he could be...or even if he was still alive?

No, the thought had to be buried. Jason had to be alive, had to be. He couldn't have borne it, and his own wound was still too raw for another to be made.

"Then we need to find him," He said, urgency filling his voice as he reached for one of the few torches left on the wall behind him, "And find him quickly, before anything else happens!"


It was over...for now.

Jason stirred, his vision swimming as he became aware of a woman's voice urgently calling his name, his shoulders being shaken. Dust stung his eyes and burned in his throat, and felt himself retching as he tried to breathe.

"Jason...easy Jason...easy now"

A woman's voice...Pasiphae's voice...

His mother's voice...

The thought wakened him back into consciousness, his eyes clearing to find Pasiphae looking down at him, her expression one of obvious and serious concern. Groaning he moved to sit up, but felt her hand on his chest, stopping him.

"No, not yet," He heard her say, "Not too fast. Take a few breaths first"

Shaking a little, and without knowing really why, he obeyed her. His innards felt as if they were on fire, the pain stabbing at him each time he took a lungful of the particle laden air, his heart beat slowing as the oxygen reached the tissues and the adrenaline gradually faded from his body. He frowned, realising that his mother was right above him, and glanced to one side to see the cage that she had been in lying smashed beneath a pile of rubble and debris.

Pasiphae followed his stare, and, although he was still dazed, he felt her restraining hand shake a little, and, swallowing hard, he finally found his voice.

"Wha...what happened?"

She looked back down at him, and in the torchlight suddenly he was reminded of a painting in a book that he'd once seen, its title long forgotten, an old medieval illustration of a woman's face surrounded by a halo, her hair a coronet of flame as she'd knelt at the bottom of the cross.

"You don't remember?" She asked, and he shook his head.

"The earth shook," She said quietly, and in a tone that to his amazement sounded very much as if it were tinged with awe, "The earth shook and I would have been dead...but you pulled me clear so quickly and with such strength"

Jason lay back. The quake had come so suddenly, and he'd shouted at Pasiphae to get down, but as to the rest...it was all a blur, and then nothing. Acutely he was aware of his mother so close to him, and with it came a strange realisation.

"You could have run" He said, slowly raising himself to look directly into her face, his eyes locked with hers," You could have run for freedom"

"But I did not"

He cocked his head, one eyebrow rising in an unconscious echo of his mother," Then why didn't you?" He asked, "Why didn't you take the chance?"

Pasiphae held his gaze, and was about to answer when she felt the coldness of steel prick her skin and her eyes widened in response.

"I am not so easily persuaded" Hissed a voice, "So tell me why you didn't run?"

Jason started up in protest, seeing Hercules before him, the tip of his sword at his mother's throat and his swarthy features contorted in a rictus of fury and disgust. Behind him he could see Pythagoras and the guards, as well as the delicate features of his wife and queen, her own face hard and unyielding as she took in the scene before her. Relief at her safe and uninjured state was mixed with sudden fear, for he knew the depths of Hercules's despair and of his need for revenge.

"Hercules," He began, but a look from Pasiphae silenced him. Suddenly the former Queen again, she turned her head to look deeply into her captor's eyes, the sheer power of her stare forcing him to take a back step as she slowly rose to her feet, the sword tip still close to her flesh, and when she spoke, her words echoed around the broken and splintered walls that surrounded them.

"I did not run," She said, emphasising each and every word, "Because I am Jason's mother"

Seeing Ariadne's look of disdain, she drew herself to her full height, her gaze sweeping across them. Let them think what they liked. A new emotion was coursing through her, and for the first time she welcomed it, for it was giving her a renewed strength of will that she had not thought possible, a deep fire that had now been lit and that could not be extinguished.

I am his mother...

Jason too had got to his feet, and he was reaching out, pushing the blade away from her, moving to step between her and his friend.

"I know" He said, taking hold of his shoulder, "I know. But this is not the way. You know it too."

Hercules was staring at him, and he felt tears welling at the corners of his eyes. The torment that his friend was suffering was all too evident, and he dropped his voice.

"Think what Medusa would have wanted"

For a long moment the wrestler did not move, his gaze fixed on Pasiphae, and when he spoke, his words were grated out through clenched teeth.

"She deserves to die"

"But you will not take her life, nor will any of you!"

All of them jumped at the ringing tones of the voice that interrupted them. Harsh and uncompromising, it seemed to flow over them, around them...through them, reverberating into their very souls, and Jason gasped as the cloaked figure of a woman stepped from the shadows, her eyes flashing with an inner light that seemed to bathe her slight body with its coruscating energy.

And suddenly, inexplicably, Jason began to feel very afraid.