A/N So here I am at last with chapter 16. I'm sorry (once again) for the delay that there's been with the last few chapters. Real life isn't really conducive to writing at the moment.
Anyway. Thank you all for the reviews and your kind words of encouragement. I hope you're all still enjoying my ramblings :-)
For a few tense moments nobody moved. Then Jason took a step backwards, raising his hands placatingly, his sword held loosely between thumb and fingers with its tip pointing at the floor.
"Lord Herodion?" he asked.
"Who are you?" the older man growled, still keeping his sword pointed at Jason.
"We mean you no harm," Jason said earnestly. "King Minos sent us to protect you and your family."
The man opposite him lowered his sword.
"Minos is alive?" he demanded.
"Yes," Jason replied. "Alive and well."
"And the Queen and Princess?"
"They are with him," Jason confirmed. "As is the Oracle of Poseidon."
"Thank the Gods," the older man breathed. "When we heard Atlantis had fallen I feared the worst." He chuckled. "I should have known that wily old fox would be alright."
"He sent us here because he needs your advice," Jason continued. "He asked us to rescue you and escort you to him."
"Which is all very well but if we don't leave soon we're not going to get out at all," Hercules growled, peering through a gap in the door. "They're starting to drag people out of their houses."
"The King has plans for regaining Atlantis," Jason went on, ignoring Hercules. "He asks for your help."
"And he will have it willingly," Lord Herodion replied.
"Athanos has fallen," Jason stated. "If we are to escape we must leave now."
"Of course," the older man answered. "I will fetch my wife and son… I have a few small saddle bags packed, if you would assist me…"
"You have horses?" Jason asked, moving forwards and temporarily sheathing his sword.
"Yes," Lord Herodion replied. "I saddled them earlier in case we had the chance to escape. They are stabled at the back of the house."
"Good," Jason replied. "We will have to lead them through the town if we can. Our own horses are hidden near the gates."
"Very well," the older man replied. "Then let us go."
He turned and moved back into the house, intent on fetching his family and belongings.
Jason moved after him, fighting the urge to cough sharply. The smoke from the burning town had irritated his throat and the run through the streets had left him more out of breath than he was used to. He must be out of condition, he decided with some irritation; living with the royal family for the past few weeks was making him soft.
In the doorway to the room he stopped, uncertain whether he should follow Lord Herodion or not. Would it be construed as bad manners to enter the family rooms even under the present circumstances? Jason cast a glance over his shoulder, seeking unspoken reassurance from his friends.
Hercules was still guarding the door they had entered through, his back turned towards the room and his friends. Pythagoras, on the other hand, was watching Jason with faintly discernible anxiety. His gaze was steady but his expression was nervous. Jason supposed that he could understand it. After all, Athanos was hardly the safest place to be right now and they still had to escape with the family they had come here to escort to safety.
Time seemed to drag interminably as they waited for the return of Lord Herodion with his family and belongings – although, in reality, only a few minutes had passed since they had entered the house. Jason paced back and forth restlessly, still uncertain whether he should have followed the master of the house, as Pythagoras sank down onto a bench and Hercules still watched the street.
"This is madness," the burly wrestler groused. "Every moment we linger here makes it more likely we'll be caught and killed."
"I know," Jason admitted.
"We need to leave as quickly as we can," Hercules growled.
"Then let us be away with all speed," Lord Herodion's deep voice rumbled from the doorway.
The older man had heavy looking saddlebags thrown over each shoulder and a third in his arms. He ushered his wife and son into the room ahead of him as the other three men turned to look at him.
Lord Herodion's wife was a small and delicate looking blonde woman. She was obviously much younger than her husband. Her eyes flicked over the three men judgementally; taking in their worn clothing and battered weaponry with a disapproving frown; clearly dismissing them as peasants and not worth her attention.
Jason sighed internally. If there was one thing he particularly hated about this time period (and there were a few things no matter how happy he was here generally) it was the fact that social hierarchy was so utterly rigid; that you could be judged as a lesser being somehow just for the way you looked or dressed. He sighed internally again. It hadn't been all that different in the world he had grown up in he supposed, but somehow the prejudices seemed more entrenched here. Still, he had learned to deal with people looking down on him for a variety of reasons. In the end it really didn't matter what Lord Herodion's wife thought of him or his friends; it only mattered that they should fulfil the mission they had been sent here to undertake and get this family safely to Pagenia.
"This is my wife, Ianthe," Lord Herodion rumbled, gesturing awkwardly to the disapproving woman; struggling under the weight of the bags on his shoulders.
Jason took that as his cue to relieve the man of his burdens, placing the bags on the table for a moment.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady," the young brunette murmured.
"Yes," the woman answered coldly. "I would imagine it would be." She turned to her husband. "These are no Atlantian soldiers," she remarked, her eyes flicking between Jason and Pythagoras. "Is our King in the habit of sending boys to do a man's job?"
"My Love," Herodion began placatingly.
"They are no more than peasants," his wife declared sharply. "Are we to trust our lives to them?"
"King Minos sent us to escort you to safety because he believed we would have more chance of helping you to escape from Athanos undetected than regular soldiers would," Jason answered softly. "We have a certain amount of experience between us." He paused for a moment. "I was named as the King's champion several weeks ago," he admitted, a little reluctantly. It still felt more than a little odd to be saying that; felt as though he was boasting in some way.
"You?" Ianthe snorted incredulously. "No wonder Atlantis was lost to the Amphigeneians if King Minos had taken to naming a peasant as his champion."
