Life has been hectic, you guys. Sorry again for the lack of updates. This is the final chapter of Book One. I'm currently in the middle of chapter 6 of Book Two. Don't know how long it'll be before I have more for you as I've really been struggling with the direction this story is going in. I'll get it eventually. Just be patient with me.

Kirra's Journey

Episode 5: The Longest Journey, Part II

Book One

Chapter 10

When the dream came to him this time, Iolaus didn't question it. He just let it come. He let the darkness overwhelm him, let it block out his vision and deafen him. It didn't matter if he couldn't see his hand in front of his face because he couldn't have raised his hand if he wanted to.

He gave into darkness so heavy he couldn't move, silence so profound it rang in his ear, and air so thick he seemed to float upon it like a cloud. It was the only merciful sensation and none of it really mattered anyway. He'd accomplished what he set out to do. He'd warned Hercules. Now Hercules could defend himself. Hera didn't have the upper hand anymore.

Still, he wished his throat would work. He wished he could scream into the dark, piercing its heart with the words, Take that, you jealous old crony! And then end it with a hearty cackle. But he no more had that in him than the desire to laugh at his own wit. His throat was a desert, parched and cracked, and his tongue was like a wad of leather in his mouth.

His ears, however, now they were perfect. The laughter he'd wished for was currently creeping toward him like a dank fog hugging the ground, and it wasn't his. No, definitely not his. This one pushed through the silence as loud as a cry and as hushed as death. It had a malicious bite he didn't care to hear twice. Problem was he already had.

He'd heard the voice once before in the waking world, but he had also heard it in his dreams. No one had to tell him who it was, no more than they had to explain the dark, coppery taste in his mouth. Nothing tasted as distinct as the combination of dirt and blood, and there was no laughter as distinct as that of Hera's newest plaything.

Even in this all-consuming darkness, Iolaus saw a head of flame and an armor-plated body standing over him in victory. Warning Hercules had been the dream. This was reality. He'd failed. It had beaten him, broken him, and now he was practically in pieces under its boot.

Damn! How could he let this happen? Life was eeking out of him. Sure, his suffering would soon be over, but his friend's suffering was about to begin. And there was nothing Iolaus could do about it. This place and its visions of failure would be his eternal damnation. He could almost hear Hercules's screams of agony, his cry of pain. It sounded like…it sounded like…

"Hades!"

It sounded like Hades?

"Hades, where are you?"

No, it sounded right over his head! Hercules was in trouble!

The darkness wasn't holding him down anymore. He could move! Arms that he thought were broken were bending. Ribs that he thought were in pieces had mended. Life beat inside his once broken heart and vitality moved through him. What was once dark now became light. It might have burned his eyes but for the light now pulsing through his veins. He was alive and he wasn't about to let Hercules down.

Iolaus opened his eyes and found himself suspended. Not by invisible ropes or by the cloud his mind had conjured. He was in the arms of the only man Iolaus would ever give permission to hold him like a child.

The tail end of Hercules's scream was still reverberating in his ears. Not one second could he waste. As soon as his eyes flew open, he was up and out of Herc's arms with more energy than he knew what to do with rushing to his extremities. It was like tingling points of electricity the second his feet met the ground that charged into his arms and spirited into his fingertips. He was ready to take on the first one brave enough to think he could best Iolaus of Thebes in this state. He bet he could take on Zeus himself! Where was that flaming-haired bitch now?

Better yet, where was the fight? There was no one standing beside him but Hercules himself. Looking rather defeated, he might add. But as his heart rate slowed and the sense of danger passed, Iolaus had an even better question.

"Why were you carrying me?"

The question seemed more than logical to Iolaus, but Hercules wouldn't speak. He wouldn't even look Iolaus in the eye. He looked exactly the way he did that day when they were both about ten years old and he'd lost his kite in a tree. Iolaus watched him sigh and cross his arms. It was a little distressing, not to mention embarrassing. If Jason ever found out…

But that wasn't the worst part. Call it over-focusing, or befuddlement of the mind. Whatever it was, Iolaus had just noticed this place wasn't exactly the last place he remembered being.

