Soul Stone

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by Ceredwyn

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In the hills above Lake Ohrid
 

The old woman flexed her toes in the cold, wet grass before her little cottage. There would be frost soon; the joints in her bony feet told her that old Winter was gathering his strength, deep in the ground, tensing his muscles to pounce on the last of summer and devour her whole.

She stretched her aching back and arms, squinting with disdain at the gnarled, wrinkled hands before her. A king had once tenderly caressed those hands, praising their delicacy and softness. But that had been another life, long ago and far away. No doubt he was dead now, as their children were long dead, as soon she would be dead. Spring would not find her among the living, she knew.

She breathed the flower-scented air like an elixir. She was not afraid to die, only sad to leave this place in the wild Illyrian hills that had been her home for so many years. But there was one last thing for her to look forward to.

He was coming, the one who had sustained her through her darkest hours. She had felt it in the night, lying alone in her narrow bed, the strange, tingling aura that always heralded his coming. Only in her most desperate hours had he come to her, and she was too old and too weak to survive such desperation again. He was coming to see her safely home, to be her champion one last time.
 
 

On the road to Kelcyra
 

Hercules stifled a yawn and resisted the temptation to stretch mightily. Even the chill air and the steep incline of the road could barely keep him alert. He was glad Iolaus was a couple of paces ahead of him and couldn't see how blessedly tired he was. A full head shorter than his friend, and fully mortal, Iolaus packed enough energy to power a dozen men. His walk was a jaunty bounce, and his yellow hair swung to the rhythm of his steps. It was hard to believe they'd been at the same festival, drunk the same ale, bedded down at the same time.

As though he'd been listening to the big man's thoughts, Iolaus broke into bawdy, ever-so-slightly-off-key song at the top of his lungs. Hercules opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a sound, a shower of sparks and brilliant light a few yards ahead of them marked the arrival of a god.

"Whoa!" Iolaus exclaimed, stopping so abruptly that Hercules blundered into his back.

The figure that materialized before them was that of a tall, slender fellow with curling dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a purple chiton and leaned heavily on a staff that seemed to shift and mutate until Iolaus realized that a large viper had wrapped itself along its length. He looked back at Hercules, depending on his big friend to enlighten him -- he wasn't fond of snakes, and this was one of the gods the blond hunter hadn't encountered before. To his relief, Hercules smiled broadly and stretched out a hand in greeting.

"Asclepias!" he said as they clasped forearms.

"Good to see you, Hercules," the divine healer said in a deep, smooth voice. "I thought we'd agreed you should never drink more than two ales in a night. But I see I don't need to tell you how foolish it was." He looked Iolaus up and down skeptically, but finally grinned. "And your friend looks remarkably healthy."

"Uh... thanks," Iolaus ventured. He looked up and saw Hercules' skeptical expression. "I think." There was something wrong here, something out of sync. The god of healing wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes; nor did he glow with the same aura of supernatural good health he'd seen on other gods. The lines around his mouth were deep and recent, and they were not smile lines. And his forehead was thickly beaded with perspiration. Had he ever seen a god sweat before?

Hercules must have noticed it, too. "You didn't pop out of the ether just so you could tell us we don't need your services, did you, Cousin?" he asked.

Asclepias shrugged in a gesture of defeat. "No. Of course not." He nodded towards a grove of weeping willows beside the road. "Somewhere less public, please."

Hercules turned to his puzzled friend. "Iolaus, wait..."

"No," Asclepias interrupted. "I need both of you."

Iolaus hung back a bit, and turned to walk to the grove a few paces behind the cousins. When he saw the healer god's back, he gasped in shock. Terrible, blackened burns spread deep, charred fingers out from beneath the purple chiton, burns that oozed and bubbled, and grew even as he watched.

Asclepias looked back at him, over his shoulder, and nodded. As soon as they were hidden in the grove, the healer said, "You're right, Iolaus. I'm dying. There isn't much time, and I'm leaving behind far too much unfinished business."

Hercules looked at his cousin's ruined back and gently embraced him. "How did this happen? Who did this to you?"

The healer gave a short, bitter bark of a laugh. "Zeus - he hurled one of his famous thunderbolts." He winced as a shudder of pain shook him. "I... I raised a couple of mortals from the dead. He heard Hades bitching about it. And here I am."

"But he gave you immortality..."

"He let me give it back. It was that or spend eternity like this. And, frankly, I don't want to spend another ten minutes like this." He smiled a thin little smile and coughed. "Of course, I may not have to." He took a deep, shaky breath and continued. "I need to ask a favor of you... Of both of you."

"Of course," Hercules agreed.

Asclepias reached beneath his chiton and pulled out a blue, egg-shaped pendant on a silver chain. He passed it to Iolaus with a trembling hand. "There's a woman in the North, a healer... she lives in the hills on the eastern shores of Lake Ohrid. She's very old... dying, I suspect. This belongs to her. I know she expects me to bring it to her, but there simply isn't enough time. I need to see Epione and my children again."

Hercules swallowed hard before he answered. "We'll see that she gets it."

"Her name is Macrina. She taught me things even Cheiron didn't know... Her cottage is a day's hard travel north of Korca, two leagues from where the southernmost river flows into Ohrid."

"Macrina..." Iolaus mused. "But that means..."

"She is Keltoi," Asclepias admitted. "But she has lived in Illyria for more than fifty years. Try to get it to her soon... She believes that if she dies without it, her soul will be forever lost. And Hercules... tell her I loved her." He gave a final sad smile and vanished in a flurry of sparks, leaving no time for awkward goodbyes.

Hercules and Iolaus stood in pensive silence for a moment after the dying healer vanished. Iolaus sneaked a glance at his friend's solemn face. He'd heard Herc say that he'd never been close to any of his Olympian cousins, but he was clearly troubled by what he'd seen and heard.

"Lake Ohrid's a long way from here. We'd better get some horses in Kelcyra," the demi-god finally said. Iolaus raised an eyebrow at him. Hercules wasn't fond of horses.

Iolaus examined the necklace as they walked back to the road. The stone, in its delicate cage of silver filigree, was the size and color of a robin's egg. He had seen a stone of that color during his time in the East, a turquoise, they'd called it. But this particular piece seemed to weigh less, and to have a slightly rougher texture. Perhaps it was an egg, hardened and preserved in some manner.

Hercules' scowl slowly faded as they returned to the road, but they had walked more than a mile when Iolaus finally asked, "Do you know what this is about, Herc?"

"Not entirely," Hercules admitted. "Asclepias used to talk about this Macrina once in a while. I think he really may have been in love with her once... a long time ago. Long before he met Epione. He isn't... wasn't like the other gods. He honored his marriage."

Iolaus held the pendant up to the sunlight. It was opaque, and without a shine. "What about this?"

Hercules shook his head. I don't know. Some of the Keltoi tales tell of witches or shamans who keep their hearts in eggs. That's usually how the hero defeats them - he smashes the egg and the witch dies." He allowed himself a faint little smile. "And the hero marries the beautiful princess and lives happily ever after. You know the drill."

"Yeah," Iolaus mused. "So much for fairy tales."
 
 

******
 

"No, no, no!" Macrina scolded good-naturedly. "The chamomile goes there. Yes. Next to the peppermint. We must make labels for every jar."

The young woman settled the herb jar into place and climbed gingerly down the ladder. She was considerably heavier than the aged healer, the ladder was old and creaky, and she'd already been up and down the thing a hundred times since morning. Still, it would be a relief to know what each of the jars and envelopes held. There was so much she still had to learn, even after two years of apprenticeship. And now her mistress had intensified her teachings, somehow certain that she was about to die. It was true that she was very, very old, maybe the oldest person in Illyria, but she still seemed healthier than most people half her age.

By the time they were finished organizing the herbs, the sun was low in the sky, too dark indoors for reading or writing, but still high enough that the apprentice healer could walk home before night fell.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" she asked as she wrapped up in her heavy woolen shawl and head scarf. "I told Theogenes that I might not be home tonight."

Macrina sat in her rocking chair before the hearth, resting her tired feet on a fleece-covered hassock. "No, child. Go to your husband. Come back in the morning. Tonight is not the night."

The young woman eyed her critically for a moment before she kissed the old woman on the forehead and left the cottage. Macrina sat by the fire for a long time before she got up and barred the door, praying the whole time to the half-forgotten gods of her youth that she had been right, that death would not claim her in the night, at least not this night.
 
 

Korca
 

They were still nearly a day's journey from their goal, but the hills ahead of them were too rugged for riding. Hercules gratefully accepted the 20 dinars his horse brought in the marketplace of the Illyrian city of Korca. He'd paid nearly twice that for the beast three days earlier, but he was so sore from the long, rough ride that he would have considered paying the horse trader to take the mare off his hands. Iolaus had actually patted his gelding's nose fondly as he surrendered it. It hardly seemed fair that the little mortal rode like he'd been born to the saddle, while he, who had once been allowed to ride the Pegasus, sat a horse like a sack of bricks.