"Peace Ianthe," Herodion growled. He turned back to Jason and his friends. "Please… do not think we are ungrateful. For the King to have sent his men to help us to escape Athanos at a time when his concentration must naturally be on the challenges ahead… it was good of him… and I will be grateful for your protection. I cannot imagine that Minos would have named you as champion without good reason. He is too astute for that."
"Can we hurry this up," Hercules hissed urgently from the doorway. He shot a glare at Jason. "In case you hadn't noticed there are Amphigeneian soldiers out there killing anything that moves. We need to leave now… before they spot us."
"Hercules!" Jason admonished. He turned back to the family in front of him. "Forgive us, My Lord," he said softly. "I realise that this is all very sudden and that I'm asking you to trust us to protect you and get you to safety when you don't actually know anything about us, but we really do need to leave."
"Do not concern yourself," Herodion answered. "I fully understand the need for haste and your friend is correct… we must leave now. I would, however, ask to know the names of my travelling companions."
"I'm Jason," Jason replied. "And these are my friends, Hercules and Pythagoras," he added, gesturing towards his companions.
Lord Herodion inclined his head.
"I am grateful to you all," he said. "As I said, this is my wife Ianthe… and this is my son, Iollas."
He pointed to a boy of no more than fifteen; not tall but already showing signs of being stocky, although the softness in his face and limbs betrayed the fact that this boy had lived a comfortable life. He had his mother's blonde hair, but little of her apparent delicacy, and his father's slightly coarser features. He also looked ridiculously excited by the whole situation, his hand clutching the hilt of a clearly expensive sword.
Jason exchanged a glance with Pythagoras, trying hard not to roll his eyes. They really didn't have time for all these introductions after all. He fought the urge to cough again and wondered if there was any way he could get a drink of water to soothe his throat without his sharp-eyed, mathematically inclined friend noticing; not wanting Pythagoras to see how tight his chest was right now and drawing inevitable (and to Jason's mind unnecessary) conclusions.
"Let's go," he growled, trying to mask the 'needing to cough' hoarse note in his voice with gruffness.
From the narrowing of Pythagoras' eyes he didn't think he had completely succeeded.
In the doorway, Hercules motioned them out with a brusque wave of his hand.
"It's clear for the minute," the burly wrestler stated seriously. "They've just gone into the house over there." He gestured vaguely at the building opposite.
"Kapys' house," Lord Herodion rumbled sadly.
A loud crash was heard from the house Hercules had pointed out followed by the cry of a man which broke off suddenly. Herodion winced and took a step forwards, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I do not think you can help them, My Lord," Pythagoras stated softly. "And you have a wife and son to protect."
The older man glanced at him before turning to look at his family. His shoulders slumped in resignation.
"You are right of course," he murmured. "I just wish…" He broke off and looked away again.
"We need to hurry. The Amphigeneians could come back out at any moment," Hercules muttered urgently.
Jason nodded as he hefted one of the saddle bags onto his shoulder.
"We need to get your horses," he said. "How do we get to your stables?"
"There is a passageway down the side of the house, leading to the stables at the back," Herodion answered.
The street that they stepped out into was eerily quiet for the moment, the distant sounds of the town being sacked coming through to them on the breeze. Hercules lumbered off down the passageway Lord Herodion had indicated, following the overeager Iollas to fetch the family's horses with Pythagoras in tow.
They were gone a matter of moments and returned leading three beautifully bred and groomed horses, the heavy saddlebags Lord Herodion had wished to bring with him slung across their backs.
Jason licked his lips thoughtfully and drew his sword once more, holding it reasonably loosely but ready to react at a second's notice. He nodded to his friends and set off at a trot, eyes everywhere, trying to seek out every potential threat. Behind him, Pythagoras, Hercules and young Iollas continued to lead the family's horses.
"Why are we walking when we have perfectly good horses?" Lady Ianthe's voice sounded inordinately loud.
"Shh," Jason hissed with some irritation. The last thing they needed right now was to draw unwanted attention to themselves after all.
"I will not be shushed by a retainer," the woman flared.
Jason flicked a glare back over his shoulder. He was wound up tighter than a coiled spring at the moment; his 'fight or flight' instinct kicking in.
"This is madness." He heard Hercules grousing quietly to Pythagoras. "If she doesn't keep her voice down we'll all be caught. We're risking our lives to save a spoiled, rich woman who doesn't even appreciate it."
"We're risking our lives because the King needs us to," Jason hissed. "I gave him my word and I'm not about to let him down if I can help it."
Lord Herodion looked at him oddly, before turning back to his wife.
"These men are right my love," he murmured softly. "We must be as quiet as possible and try not to draw attention to ourselves if we are to escape Athanos unscathed. That is why we are leading the horses and that is why we must not speak loudly or unnecessarily. No doubt we will be riding soon enough once we have left the town."
His wife grumbled softly to herself for a moment but lapsed into silence shortly afterwards.
The group moved on as silently as possible through streets lit by the fires of burning buildings, the air heavy with smoke and ash; the roar of battle and screams of dying men coming loudly from the surrounding streets. Suddenly a group of enemy soldiers burst from a side alley and headed straight towards them at a run, swords drawn.
"Hercules!" Jason yelled urgently, moving to intercept the first adversary.
Adrenaline was making his heart pound as he met the attack; moving instinctively; kicking, thrusting, parrying and blocking with relative ease. The Amphigeneian soldier went down and Jason moved on to the next one. Alongside him Hercules was hacking and slicing with his usual efficiency, kicking a body off his blade. At the back of the little group Lord Herodion had drawn his sword and joined the melee, displaying the skills of an old warrior. The head-butt he delivered to his opponent before despatching the man with his blade was quite impressive.