"Wait a minute," Iolaus said a bit more dramatically than he would have liked. "Where are we?"

He couldn't exactly remember where he had been, but this candlelit room with its richly appointed drapes and fine dining couch adorned in a mountain of pillows and soft coverlets was not it. And by the look on Hercules's face, he seemed to know it. His second sigh said so.

"The other side," he answered.

Iolaus narrowed his eyes. "Other side of what?"

Herc had been his closest friend for as long as he could remember. They were brothers more than they were friends, and sometimes they were worse than an old married couple. They could argue each other under the ground depending on the subject and there wasn't a day that went by where one or the other didn't say or do something to bring out the exact look Hercules was giving him now. A look that says, You're my best friend, but I could smack you across the face with a good heart. What usually preceded that look was a dumb comment or a stupid reaction. In this case, Iolaus was the last one to speak. What did he say that was so dumb?

Comprehension hit him like a sack of potatoes. Not, the other side. Hercules meant The Other Side. Iolaus's whole face pulled back as if someone had tied a string to each ear and yanked. His heart didn't feel any better.

"You're dead!"

That look like he could smack Iolaus remained, but it had shriveled in size. What eclipsed it was a disquieting expression that said something Iolaus didn't want to hear. Herc said it in the way he avoided Iolaus's eyes and held his breath. But worse than that, he wouldn't acknowledge the accusation. You're dead, he'd told him and Hercules wouldn't say yea or nay. He wouldn't even look at him. He looked everywhere and at everything in this strange room but at him.

Iolaus had a feeling he knew why.

"I'm dead?" he asked, not one hundred percent sure he even believed it, and silently pleading to Hercules words he could not speak, Don't tell me I'm dead.

A few seconds of mulling the uncomfortable truth in his mind and Hercules finally gave his head a sullen nod. "Yeah," he carried over another dejected sigh. At least he had the guts to look him in the eye this time.

Iolaus almost laughed. This had to be a joke. He was full of energy. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, excited for a fight. He was lightning in a bottle. He couldn't be dead! But the look on Herc's face said all he needed to hear, didn't it? There'd been little reason in forcing it out of him. Warning Hercules hadn't been a dream. Iolaus had taken that long walk to find him. He'd trudged over grass, planted foot over foot across steep hills and through boot-sucking sand. He'd done his job. He succeeded. He warned Hercules. But that wasn't all he did.

"Toast," Iolaus said, and though it wasn't a question, the barest of lilts trailed at the end of his voice. Some small part of him still hoped…

The only answer he received from Hercules was a straight, if not highly perturbed face.

Iolaus lost it.

He might have been twelve the last time he could remember throwing a temper tantrum. Stomping his feet. Balling his hands into fists. Flying off at the mouth. Since then, he'd handled setbacks and disappointments like an adult. Though, there was nothing like dying to make one lose all sense of decorum.

Iolaus stomped his feet. His hands balled into fists. His body shook with a barely suppressed need to pick something up and throw it. If he could have dropped on the floor and kicked his legs in the air without looking like an idiot he would. What am I talking about?! I don't have legs to kick in the air! I'm dead!

"Oh! I can't believe that!"

"You better believe it," said a voice that hadn't come from Hercules.

Whoever said it ended Iolaus's tantrum with four words. He was on the verge of fulfilling at least one of those tantrum wishes. A bowl of fruit sat on the dining couch and Iolaus wanted to chuck an apple at the jerk who had the nerve to open his mouth, but he saw more than the man who followed the voice. He saw a woman, as well. No, make that a girl no older than Kirra. Auburn-haired and adorned in a pink gown, she was beautiful. But like Kirra, she was also older than her years.

She showed the man beside her what she looked like when he angered her. "Show a little consideration, Hades. Iolaus has had a rough day."

Addition had never been Iolaus's strong suit, but he was putting two and two together real easily today, if a little slowly. The man standing before him, clad artfully in the only color one might wear were he the god of the underworld—that being the color black—wore a cape of the same color. What? Did he fly around the underworld? Or might that account for his quick appearance?

Iolaus pointed a finger unabashedly. "That's Hades?"

