Mirror of the Soul, chapter two, Carolyn golledge
Iolaus lurched to his knees inside the violently pitching basket in time to see that they were falling clear of the rocks and about to meet the sea instead. He took time to glance at the young pilot's face and could see he looked just as terrified. He braced himself as best he could, then came a horrific impact.
Stunned, he woke moments later to inhale a mouthful of saltwater. Groggy, disoriented, he coughed, began to struggle, only to feel something grab at his hair and pull his face up out of the water. Gasping and blinking away the stinging water, his eyes made contact with another's face. A young, terrified, bleeding and pale face with wide staring green-brown eyes.
Oh yeah, him. It all came back in a flash, and he realized the youngster, though obviously in pain, was holding him clear of the water. That reminded Iolaus of the painful grip on his hair.
'Ow,' he muttered, and shook his head to free himself, then gave the man a grateful nod. It was only then he understood what it was that puzzled him about the scene.
They were in the water, breathing, but no sky showed above. It was dim and shadowy, weird beams of light lancing down through what looked like wickerwork above and behind the youngster.
The flying-basket thing, we're trapped under it, he realized with a shock. There was a small pocket of air trapped with them, but it was rapidly leaking out through what must be the bottom of the overturned torn and battered basket. The water level was rising about them. The youngster was still caught by the tangled straps digging painfully deep into his shoulders.
Iolaus' fist closed, expecting to feel the sword hilt in his grip, and he was dismayed when it was no longer there. He ducked his head underwater, gave a quick look about for it in the mass of tangled debris that was still attached to various ropes dangling from the basket. Nothing. He drew his last boot knife instead and surfaced to take hold of one of the trapped man's straps and start up where he'd left off before they fell. The man had lost the other knife Iolaus had shoved into his hand - lucky thing Iolaus carried one in each boot.
Involved in his task, Iolaus didn't notice how near was death until the water washed and slapped about his mouth. And the cursed strap was still resisting his blade. He spared a glance for the youngster, saw he had his good hand closed about the other strap and was using it as leverage to keep his head marginally clear of the water. Less than a handspan of air remained above their heads, and the basket began to tear faster under the strain, the air leaving it in ever growing streams of bubbles.
The youngster's eyes grew dark and wide, terror laden with sadness. He said something hoarsely, and nodded his chin sharply upward. He's telling me to get the Hades out of here, Iolaus realized in surprise. Brave kid.
No! Iolaus shook his head vehemently and hacked all the harder, searching for a way through the cursed metal studs in the tangled leather. Saltwater closed over his mouth and he took a quick, sharp breath through his nose before the water went up over his eyes. At his side the frightened youngster's face screwed up in pain as he hauled himself up one last desperate notch, then pressed his face hard upward against the wickerwork and its remaining tiny air pocket. It would be enough for moments only.
Silently, Iolaus cursed the gods. He would not let this kid die, damn it! Abstractedly, he wondered why the basket was slowly sinking rather than rising, as he'd hoped it would with air trapped inside. Something heavy must have fallen on it from above. There was a sudden jolt on the basket wall then he felt a hard fist tighten urgently about his booted ankle and pull him down. He slipped and lost sight of the notch he'd finally managed to cut into the metal-coated leather. Annoyed, he kicked out and looked down at the same time. Sure enough, Hercules had arrived to pull him free.
Noting Iolaus' conscious resistance, Hercules let go and came up to meet him face to face. 'Iolaus!' he gasped out, finding the air pocket. His hazel eyes narrowed keenly as he examined his friend for injury. 'Are you -?'
'I'm fine. He's not,' Iolaus said concisely and Hercules' head turned to regard the other man. What had begun as a delighted smile to find Iolaus unharmed, quickly faded into a grim frown as he noted what his partner was attempting to do.
He met Iolaus' eyes again, gave a curt, determined nod, and disappeared down and out of the basket. Almost immediately the wickerwork jolted ferociously and began to rise rapidly - Hercules had freed whatever had been holding it down, and/or was hauling the basket, load and all to the surface.
