Time for a Change
By Les Bonser
This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.
No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.
Chapter 8
Clark Kent awoke with a start. He realized he wasn't breathing. His Kryptonian physiology didn't require him to breathe as often as a human being, but he still needed oxygen. He tried drawing a breathe and inhaled a nose and mouth full of dirt instead.
He braced his arms and pushed himself out of the ground. He'd somehow landed in such a way as to drive his head into the ground, much like the cartoon image of an ostrich. The soil around him showed the force of the impact; his shoulders created a six-inch deep depression.
Still dazed, he sat up, spit out the dirt that filled his nose and month, and several deep breaths. His first coherent thought was that no one else could have survived such a landing. He realized immediately that something had happened. Something apparently connected with that shrill sound he'd heard right after grabbing Catwoman. He'd sensed something about the gemstone he'd snatched up from the cat burglar.
Clark looked at his hand. The palm where he'd held the gem was burnt. He stared in disbelief at the injury. He was Superman. He was invulnerable. How could the gemstone have burnt him?
Catwoman had held the gem safely a few moments before. He didn't remember it burning him, but somehow it had. He was concentrating on the shrill noise, but he'd vaguely remembered the gemstone glowing after he'd grabbed it.
He wondered if the gemstone had been some form of kryptonite. Kryptonite was the one substance that affected him. Its radiation was harmful to humans only after long exposure, but it had an almost immediate effect on him. No, he decided, it wasn't kryptonite. Clark didn't feel weak like he would after an exposure to kryptonite. And besides, the gem was a pale yellow color. All the kryptonite he'd ever seen had been a dull greenish color.
But he decided that the gem must have been more than a simple gemstone. It must have been mystical in nature. Or it had some other sort of power. Clark couldn't say for sure, but he instinctively knew that the gem had something to do with why he was here. Wherever "here" was.
He stood up and looked around. He was in a forest. He recognized oak, chestnut, and beech trees. He walked through the trees for a few minutes. As he walked, he brushed his clothes off. His sport coat was scuffed and dirty, but otherwise not damaged. His aura protected clothes close to his body.
His eyes were sensitive to more than just visible light; he could see far more acutely than any human. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was simply a forest.
And he neither saw nor heard anyone around. So, he cautiously floated up above the trees to get a better look around.
From above the height of the trees, Clark could see that he was on a slope, near an ocean or sea to the east. He knew it was east because the sun was only an hour or so above the horizon. The water was in the direction of the sun. To the west was a large mountain. He wasn't sure, but he judged the peak of the mountain to be about 8,000 or more feet high. Its peak was snow-capped, but Clark didn't recognize it. He knew he wasn't anywhere near New York or Metropolis; he would have recognized any such mountain that would have been anywhere near the east coast of the US.
His thoughts went back to his landing. He wondered where he was, but he was more concerned where Lois was. Lois and the others. If the gemstone had somehow thrown him into this forest, what other damage had it done to the humans. Catwoman, Batman, the gentleman named Bond, and of course, his wife, Lois, could have all been hurt or even killed by such force.
Clark wanted to get back to New York immediately and determine what had happened. But since he didn't knew exactly where he was, he had no idea in which direction to head. He knew that the sun was to the east, having been up only an hour or so.
He decided to head to the sea he'd seen to the east and then follow it's coast until he reached a city or town. Then he could determine where he was; if not specifically by the city, then at least generally, by the language of the people in the city. He'd traveled the world over, both as Superman and as a reporter, and he had picked up a fairly large vocabulary in a number of languages.
He started to remove his coat and shirt, but realized that he didn't have the Superman costume on under his normal clothes. Lois had insisted that this weekend was a vacation and she simply wouldn't permit him to bring the costume along. Without the costume, he had to be more careful about people seeing him flying.
His glasses had apparently been lost in the explosion or whatever force the gem had caused. If not, they had surely been smashed when he landed. He ran his hand through his hair and he could feel his curl had fallen free. As Clark, he combed his hair back; as Superman, he let the curl fall over his forehead. It was a minor thing, but combined with the glasses and the small changes he made in his voice and posture, few people would think that the two men were one in the same.