But Herc wasn't big on answers today. He clapped a hand onto Iolaus's back and pushed him toward this unwanted introduction. Though, by the time they were a few meters away, the only introduction that took place was the one between Hercules's angry determination and the stalwart wall that was the god of the underworld. Hades knew what Hercules wanted as well as Iolaus did.

"Iolaus isn't staying here, Hades. Do I make myself clear?"

"Well, considering the condition he was in when he left Earth, which, if I must remind you, was dead, I don't see that he has any other choice."

The god had bearing, good posture, and a measured voice, which meant he chose his words carefully. Other than the ridiculous Olympian get-up, Hades had an impeccable presence. Iolaus hadn't known what to expect of the one now responsible for his after-death fate, except for perhaps this unwavering stance on protocol. And he wasn't finished.

He showed Hercules how stalwart he could be when he turned his back and. "But, don't worry," he added as if offering the prize of honorable mention in a child's drawing contest. "He'll be going to the Elysian Fields."

The Elysian Fields! Not that he was ungrateful, but he would rather go back to where he came from. He would have said so, too, were it not for the soft hand of caution at his arm. The girl who reminded him of Kirra, in personality if not in looks, had stopped him.

Thankfully, Hercules followed Hades with heavy steps. When he spoke, there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. "No, my wife and children were the ones who didn't have any other choice."

Hades squirmed. "Hercules, please. Think of the precedent I'd be setting. I can't!"

"Think of the precedent I set when I convinced Demeter to let Persephone stay down here with you."

That's right, he thought. The girl here is Persephone, the daughter of Zeus and Demeter.

Iolaus hadn't been there to see the events take place, but Hercules had told him the story. Hades had kidnapped the girl because he hadn't the guts to ask Demeter for her hand. He was lucky the girl already had feelings for him. The so-called impeccable presence of Hades lessened in Iolaus's eyes, especially when he rolled his eyes in response to what Hercules said. He seemed to know Hercules would use that argument on him. He might have even had his own well-planned response, but his wife beat him to it.

"Hercules is right, Hades," she said, her cautionary hand still on Iolaus's arm. "He's the reason you and I are here together."

Hades turned back to her. "Yeah, but only six months of the year."

His response ended up sounding more like the petulance of a child than that of the god of the underworld.

Persephone placed hands on her hips. "If you're not nicer, it'll be no months a year."

"But…but, Sweetpea," Hades muttered.

Something weird happened to Iolaus. At any other moment in time, this interaction between gods should have struck his funny bone. The big, bad god of the underworld, the god every man, woman, and child feared more than Hera was groveling at a woman's feet. He was calling her Sweetpea, for Zeus's sake! That should have been funny! He should have been rolling with laughter. And the reason had nothing to do with Hades's next remark.

"Iolaus is practically permanent inventory right now."

Iolaus could manage no more than a slack jaw.

"That is not true," Persephone said. "You know how bad things are backed up after the earthquake in Threcia."

Wait a minute. Had he just become an arguing point only because thousands were dead after an earthquake? And was Hades walking away in a huff like a sullen child? There was no point in speaking his distaste. It was like being back home and listening to his mother and stepfather argue. Persephone wasn't giving up either.

"You're buried in paperwork, Hades. Overbooked, underpaid…" She ticked her reasoning off one finger at a time. "And this new Enforcer is just going to make things worse. Besides, you promised me a little quality time."

Poor Hades! He looked unendingly beset upon. Iolaus watched him turned to Hercules like he was the only who could possibly grasp the frustrations of wife troubles, and he was probably right, but his next comment left Iolaus utterly speechless.

"We were supposed to go on vacation last week."

Iolaus could hear it somewhere deep in the recesses of the mind where sanity still lived. It was himself screaming, Vacation! You're worried about going on vacation! I'm DEAD over here!

What calmed the screaming voice of the rational mind in an irrational situation was the look on his friend's face.

"Well?" Hercules asked.

Iolaus was no better with description than he was with addition. What he saw in Herc was desperation and a deep and bottomless well of fear that Hades would remain stalwart.