Way to go, Herc! Iolaus cheered pinioning shoulder strap pulled suddenly taut and Iolaus' knife finally severed the last thread. Only one to go.
Turning to give the youngster a victory grin, Iolaus saw instead a flashing agony contort the stranger's face, his mouth strained wide in a silent scream, then snapped shut as he tried to avoid swallowing water. The remaining shoulder strap was cutting into his broken shoulder and pulling him cruelly up while his lower body was pulled taut and down by - what? Under tremendous strain, the last safety strap suddenly tore free of the sodden wickerwork. And as quickly as that, the man was gone, plummeting downward. Now what!?
Iolaus took one last gulp of air, duck-dived, and pushed down and after the sinking man. He was dismayed to find his own limbs were tiring, his strength fading, he'd been shaken badly by the crashing impact with the sea. Peering through the silt that swirled upward about the falling debris, Iolaus was just able to make out something wrapped about the drowning man's legs. It looked like rope, and as he drew nearer he understood - the flying contraption had some kind of anchor, like a ship, and it was this, attached to the rope, that was pulling the man downward.
This guy has gotta be cursed! Iolaus thought, and was all the more determined the gods would not claim him.
The anchor hit a sandy bottom and the youngster thrashed and kicked trying to free himself, but only managed to tangle himself up worse. Such struggles would also quickly use up the last of the air held in his lungs. Reaching him, Iolaus gave his arm a quick, reassuring squeeze. The youngster's eyes widened in surprise over his fear. Iolaus was already looking at the rope, hunting for the best place to begin cutting. He could feel the beginning strain in his lungs and had difficulty getting a grip on the rope that moved away from his blade. He wanted to howl curses at whatever cruel god was responsible, but kept his lips firmly shut, and tried to hold the rope steady with one hand and cut with the other.
A sudden flurry of bubbles and movement, a dark shadow swooping down from above, announced the return of his partner. Iolaus flicked a glance upward and saw Hercules diving toward them, slowed by something he was hauling in both hands.
Iolaus frowned - a cooking pot? Then, as Hercules reached the young man, Iolaus realized, He's brought some air with him! Yes!
Hercules pulled the pot over the man's head and Iolaus saw the youngster's legs ease up struggling. Hercules guided the boy's hand to grasp the pot which would be difficult to hold down against its buoyancy. He grabbed for the man's other arm, wanting him to hold tight with both hands. Iolaus reached urgently to knock Hercules' hand away, stopping him from moving the boy's broken limb - he'd let go for sure with the pain of it.
Hercules frowned but didn't argue, taking in Iolaus' hurried miming of injury. Instead the big man took Iolaus' arm in an unshakable grip, and fiercely pointed his own free hand skyward. Iolaus shook his head, his vision dimming. He'd have to leave, he had no choice. He tried to shove the hilt of his boot knife into his partner's fist, but Hercules indicated he intended hauling upward on the anchor rope instead. The weight would be impossible for anyone else, and even for Hercules it would be a struggle, but it had a better chance of quick success than trying to cut through the wet, tangled rope.
Feeling a little better about abandoning the scene, Iolaus kicked hard into the sandy sea-floor, giving himself as much propulsion upward as he could muster. His lungs burned terribly and he fought the urge to expel the air pushing against his lips. The glorious beams of light, the pooled sheen of the open sky racing to meet him, was possibly the best thing he'd ever seen in his life. But it was farther off than it seemed and darkness blotted out the stirring sight before he could reach it, his lungs releasing against the strain and air leaking out between his parted lips. Just as his failing consciousness was all but overcome, his head came clear of the surface. He gasped explosively and gulped fresh air. Nothing could be as sweet as that cold air flooding in, filling his aching lungs, sating the pain, and renewing the strength in his blood.