Clark banked toward the sea. He stayed just above the tree tops, ready to drop to the ground at an instant. He was almost to the coastline and could already smell the salty tang of the sea air when he heard people far below him. He saw a faint trail running through the forest and dropped to the ground on the trail.
He walked casually toward the voices. He'd play a lost tourist if necessary. Depended upon where he was. In a foreign country, that was easy. He'd done it many times while researching stories.
A few moments later, two men came into view. One was tall with broad shoulders and dark, long hair, and dressed in a rough cloth shirt and leather pants. He was even taller than Clark's 6' 3". The other man was shorter, with shorter blonde hair. Both men were clean shaven. They walked with the casual grace of two men who were good friends.
As they got nearer, Clark could hear them talking. The speech sounded like Greek to him, but with an odd accent.
Clark had traveled around the world after graduating from Metropolis University. He'd traveled through most of Europe, including Greece. In his job as a reporter, he'd been to Athens several times. He was a bit rusty speaking Greek, but he had a pretty good grasp of the language. His hearing was better than human also, and he could make out what the two were saying well before they even noticed him.
"Have you been to Thessala before," the smaller man asked, in Greek.
"Of course," the taller man said. "The portal to Olympus is near here, remember?"
Portal to Olympus? Clark wondered. The two men were speaking in Greek. Was it possible that the gemstone knocked him all the way to Greece. That was on the other side of the world from New York!
The two men finally noticed Clark and stopped talking. Their body language changed as they moved closer. They weren't threatening, but they were obviously cautious. They did move with a confidence that bespoke their ability to deal with whatever might come.
Clark made the first move. He raised a hand in the universal gesture of greeting. "Greetings," he said in his rusty Greek.
The taller man stepped forward, "Greetings, stranger. What brings you to Thessala?"
"I'm a traveler," Clark said. "I seem to have lost my way."
The shorter man finally stepped forward, "It's easy to get lost in the forest."
"We're headed to Larissa for the night," the taller man said. "Are you headed to Larissa also?"
"That will do, for now," Clark answered.
"Then join us," the taller man offered. "I'm Hercules and this is Iolaus."
Hercules? Clark thought. It might be a common enough name in Greece. No way this guy could be the mythological Hercules. "I'm Clark."
"'Clark'?" Iolaus said. "That's an interesting name. Where are you from?"
"A distant land," Clark said. "I've traveled far."
"On a pilgrimage, no doubt," Iolaus said.
"A pilgrimage?" Clark asked.
"That's why most people come here. To worship at the shrine of Artemis near Larissa."
Shrine of Artemis? Clark wondered. He didn't think that the old mythological gods were still worshipped, even in Greece. Maybe a throwback to the older religions, like the wiccans in Britain and the US. "Uh, no. I'm not on a pilgrimage."
"Iolaus, it doesn't matter why Clark is here," Hercules said. "Come, friends, let's hurry along to Larissa. I'm hungry."
"So am I," Iolaus agreed.
Clark discovered that his wristwatch was destroyed in his landing also. But by the position of the sun in the sky, he judged it was almost three hours before the three men arrived in Larissa.
He hadn't visited Larissa after college, but Clark had visited other similar towns during his travels through Europe and Greece. He was expecting a quaint small city, with paved roads and modern buildings, and electricity, and plumbing. He was surprised when the men arrived at a small village, complete with stone and rough timber huts. A few of the community buildings were constructed completely of stone. The pathways between the buildings, they could hardly be called "streets," were mere packed dirt. Clark had the distinct impression that he'd fallen back into ancient Greece.
Then he had a sudden thought. Maybe he had! He'd traveled through time once before and hadn't relished the thought of doing it again. He knew now roughly where he was, but he'd been intrigued by the conversation with Hercules and Iolaus. He thought perhaps the more he could learn about where he was, the better he could determine why he was here. As soon as he could sneak away from his new found friends, he resolved to head back to New York.