In the end, Hades buckled under the weight of a desperate man and a demanding wife. "Okay, okay, okay…"

He turned back, trying to regain the look of King of the Underworld, but in Iolaus's mind, he'd already lost it. Based on his displeasure at having been beaten, however, he hadn't lost any of his pettiness.

"If you want Iolaus back, you're going to have to defeat Hera's latest homicidal freak. But there are conditions."

"What conditions?" Hercules said while Iolaus convinced himself not to throw another temper tantrum.

There were always conditions with the gods. He imagined when one of Olympian status enrolled in 'Godhood 101' there were signs on the walls that read: Know Your Conditions… And following that title would be a numbered list, starting with…

"Firstly, you have to do it by sunset," Hades said. He patted Hercules on the back as if that would assuage the ridiculousness of it.

"Why sunset?"

Hades opened his arms, palms out. "Those are just the rules."

Yep, Iolaus figured it right. The gods no more understood the conditions than their human subjects.

"Second…" Hades began, but then he paused and took in his gathered audience. "Walk with me. I'll explain."

Iolaus knew what that meant. A private conversation that no one, wife included, could butt it on. Well, screw that! This was his life they were making deals over. Not some farmer twiddling frightened thumbs on the crossroads between the Underworld and the Elysian Fields. Or worse yet, Tartarus.

Iolaus took two steps to follow but ended on the third. Hades had placed an open but firm hand on his chest.

"Just Hercules," he said.

"Wait a second! This is about me, dammit! You guys are talking about me like I'm not even here!"

At least, that's what he wanted to say. The words never came out. True, it might have been unwise to curse a god, especially one that held the title of King of the Underworld. However, there were moments in life when one had to put down one's foot. And Iolaus wanted to with every fiber of his disembodied being, but Hercules silenced with him one exasperated raise of his hand.

"Who makes these rules?" Hercules muttered as he left to follow Hades, ascending a staircase lit in an ethereal light.

Was there a descending staircase lit in an unearthly light somewhere behind him? Iolaus didn't want to know because he'd figured out the reason why he couldn't find his voice.

He had accomplished what he set out to do the second he left the side of Vedos and Avernus. He hadn't failed. He'd warned Hercules of Hera's "homicidal freak." He should be out there, fighting her, bringing her reign of terror from Corinth to Thebes to an end. But where was he? In the Underworld fighting to save his life instead of the lives of the people of Thebes.

"Don't worry, Iolaus." Persephone had come to his side and place a soft hand on his arm. "Everything will be all right."

Boys don't cry, as the old expression goes. Iolaus didn't know much about that. He could remember plenty times when he'd shed a tear or two, but one thing he knew without question was that guys didn't go around professing their love for one another. Not unless they slanted that way, and Iolaus didn't. His love of women was way too strong. Although he may have never said the words, it didn't mean he didn't feel it. Men chose their way of saying I love you carefully. It may not come out in those three specific words, but it always came across in action, in what they would be willing to do for the one they loved.

Hercules had just confessed the only way he knew how. He put Iolaus's life ahead of others, and while he might not agree with that decision, it touched him that Hercules thought that highly of him. Him. Iolaus. The annoying best friend that made stupid comments worthy of a smack to the head more than a few times. That's what left him speechless.

Until now.

"All right?" came his incredulous response to Persephone. "None of this is 'all right.' I'm dead."

She smiled at his profundity and gave his arm a reassuring pat. "If anyone can save you from the clutches of Hades, it'll be Hercules."

Of that, Iolaus had no doubt. His worry was that now, Hercules would have to face this hellish Enforcer on his own. Iolaus hadn't the opportunity to tell him of Corinth, or of the temple at Thebes. But what turned his stomach was the vague but relentless implacable image of Jason and Alcmene looking down at him. They had been there when he…when he died. He couldn't remember having seen Kirra, but if they were there in Thebes, they were in just as much danger as anyone else, probably more. If that thing could seek him out in search of Hercules, then it wouldn't hesitate to kill a woman, young or old, to get what it wanted. And what it wanted was Hercules.