Still gasping and spluttering, he turned his head up to drink in the sight of the sun and the sky. He turned back, intending to dive under to help complete the rescue. Movement caught his eye, and he blinked dazedly, trying to make out what it was that had suddenly bobbed up at his side. The cooking pot!
Heart thudding with renewed alarm, Iolaus dived back underwater. Hercules was steadily gaining the surface with his trailing burden, but his face was drawn in despair, watching the young man floating unconscious slightly above him, his legs still caught in the rope. Iolaus pushed down, grabbed hard at the line and heaved upward with all his remaining strength. Between the two of them, they climbed much more quickly against the dragging, deadly weight. As soon as the youngster's head broke through the surface Iolaus released the rope to hold his motionless face clear of the water.
Coughing and spluttering, Hercules emerged to gulp a breath and turn to him, eyes asking the question.
'No,' Iolaus said, panting for air himself. 'He's not…. Breathing.'
Hercules' chin jerked sharply up and he half turned in the water to peer more closely at the still pale face, an anxious frown pulling at his brows. He took hold of the man under the arms, somehow heaved him upright in the water, and took him in a bear hug and squeezed hard enough to make Iolaus wince. A jet of sea water came flying from the man's mouth and nose and he drew what could have been a ragged breath. It was hard to tell whether he was actually breathing for himself properly again, or it was simply the action of the muscles of the chest settling back in reflex.
'Hold him,' Hercules said. 'I'll cut him free.'
Fighting the small waves slapping about them, and the tide dragging against his weary limbs, Iolaus did what he could. There were bits and pieces of light-weight debris floating about them, and he soon spotted his bow, glad to be able to secure it again as the tide carried it close. The heavier quiver and arrows had somehow stayed safe at his back, the shoulder strap holding it tightly.
After what seemed an eternity but could have been mere moments, he felt the dragging weight at last ease from the man's body as Hercules succeeded in cutting him free. He surfaced to blink water from his eyes and give Iolaus a desperately hopeful glance. 'Well?' he gasped.
'I'm not sure,' Iolaus said heavily. 'If he is breathing it's not much.'
Hercules dragged the unconscious man's upper body onto his chest and struck out, swimming on his back. 'If you get tired, grab my belt.'
Iolaus nodded thanks, and began swimming, but soon realized he was too badly shaken, and the current too strong. It dragged him continually back, sapping his strength and he knew that soon he would be too tired to fight it at all. He swam closer and wrapped his fingers about Hercules' belt. His partner half turned and gave him a concerned glance, but neither of them had breath for words. Iolaus could feel his own body being towed through the water along with the limp stranger, his partner's tremendous strength easily able to carry the load even against the outgoing tide.
They had neared the shore where the ocean rolled in a never-ending series of long breakers to crash into the sandy beach with its bordering rock platform. Only now did Iolaus fully realize just how far out the tide had carried them. Hercules' powerfully stroking arms guided them smoothly clear of the rocks and at last, they were in shallow water, their feet touching bottom. Waves surged about them, upsetting their balance, and they struggled awkwardly with the injured man.
Finally, Hercules heaved him bodily up into his arms and ran, splashing through the surf with him to the shore. Iolaus staggered up beside him and watched as Hercules lay the man face down in the sand. He drew the arms back sharply - making Iolaus wince as he remembered the injury - then dropped them and pressed down hard on the man's back. More sea water gushed from the man's mouth and nose and Hercules rolled him over, bent to try breathing into him.
Suddenly the stranger coughed, vomited up more water and began breathing raggedly. Hercules took time out to give his partner a victory grin. Iolaus smiled back, then felt his legs go out from under him, crushing weariness and shock catching up with him full force.
'Iolaus?' Hercules frowned concern and made to move toward him. But Iolaus, sitting back on his heels in the wonderfully dry sand and fresh air, waved him off. He nodded at the other man who was groaning and trying to sit up, spewing up more water amid choking coughs that raked his slim frame.