They ate a good, hot meal, bought warm wool shirts and heavy cloaks, and visited the bath house before heading north again. Twilight and trouble found them in a tiny hamlet on the shores of Lake Ohrid.

The little cluster of nine or ten simple huts was hardly big enough to be called a village. There was a small marketplace and an inn, but the vendors had closed shop for the day, and the innkeeper looked at them like madmen when they asked about a room.

"Sleep in the stable, if you must," the fellow said grudgingly. "But be on your way first thing in the morning. We don't have much use for strangers here."

"We're looking for a Keltoi woman called Macrina," Hercules announced to the villagers gathered in the tavern. "She's a healer..." His voice trailed off when he saw the poor show of hospitality degenerate into downright hostility.

"A witch," a burly farmer's son corrected. "Aye, we know of Macrina. She has no friends here."

"Nor have her friends," the innkeeper added. "You'd best move on. My stables are full tonight." He snatched away their half- finished ales and dumped them into the waste barrel.

"Now, wait a minute," Iolaus protested. But Hercules grabbed him by the elbow and hustled him out into the street. "What was that for?" Iolaus demanded indignantly. "They didn't even let us finish our drinks."

"They're not fighters," Hercules mused. "They were afraid."

"Yeah, well, they ought to be," Iolaus huffed as he tucked his shirt into his pants and straightened his patchwork vest.

"Not of us. Something about this Macrina frightens them."

"Great. Maybe we should find out what we're walking into before we charge up into those hills."

Hercules laughed aloud at that. "Don't you think it's just a tiny bit late for that?" he remarked. "We shouldn't have much trouble finding her since she's so popular."

"Almost as popular as we are," Iolaus snorted. He'd hoped at least to get a hot meal.

They walked along the lakeshore, wrapped in their cloaks against the chill north wind. Clouds were moving in, but the moon was still bright, only a night or two from full, and in its pale light, a flock of geese headed south towards warmer lands.

"Snow here before long," Iolaus commented, watching the geese. This far north, and in the mountains, winter would be much harsher than in Thebes or Corinth. He fingered the blue pendant that hung just above his own medallion, and looked up at Hercules. The big man was squinting at the moon, and Iolaus saw his expression change just before the shadow crossed his face.

"Run!" the demi-god shouted.

Iolaus didn't take the time to look for what Hercules had seen. He didn't have to see what was coming to know it was bad. They sprinted for pile of boulders. Only a few yards from safety, Iolaus felt a stone turn under his foot and he fell heavily.

Something behind him gave a wild, harsh cry like nothing he'd ever heard before and he drew his sword as he clambered to his feet, facing his pursuer. It was raven black and hawk-shaped, but the bird creature that swept in for the kill was bigger than a deer. He swung desperately, felt the blade impact the feathered body, but it might have been a willow twig. The sword was ripped from his hand by a fierce talon, and the creature wheeled sharply. He tried to leap out of the way, but the hooked beak caught him square in the chest, and then he was falling, slowly, slowly, and the moon above him swung in a lazy circle...
 
 

************
 

"Iolaus!"

He was looking up into Herc's face, saw concern in the shadowed eyes. The moon hung serenely over his friend's left shoulder. His head throbbed and his chest felt like it had been branded. He was lying on his back on the lake shore stones. He remembered falling, but it had been such a long time ago.

"Iolaus?"

"I'm okay," he said hoarsely. It was a lie, but he didn't feel like he was seriously injured. Something was wrong, though... something... He clutched at his chest, wincing as he touched the spongy bruised spot where the creature had struck him. But that wasn't his main concern. His necklace was gone, and, with, it the blue pendant. "What...?" He sat up, feeling for the missing items. "That damn thing took the pendant and my medallion."

Hercules gave him a hand up. "I don't imagine it was looking for something to line its nest, do you?"
 
 

****
 

Macrina put a last log on the fire. It would keep her warm most of the night. She draped her shawl over the back of her rocking chair and crawled into her narrow bed. The first pain hit her with the force of a crossbow bolt. She sat up, clasping both hands to her chest. Her heart pounded like it would explode. She tried to remember where she had put the herb mixture she needed. Her feet had barely touched her slippers when a nauseating wave of dizziness picked her up and slammed her to the floor.
 
 

****
 

It was past noon when they came over the crest of a tall, grass-covered hill and looked down at the sturdy cottage overlooking the lake. They'd slept in the shelter of lakeside rocks, too tired to keep watch for the huge bird creature that had stolen the pendant and talisman from around Iolaus' neck.

Iolaus had been a bit stiff and sore, and the bruise on his chest had blossomed into a dark-centered purple flower. Hercules had kept a surreptitious eye on him all morning, but the hunter had showed no signs of serious injury. He was wearing an expression as dark as the bruise, though.

"I sure hope this Macrina's got some idea what's going on," he grumbled as they made their way down the hill to the cottage. "I want my necklace back."

"I suspect she'll have an idea, Iolaus. That was no ordinary bird."

"Yeah," Iolaus agreed. "And it knew exactly what it wanted.." He rubbed absently at the bruise, and followed Hercules down the hill.

They were still more than a hundred yards off when a plump young woman in peasant's clothing burst out through the open doorway. Her hair was in disarray, her face distraught, and her screams for help brought them running, ready for a fight. But the woman threw herself into Hercules' arms, sobbing.

"Help me!" she cried. "My mistress is very ill!"

Hercules looked over the woman's head to Iolaus and nodded at the door. Iolaus hurried into the cottage. It looked less like a home than an apothecary's storehouse. Shelves heavy with jars, scrolls, and potions filled every wall space, and one floor-to-ceiling shelf in the middle of the room divided it into two spaces. Behind the shelf, he could see a fireplace, a rocking chair, and a narrow bed against the south wall.

The fragile old woman who lay beside the bed, covered to the chin with a quilt coverlet, had the flattened, discarded look of a corpse. But when he knelt at her side, he could hear breath wheezing through her open, toothless mouth, and beneath her nearly transparent eyelids, he could see movement. She was dreaming. He lay a gentle hand on her wrinkled, blue-veined forehead, and found it cool and clammy where he had expected the dry heat of fever.

"No need for you to lay here on the floor, is there, Old Mother?" he said softly to the sleeping woman as he lifted her easily up onto the bed. She seemed nearly weightless, and he felt bones shifting beneath the thin flesh.

He gently arranged her on the bed and covered her snugly. He sat down beside her and smoothed gossamer wisps of white hair into place. She had been a beauty once, he realized suddenly, and he remembered that a god had loved her. A god who was now dead. He wondered if he would visit her in the Elysian Fields, what kind of reunion there would be for them. Would he recognize her when he found her? He wondered.

Hercules and the Illyrian woman entered the cottage then, and Hercules asked, "Ena says she found Macrina on the floor when she came in. That was a bit after dawn. How is she?"

Iolaus shrugged. "She hasn't got any fever, but she seems pretty sick. Maybe she had a stroke of some kind. You know twice as much about healing as I do, Herc."

"She's been telling me for a month that she's going to die soon," her apprentice told them. "No one even knows how old she is, but she never gets sick. When there was a plague in these parts eight years ago, she worked among the sick for days. Strong men died, and she never sniffled. In Petras, they said she was a witch, finally, and stoned her out of town. Almost everyone in the village died after she left. Everywhere else she went, people recovered."

"Let me guess," Hercules said. "Petras is the village at the southeast corner of the lake."

"Why, yes. But how did you...?

"Lucky guess," Iolaus assured her. "We were there last night. That's where we lost the thing we were bringing to her."

"You were coming here?" The woman looked as though it was an absurd idea..

Hercules nodded. "Asclepias gave us a pendant for her. He asked us to get it to her before she died."

"Pendant?"

"Shaped like a little blue egg," Iolaus prompted.

Realization dawned across the woman's face. "You had the egg? And you lost it?."

"Actually, it was taken from us," Hercules clarified. "By a monstrous bird like some kind of black hawk."

The color had drained from Ena's face. "No natural bird," she whispered. "A demon from the blackest pits. Sent by her enemies to steal her soul."

"Her enemies?" Hercules asked.

"Her soul?" Iolaus echoed.

Ena nodded, her battle with fear darkening her face. Tears gathered in her dark eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "That's why *he* had it. Asclepias. No one could take it from a god."

Iolaus scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Then it really *does* hold her heart, her spirit...?"

Ena nodded.

Hercules shook his head. "She doesn't look like someone who'd have a lot of enemies."

Ena took the old woman's limp hand in her own. "You'd never know, would you..." She took a deep breath. "She came here from the land of Ys. Did you know that? No. Of course you didn't. But she did. The king, himself, was in love with her, but he was bewitched and he cast her out. But she tricked them, and she took away with her the thing the king treasured most."