"Pythagoras!" Hercules' shout made Jason turn.
Pythagoras, it seemed, had been momentarily distracted trying to control the horses and an enemy soldier had come up behind him. Whirling around at Hercules' cry, he fumbled to draw his sword. He finally succeeded as the Amphigeneian arced his sword down towards the young genius, managing to fend off the blow with a desperate block before fully engaging in the fight. While he would perhaps never be quite as proficient with a sword as either one of his friends, the situations they had found themselves in over the last year had at least given him enough practise that he could now hold his own in a fight.
Iollas had watched the skirmish with growing excitement. He'd been taught the art of sword play from an early age (in spite of his mother's objections) but he'd never been in a real fight before. Now he finally had the chance to prove himself. As one of the enemy soldiers came close to him though, drawing near with a snarl while the rest of the company was engaged in their own battles, Iollas found his mouth growing dry, the hilt of his sword slipping beneath his suddenly sweaty palm as his grip on the weapon loosened. His mouth worked soundlessly as the soldier bore down on him and he froze in place.
"Iollas!" His father's voice came to him over the noise of battle; bringing him back to himself and forcing him to move.
Iollas clumsily blocked a series of blows, his sword slipping more and more in his grasp, defending himself uncertainly as he was forced back into an alleyway by his attacker. Ducking a blow, his heel caught on a piece of debris and knocked him off balance. Seeing this the enemy soldier took advantage, thrusting him backwards with a shove. Iollas fell; landing on his back on the hard ground with the air knocked out of him and his sword on the floor beside him, looking helplessly up at the soldier above him and about to strike but unable to do anything to block the inevitable blow.
Suddenly the soldier fell forwards, sword dropping out of his now lax hand, and landed half on top of Iollas. The boy stared in shock for a moment at the knife hilt that protruded from between his attacker's shoulder blades before turning his eyes to the open end of the alleyway. The young man who had identified himself as Jason back at Iollas' house was standing in the opening, his sword now held in his left hand and the knife sheath attached to the lacings on his breastplate conspicuously empty of its blade.
In an instant he was at Iollas' side, helping the boy to push the body of the dead Amphigeneian off himself and grabbing his wrist firmly to pull him to his feet. Once Iollas was standing on his own two feet Jason reached down and wrenched the knife from the back of the soldier, wiping it roughly on his trousers and thrusting it back into the sheath at his side. He nodded to Iollas and moved to re-join the others.
"Iollas," Ianthe breathed as her son came to her side. "You saved him," she turned to Jason gratefully. "How can we ever thank you?"
Jason ducked his head a little, embarrassed at the attention.
"We should head for the west gate," he stated. "Our own horses are hidden there."
Without waiting for a reply (knowing that no reply was actually needed) he set off again, the rest of the party in tow.
Prince Chalcon sat on the flat roof of the house he and his father were staying in looking out across the roofs of the town to the sea. With so many kings and their retinues here it had not been possible to house them all within the walls of the royal estate and so the nobility of Pagenia had been called upon to open their doors and provide the best rooms for the visitors.
The night was still. High in the sky the stars twinkled brightly and the moon was very full; shining its' pale light down and dappling sea with spots of bright light where it hit the waves.
Chalcon drank in the night air and the tranquillity of the scene before him, allowing it to calm his tumbling thoughts. What his father was doing – forcing him into a marriage with Princess Ariadne – was unfair. Of course Chalcon had always known deep down that his father would select his bride for him and that he would be expected to marry for the benefit of Tanagra and yet he had hoped in vain that he might be allowed some say in the proceedings.
Ariadne was very beautiful, it had to be said, and would undoubtedly make a good and dutiful wife – the sort of wife any prince (particularly a younger son) ought to be delighted to have. Even if she was less beautiful the enticements of the kingdom she would one day inherit ought to be enough to make any man happy. Yet Chalcon could take no real joy in the match.
He sighed. He had not been entirely honest with the Princess and he was feeling guilty about it. He had told Ariadne earlier that he hoped that one day she might find herself able to transfer her affections to him but the truth was that he also hoped his affections might transfer to her, otherwise their marriage would be unbearable for both of them.
It had never been Chalcon's intention to fall in love and yet he had. The problem was that he knew it was with a woman that his father would find unacceptable; that the match would never be approved. Gods, he was such a coward! If he was any sort of man he would march into his father's chambers and inform him that, far from dutifully marrying the Atlantian Princess as he had been told to, he was going to marry the love of his life and damn the consequences.
He closed his eyes and let his head drop back. He couldn't do it. Agrias was not a reasonable man and would not accept any real rebellion from his youngest son. Chalcon feared most of all that if he were to openly declare his love for Lyra his father would seek to punish her and her entire family; that he would bring disaster and destruction down on the woman he loved. He simply couldn't risk any harm coming to her as a result of his father's harsh nature and unpredictable temper.
Lyra. A smile rose unbidden to his lips as her well-loved face came into his mind. She was as different from Princess Ariadne as the day was from the night but to Chalcon's eyes no less beautiful.
He had met her quite literally by accident some two years ago now. She was the daughter of a minor noble house in Tanagra – a family who were not of sufficient social status to be part of the court – and as such they should never really have met. Chalcon had been on a hunting trip near to her family's estate when his horse had been spooked by a snake and he had been thrown from his saddle. Knocked unconscious in the fall, he had been taken to the nearest house of sufficient status to receive a prince.
Once he had recovered his wits a physician had been called. An injury to his shoulder had meant that he could not ride and the doctor had recommended rest and recuperation; had suggested he should remain where he was for a short time until he was fully recovered.