SCENE BREAK
They safely delivered the unconscious, injured man to the local village healer, then completed a long talk with the men about how best to defend their homes and people should the dragon return. The locals were greatly relieved to hear that Iolaus had managed to get an arrow into the thing, and thus were hopeful it might hole up for a while to lick its wounds. It had as yet left their village unharmed - though probably only because of the distraction of the strange flying craft - and the people had been badly panicked by the dragon's sudden appearance. No word had reached them of its attacks on the settlements to the north.
Now, that business complete, the two friends walked wearily away from the gathering about the central square with its shady fountain and trees. From there, they turned and hiked on up-slope along a central avenue between a line of stone, wood, and thatch houses. At the top of the hill stood the larger home in which lived those skilled in healing. An extra room or two had been added for caring for the sick, or for the fishermen who returned injured from the sea that was their major source of sustenance and commerce.
Twilight was beginning to cloak the street, casting long purple shadows from the limestone cliffs behind the houses, while here and there, the last golden shafts of the setting sun gilded a tree or wall. The sea breeze stirred, promising a cold night, and bringing the fragrance of salt and fish. As they climbed the few stone steps and pushed through the entry into the house of healing, their eyes adjusted to the brighter light. A middle-aged woman was moving quietly about, finishing lighting the oil lamps.
She nodded a quiet greeting, said, 'I'm Genarra, the Healer. The man you carried here is still unconscious. You can wait in here.' She indicated they should go on into the common room and sit down on one of the benches at the large wooden table by the hearth, there to await the healer's finishing of her work.
'How many people are they tending in there, anyway?' Iolaus said somewhat irritably, nodding to the back room where they'd left the injured man. 'I didn't see anyone else when we arrived. Genarra can't be so busy that she hasn't a moment to spare us a few words.' He yawned and blinked at the firelight from the hearth. 'I was hoping we could just go on in and see him. Well, if we have to wait, I might as well get this dry.'
He shrugged out of his still damp vest, and slung it over a chair by the hearth. He sat down again, stared unseeing at the fire a moment, then propped his head on his chin and closed his eyes. He felt a soft, warm blanket settling about his bare shoulders and looked up to meet Hercules' concerned eyes.
'You don't need to stay. You should go find a bed and get some sleep,' he advised.
'Maybe - if she's going to take all night in there,' Iolaus said, aware of the rasp of weariness in his voice. 'But first I want to make sure...' He yawned hugely and scrubbed his face with both hands, at the same time nodding again to the room where the healer was working on the still unconscious man.
'That he's not going to die on you after all your troubles,' Hercules finished.
'Yeah, that.'
Hercules snorted. 'I don't think he's the ungrateful kind.'
'Me either.' He yawned again. 'But no sleep for a while. I've worked up quite an appetite.'
Hercules cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled. He'd already watched his partner devour an entire dish of olives as they'd talked to the village leaders mid-afternoon.
'Is there any food in this place? Or don't they feed the sick?' Iolaus said somewhat plaintively.
He rubbed at his rumbling stomach and looked hopefully toward a screened off doorway at the right hand corner of the common room which must lead to a kitchen behind the hearth.
One of the younger womenfolk appeared immediately. Hercules had noted with wry amusement that she had been watching them shyly from behind the curtain. He would swear he'd heard her gasp appreciation as Iolaus removed his wet vest. and the firelight played over the bronzed flesh of his bare chest and shoulders. She hurried across the room and meekly gave over a bowl of steaming stew and a wineskin. There were already several cups on the table. Iolaus rewarded her with one of his more charming smiles and she blushed furiously and looked down at her hands, giggling a little.
Genarra poked her head out of the rear room where they'd left the injured man. She cleared her throat and said warningly, 'Kirsta, your manners are lacking. We have more than one guest this night.' She turned back to her work before either of the waiting men could ply her with questions .
The girl's pretty blush became a scarlet stain of mortification. She turned to Hercules, 'There is more in the kitchen,' she said.
'Thank you. I'm not hungry,' Hercules said kindly, and she hurried off, daring to give Iolaus one swift glance before disappearing into the kitchen. Hercules shook his head and sat down next to his partner who was already wolfing down a large portion of his meal.