She fell silent then, and they realized she'd been reciting a memorized text.

"What was it?" Hercules asked gently.

"The treasure? She never told me. Whatever it was, it must be gone, though. She's been poor as long as anyone remembers."

"Maybe it's this treasure they want," Hercules mused. "This treasure no one's ever seen..."

Macrina shifted in her sleep and groaned as though she might awaken. Ena moved quickly to her side. Iolaus gave her his seat on the bed and backed off to stand by the fire. Even in daylight, the cottage seemed cold.

Ena dampened a cloth and bathed the sick woman's face, but she nearly cried out in surprise when the clear grey eyes opened and fixed on her face.

"They've taken it, Child," she whispered hoarsely. "They've taken my life and sealed it in the tower."

Hercules leaned close to hear her, "What tower? Where is it? We'll get it back for you."

She examined him with eyes that seemed to see through his skin to his bones. "You're no ordinary mortal. You are the son of a god."

"Yes, Ma'am," he deferred.

"Only a mortal can enter the broche, and only of his own free will. No one with godly blood can enter in any way that's useful. And no human can enter clothed in his body."

Hercules looked glanced over at Iolaus. The blond man shrugged innocently. "All right," Hercules told her. "There's a friend with me, a mortal friend." Then he realized exactly what she'd said. "Clothed in his... what?"

Macrina closed her eyes wearily. "It's in the scrolls we filed yesterday, Ena. The one with the red seal. There's a map... And fetch the ruby vial I showed you yesterday." She looked to Hercules then. "The map will show the way. The potion is the key... If Samhain passes... the spirits... the spirits will have me and all will be lost."

"That won't happen," Hercules soothed.

Confusion crept across her face. "Asclepias?" she said, looking over Hercules' shoulder.

"He sent us. He was... delayed."

"But he is coming?"

"Of course. But..."

Macrina's grip on his hand loosened, and the light went out behind her eyes. For a moment he thought she'd died, but her chest still rose faintly.

"Samhain?" Iolaus said from the hearth. "When's that?"

"It's tomorrow night," Ena said solemnly, handing Hercules a rolled parchment map and a tiny red crystal vial filled with transparent liquid. "And the broche is far to the north."
 
 

In the Northern Hills
 

Frost glistened under the full moon's white light, outlining tall round hills in spectral silver. The grass underfoot had still been green and lush in daylight, but now it crackled stiffly under each reluctant step.

"There it is, " Iolaus said at last, pointing off to the north.

Hercules felt a brief clutch of dread when he saw their destination. The squat, round black tower offered no warmth, no welcome, no light. It rose in stark relief against the moon-silvered hillside, looking more like a lonesome grave stone than any human habitation.

"Nice place," he said with levity he didn't feel. "What do you bet we can get off-season rates?"

"Yeah," was his companion's only reply. Iolaus had been uncharacteristically quiet since the sun had gone down, his thoughts far away from this alien countryside. "So, let's do it," he said, with a flat imitation of a smile that never touched his eyes.

Hercules watched his friend stride resolutely towards the tower, a Sidhe Broche, Ena had called it. Keltoi words. A place of barbarian witchery and evil, he thought, impenetrable and forbidding. He knew little of Keltoi gods or demons, but he knew this day, this night, no Keltoi would leave his hearth on pain of death or worse than death. To them it was Samhain, the night when the spirits of the dead and all of the other denizens of the shadow world were free to roam the earth unchallenged, and woe to any mortal they encountered. From everything he'd heard of them, the spirits of the Keltoi could be as terrible as anything Hecate or Hera could conjure. Better to avoid them, better to have remained in the ancient healer's hut and stayed inside where it was safe and warm.

The tower was taller than it had looked from a distance, seven or eight times the height of a tall man, its diameter only slightly less; and though it was clearly abandoned, it was no ancient remnant, but something that had been built within the last hundred years. Standing in its shadow, Iolaus realized there were no door or window openings, at least on the near side. The frost on the grass was unbroken; no one had walked here recently. A soft breeze crackling through frost-stiffened grass was the only sound.

Iolaus started off to circle the structure, but Hercules caught him back. "No," the demi-god cautioned. "Remember what the parchment said... We only circle it from right to left..." what had Ena called it? Widdershins? "... and only once."

Iolaus looked up at him with moon pale eyes and laughed mirthlessly. "Come on, Herc. Don't you think you're taking the witch talk a little too seriously?" But he walked to his right just the same. Only smooth dark stones met their inspection. Far up near the roof, the structure was ringed with tiny square openings, but the holes were pigeon-sized.

"There has to be a way in," Hercules mused.

"There is," Iolaus answered, producing the small crystal bottle the healer's apprentice had given him from the leather pouch at his side. "I just hope there's a way out."

The big man threw up his hands in exasperation. "Iolaus, you are NOT going to drink that. There has to be another way. This is insane. Look around you. Do you really think there's anyone inside that tower? You say I'm taking this too seriously, but it's you who agreed to drink poison so you can find a... a... a blue egg, for Zeus's sake! A bauble!"

"It's a soul stone," Iolaus corrected him. "Besides, it's not poison." His friend's face remained stony. "It's not. Herc, she wouldn't have given me poison. It's just a... an herbal potion of some kind."

"Right. So is hemlock."

It would have struck them as the stuff of fairy tales any other time, but standing under a full Samhain moon in the shadow of a tower with no earthly door, made the gnawing feeling of dread that Hercules had felt since leaving Macrina's cottage grow stronger by the minute.

"Herc...? It's okay. Really. I'll be fine. That's why you're here."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." There was no arguing with Iolaus, Hercules knew. But there was no way he'd give any sign that he approved of such a ridiculous plan.

Iolaus pulled the stopper from the crystal vial and sniffed the liquid inside. There was no odor, which was better than a scent of bitter almond or hemlock, but wasn't entirely reassuring. There was no taste either, just a faint burning sensation on his tongue. "Weird," he said. "It's like liquid nothing."

"Nothing is good," Hercules agreed, watching his friend's face in the moonlight. Several seconds crawled by. Maybe nothing would happen. But his hope was short-lived, as Iolaus' eyes widened in stunned surprise.

"Whoa! What a..." Was all Iolaus managed to say before his eyes rolled up and he collapsed bonelessly against the tower wall.
 
 

*****
 

"... rush!" Iolaus sat up, surprised to find himself on the ground. He didn't remember falling, but he must have been unconscious for a bit, because he was no longer outside in the moonlit night. The stone wall now curved around him. He sat on the packed earthen floor of a large circular room. Several torches burned brightly in their sconces on the wall, but Hercules was nowhere in sight. The chamber was devoid of furnishings, and while it was slightly warmer inside the tower than out, the air was damp and stale.

"Herc?" he called. The only answering sounds were the guttering of the torches and the slow drip of water from the low ceiling. "Hello?" Boards creaked above him. Something was moving upstairs, and whatever it was, it was bigger than a mouse.

"Great. How do you get into these situations, Iolaus?" He asked himself rhetorically.

An open stone stairway against the far wall seemed to be the only way in or out of the room. Iolaus reached for his sword and found he was unarmed. He took a torch from the wall. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. Telling himself he'd really rather be in a warm tavern with a cold ale, he cautiously climbed the stairs.

They opened into a small room lit only by the torch in his hand. A narrow bed against the far wall was only furniture. The soft sound of weeping drew his attention to the corner farthest from the stairs, and what he saw there wrenched his heart.

The child cowered in the corner, eyes wild with terror at his approach. She couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve and she had been savagely beaten. Her simple linen shift was stiff with blood from half a dozen hidden wounds and her face was a mass of swollen bruises.

"I won't hurt you," he said softly. Tears stung his own eyes when she whimpered in terror and tried to shrink farther back into the corner. "Let me help." He settled the torch into a niche in the wall and held out his hands to her.

Her face relaxed a bit and she spoke, but the words were no language he'd ever heard. "Who are you?" she asked, then, in halting Greek, her voice quivering and heavily accented. "You are not one of his men."

"No," he said, reaching out to her. "I'm here to help."
 
 

**************
 

Hercules caught Iolaus as he fell and lowered him gently to the ground. He quickly ascertained that his friend was breathing evenly and his pulse was strong. Not a poison, perhaps, but a powerful drug nonetheless. Both men wore heavy woolen shirts against the cold, but Iolaus wasn't going to benefit from lying in the frosty grass. Hercules pulled a blanket from his pack, spread it on the ground against the tower wall. He rolled his unconscious friend on it and covered him with another, then sat on his pack, resting against the cold stone of the wall. He kept Iolaus' sword close by. There was no telling what enemies might be near.

Not far away, a wolf howled, but Hercules knew wolves would be the least of his problems.