It was happening all over again. The events of the previous night were replaying like a dreaded nightmare. Men in armor. Men with swords drawn. Men with flaming torches. Marching over the green ground and between the lichen-covered trees like an invasion of fire ants. Only these weren't harmless insects that, at most, might damage a crop or two.

The trembling began from within, and like a moth escaping its carapace, it slowly worked its way outward toward her extremities until it stilted her breath and shook her vision. Kirra wasn't the only one who could feel it.

"Don't move," Otto-something-or-other hissed over his shoulder.

They had been marching themselves, albeit quietly, moving between trees and thick shrubs. The camp had been silent, oblivious to their passing as most of the villagers were hiding inside tents; tents that would no more protect them from the invading troops than might a basket of apples.

She and the thief had finally made it to the outskirts of camp. Ahead of them had been a rough semi-circle of boulders that would appear to have been strategically placed. Though she'd appreciated the camouflage from searching eyes, Kirra knew better. The camp itself had been strategically placed. The boulders made for a great location to stage a defensive ambush and partially protected the villagers flank at the same time.

Otto had said they were free and clear. Once they cleared the boulders, there would be nothing to fear, he said. He hadn't been lying, but to Kirra, it sure had felt like a lie. The second he rose from a crouch to scurry around the boulder, his back had gone rigid. She saw it in the squaring of his shoulders. She had no choice but to see it for she'd run right into the back of him. He scurried her back around the boulder as quickly as he had led her and hissed those two words at her.

He hadn't been so quick, however, that Kirra couldn't see exactly what she had seen the night before—Babylonian soldiers. Not two or three in search of a slave girl and her rescuer, but more than she could count in a quick glance. The cluster of armored bodies had been so thick it stained the green beauty of the forest. Based upon the snarling ferocity she had seen in the eyes of the closest one, these soldiers knew of the carnage that had been left of their kinsmen. The return of a slave girl and the capture of her who freed her was not all they had come for. They were out for revenge. They wanted blood.

He grabbed her and pushed her toward the opposite end of the boulder. Something inside screamed RUN! She didn't want to relive what had happened when Tauthé disappeared (and not merely because every time she thought of it, her heart sank) but his insistent voice pressed upon her.

"We've gotta move." His pointed hand came over her shoulder. "See that tree over there?"

Kirra nodded and he pushed.

The tree in question had enough of a girth to hide them both. It was so close to the boulders, the passing soldiers would likely never see them. But that was where Kirra found fault with her thief's reasoning. If there was one thing she had learned about Otto in the short time she had known him, it was that his actions were rarely selfless.

Their backs now against the wide girth of the tree, Kirra turned to look at her goateed friend as the sound of numerous booted feet closed in. "What are we going to do?"

"We're gonna give these barbarians a wide birth. The second they pass us, we're up in the tree and it's sayonara to the animal people."

He went on, saying something about giving her a choice—he could either bring her home or give her a chance to do something interesting with her life. Whatever that meant. Kirra halfheartedly listened. His idea made as little sense as the wolf man's questions, and though she may have never heard the word sayonara before, she could guess what it meant.

Her mind went to the story Hercules had told her of the Battle of Plataea and what Nikolos had done to the men, women, and children of Danalos. She remembered how regret had welled as tears in the eyes of the known world's greatest hero. Kirra didn't want to know such regret. She had enough of her own.

Had a child of Danalos whispered, "Mama, I'm scared," minutes before its life came to a violent end at the edge of a sword?

"I can't."

Otto had been watching the approaching soldiers at the edge of the tree, ready to make his move whenever they had gotten to whatever point he'd designated in his own mind. Now, he was looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"What?"

"I cannot leave these people to die."

"You really are off your rocker." He grabbed her wrist. "I guess you forgot who tied you up, eh?"

"But there are children in that camp. They'll be slaughtered."

"If we stay here trying to be heroes, we'll get slaughtered right along with them. Is that what you want?"

"What I want is to go home to my mother, but that chance is gone. My conscience will not allow me to stand by while children are killed. Can yours?"

He weighed his options and showed his exasperation at them, then chucked a thumb over his shoulder. "When the going gets tough, sister," he said, and chucked that thumb at himself, "the tough get going."