The three men had barely arrived in the village when they were distracted by a commotion. There was a female voice from the center of the village crying for help. Hercules and Clark both reacted instinctively to the sound of someone in distress.
They arrived at the village square to find that a scaffolding around a temple had collapsed. Several large facing stones pinned two young men to the ground.
Hercules rushed to the nearest stone and began to push against it. As he did so, Iolaus pulled the young stoneworker out from under the heavy stone. The young man's leg was clearly crushed.
Clark hurried to the other stone. His enhanced vision allowed him to see that the other stoneworker fallen onto softer soil. He'd been pushed into the ground by the weight of the fallen stone, but he appeared to have no broken bones. No doubt a lot of bruises through, but this young man had fared better than this coworker. Clark studied the situation to determine the best way to move the stone without furthering the young man's injuries.
Hercules dropped the stone he had struggled to lift and rushed to help Clark. Before he could get to the other stone, Clark determined what he thought was the best way of lifting the stone. He placed his hands under one edge of the heavy limestone and easily lifted it.
Hercules looked in amazement at the ease with which Clark lifted the stone, but quickly regained his composure and assisted the young man from under the stone.
The woman that had first yelled came forward to assist the two young men. An elderly man in a toga also came forward to thank the heroes.
"Thank Zeus you were here to help. How can we ever thank you?"
Hercules smiled shyly. "No need to thank us, citizen. We were just glad to help."
"The least we can do is honor you with a feast. What are your names?"
Iolaus spoke up. "This is Hercules," he proudly proclaimed. "And I'm his partner, Iolaus."
"Hercules?" the elderly man asked. "Not *the* Hercules? The son of Zeus?"
"That's the one," Iolaus said. "And this is our new friend, Clark."
The elderly man turned to Hercules and bowed awkwardly. "You honor us, oh, mighty one," the man said with a grave and serious voice.
Hercules blushed. "Please, please. Get up, my friend." He put one hand under the old man's arm and eased him up.
"But you're the son of Almighty Zeus. We must honor you or anger the King of the Gods."
Clark stood to one side and watched this display. He had a aching feeling deep in his stomach. He knew he'd somehow been thrown back in time. Again.
The village treated the heroes to a large feast. The three couldn't go anywhere in the small village without being offered food, drink, lodging, money, even women and slaves. Clark was impressed with the humility with which Hercules took the adulation.
He was no stranger to this himself. For once, he cherished watching someone else getting all the attention. As Superman, he received fan mail from around the world, was treated with deference wherever he went, and was even worshipped as a god by at least one small cult of misguided souls.
If Hercules truly was the man upon which the myth was based, he was nothing like what Clark expected. The Hercules of myth was a braggart and a bully. This man was nothing like that.
Late that night, Iolaus disappeared with one of the young women that had catered to the three men all day long. Hercules and Clark finally outlasted the rest of the revelers in the tavern. Alone, the two talked over pitchers of wine and plates of food.
"You're very strong," Hercules said. It was a plain statement, not a question.
Clark shrugged. "I grew up on a farm," he said. Not a lie. His implied explanation was that the hard work had developed a strong back and limbs.
Hercules looked at him over the pitcher of watered wine. "I may only be half a god, and I don't have the powers that my father has, but I can tell that you're more than just a strong farmer. The only person I've ever known that could have lifted that stone as easily as you did was one of the Titans."
It took Clark a split second to realize that Hercules was talking of the mythological race of giants. In his time, the Titans were a group of super-powered teenagers and young adults.
Clark chuckled, "I'm not a Titan."
"Well, my friend, whatever you are is your business," Hercules said. "But, Iolaus is suspicious by nature. He thinks you're Ares in disguise."
"Ares?" Clark asked. "The god of war?"
Hercules nodded. "And my half-brother. That's why we're here," he explained. "Ares has a plan to invade Olympus and unseat Zeus as King of the Gods."
"And you mean to stop him?"
"Yes. My father and I don't get along very well, but Ares would plunge the world into endless war if he ever ruled Olympus."