"I hate this," he muttered, wishing they'd brought another blanket. "I hope you have some idea what you're doing, Iolaus."
 
 

************
 

Iolaus held his breath. The battered child considered him in silence before she reached out and took the hand he offered. She winced at his touch, but made no further move to get away. Her strange, slanted grey eyes studied his face for a long moment before she relaxed into his comforting arms. He held her as she cried, stroking her filthy, matted hair and rocking her gently. He abhorred cruelty of any kind and the little girl's condition broke his heart.

When her sobbing had stopped, he reached for the water flask at his belt and let her drink.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

The girl's eyes clouded with tears again and a shudder coursed through her slight frame. "He kept hitting me and hitting me... " she stared off into the distance. "And when I tried to get away he kicked me down the stairs... I must have hit my head. He was coming down the stairs after me and all of a sudden I was here, and it was dark."

"Who was hitting you?" '

"UiCiardha. He was so angry. I thought he was going to kill me. No one ever hit me before. No one."

"How did you get here?" he asked her finally. "Where are your parents?"

"My parents sent me here," she said as though it had been a foolish question. "When I married..."

"Who's... Married? It was an appalling idea. "But you're not old enough ..."

"I am almost fourteen," she retorted.

Impossible, he thought. "That's still too young to..."

"My mother was married at thirteen." she said with a touch of haughtiness. "The high queen asked that I be sent here, and so I was."

Iolaus ripped a piece of sheeting from the bed and dampened it. The girl closed her eyes and let him clean grime and blood from her face. She set her jaw against the pain and never made a sound, though she flinched involuntarily when he touched the worst of the bruises. When her face was as clean as a rag and a bit of water could make it, he offered her another drink and asked her name.

"Tiabhal," she answered.

"Tivul? That's a pretty name. I never heard it before. You're not Greek."

She looked at him with a squint. "It's Tih VAHL," she corrected. "What would make you think I'm Greek?"

Iolaus shrugged with a smile. "Oh, it's probably just that I am. I'm from Thebes."

"Huh!" she snorted. "I am from the Orkanis, in Britannia."

"Uh huh," he said, taking the cup from her. "And who is UiCiardha?"

She looked away with downcast eyes. "My husband. But he wasn't pleased with me. He said if he'd wanted an ugly little dark gnome, he'd have gone to a cave and found one himself."

"Nice guy. I think I'd like to meet him and give him a few pointers on how to treat children." The girl glared at him through narrowed eyes. "And young women."

"You'd fight him?" She asked doubtfully. "He is twice as big as you are, and he has an army of demons at his command."

"Hey! Lots of bad guys have made that mistake. I may be little, but I'm tough." The girl regarded him solemnly, and he grinned. "Like you."

"I do not have to be tough," she told him. "You are here to be strong for me." She locked her arms around his neck. "You are, aren't you?"

Iolaus felt his face burn red. He patted her back and rocked her as he would a toddler who'd wakened from a nightmare. "Of course I am," was all he could think of to say.

"Always and forever?"

"Always and forever," he said and kissed her hair. Poor waif, she was going to need all the help she could get. Maybe he could get her to safety. Alcmene would take her in, he knew. But she was a foreign child, and she might be better off with her own people if he could find out who her people were, and where.

"Thank you," she nodded.

He realized she was sagging against him and he eased her under the thin covers on the little bed. "Sleep now. You've got a lot of healing to do. Is this UiCiardha still here? Maybe through that door?"

"He's here. But be careful. He's a son of the..." She drifted off for a moment, then gathered her thoughts. " Promise me you won't leave until I'm asleep."

"I'll stay right here."

Her eyes were already closed when she whispered, "You will come back if I need you, won't you?"

"Yes. Of course I will."

"Do you promise?"

Don't make a liar of me, he pleaded to whatever god might be listening. He took her hand again. "I promise."

She settled down into the pillow, and in a few short minutes her breathing deepened and her bruised face relaxed into sleep. Iolaus gently tucked the covers about her and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He left a candle burning on the bedside table and armed himself again with the torch.

"You'd better be a tough bastard, UiCiardha," he muttered as he opened the door, "Because when I'm through with you, you won't be able to swat a fly." He looked back at the fragile, cruelly abused child once more as he stepped into the dark on the other side of the door. "And that's a promise."
 
 

*********
 

Hercules didn't realize he'd been dozing until the drooping of his head jerked him awake. The moon was still eerily bright above, but a thick white mist was rising from the ground. He reached out to take his partner's limp hand. Iolaus' hand was hot and moist, but it felt more like the heat of exertion than fever. His breathing was deep and slow, as though he lay in a deep, natural sleep instead of drug-induced unconsciousness.

A slight, stealthy sound caught his attention. As he peered into the thick mist, a low, black shape took form just inside the swirling fog. A wolf. A big wolf, its black fur ragged with old scars, its long, curved fangs brilliant in the moonlight. The creature growled quietly and turned back into the mist.

Hercules reached for Iolaus' sword, never taking his eyes from the spot where the wolf had been. Ordinarily, the creature wouldn't have concerned him. But Iolaus was defenseless, and Ena had filled his ears with tales of dark Keltoi magic and supernatural enemies, and it was a long, long time 'til dawn.

A low, mournful howl sounded from somewhere just out of sight in the mist, but it sounded more like the voice of a woman than a wolf. Something moved, a dark shape masked in swirling white, and chilling laughter rode the fog. High over head, giant wings beat invisibly, and the scratching of talons on stone told of the arrival of something sinister on the roof of the tower.

"Iolaus, buddy... if you're in there somewhere," he whispered, "Watch your step."
 
 

*****************
 

A chill wind from nowhere slammed the heavy door shut behind him. The torch guttered and nearly went out, but he shielded it with his body and saved the precious flame that was his only light, his only weapon. The wind died as quickly as it had risen, and it left behind a ringing silence. Iolaus held his torch high, but it lit no walls, no ceiling, only a narrow circle around him. Surely the chamber couldn't be that large. A single torch should have lit the whole circle of the tower.

He turned back to the door to get his bearings in the impenetrable darkness. An unbroken wall of stone was all he found. The door was gone, and with it, the descending staircase. There was no going back. There was no going down. Wherever the way lay, it lay ahead and up.

Iolaus gathered himself against the claustrophobic, suffocating darkness. "I'm not afraid of you," he said to whoever might be listening. "I've come for Macrina's stone, and I mean to have it."

He felt, rather than heard, the soulless laughter. It came from everywhere and nowhere. Iolaus stood trembling, holding the torch before him like a shield, knowing that whatever lurked in the darkness beyond its light knew he was a liar. He was afraid. But fear was an enemy he'd faced many times before, and he stepped forward toward what must be the center of the room. With each step, the darkness faded and the laughter dimmed. By the time he'd gone ten paces, the darkness had fled entirely and he saw that he was near the center of a bare, circular room. Like the first chamber he'd found himself in, this room filled the whole circumference of the tower. There was no staircase in evidence, no chink in the walls, no way in and no way out.

Then, just above him, wood scraped on stone. He leapt away from the spot and looked up to where a trap door had opened in the ceiling. A thick rope swayed before him as it was lowered through the hole by invisible hands. Clearly, someone had issued an invitation from above.

He could climb the rope easily enough, but it would mean leaving the torch behind. Even though the space above him seemed well lit, the torch was his only weapon, and this was no place to be unarmed.

He backed away from the rope and studied his surroundings. The walls betrayed no hidden openings and the wooden floor was solid. The hole in the ceiling provided the only exit. Iolaus reluctantly set the torch in a sconce on the wall and returned to the rope. He grasped it securely and gave it a hearty tug to test its strength, When it held, he began to shimmy up to the next level of the tower.

His hands were within two feet of the trap door when the first spider appeared.

Iolaus froze.

It wasn't the largest spider he'd ever seen. Smooth, black and glossy, its body was about the size of his thumbnail, and the span of its legs wouldn't quite have covered a dinar coin. But he knew its appearance was no accident, and he knew he didn't want it to touch him. He held to the rope with one hand and swatted at the spider with the other. The creature lost its hold on the rope, but instead of falling to the floor, it landed in the crook of his elbow, clung for a brief moment, and bit. Shocking, white-hot pain pricked him to the bone. Somehow, he managed to keep his hold on the rope. When his senses cleared, he saw that his arm was unmarked.

"Not real," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Not real."

He looked up.

The rope was covered with spiders.

Hundreds of them lined the edges of the opening above him, crowding each other out of the way, tumbling down to land in his hair, to skitter across his shoulders and down his back. He clenched his mouth and eyes shut and held on. They crept on dry straw feet over his hands and down his arms, biting as they went.

He held on.

Splinters of agony pierced his neck, his hands, his scalp, but his hands remained locked in place.