It was during this enforced confinement in her father's house that Chalcon had met Lyra. She was pretty in an unconventional way and definitely not one of the simpering, subservient girls he was used to. There was a spark of fire in her that he had found intriguing, although Chalcon had to admit that at first he had seen her as overly opinionated, wilful and too independent by half. He had been anxious to recover and leave both the dubious comforts of her home and the disconcerting way she seemed to judge him with her eyes and find him wanting. In all honesty, the estate where Lyra lived with her family was comfortable but not as luxurious as Chalcon had been used to and he had not bothered to hide his displeasure at being forced to stay there.
Sitting in the darkness on the roof of the house in Pagenia, the young prince shook his head ruefully at his own behaviour back at the time he and Lyra had met. He'd been spoiled all his life; given good morals by his mother and tutors (certainly better morals than his father seemed to have) but indulged in a way his older brothers hadn't been. He had been rude, arrogant and disparaging; really it was a wonder that Lyra had ever forgiven him.
As time had gone on and he had recovered, however, Chalcon had found himself finding excuses to linger in Lyra's home for just a little longer. A few days had turned into a few weeks and before anyone knew it nearly two months had passed. It had been a surprise to discover that he loved his beautiful, complicated girl, and even more of a surprise to discover that she felt the same way about him too.
He would have been content to stay there at her side forever, but eventually a message from his father (frustrated beyond endurance at his son's repeated excuses about why he just could not leave yet) had arrived, demanding that he either returned home instantly or Agrias would send his personal physician to enquire about his son's health. There had been an implied threat about what would happen if Chalcon were caught malingering.
As it was, the young Prince had taken the hint and scuttled back to the royal palace at Tanagra; returning to his father's side like a good hunting dog, he thought bitterly.
Ever since then though, he had taken every opportunity to get away; to return to Lyra's side even in the face of her own family's disapproval. He supposed he could understand their fears. Deep down he had always known that nothing good could really come of their relationship. He could not marry her after all; his father would never permit him to marry a girl who he considered to be so far socially inferior – in Agrias' eyes it would be akin to his son marrying a peasant. It was unfair of him, he supposed, to carry on professing his love for Lyra; if any hint of impropriety between them was suspected her reputation would be ruined and her chances of a good marriage would be wrecked.
Lyra had told him herself that she knew they could never be together properly. It had been just a few weeks ago and had been the last time he had seen her before his father had sent word, summoning him here to Pagenia. They had argued (not an unusual occurrence if Chalcon was being honest, given Lyra's fiery nature) and now he wished that they had parted on better terms given that it seemed likely that he would never see her again.
Hindsight was a wonderful thing, he decided cynically.
The thought of never seeing Lyra again – of never taking her in his arms again – caused him immeasurable pain and yet Chalcon couldn't see any other outcome. He couldn't think of a single reason to refuse his father's demands to marry Ariadne without betraying his love for Lyra – and that would never do. Agrias would not be forgiving. Chalcon firmly believed that if his father found out about Lyra it would essentially be signing her death warrant.
He couldn't let that happen. He had to keep his beautiful girl safe.
Which brought him right back to marrying a girl who seemed pleasant enough but who he had no feelings for whatsoever; for Lyra's safety he would have to put her from his mind; would have to feign love for Ariadne and do as his father bid.
He had been honest enough when he had said he wanted to be Ariadne's friend and to make things as easy for her as he could. The Gods knew he had few enough true friends himself. He had no real allies in his father's court either back in Tanagra or amongst the retinue here in Pagenia. If he and the Atlantian Princess could support and help one another then life might at least be marginally bearable.
Yes, he would do as he was told and pay court to Princess Ariadne – would marry her as his father expected – even if his heart was breaking inside.
The Oracle opened her eyes with a gasp, pupils still blown wide from the vision she had been attempting to focus on just a few moments before. That vision had been shrouded in darkness though in a way she had rarely experienced. Everything was unclear; hazy; moving at a speed that she could not follow. The future was changing and changing again from moment to moment and for once she had no real idea what course it would take. It left her feeling vulnerable – almost blind – and yet there was a sense of dark foreboding to everything that disturbed her.
Of course, the path of the future was never completely set – no matter what she generally told people when she spoke of her visions. It was easier to make them believe that there was only one possible future, one possible reality to contend with. In reality things were rarely so simple. Most of the time the most obvious course of the future was clear, but even so she saw many possible versions, many possible outcomes that could hinge on the smallest of actions or decisions.
She shuddered slightly and pushed herself to her feet, pacing around the room, her mind in turmoil. For the last few days she had felt the presence of Poseidon strongly – oh so strongly – yet her dreams were clouded in shadow. It frustrated her beyond measure.
Jason.
His name came to her mind, whispered on the wind as it had the day he had arrived in Atlantis. Yes. So many forces and futures were revolving around him. Darkness surrounded him. She could see it in her mind's eye even now. She shuddered again.
One thing was absolutely clear to her.
Change was coming and the Oracle feared what that change might be.
The cave was never warm no matter how big a fire she built to heat it. The damp and cold seemed to reside in the very rocks themselves and penetrated her bones. Or perhaps it was not the cave. Perhaps it was a coldness that came from deep within her soul.
The silence still bothered her, even after all these months. No living creature dared to come near her cave and she would have run from any that did, fearing what she would do to them; fearing what her curse would make her do.
The hissing susurration of the snakes that wreathed around her head was her only companion and often she felt as though she was going to go mad. Or was she already mad? Had her sanity departed months ago?
She had survived on seaweed scavenged from the shoreline and on such fruit and berries as she could find without going too far from her cave ever since she had come here, moving from the shores of Cisthene almost as soon as Hercules and his two friends had gone; fearing that the burly wrestler would come back alone and try to sacrifice himself for her again.