She had experienced an amalgam of feelings for and against this man since she'd met him. Anger, frustration, gratitude, and even offense at his way of life. But she never expected to feel nothing for him in the end.

"Suit yourself." Fear might stymie her, death may even take her, but she would not be the one crying over the body of a dead child. "Goodbye, Otto."

She saw no point in peeking around the edge of the tree to catch a quick glance of Nergal's soldiers breaking through the heavy foliage to approach the outer edge of the protective semi-circle. She could hear their boots crunching through grass and bramble well enough, just like her dream. They were close, but innocent lives were closer.

Kirra broke from the cover of the tree, feeling deft fingers reach for her arm and the hem of her tattered skirt. She slipped away from both attempts and left Otto behind to cuss and moan. In fact, she thought she heard him say that very word quite vehemently—cuss. Whatever he meant by it, Kirra didn't bother to ponder. Her mind had to focus on another, more helpful set of words.

Think light and you'll be light.

The idea had seemed improbable to Kirra two nights ago, but here in the forest's shade from the afternoon sun, with death following close in her wake, she found it quite possible. She had spent the day and the better part of the night matching Tauthé's movements step for step. On bare feet, Kirra moved with quiet swiftness, thankful her skirts still had Tauthé's mid-calf rip and hadn't been mended. The dress was old anyway, and her tromping through the forest had dirtied her from head to toe. Her feet and calves still clung with mud. The old work dress Mother had made was already the color of burlap and blended well with the surroundings. She just needed one more thing to complete the ensemble.

Kirra bent to cover her blonde hair in leaves and tufts of dried grass. Her curls were springy enough to allow such brittle forest vegetation to cling. Her cover secure, she moved from tree to tree, every so often snapping a quick glance behind her to see the distance she put between her and the soldiers. The camp was in her sight. She could see tent flaps rustling in the afternoon breeze. No other movement caught her eye. No sound reached her ears. But she knew they were there huddled inside their tents. Her next move was going to be riskier than breaking cover before the sight of an advancing army.

Hugging to the outskirts of the camp, she made for the first tent in her path. She had gained five good minutes on Nergal's men and now she had to enter one of those tents unarmed and unprotected. Well, not completely unarmed. Kirra may lack a sword or any other implement of devastation, but she always had her wits.

She rounded to the rear of the tent (as it wouldn't do to burst in from the front) and followed the example of her captor's son. She dropped to all fours. The tent cloth was heavier than she had imagined, weighted with the unimaginable magic of a talented tentmaker.

These beasts have talents beyond ripping people's throats out? Hard to believe.

Once beneath the tent cloth, Kirra squirmed her way inside and changed her tune the second her eyes adjusted to the muted light.

In the gloom, Kirra found herself staring down a stuffed horse with button eyes. The toy, made by the hands of a mother who had loved her son, looked as frightened as the boy that held it in his arms with all his child's might. Little Rayan's bottom lip quivered, tears were on the verge of topping over onto his cheeks, and he wasn't the only one. Dozens of children huddled together in frightened clutches, hiding behind a partition of hanging silks and stacked wicker baskets. They ranged in age from toddler to teen. Many of them were barefoot, tear-stained and terrified, but all of them were staring at her leaf-covered head poking from underneath the tent cloth.

The sight of her brought a smile to the boy's face. Small comfort considering what was coming, but Kirra chose not to quell the magic. If Rayan believed a tent elf could save him from all that was bad in the world, she would rather he believe that than know the crushing hopelessness of despair. No child should ever have to experience the dread of knowing that death was always just around the corner.

Kirra returned his smile and brought a finger to her lips. The older children weren't nearly so trusting. One of them, an older boy with red hair, placed a restraining hand on Rayan's shoulder. But he wasn't looking at Rayan. His eyes had shifted to the right.

No sooner had Kirra focused upon the older boy than she caught movement out the corner of her eye. She turned her head, and it was a wonder she only turned partway because she came face to face with the pointed end of a sword. It was close enough to rest upon the bridge of her nose. The one who wielded it was Tauthé.