Finally, he knew he had no choice but to go on. Without opening his eyes, he reached up to continue his climb. His hand brushed aside tough round bodies, but still closed around one. Sick with loathing, he squeezed, feeling the vile wetness as it burst under the pressure. One hand above the other, one hand above the other.

The spiders fell away from him. No more crawled over his hands, no more fell on his head. After a moment, he dared to open his eyes.

There were no spiders on the rope, no spiders on his hands, no spiders lining the trap door. They were gone.

His hands shook like a drunkard's, nearly forcing him to lose his grip, but he fought off the trembling and pulled himself up through the opening into the next level of the tower. No spiders. Thank the gods, no spiders. He rolled onto his side, clutching himself as his body shuddered convulsively. Horror welled up in his throat like nausea, but he swallowed it. The spiders had been a manifestation of the dark magic that ruled the tower, but the pain and revulsion were real.

When the spasm had passed, he held his hands before him and saw that there were no bite marks, no swellings. He breathed deeply and slowly, calming himself as he'd learned in the East, and gradually, he felt his heart slow and his composure return. After a moment, he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around the room that had spawned such horrors.

It was a small, square chamber, dimly lit by a single torch, cold and clammy despite a fire in the grate. It smelled of damp, and mildew... and blood.

He might have missed the woman entirely but for the blood. She lay behind him on a crude straw pallet. Her head was thrown back in a soundless scream as she clutched at her swollen belly. A thin trail of blood seeped out from beneath her as she labored in utter silence.

What in the name of all the gods was a woman in the throes of childbirth doing in this unholy place?

His legs were still too rubbery to hold him, and he crawled over to where she lay. His shadow crossed her face and she turned wild eyes to him.

"Be still!" she whispered breathlessly.

"What..."

"For the love of the gods, be quiet!" she breathed hoarsely. A wave of agony swept up her body and she bit down hard on her own wrist to keep from screaming. "If UiCiardha finds us, we're dead," she panted when the contraction had passed.

Iolaus felt his face harden. "I'd like to find that bastard, myself."

The woman studied him calmly for a moment. "You know him."

He shook his head. "No. But I've seen some of his handiwork."

"My husband hid me here. But he's been gone so long... The baby's early, but nothing's going to stop her now." Her eyes pleaded with him.

"Let me help," he whispered.

She nodded and lay back on the pallet. He knelt between her knees and raised the rich velvet skirt. The baby's head had crowned. The woman's bleeding wasn't bad, but she was clearly exhausted.

"You're almost done," he told her, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "But you've got to do some pushing now, I think."

He tore a patch of leather from his vest and rolled it up for her to bite down on. She took it gratefully, then nearly bit it through with the next contraction.

"Once more," Iolaus coached. "That's it. Just a little bit more..." The baby's head emerged at last, then one shoulder, and suddenly his hands were full of birth-slickened girl child. He clutched the infant to his chest, patting her back, stifling as best he could the tiny sound of her thin wail. When he was certain the baby was breathing strongly, he looked back at the mother. She lay silently, mouth slack, eyes open and unfocused. He couldn't see her breathing.

"Oh, no you don't!" he rasped. He lay the baby in the straw and hauled her nearly lifeless mother into his arms, shaking her violently, slapping her colorless cheeks. She was utterly limp, eyes rolled back in her head.

No! She couldn't be dying. Couldn't... "Dammit! Don't you dare die!" he rasped. "Don't you dare! Your baby needs you!"

The woman suddenly gasped and shuddered in his grasp. She drew a deep wheezing breath, and the light of life came back into her eyes. "What are you doing?" she asked mildly.

He could only stare at her. He'd been sure she was dead. Unbidden tears of sheer relief stung his eyes. After a long moment he said, "I have no idea," and settled her back on the straw pallet.

She took the baby to her breast, cuddling and crooning almost silently. "So good," she whispered. "So good. See? She knows not to cry out, doesn't she? UiCiardha will never have thee."

Iolaus sat beside her, knees drawn up, face buried in his hands. How long had he been inside the tower, now? He didn't want to leave a mother and newborn child alone, but he also knew that he had to keep moving. If morning found him still within the tower... No, he couldn't think about that.

"Cold..."

Her whisper was faint with exhaustion. He looked around, knowing he wouldn't find what he needed. If he could only cover her with something, leave her safe, he could finish what he'd come for. What would Hercules do? he asked himself. No good. Hercules would be as lost as he was. But what was it that Cheiron had said to them? Over, and over, and over. "When you don't know what to do, do the next right thing."

The next right thing... He sighed and lay down beside the exhausted woman and her child, wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

"Try to sleep," he whispered. He felt her nod and relax against him. Just a few minutes, he told himself. Then he'd move on.
 
 

**************
 

The woman was beautiful in a threatening sort of way. Hercules knew it without being able to see her features clearly. But she was too sinuous and insubstantial for reality. She was the stuff of dreams, of fevered hallucination, either a creature of the supernatural or an illusion painted on a wavering canvas of fog and moonlight.

Hercules stiffened as she drifted closer, reaching out to him with a slender, bejeweled hand.

"I can be yours," she lilted.

He rubbed his aching temples. Had she actually made any sound? Or had her voice manifested itself in his imagination?

She was seductively naked beneath a gossamer black gown so delicate that her pale flesh was barely masked.

"Come to me." Her dark lips parted, offering him a glance of small, sharp teeth.

Hercules was surprised to find himself pressed back hard against the cold stone of the tower wall. He realized that he would have pushed himself through the mortarless chinks between its stones to escape her touch. But she stopped her advance before she was within six or seven yards of where he sat next to his friend's unconscious body.

Though she had stopped coming closer, the woman reached out to him with yearning arms. Despite his loathing, Hercules felt the siren's pull of her beckoning. He was nearly standing before he realized he'd inched his way up the wall. By the gods! He'd been doing her bidding even while he'd thought he was resisting.

On the ground beside him, Iolaus stirred, his unnatural sleep disturbed by what terrible nightmares his semi-divine friend could only guess. "... don't know..." the unconscious man muttered breathlessly. "... don't know... next right thing..."

Cheiron's words. Good, wise Cheiron. Hercules couldn't know what terrible indecision Iolaus dealt with, wherever his spirit had fled. But he knew what his next right action must be. He took up Iolaus' sword and brandished it before him like some holy icon. "Go back to the darkness that spawned you," he said firmly. "Get away from me and get away from him."

The mist behind her churned with the stealthy movement of dark shapes masked in its swirling whiteness. What lurked there, he prayed he'd never see. But after a moment under his stern, defiant glare, the strange woman faded into a dark vapor and wafted back into the mist as smoke vanishes in a cloud. But just as she disappeared entirely, her voice rang out in the cold air.

"It is a long time til morning, Hercules. A long, long time..."
 
 

***********************
 

His temple ground into the smooth stone floor and the uncomfortable pressure woke him with a start. Iolaus sprang to his feet in the empty room. How long had he slept? He was freezing cold, but his muscles were limber. If he'd slept long on the stones he knew he'd have been stiff and sore. The straw, the grate, and more ominously, the strange woman and her newborn child were gone without a trace. He wasn't surprised to see that the trap door in the floor had vanished. The tower had worked its magic again.

"I'm really starting to hate this place," he muttered as he took stock of his new situation.

Though there was no furniture, the floor was smooth, polished marble and the walls were hung with tapestries. A richly carved wooden staircase rose to a balcony high above, where an open archway led into darkness.

"It can't be this easy," Iolaus warned himself. He knew he wouldn't have to wait long for the next ordeal to begin, and he wanted to be as ready as possible.

As though in answer to his unspoken question, a woman's terrified scream echoed from above. Then he smelled smoke.

He snatched the nearest torch from its sconce and raced to the stairs; but he stopped short when he saw what topped the newel post. The bannister ended in an elaborate and hideously realistic representation of a serpent's head, complete with gaping mouth and two-inch fangs. In this house of horrors, he knew that the snake's head couldn't be an insignificant architectural detail.

He skirted it widely, expecting it to spring to vicious, deadly life at any instant. But it showed no sign of animation.

Another cry from above broke his enchantment with the ugly carving. A thin line of smoke drifted out of the archway at the top of the stairs. He bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time. Maybe if he could run fast enough... But then the wooden scales of the bannister shifted under his hand.

He whipped around just in time to see the carved snake rear back its head to strike. He swung the torch at the horror's face, but at the last instant, the wooden serpent dove low and he sprang backwards, knowing he could never evade those vicious jaws. The hideous fangs closed around his ankle, snatched his feet out from under him and snapped him off into space before he was slammed to the stone floor. Stunned by the impact, all the breath forced from his lungs, he barely managed to roll out of the thing's reach.

He lay still for a moment, panting for breath, waiting for the inevitable pain, praying the monster hadn't crippled him. He cautiously flexed his limbs, found them functional, and forced himself back to his feet.