It had been so long since she had spoken to another living soul – since she had heard a friendly voice directed towards her – that she had almost forgotten what it felt like. The happy life she had briefly known in Atlantis seemed almost like a dream.
There were times when she dreamt of the home and friends she had been forced to leave behind. They were such pleasant dreams. In them she was still living a normal life; working in the Palace kitchens; loving and being loved by Hercules; happy in the knowledge that she had friends who cared for her. At first the dreams had made her sad as she remembered all she had lost. Often she had been driven to tears as the happy world of her dreams had receded and the lonely horror of her present existence had reasserted itself. Now though she clung to them whenever they came; clung to the memories that she had once been more than she was now; had been cared for and wanted.
The dreams drove away the ever present despair – even if it was only for a little while. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt truly happy; had forgotten what it felt like to laugh at a joke or even just to smile.
There were days when she was angry – so angry. She had done nothing to deserve this fate. The Gods were punishing her and yet she had done nothing wrong. At times she found herself mentally conjuring up the shades of the people she had known and blaming them for her misfortunes; throwing harsh words at imaginary people. At those times she would blame Hercules and his friends for this whole mess (even if she knew it was not really their fault); screaming in anger at the bulky wrestler for not finding her and saving her (although she had deliberately hidden herself away where Hercules could not find her).
He had promised to find a cure but she no longer really believed it was possible. There were times when it felt like she had been utterly abandoned; forgotten by those she once believed cared; left to rot.
There was enough of the girl she had been left inside her to know that she was being unfair; that she would never want to risk Hercules' life to save her own.
She looked at her meagre fire and sighed. It was burning low and she had no more wood in the cave. If she wished to keep it burning she would need to go out and scavenge for driftwood. It was night-time so the chances of meeting another living creature were slim. She pushed herself to her feet and moved towards the entrance.
Outside the cave the cold night air caught at her, chilling her bones even more. The dress that she wore – now more of a rag than a recognisable garment – did little to protect her from the cold. Her sandals were worn through in places and the rocks that she found herself scrambling over in her search for fuel for the fire poked through, cutting and bruising her feet.
The search for driftwood took her further from her cave than she usually liked to go. The night was peaceful though; the silence only broken by the sound of waves lapping gently at the shore. She wandered further afield, allowing the peace of the night to pervade her.
There wasn't much wood to be found along the shoreline tonight – certainly not enough to get her through the night. It was late but she knew that sleep was still a long way off and she had no desire to be any colder than she had to be. Plus, it would be nice to make sure she had enough to see her through the next few days if possible – she tried to go out as little as she could, not wanting to risk any other living creature being turned to stone through a chance encounter. Even the rats avoided her usually. Not that she minded to be honest; her conscience was already weighed down by the souls whose lives she had inadvertently taken without adding any more to it.
If she was to find enough wood to carry her through the next few days she would need to venture further inland. Fortunately, perhaps, the woods came almost to the shore here so she still wouldn't need to go too far. Leaving the tiny bundle of driftwood she had collected in her cave, she made her way back outside and began the steep climb up the cliff path to the headland at the top, having to stop here and there to scramble over small rock falls that blocked her path, caused by the winter storms that had been lashing the coastline for weeks.
On the headland at the top she paused and looked out across the moonlit sea. Once upon a time she would have seen the beauty in the view but now she saw little beauty in anything; little hope. Her cave at least had the advantage of being isolated, she supposed. There were few people living along this particular stretch of coastline – it was too remote for most people. The nearest settlement was apparently a small town called Pagenia, and that was several hours ride away on a good horse and more than a day on foot.
She had learned this by accident of course. A group of fishermen had ridden out a storm on her beach early in the winter. They had not ventured into her cave – preferring to shelter under the hull of their upturned little boat – and had never known the danger they could have been in. She had lurked in the darkness near the entrance to the cave, so hungry to hear voices that she had listened to every word of their prattling. They had talked of the homes they were looking forwards to returning to, gossiping like old women about people that they knew, mentioning local landmarks to each other in the stories that they told, and, above all, talking about the location of the nearest settlement where they could sell the catch they hoped to land once the storm was over.
She had known that she was a reasonable distance from any civilisation out here of course (it was what she had intended after all) but it was still nice to have it confirmed. Much as she missed other people desperately (and sometimes she feared that the loneliness of her situation was driving her insane), she was still terrified that someone might someday stumble upon her, and she would have to deal with the guilt of another death.
No, it seemed it was her fate to live out the rest of her life alone in silence that sometimes threatened to crush her.
She sighed and turned away from the sea view, making her way into the silent woods. Nothing seemed to move in the still air. It was as though she was completely alone in the world; the only creature left alive. It was a disturbing feeling (although one which she felt all too often) and she hurried to gather up the small fallen branches she found into a bundle.
Moving swiftly, she came into a small clearing, eyes still searching the ground for suitable pieces of wood. Her snakes hissed in angry surprise, alerting her to the fact that she was no longer alone, and she looked up in time to see a man in front of her. She just had time to register the fact that he was young, the shape of the helmet on his head and the blue of his cloak giving away the fact that he was an Atlantian soldier, before he began to change, his body turning to stone from the feet up in a matter of seconds. She stared at him for a moment, the face fixed in a horrified expression, the hands raised defensively in front of his face in a vain attempt to ward away his cruel fate, every detail of his being burning itself into her mind.
Then she turned and fled, dropping the bundle of sticks she had so carefully collected; desperation and despair making her move faster. No matter how fast she ran though, she knew she would never be able to outrun the horror of the young soldier's face, rendered in stone and permanently etched into her memory.