Iolaus took time out between mouthfuls to eye Hercules curiously and say, 'I can't believe you're not hungry after all you did today.'
'I ate earlier, at the meeting.' Hercules leaned closer to examine the mish mash of greasy looking meat and over-boiled vegetables. 'What is that stuff anyway?'
Iolaus shrugged. 'Dunno. But it tastes better than it looks.'
Hercules shook his head and reached for a hunk of the bread in the middle of the table. He took a bite and got the expected 'I told you so,' from Iolaus who was now trying the wine.
'Kirsta! Bring some water and a cup!' Genarra called urgently from the bedroom. 'The wounded one wakes.'
Hercules got to his feet, and his partner, shrugging off the blanket, followed. 'About time,' Iolaus said. 'This stuff will help him better than water.' He picked up the wineskin and slung it over one bare shoulder.
Hercules wasn't so sure, but said nothing, busy watching the man propped up by cushions against the bedboard in the corner of the small open rear room.
To say the fellow looked dazed and confused was an understatement. The woman healer had done good work strapping his broken shoulder, the right arm was now secured firmly against his ribs in a support bandage. There was a smaller bandage about the gash in his brow. He took a sip of the water the old woman held to his lips, then catching movement at the entry way, looked up at Hercules and Iolaus. He frowned for a moment, then his eyes lit in recognition. He had come round for a short while on the beach, but had been in too much pain, and was too badly dazed for there to be any useful introductions made.
Hercules stepped forward to remedy that. 'It's good to see you looking some stronger,' he said. 'I'm Hercules. This is Iolaus.'
Iolaus nodded and smiled at the man and continued chewing on a hunk of stew. He swallowed, and moved closer to offer the wineskin. He sloshed some into the man's cup, earning a frown from the healer and a smile from the wounded man who reached awkwardly for the cup with his left hand and took a long swallow.
Hercules could tell by his expression that he was less than impressed by the vintage, but both too polite, and too desperate to ease what must be considerable pain, to do anything other than nod thanks. He said something that Hercules couldn't make out.
'Pardon?' Hercules said, taking another step closer to the bed. 'I didn't catch that.'
The man frowned up at him, looking totally at a loss and for a worrying moment Hercules wondered if there was more injury than they realized. He'd seen other people left unbreathing too long who woke physically sound , but never with the same clarity of mind. 'I'm Hercules,' he repeated, giving the man time to collect his senses - hopefully. 'This is Iolaus.'
At his side, his partner gave a grunt of impatience and dug an elbow in Hercules' ribs as if to say, 'He's not stupid. Stop repeating yourself.'
And, indeed, there was much intelligence in the dark green eyes watching them intently. The man was not as young as he had looked while drenched and terrified. He had an air about him of, well, of someone like Jason, Hercules realized with a start. Someone used to maintaining dignity in awkward situations.
The stranger handed the wine cup to the old woman, who was ready to snatch it from him in any case, smiled again, a little stiffly this time, and said something that sounded like it included his name. That was repeated with a finger jabbing at his chest for emphasis. 'Jayk.' Now it was the newcomer who was eyeing his companions as if it was their brains that might be addled. He asked a question, waving a hand at the room, but seeming to indicate a wider query.
Iolaus answered cheerfully, no doubt empathizing with his own numerous waking in similar situations. 'You're in the healer's house, in a little fishing village on the coast of Messenia. About two days walk from Pylos.'
That name registered. 'Pylos?' the man repeated in surprise, eyes widening. He said something more quietly, as if to himself, sounding a little concerned.
Hercules decided it was time to try a language other than Greek. Now that the man's hair had dried, he could see it was an unusual reddish-gold brown, and his eyes were an even more unusual shade of green-grey, deep set beneath straight brows and a wide, high forehead. The cheekbones were high and well defined and the jaw sharply chiseled. The few lines about his face indicated a man who - despite his odd mode of travel - had not spent years in the hot sun and winds of this part of the world. His face was tanned but his shoulders and bare chest were pale. Hercules searched for clues as to land of origin as he tried one language after another without success. The man too tried what must have been a variation of his native tongue, and at Hercules' blank look, sighed in frustration.