The wooden viper was waiting for him, head drawn back, tensed to strike. Iolaus feinted to the right as the creature lunged for his throat. He thrust the torch into the fang-crowded mouth that closed in on him and pushed with all his strength. The serpent was strong, but it was still dry, polished wood, and it shrieked with outrage as its ugly face exploded in flames. The thing reared back for a second strike, but as it sprang forward again, the neck burned through and the flaming head fell to the floor.

"Hah!" Iolaus shouted in triumph. But the stairs were burning now. He rushed through the flames and clambered up the steps. Fire pursued him almost as quickly as the demon serpent had done. He reached the archway just ahead of the roaring flames and ducked through the opening. Behind him, the ruined stairway crashed to the floor as its supporting timbers burned away. Once again the way down had disappeared.

The fire in this new chamber was of a different sort entirely. A brazier sat in the center of the dark, damp room. Iolaus cringed when he saw the pincers and brands that glowed red against the coals. He'd seen instruments like them before. They were made for one purpose: torture.

The woman whose screams had brought him up the deadly stairs hung from iron shackles chained to bolts in the sooty walls. Despite her undignified position, she was obviously no common criminal, no common anything. Her patrician face was elegantly plain and fine featured, and though the white streaks in her black hair and delicate crow's feet at the corners of her eyes said she was surely over forty, her skin was soft and unweathered. Her dress was torn and dirty now, but it had once been an elegant gown of rich red silk. Just above its daring neckline, two or three inches below the left collarbone was a burn so fresh that the stench of scorched flesh still lingered in the air. As he moved closer, Iolaus saw that the injury was a brand in the shape of some bird of prey.

"Romans... " he realized.

He must have said it aloud, because the woman raised her handsome, pain-distorted face to the sound. He expected her to shy away from him in terror, but she regarded him calmly, almost with an expression of wonder..

"How have you come here?" she asked in a voice that was little more than a parched whisper.

"The hard way," he answered in spite of himself.

She smiled sadly. "The way is never easy, is it? But you came anyway."

"I really didn't have a choice," he admitted, looking about the room for something he could use to break her bonds. A decorative hairpin had fallen at the woman's feet and he snatched it up. Just the thing!

"I may not be Autolycus," he told her confidently. "But I *do* know how to pick a lock."

"Autolycus?" Her strange accent alone should have told him she was a foreigner, but all Greece knew of Autolycus, the charming rogue who called himself "King of Thieves."

"Just a friend," he assured her.

The tortured woman nearly collapsed into his arms when he freed her wrists. She was a tiny creature, nearly a head shorter than himself, and wisp thin.

"There's ointment in that jug," she told him, pointing toward the brazier. A squat earthenware pot sat beneath it. Had it been there a moment ago? He reached for it, sniffing at the greasy looking contents. The smell was pleasant, aromatic and herbal.

The woman's face and body relaxed almost immediately as he soothed the unguent over the angry burn on her chest..

"Thank you," she whispered. "I never thought I'd be using this on myself when I mixed it."

"Let me guess," Iolaus ventured. "UiCiardha is holding you prisoner here."

"UiCiardha..." she stared off into space, looking at something he couldn't see. "It's been a long time since I heard that name. No. The new queen sent me here. She didn't want me to leave without giving me something to remember her by. I wonder if he knew... " Then she seemed to rally. "I thought I was going to die. But now you've come, so I suppose I'm meant to go on living."

"Of course you're going to live," he reassured her.

"Five minutes ago, I didn't think so. I thought that the next person through that door would be the executioner. Instead, it was you. Perhaps I should have expected it." She looked at him with something very like love and reached out to stroke his cheek. Her touch was feather soft, and he saw that, despite the fact that she was no longer young, her hands were soft and unlined, the hands of someone who had lived a life of privilege, someone who wouldn't allow herself to feel anything for a person of his station. And yet...

"I don't even know your name. Surely I should know the name of a man who insists on saving my life."

"Iolaus," he said, almost losing himself in her depthless eyes. "My name's Iolaus. But why are you here? Like this? You're no criminal."

"Oh, but I am. Haven't you heard?" she said bitterly. "I'm a traitor. I betrayed my king and the woman he loves. Since they haven't killed me yet, I'll be banished with the sunrise. Whipped out the gates and turned away forever."

"I'll get you out of here," Iolaus promised impulsively.

"I know you will," she answered.

Then he felt icy pain crawling up his leg and looked down. The leather of his boot was torn at the ankle, stained with blood, and he realized suddenly that he could barely feel his foot, couldn't seem to wiggle his toes. He wasn't going to be doing much more climbing, or even walking, tonight; the wooden snake had done him more damage than he'd realized. He sighed deeply and slid down the wall to sit at the feet of the woman he'd saved. Or tried to save.

"Who am I kidding?" he lamented. "How can I get you out of here? I don't know how to get down, myself."

"Down?" she asked, kneeling beside him. "You're such a strange fellow. There's no going down from here. There's only the underworld beneath this foul place."

"What do you mean?" he asked, rolling his head to look at her. "I've been climbing this bloody tower for hours. A flight of stairs, a rope... nasty rope, by the way. Lots of spiders... Two more levels by stairs big snake this time."

She frowned pensively. "There are no snakes here."

"Well, this one started out as a stair railing, but it changed."

"A staircase in the form of a snake?" She studied him with tilted sea grey eyes. "There's a Serpent Stair in the castle. It leads to the Star Tower. They say it comes to life in the proper circumstances."

He snorted out a harsh laugh. "I think I found them... the proper circumstances. But I burned him up." The cold crept up towards his knee and bit deep with icy fangs. He gasped at the pain, squeezed his eyes shut against involuntary tears. "Only I think he got me first."

The color drained from her face. "It bit you?"

"Oh, yeah. But it's okay. It's not real. The spiders bit hell out of me, too, but it didn't last. It'll be fine in a couple of minutes."

"No," she said urgently, checking the jagged hole in his boot. "The spiders were illusion. But the Serpent Stair is real. They told me never to touch it, that the fangs were poisonous, coated with oil of soldier's cap... lycotonum... Hecate's bane..."

"Hecate's..." he echoed. "Oh, goody." Hecate's bane. Wolfsbane. It was a deadly poison, less certain, but far more painful than hemlock, and the few who survived its ravages were often left with permanent damage. He pushed himself up the wall to stand, and then tried to convince himself that the dizziness that weighted down his skull was only in his imagination.

He reached down to give her an arm up, but his vision twisted, and his arm seemed impossibly long, the woman impossibly far away. This wasn't good. Not good at all. He needed help, now, and she was the only one who could give it.

"I have to find something..." He started.

"Find what? "

"It's a pendant. Blue. Looks like a robin's egg, wrapped in silver. It's... um... supposed to be a vessel, a container of some kind for... " It suddenly sounded insane.

She took his hand and pulled herself upright. "It holds the life of an adept, probably a wizard or shaman. Maybe a witch, or even a healer."

"A healer. Yes."

She smiled sweetly at him as she lifted the pendant by its delicate silver chain and pulled it up from between her breasts. "Like this?" she asked, as she dropped it into his cupped hands. The filigree and chain were subtly different than those on the amulet Asclepias had entrusted to him, but the stone was identical.

Iolaus looked at her in wonder as warmth from the stone spread up his arms like a healing balm, and his spinning head cleared as though the dizziness had never struck. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak as the warmth spread through his limbs like heated honey. When she finally took the pendant back and replaced it around her neck, he felt well and whole, better than he had since the demon bird creature had stolen Macrina's stone from him.

"There's nothing I can do about your boot," she said, almost shyly. "But the poison won't trouble you now."

Iolaus knew it was the last thing he should do, that he had an important task before him that couldn't wait. The odd little woman was probably a decade older than he was, born to nobility, if not royalty, and she was a stranger in a dangerous place. Yet he felt strongly drawn to her, as though he had known and admired her for years, and her feeling for him shone through her clear grey eyes. He brushed the soft dark hair from her face and bent to kiss her. Her lips were soft and full and tasted of cinnamon, and she returned his kiss with equal force. And then she drew back and lowered her eyes.

"It isn't meant to be, Iolaus," she said sadly. "I don't know who you are... or what you are. You save me, but I can give you nothing in return."

"You gave me my life," he countered. "I know about Hecate's Bane. I got a tiny little bit of it years ago, courtesy of Medea. It nearly killed me, and before it was over, I was almost wishing it had."

A blush blossomed across her cheeks. "But, as you said, none of this is real."

"Except you."

"Except me." She took his hand and pulled him across the room. There was a stout wooden door in the shadowed corner, nearly curtained off by dusty cobwebs. "Wait here," she whispered. "I'll make sure the way is clear."

She pulled the reluctant door open on squealing hinges, revealing a dim, web-hung stone stairway that led up into darkness. He knew then that she would vanish into the mysteries of the tower. He'd never see her again. And he knew there was no stopping the inevitable. "No, don't go yet. I don't even know your name..."