Clark sensed that the man across from him was deadly serious. Nearly as serious as Bruce, he told himself. The thought of storming the home of gods was a little unsettling. This was really more Diana's line, Clark realized. But Wonder Woman isn't here and I am, he told himself. "Do you want some assistance?"
Hercules smiled, "Ares is always a tricky foe. I can use as much help as I can get."
"Then you've got it." Clark reached across the table and clasped the other man's hand. The two squeezed hard, testing each other. Hercules had a strong grip, but it was no match for the Kryptonian's solar powered physique.
"We'll head for Olympus as soon as the rest of the gang gets here," Hercules declared.
After Hercules headed off to the room the tavern owner insisted they use, Clark walked outside. He was mentally weary from his discovery of his time travel, and from all the festivities, but he didn't need to sleep as much as a normal human being.
He looked around and saw no one else awake. He quietly and quickly launched himself into the air. Hercules sensed somehow that there was more to him than met the eye, but Clark didn't want to let his new allies know everything about his powers.
I've been around Bruce and Jon too much, he told himself as he raised into the still night air. I'm getting paranoid. There had been more than one Justice League of America mission where he and Diana would have preferred to confront their enemies directly. But Batman and Jon Jonzz, the Martian Manhunter, had insisted on holding back at least part of their force, just in case. And several times, the strategy had won the day. Although he was not the official leader of the League, the others often deferred to Superman as a de facto leader. Even the born leaders, like Wonder Woman and Aquaman, deferred to their strongest. But, through hard-learned lessons, the entire group had discovered that their two darkest members were often right in some matters.
He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Clark felt that there was a reason to not give away too much. If he had been thrown back into time, he didn't want to do anything to alter the future. He knew that if anyone saw him flying or using his infrared vision, he'd no doubt spawn a new mythical hero. No telling what effect that might have on the future. So, for now at least, he would continue to use his powers only in extreme circumstances and in absolute privacy.
He flew to the south and eventually came over several larger cities. He didn't land, but did come low enough to determine that they were as primitive as Larissa. He easily spotted a pristine Acropolis in Athens, but it wasn't the modern city he was familiar with. He turned west and was soon over the "boot" of Italy.
There was a tiny village where Rome should have been.
He continued up the west coast of Italy and then over the Alps and across what in his day would be France. He'd been to Paris numerous times; and knew the major natural landmarks; he found the Seine river easily enough. But no Eiffel Tower, no Champs lyses, no Louvre, no Arc de Triomphe. Only a barbarian camp on the bend of the river where the Bois de Boulogne park should be.
He likewise found no modern London on the other side of the English Channel, and no Metropolis, Gotham City, or New York on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
Heartbroken, Clark turned around and headed back to Larissa and his newfound allies.
Clark arrived back in Greece barely an hour before sunrise. Not that time was an issue. Most of the village and both Hercules and Iolaus slept in until well after the sun had risen far above the eastern horizon. The townspeople slowly roused themselves and began their daily routines. The two Greek heroes looked somewhat worse for the wear and tear of the celebrations the day before.
The three men ate a simple breakfast of cold bread and hot gruel served to them by the tavern owner.
"Who else is joining us?" Clark asked. He always liked knowing the capabilities of the people around in when a fight broke out. He spent most of his time as Superman as a solo act. He was a lot more like Bruce than he cared to admit. He didn't like having to watch out for other people--it was easier to look out for just himself.
"An old friend," was all Hercules would say.
Iolaus, on the other hand, could hardly contain his excitement. "Xena. Has to be Xena. Right, Herc?"
"Yes, Iolaus. Xena."
Iolaus reminded Clark of an older, more rustic Jimmy Olsen. Yesterday, Iolaus had jumped in to help the stoneworkers just as fast as Hercules or himself, but when no performing heroics, the man seemed to simply enjoy life. Eager to please, always friendly, Iolaus was the perfect sidekick.
"Who's this Xena?" Clark asked.
"She's confronted Ares before. She'll be a good ally to have with us," Hercules explained.
"She?"