As she stumbled back down the cliff path, hot tears burning her eyes, tripping over the rock falls in her haste, a thought filtered through her distraught mind; what was an Atlantian soldier doing this far from civilisation? Were there more of them? She would have to be on her guard for the next few days; have to be prepared to run at a moment's notice. But did she really want to anymore? Sometimes she thought that the peace of death would be infinitely preferable to the hell she was living.
She could not bring herself to end her own life (to end her own suffering) but if the soldiers came perhaps it would simply be easier to give up and allow them to put her out of her misery. How many more would die at her hand before one of them managed to kill her though? She could not risk it. She could not bear the weight of any more deaths on her.
Lying down on the ragged cloak she used as a blanket, Medusa curled up into a ball and sobbed, her heart breaking once more.
It was a distinct relief to find the horses still tied up where they had been left.
"We should make for the gully where we left our supplies," Jason stated firmly to his two friends. "It's just on the other side of the plain," he explained to their other companions.
As the others mounted their horses Jason hung back, positioning himself as a rear-guard in order to defend them if necessary. As the last one of his companions mounted, he moved forwards, slipping the strap that held his sword over his head and tying it to his saddle to allow him to draw the weapon in a hurry while he was riding. He grabbed the reins, ready to untie the horse and set off.
They were in a side street near to the western gate, tucked between two of the houses that faced onto the street. All around them the sound of the battle for Athanos raged – although in reality it was really more of a massacre than a battle. A sudden scream split the night, heard above the roar of combat.
Jason turned automatically at the sound, knowing that his mounted comrades were doing the same. Further down the street a group Amphigeneian soldier were dragging a screaming girl by her wrists towards an alley. The girl could hardly be more than fifteen or so and it was clear that the soldiers only had one intent in mind.
Without even thinking about it, Jason grabbed his sword back off his horse.
"We can't save everyone," Hercules growled.
"We have to try," Jason answered urgently, an almost desperate note in his voice that neither one of his friends failed to pick up on. "Head for the gully, I'll meet you there."
He darted forwards before anyone could stop him.
"Jason!" Hercules yelled after him. "That boy's nothing but trouble," he groused to himself. "You heard him, head for the gully," he ordered his other companions with a wave of his arm in the direction of the gate.
"Hercules," Pythagoras began, his concern clear in his voice.
"I know," Hercules answered flatly. "Don't worry. I'll fetch him."
"Perhaps I should…"
"Pythagoras! You need to show them where to go." Hercules pointed at Herodion and his family. "Go!"
Pythagoras nodded tightly and dug his heels hard into his horse's sides, reins wrapped tightly around his hands as he kicked the beast into a run. The rest of the party raced out with him, heading for the gate as quickly as possible. The only advantage they would have would be in speed. The town was in chaos and the attackers had poured in from every angle, leaving very few men on the outside. If their luck held, Pythagoras should be able to lead the group away and across the plain before the enemy even knew they were there.
Hercules watched them go, even as he hurled himself down off the back of his horse and raced off after his other friend.
Jason hadn't really intended to end up in the heart of the battle and certainly hadn't intended to leave the side of the family they were supposed to be protecting. It was more that, as so often happened, his instincts kicked in and overrode his conscious thought – and there was simply no way he could walk away knowing that a young girl was about to be raped and probably killed.
Ahead of him the girl was struggling against her captors. The two holding her arms were distracted trying to maintain their grip on her and the third had his back to Jason as he prepared to force himself on her.
He was therefore taken completely by surprise by the knife that embedded itself in his back, thrown from a short distance away, and pitched forwards. The other two soldiers dropped the struggling girl's wrists as they reached for their swords, preparing to meet Jason head on as he came flying towards them. The girl stepped back with a startled gasp, suddenly and unexpectedly free.
"Run," Jason yelled at her, even as he moved to face the two soldiers.
By the time Hercules managed to catch up with his friend, the young warrior had already dispatched one enemy with a slice across the chest and was making short work of the second, stabbing up into his opponent's stomach having first elbowed the man in the face and thrown him off balance.
Hercules couldn't help but be impressed; Jason was very good with that sword these days. It still infuriated him though, just how little concern the young man had for his own well-being. This was all so unnecessary. The burly wrestler understood his friend's desire to protect others he perceived to be in need (particularly someone about to be attacked in such a horrible way, he thought grimly) and knew exactly which part of Jason's current psyche and past experiences it came from, yet he would never be able to save everyone no matter how hard he tried. Under the circumstances the best they could hope for was the small victory they were in the process of achieving: to rescue the family they had come to Athanos for and whisk them out from under the Amphigeneian noses. To linger here any longer than necessary was folly. The sooner Jason learned to know when a cause was lost the better as far as Hercules was concerned. He shook his head in rueful annoyance.
In the seconds that Hercules stood watching his friend dispatching the enemy soldier, another one burst out of an alleyway and headed straight for Jason's unprotected back. Hercules turned quickly to run to intercept them, but Jason was even quicker. He spun around, dropped to one knee and thrust out his sword, driving it straight through the man's guts. As he stood back up, eyes still on the clearly dead soldier, Hercules spoke.
"If you're done playing the hero, we have to get out of here. Now!" he growled.
He turned to run back to the horses, Jason hard on his heels. They had gone some distance down the street from where they had left the beasts – a fact which Jason had been largely unaware of before now; intent as he had been on saving the screaming girl.