She turned back to him as the door began to close. "Yes, you do," she said, with a tiny, enigmatic smile. Then the door shut and she was gone.
 
 

********************************
 

Iolaus groaned in his sleep and rolled over onto his side. For the hundredth time that night, Hercules sighed with envy. Staying awake the last hour had been an agonizing fight with exhaustion. He knew the lethargy was unnatural; he'd gone many nights without sleep in his life, with barely a need to yawn. He was the son of a god, after all, son of Zeus, with the strength of ten mortal men. He didn't fall apart because he stayed up a few hours past his bedtime.

It had been an hour since the last mist creature had floated away, an hour since the last wolf had howled, an hour since the last evil laughter had drifted out of the fog. But danger hung in the cold air like the smoke of a dying campfire.

Though the sky was still black above him, birds were beginning to call and a pre-dawn breeze rustled the grass. If the evil creatures Hercules knew were lurking just out of sight were going to make a last effort to harm him or Iolaus, it would be very soon now. Dawn was less than an hour away. When the sun came up, either Iolaus would have fulfilled his mission or Macrina would be dead, her soul lost forever. And what of Iolaus? Would he wake as though nothing had happened? Or would his spirit be locked within the tower, leaving his body to slowly wither and die? There were no easy answers.

Lost in thought, he was barely aware of the shadow that floated down from the top of the tower on silent wings. It was utterly black, a silhouette pasted on the background of swirling fog and fading moonlight, but it sent the cold air swirling with its arrival. Hercules watched in dumbfounded fascination as the black falcon shape spread its enormous wings and smoothly formed itself into the shape of a woman. But this woman was no seductress, sent to lure him into danger. This woman was danger itself.

Black hair and black robes fluttered out on the chill breeze. He couldn't make out a face, only glowing amber eyes. She glided closer, seeming to float along the top of the frost-bitten grass. Hercules tried to step between her and Iolaus, but, to his horror, he stood rooted to the spot.

She dove gracefully forward, not falling, but moving gracefully over the grass as though she were swimming. Though she was only a few feet from him, he could see no detail, no features other than the glowing eyes and swirling hair. She reached out delicately and brushed an errant lock of hair from the unconscious man's face. Iolaus' eyes popped open, and his face contorted in pain. He should have been screaming, but no sound issued from his gaping mouth. A sudden convulsion arched his back into a torturous, impossible bow. The instant she broke contact with Iolaus' face, the blond man crumpled back to lie limp and forsaken in the cold grass. Turning to Hercules, the dark spirit reached out to him as she flowed into a standing position. Her voice, when it came, was silken smooth, yet deep and resonant, and he was certain that he heard her only in his head, that the wraith before him made no sound.

"Leave this place," she commanded. "Go now, and you may live to see the sun rise."

I'd like nothing better, he thought, in spite of himself.

"Then go." The icy tendrils of her words pierced his brain. He could go. He wanted to go. Leaving Iolaus suddenly seemed like a small thing. They were friends. Iolaus would understand. Why, yes. He might do the same, himself. He had actually taken a step away from the tower wall when he realized what he was doing. Then he glanced down at Iolaus, lying pale and twisted on the ground, his face like a dead man's. Dead...

The thrall of her words shattered like a skim of ice. He had seen Iolaus dead, had held his dearest friend dead in his arms, felt the light and warmth of life drain out of his grasp. And he had vowed it would never happen again. Never. He'd sworn it on his own life. He rallied and swung out at her with a fist that could easily have killed a mortal man. He felt the cold dampness of her as his hand and arm passed through her form. And he heard her laugh.

"You cannot harm me, Hercules. I'm not really here, after all. Take him. Take him and go. His wits will return with the sun."

"Why don't I believe you?" he asked sarcastically.

"Very well. Then go without him. I cannot allow him to retrieve the life of my enemy. When the sun rises, Samhain is over. And so is her life. Her power will be mine and her bloodline ended."

Hercules stared at her in disbelief. "Her bloodline? This is all for some blood feud?"

"This is about the future of the world. She stands between my son and his destiny."

"Your son?"

Hercules felt, rather than saw, her malevolent smile."My son. UiCiardha."
 
 

*****************************

Iolaus took the bird-of-prey brand from the brazier. It was the only thing left in the room that might serve as a weapon, and he knew he dare not climb the hidden stairway unarmed. The woman he'd saved had gone ahead, but he knew he wouldn't find her again in this haunted place. Haunted. Had anything he'd seen been real? Had the women he'd saved been ghosts? Or was he the ghost here?

Shut up, Iolaus, he told himself. You'll drive yourself crazy thinking like that. He knew the night must surely be almost done, and he had no idea how far he was from the top of the tower, or where he might find the thing he'd come for.

He took a deep breath and opened the heavy wooden door to the stairway. A cold, stinking wind sent the cobwebs dancing. He stepped back into the prison chamber and took a deep breath of relatively clean air before he mounted the stairs. The door behind him stayed open for a moment, though it let in no useful light. But by the time he'd reached the third stair, it had squealed shut, leaving him in utter darkness.

He steadied himself against the slimy stone wall as the total blackness stole his balance. He stood still for a few seconds, forcing himself to breath slowly and deeply. When his heartbeat had slowed to a normal rate and his feet felt secure beneath him, he began to climb. Five steps, six, another five. Icy fingers brushed his face, and he gagged at the sudden stench that surrounded him. Sulfur, sewage and rot; the hideous stink was all three and none. If the torments of Tartarus had a smell, this would be it. He breathed shallowly through his mouth, knowing that the air would become bearable in a bit. He felt frigid sweat bead on his forehead and upper lip, and, again, felt a fetid, corpse-cold hand brush his face.

He jerked back and gasped, sucking the foul air into his lungs. It was too much. His stomach was empty, but he fell to his knees, heaving and spitting bile. Zeus, no! he begged silently, as his head swam with vertigo. Don't let me faint. Not here. Not so close...

Perhaps Zeus was listening, for his stomach settled after a moment, and the terrible smell faded into the background. His knees were weak and shaking, and he crept up the stairs on all fours, afraid to trust himself to his legs alone. Feeling his way in the dark, he suddenly found himself on a level floor, a floor that felt like packed earth rather than stone or wood. A cold breeze dried the sweat from his face and set him shivering. Though the oppressive stench still surrounded him, the wind carried another smell: water. It was a shore-side smell, though he knew they were miles from any river, and Lake Ohrid was most of a day's journey to the south.

He sat at the top of the stairs for a moment before he realized that his eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark. High up near the ceiling, the chamber was ringed with small, pigeon-hole sized openings. The sky that was violet rather than pitch black. Dawn was coming.

The light was far too dim for him to make out much detail, but he saw no furniture or anything moving. And, yet, he didn't believe he was alone. As if in confirmation, a heavy slithering sound came from his left.

"Hello?" he called softly.

The sound stopped so abruptly that the darkness itself seemed to hold its breath.

"Please..." came an age-harshened whisper. "Don't hurt me. I'm going. Just give me a moment to catch my breath."

"I'm not going to hurt you." He crawled in the direction the voice came from. There was more light away from the stairs, some phosphorescent substance striped the walls here. He'd gone the length of ten or eleven paces when he saw the old woman. She lay as though she had been dragging herself along the floor and was leaning on one elbow, facing him. In the eerily twilit room, he suddenly recognized her.

"Macrina?" he blurted out. "What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

She looked up at him in bewilderment. "There's sickness in the village..." she gasped through pain and exhaustion. She reached out to him and he pulled her to him, resting her head in his lap. "The choking plague," she explained. "I... I tried to cut a breathing hole in the boy's neck. They thought I was trying to cut his throat. He died because they wouldn't let me help him. He was the headman's son. Stoned me..." She looked up at him with pale, wondering eyes. "But you're here, now."

Iolaus scrubbed at his face in consternation. "I've got to get you out of here. It's too dangerous. But I've got to find it... "

"Find it?" she asked.

"The whatchamacallit. The blue thing. The pendant. You put your heart in it."

"My soul stone. Oh, Iolaus, I gave it to Asclepias for safe- keeping years ago. Has he come to fight the plague?"

"Ah... no. Not exactly. It's kind of a long story. It's... Wait a minute! How did you...?" Iolaus stared in disbelief as the woman faded into nothingness before his eyes. "How did you know my name?" he asked the empty room.
 
 

***************
 

"And what's so fearsome about this UiCiardha?" Hercules asked, doing his best to keep his voice light.

The spirit woman's unearthly laughter surrounded him. "Fearsome, Hercules? Merely inevitable. And before the sun touches you, he will have your friend's life, and I shall have the witch's power. Such wonderful sustenance for both of us! Then, perhaps, if there are a few shadows left, we shall taste of you."