Iolaus jumped in, "Oh, don't worry Clark. She's got a stronger sword arm than most men and can fight harder than nearly anyone I know. Except Herc, here."
Hercules said, "Please, Iolaus." He turned to Clark. "You've never fought with a woman warrior before?"
Clark thought about Diana; Wonder Woman. And he thought the other women that had fought in the several different incarnations of the Justice League: Dinah Lance, otherwise known as the Black Canary, Zatanna, Power Girl, and the Crimson Fox. He thought about some of his female adversaries like Luthor's bodyguards, Marcy and Hope, and of course, Maxima. He thought about Maggie Sawyer, his friend and head of the Metropolis Police Department Special Crimes Unit. He even thought about his own feisty wife, Lois.
He chuckled. "Some of the best fighters I know are women," Clark admitted.
Somewhere on the road to Larissa
"For Zeus' Sakes," Xena bellowed.
"It's okay, Xena," Gabrielle said. "We're almost to Larissa. I'm sure they have a blacksmith there."
Xena controlled her anger with an effort. She patted Argo behind the horse's ear. "I can't believe you threw a shoe, old friend." The horse snorted and nuzzled his mistress.
She bent down to examine the horse's hooves. The shoe probably should have been replaced weeks ago, but the two had been traveling hard recently. They had received a message from Hercules and it sounded urgent.
"He'll be okay, won't he?" Gabrielle asked.
"Yes," Xena answered. "But we'll have to slow down."
It was late in the afternoon when the two women arrived in the village of Larissa. Hercules and Iolaus were waiting in the village square. Clark had gone off to assist a couple farmers.
When he returned to town, Clark found his newfound friends eating their evening meal at the tavern.
"Clark, over here," Iolaus yelled from across the room. Clark waved. He saw the two men at a table with two women. But these didn't look like the same sort of women that had been hanging around the last day or so. They looked tired and road-weary. One was dark-haired, with startling blue eyes. The other was a strawberry blonde.
"Clark, this is Xena and Gabrielle," Hercules said.
The dark-haired woman stood and eyed Clark. She was nearly as tall has him and reminded him of Diana.
"This is the guy you were talking about, Iolaus?" Xena demanded. "Doesn't look like much."
Clark assumed she was testing him. Baiting him. "Same could be said for you," he retorted.
The warrior woman pulled her sword from its scabbard faster than Clark would have thought humanly possible. The tavern turned dead silent. The two eyed each other. Clark instantly thought of any number of ways to deflect the sword, but knew he didn't have to. It was only early iron age steel. The edge was honed to a near razor sharpness, but the sword itself would bend if it struck anything too hard.
Xena let out a yell, "Aiyeaaaah!" and swung the sword down and across, intending to cleave Clark in two.
To Clark, the whole scene seemed to move in slow motion. He could see the anger in the woman's eyes, he could see Hercules starting to move to restrain her.
Clark simply raised one hand up and caught the blade of the sword. And then he squeezed it. The blade crumpled in his hand.
And Xena's anger crumpled almost as fast. She stared dumbfounded at her sword as Clark released the blade from his grasp. He hadn't moved, except for his hand, and he still stared into her face.
Xena wasn't sure what impressed her more, the man's ability to stand almost motionless in the face of her attack, or the fact that he'd single-handedly ruined her sword. She dropped the weapon and grabbed the man's hand. It looked like it had been recently burnt and had begun to heal, but otherwise showed no ill effects from her blade. No cuts, not even a crease in the skin.
Gabrielle came up behind Xena. "Well, Iolaus, it looks like this guy *is* everything you said and *more*. You claim he's even stronger than Hercules?"
Oh, great, Clark thought. Now he's bragging about me the way he was bragging about Hercules earlier.
"Please, Clark, was it? Sit down," Gabrielle said. "Hercules was waiting for you to return before telling us about what Ares is up to."
Gabrielle grabbed Clark's arm and guided him to the table. Xena continued to watch him out of the corner of her eyes. The five of them sat at the table and Hercules began to lay it all out.