As they passed a pile of haphazardly stacked crates, something caught Jason's eye and he skidded to a swift halt, staring at the pile. In front of them were the bodies of a young couple, their belongings strewn about them, obviously having been caught by the Amphigeneians trying to flee the town, their things rifled through by the looting enemy.
"Now what are you doing?" Hercules demanded, moving back to Jason's side and grabbing hold of his arm, clearly intending to drag his friend away by force if necessary.
"Shh," Jason responded sharply. "Can you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Hercules questioned, his voice harsh.
"That," Jason said as the soft sound he had heard from in amongst the crates hit his ears again.
Pulling his arm firmly from Hercules' grasp, he moved forwards towards the boxes, ignoring the burly wrestler's urgent exclamation of his name.
Crouching down, he moved the nearest of the boxes to one side and peered around them, unable to stop the soft gasp that came from his throat as he saw what was hidden behind. It was two children. The older one was a little boy of about five years old, his eyes huge and frightened. The younger was only a baby – no older than little Oedipus had been when they found him in the forest – held on the older child's lap. They had clearly been hidden here in a desperate attempt to avoid them being found by the enemy.
"It's alright," Jason said gently. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"What are you doing?" Hercules demanded from somewhere behind the young hero.
"I'm here to help you," Jason went on, ignoring his older friend and keeping his sole focus on the children in front of him.
Hercules peered around the crates himself and swore loudly.
The little boy cringed back.
"Hercules!" Jason hissed in admonishment. He turned back to the child. "This is my friend," he said softly. "He's not going to hurt you either."
He reached out gently and lifted the baby off the child's lap, holding it in one arm as he held his hand out to the little boy, sword discarded on the ground at his side.
The child stared at his hand for a moment and then scrambled out from between the boxes under his own steam. Jason couldn't help the little smile he gave at the boy's apparent independence. He pushed himself to his feet, the baby still held in one arm, scooping up his sword as he went.
Out from between the boxes, the little boy looked warily at the two men. Then he turned and saw the bodies of the young couple lying nearby. He gave a little cry and darted forwards, trying to shake the pair awake, beginning to sob. Jason swore under his breath and thrust the baby at Hercules. To do him credit, the big man took the infant without a murmur.
Sheathing his sword as quickly as he could, Jason picked up the crying child and held him on his hip, turning his face away from the death and destruction around them both into his breastplate.
"Come on," he said to Hercules. "You were right. We need to get out of here."
"What about their parents?" Hercules asked, nodding towards the children they were both holding.
"I think that's them," Jason said, indicating the dead couple at their feet. "We'll have to take them with us."
"And then what?" Hercules demanded. "Might I remind you that we have at least five days hard riding ahead of us while trying to avoid enemy soldiers. Do you really think we should be taking a baby into that? It's insanity."
"What choice do we have?" Jason retorted sharply. "Do you really think we ought to leave them here?"
"No," Hercules relented. "No we can't leave them here."
"Then come on."
Mercifully the short dash back to the horses was uninterrupted. The child in Jason's arms seemed to be beyond tears now, his eyes wide with horror. Jason set him down on his feet for a moment and reached out to take the baby from Hercules to allow the big man to mount.
"How are you planning on riding carrying a baby," Hercules demanded, still standing by his horse.
Jason grimaced. He hadn't actually thought about that. He looked about himself for inspiration. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a piece of cloth blowing slightly in the breeze. Quickly he moved across and grabbed it. It seemed to be large enough for his needs – something he was inordinately grateful for. Still clutching the baby to his chest he tried awkwardly to wrap it around himself like a sling – the way that Pythagoras had done with his cloak when Jason had been preparing to take that leap off the city walls with Oedipus strapped to him.
Hercules rolled his eyes but still came forwards and took the ends of the cloth from Jason, tying the sling securely in place, the baby nestled in it. Then the burly wrestler mounted his horse, reaching down to take the apparently traumatised little boy that Jason handed up to him and settling the child in front of himself in the saddle.
Jason eyed his own horse with a frown. This was not going to be easy. He would have to angle his body as far away from the horse as he could to make sure that the baby wasn't crushed as he swung himself up into the saddle, but still make sure that he didn't overbalance and fall back off again.
In the end it took several minutes and a lot of effort to get where he needed to be. Having nearly fallen backwards several times in an effort not to crush the currently gurgling baby (and Jason had to admit that he found it a bit disconcerting and certainly distracting that the infant seemed completely happy and at ease with a complete stranger in the midst of all this noise and chaos), it had taken Hercules leaning over in his own saddle and pulling on the back of Jason's tunic to get him up onto the horse.
Jason sat there for a moment, trying to get his breath back. Yes, he was definitely a little out of condition, he decided. After all it wasn't so very long ago that he had been able to run through the streets of Atlantis, somersault around a pole onto the roof of a building and then jump from rooftop to rooftop for what seemed like half the night without ever once getting out of breath. He'd have to train a little harder when he got back to Pagenia to get himself back to the fitness level he was used to.
"Let's go," he said.
Pythagoras couldn't help but pace up and down at the edge of the gully where he had led the others. Where in the name of the Gods were Jason and Hercules? Surely they should be here by now? He worried at one fingernail absently. What if something had happened to them? What should he do for the best? Every instinct was telling him to find his friends but if he did that would mean abandoning Lord Herodion and his family to their own devices.
He tried to peer across the plain once more towards the still burning town. In the dark of the night Athanos was lit up like a beacon. Behind him, Lord Herodion and his wife and son were tucked out of sight waiting for the others to join them so they could move on.