'We're getting nowhere fast,' Hercules told his partner as Iolaus returned, munching on the stew he'd gone back to the table to collect. He sighed, and said, 'I'll try Latin.'
'He doesn't look Roman.'
'Sometimes you can't tell by looks.' Hercules turned back to the frowning man and said in fluent Latin, 'Do you speak Latin?'
'Thank the gods!' Jayk interrupted in Latin, a grin lighting his bruised face. 'I thought we might need to try, umm... you know - ' He frowned, didn't seem to know the Latin word for it, and indicated sign language.
Iolaus chuckled. 'Oh, sign language,' he said in Latin. 'Yeah, that could have been awkward. So, Latin is not your native tongue, either?'
'No,' Jayk said. 'I am Gallaecian'
Iolaus frowned, and repeated, 'Gallaecian?'
'From the mountain lands south of Gaul.'
Hercules finally managed to get in a word. 'You have traveled far!'
Jayk smiled wryly, 'That is truth.' A sudden sadness filled his eyes, 'And yet my -' Again, he tried to find the right word, gave up and settled for, 'task - in coming so far - I have not yet finished.' He corrected himself. 'Can not yet finish, but I try, long time.'
'Well,' Hercules said, letting out a sigh, and trying a reassuring smile, 'We can give what help we may. But for tonight maybe you should rest. More talk can wait.'
Jayk nodded weary agreement, and fell back against the pillows, wincing a little over the pain of his shoulder. Then, suddenly, he muttered what could only be a curse, and shook his head. He eyed his companions with apology in every line of his face.
'I forget. I am shamed. I forget to thank you. You save me from death. And I think not to thank you.'
Moved by the genuine chagrin in the words, Hercules held the man's eyes and opened his mouth to reassure him that no offence had been taken. But Iolaus, in typically more relaxed manner, went to the bedside, and clasped the man's good arm.
'It's what we do - ' Iolaus said wryly. 'Keeps us from getting bored. Don't worry about it. You hungry?'
Hercules was sure Jayk could not have understood most of what had been said, especially as Iolaus was speaking not-so-great Latin with his mouth full, but the intent and the warmth of the welcome was obvious. Jayk looked a little overcome, his eyes misted, and he looked away from their gazes to hide his emotion. 'If saving life is what you do, I am fortunate to find you,' he said huskily. 'I thank you.'
Iolaus gave the arm another squeeze. 'Forget it. Glad to help. Now, are you hungry?'
Jayk looked back, his eyes lit with faint amusement, as if, Hercules decided dryly, he had quickly deduced that food was an important item on his new friend's list of priorities. 'A little,' he said.
Iolaus translated this request to the old woman who had been standing watching them all the more testily as the conversation changed to words she could not follow. She put her hands to her hips and gave Iolaus a stern stare to let him know she wasn't about to be dismissed as a scullery maid.
'Oh, umm,' Iolaus corrected himself. He waved a hand from her to the injured man, met Jayk's eyes, and introduced in Latin, 'This is Genarra. She fixed your shoulder.' To be sure Jayk followed the words, he added, 'She's a good healer.'
Jayk gave his sincere thanks. Iolaus translated back his own explanation and the thanks for Genarra, whose expression softened at the given compliment, and was further won over by Iolaus' patented Can-you-forgive-me please? expression.
Iolaus had honed that look from the cradle. Hercules had seen it work many times, even on Alceme who had expected it. Genarra didn't stand a chance. Hercules could only roll his eyes and look up at the thatched ceiling as Iolaus scored another direct hit - the old woman melted completely, and like so many of her kind, could not resist ruffling Iolaus' hair before turning to go to the kitchen.