Finally, the sound that Pythagoras had been waiting for came out of the darkness – the sound of horses' hooves. Whoever it was was moving fast across the plain towards where the young mathematician was waiting. But was it Hercules and Jason? Or was it a stray Amphigeneian patrol? If it was the latter, then Pythagoras wasn't entirely sure what he would do. He wasn't a natural warrior after all and hardly thought he would be able to fight off a patrol on his own – or even with Lord Herodion's help for that matter.
He gulped and tried to melt back into the darkness of the gully.
"Pythagoras," Hercules' hissed greeting was definitely welcome. "Where are you?"
Pythagoras hurried forwards.
"Here," he responded softly.
"Thank the Gods," Hercules replied. "I thought we were never going to get away from that dratted town. No thanks to some of us," he added with a glower at Jason.
Jason rolled his eyes and slid down from the saddle, arms protectively around a bundle that appeared to be tied to his chest.
"What do you have there?" Pythagoras asked curiously.
"A smaller one of these," Hercules growled, handing a little boy down from his saddle to the startled mathematician.
"It's a child," Pythagoras said in astonishment.
"Well spotted Pythagoras," Hercules replied sarcastically. "What gave it away?"
"Hercules," Jason admonished. He sounded both slightly frustrated and tired.
Pythagoras frowned, wondering if he needed to keep an eye on his younger friend.
"Where did the children come from?" he enquired, still holding onto the small boy.
"Well," Hercules began with a sudden grin, "when a man and a woman meet and fall in love they start to look at each other in a special way..."
"Yes, thank you Hercules," Pythagoras retorted primly. "I know all about the mechanics of where children come from. What I meant was, where did these specific children come from?"
"Ask him," Hercules answered, jerking his thumb towards Jason.
Pythagoras turned expectantly towards the young hero.
"We found them near the bodies of their parents," Jason murmured. "I couldn't leave them there."
"And that is why you are the noblest of all of us," Pythagoras responded gently, touching his friend's arm.
"It is indeed noble." Lord Herodion's voice came out of the darkness. "Yet I question the practicality of such a gesture."
"They would have died if we'd left them there," Jason answered.
"Oh I did not say that I disagreed with your actions," Herodion replied. "I applaud your sentiments. It is simply that I do not see how we can travel for any distance with two children of such a young age."
"We will manage," Lady Ianthe's voice rang out firmly.
She stepped forwards and looked at the baby still cradled within the makeshift sling against Jason's chest with barely concealed longing, the light of the full moon showing her expression clearly.
"Ianthe," Herodion began.
"We cannot abandon them to certain death," Ianthe declared forcefully. She moved back into the gully to where her horse was standing and removed a garment from the bag slung across her saddle, using a knife to slice it into pieces without a murmur.
"What are you doing?" Herodion asked.
"We will need cloths for the babe," his wife replied.
"My Love, surely you can see that this is impossible?" Herodion asked. "We have fled our home. Left everything behind barring what is in the bags on the horses. We do not even know where we are going to."
"Pagenia," Jason interjected softly. "The King is waiting for you there."
Lord Herodion turned towards him.
"Pagenia," he murmured. "So that is where the old fox has holed up."
"Yes," Jason answered. "His allies have joined him there and we are gathering forces."
Herodion looked at him shrewdly.
"Who are you really?" he asked. "You are not simply a servant of the King."
"I am the King's champion as I said back in Athanos," Jason replied. "I am here to serve my city and its King."
Herodion searched his face for a moment before nodding.
"So, we go to Pagenia then."
"We do," Jason replied.
"Pagenia is a long way from here."
"At least five days," Jason agreed, "and that's if we push hard."
"And with young children with us we will not be able to ride hard," Herodion retorted matter-of-factly. He turned back to his wife. "It is possible that we can take the boy," he said softly, "although the journey will be made more difficult by it… but the baby…" he shook his head. "We cannot take the baby."
Beside him, Pythagoras felt Jason tense and knew his friend was about to argue.
"I will take care of the babe," Lady Ianthe answered resolutely. "I will take care of both the children."
"We do not even have the means to feed the babe," Herodion argued. "Such a young child will not even have been weaned yet. We have no means of feeding it and I have no wish to see the child starve to death."
"Then what do you suggest My Lord?" Jason demanded. "That we should take the baby back to Athanos for the Amphigeneians to murder? Or should we expose it out here for the wild animals to tear to pieces?"
"Jason," Hercules growled.
"It's barbaric," Jason snapped. "And I will never understand how any apparently civilised society can agree to it."
"You need not concern yourself," Lady Ianthe said moving forwards once more and taking the baby off Jason. "We will not be leaving either of these children behind."
"Ianthe, the baby will need milk," her husband began. "We do not have the means of providing that."
"We will not need to," Ianthe responded serenely. "When Iollas was born I was unwell for a time afterwards and my milk did not come," she went on, addressing the others on the party. "Our servants tried to find a wet nurse but there was no-one suitable. He was fed on goats' milk fortified with herbs and as he grew older we added the juice of certain fruits as well. This little one is old enough to tolerate juice. There are trees in the woods surrounding Athanos where these fruits might be found. It is not ideal and, once we reach Pagenia, we will need to seek a wet nurse or at least find a goat, but the baby will at least survive until then with little harm." She looked down at the infant in her arms, her face softening from the superior expression she had had ever since Jason and his friends had met her. "I will look after the children as if they were my own."
Lord Herodion sighed, clearly realising that he was beaten.
"I still think it's folly," he said, "but we will take the little ones with us to Pagenia."
Jason nodded.
"Very well," he said. "Let's get started then. We shouldn't really linger too long this close to Athanos. If we ride now, we should be deep in the woods by dawn. We can stop and rest then."
Lord Herodion inclined his head.
"Lead the way," he said.