Hercules' eyes narrowed. "I hope for your sake that you brought a sack lunch," he growled at the apparition, "because you're not going to get anything from us."
 
 

***************
 

Iolaus stood in the gloom of the twilit tower room. He looked up at the pigeon hole openings that ringed the wall above him. He had reached the top. The room was walled in the same naked stone as the outside of the tower. The floor was rough wood, ill-finished and full of splinters, and the smell of dry rot told him it was not to be trusted. A ladder leaned against the wall about a quarter of the way around from where he stood, leading to the roof. An open hatch above it showed the pale violet pre-dawn sky.

He sighed with relief. The end was in sight. He began inching his way towards the latter, hugging close to the wall, testing each step to be sure the boards would hold him. But his heart sank as he approached the ladder. If his long journey up the tower had taught him anything, it was that there could be no going back. If Macrina's soul stone was, indeed, on this level and he left without it, her life would be forfeit.

"Forget it," he announced to the dark room. "I'm not leaving until I have what I came for."

Instantly, a hollow, hurtful laugh emanated from the dark at the center of the room and a cold, damp wind swirled from its source.

The room was no longer empty.

The black, featureless figure of a man had materialized. A billowing cape hid most of the newcomer's form, but Iolaus could see that he was taller and broader than Hercules. His eyes were afire with the peculiar greyed-orange tint of dying coals, and he carried a sword as long as Iolaus was tall. The only other specific detail Iolaus could make out was the glowing turquoise shape of Macrina's stone on his chest. The giant warrior was wearing it around his neck.

"Oh, terrific," Iolaus sighed, rolling his eyes. "And this is where I have the pleasure of being shish-ka-bobbed by an evil spirit, I suppose. You know, someone should teach you guys a few things about hospitality."

The hollow, booming voice hurt his ears. "You have done far better than I would have imagined, little mortal. But it's time to end the game, now."

Iolaus stood away from the wall, studying the room for an escape route. But the ladder behind him was the only exit. "This is no game," he countered.

The female voice caught him by surprise. "Iolaus!" He whirled around to see the girl, Tiabhal standing next to him. She was uninjured, her simple dress clean and white in the dim light. Her arm was outstretched, pointing to the dim glint of a sword hanging on the wall.

"Only the sword is real," she said, looking at the malevolent figure in the center of the room. "He is but the stuff of nightmares."

Iolaus took the blade from her, found it fit him well. "Thank you, Tiabhal," he said with a grin. But the girl was gone without a trace.

He settled instinctively into fighting position, circling the black phantom, keeping close to the wall where the floor had seemed sturdy. "If I were gonna guess, I'd bet your name's UiCiardha. Huh?"

"I have been called that," his opponent said calmly, smoothly pivoting to match Iolaus' movements, "Among other things." Although Iolaus couldn't see UiCiardha's face, he felt the cruel, feral grin that formed there.

"You're pretty good at hurting little girls and scaring women," he challenged, twirling the sword, testing its heft and balance, making it his own. "Let's see how good you are in a real fight."

The huge warrior lunged at him, wielding his huge sword like a battle axe, high over his head. Iolaus dove to his right, rolling over his shoulder, barely escaping the blow that would have cleaved him in two. The great blade buried itself in the soft wood of the floor, and stuck momentarily. Iolaus leapt to his feet, slicing at the black warrior's sword arm, but he was too slow and his blade clashed against the other's.

UiCiardha's laughter filled the room as he backed Iolaus away from the ladder, slashing madly at the smaller man. He was no swordsman, Iolaus realized, but relied on his strength and massive size to overpower an opponent. Still, it was all he could do to deflect the other's sword and keep his footing before the huge fighter's advance. Though the sword Tiabhal had given him was fine Damascus steel, the other's blade cut deep nicks each time it hit. A truly solid blow might be the end of it.

He pirouetted out of harm's way again, evading the other's clumsy thrust, but a glance at the trap door to the roof brought him up short. The sky was growing lighter with every passing second, tinged now with the pink glow of approaching sunrise. There was no more time for caution.

"Hey you!" He taunted. "Tall, dark and ugly!" He scampered around the perimeter of the tower. UiCiardha turned slowly, following him, planning the next attack. Then he charged, lumbering like a bull. At the last second, Iolaus dove toward him, somersaulting past, knocking the giant's feet out from under him and sending him crashing to the floor. The rotten wood beneath his arm crumbled beneath the sudden weight and the great sword fell into the darkness below.

Iolaus took advantage of his opponent's momentary disorientation, reached out and snatched the egg from around his neck. The broken silver chain followed the sword into the hole in the floor, but he clutched the turquoise stone tightly in his fist and bounded away from UiCiardha. He was halfway to the ladder when a huge fist grabbed the back of his vest and sent him reeling into the wall. He hit hard, face first, and fell backwards. He hit the floor rolling and was back on his feet in an instant, but UiCiardha stood between him and the ladder.

"I do not have time for this," Iolaus told his foe, and before the other could react, he launched himself at the huge warrior, catching him at waist level and taking him down. A huge gloved hand reached out and grabbed a handful of hair as Iolaus scurried away.

Iolaus cried out in pain, seeing stars, but he lurched out of reach, leaving a hank of hair clutched in UiCiardha's hand. His escape pulled the dark warrior off balance, and he staggered to the center of the room. Iolaus was halfway up the ladder when the sound of ripping wood made him look back. UiCiardha had blundered into the hole in the floor. His red eyes flared with rage as he plummeted soundlessly into the darkness below.

"Thanks," Iolaus said drily. "Don't bother getting up. I'll let myself out."

He climbed onto the roof of the tower into the brightening pre-dawn light. The sun would peek over the eastern hills at any second. Have to get down, he realized. Can't be here when the sun comes up. He leaned over the low rim. Hercules sat far below, his back against the wall.

"Herc!" he cried. "I've gotta get down. Help me!"

And then he saw himself lying on the ground beside his friend, white faced and unconscious.

Impossible! He couldn't be two places at once. But he knew what he saw. He'd separated, somehow. The potion had taken his spirit out of his body. Samhain, the night when disembodied spirits roamed the earth, spirits that were banished by the sunrise. He looked back to the east in a panic. The sun was coming, and he knew it mustn't catch him there. If he could just reach his body before the first light of the sun touched him... He clutched the soul stone tightly and dove off the tower. The ground reached up for him and he slammed into himself with a force that tore the world apart.
 
 

***********
 

The sun's first light shook Hercules out of his reverie. The sky was golden and beautiful. The long night was over. And Iolaus... he could barely stand to look into his friend's unconscious face.

Iolaus lurched into a sitting position, eyes wide with shock. "Whoa!" he cried. Hercules watched in wonder as his friend looked about in amazement. "I made it! I got back in time." He laughed uproariously, patting down his body as though to make sure it was real. "I made it back!" he crowed again.

Hercules laughed in spite of himself. "Iolaus! Settle down. You haven't been anywhere."

"Oh, yeah! Oh, Herc, I've been inside," Iolaus assured him, standing up and brushing himself off with one hand. "You wouldn't believe the stuff I saw in there."

"Iolaus..."

"And I got the stone. See?" He held the turquoise out for Hercules' inspection.

Hercules felt his jaw drop. "How did you get that?" He asked warily.

"Inside. It was incredible." His face suddenly clouded. "But we've got to get back in. There are women being held in there, and a little girl. We have to get them out."

Hercules clasped his friend's shoulders. "Iolaus, slow down. I've hardly taken my eyes off you all night. Trust me, you haven't gone anywhere. I don't know how you got that stone, but you've been out cold all night, ever since you drank the potion." He stopped when he saw the stubborn set of Iolaus' jaw. "Okay," he surrendered. "Okay. But you know there's no door."

Iolaus shrugged. "That's never been a problem in the past."

It was useless trying to talk sense to Iolaus when he got in one of his stubborn moods. "Okay," he said again. Then he took a deep breath and punched the wall. Stones fell away, leaving a ragged hole half-a-man high. Iolaus peered into the dark interior of the tower.

"After you," Hercules insisted.

The air was dank and stuffy, heavy with the cloying scent of mold. Iolaus could only stand and stare. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. A long-dead fire pit occupied much of the packed earth floor; the rest was ankle deep in debris, bat and bird droppings, feathers, ancient and discarded cooking implements, trash that might be found in any long-abandoned place. The walls were smoke blackened, and rose, unbroken, to the roof, far above. The only light came from the pigeon-hole chinks that circled the tower just under the roof and the gaping entrance Hercules had created.

"This isn't right," Iolaus puzzled. "There were stairs... other levels. It wasn't like this at all."

Hercules clasped his friend's shoulder. "You were drugged, Iolaus. It was some kind of hallucination or dream."

"Then how did I get this?" Iolaus demanded, holding out the turquoise stone. "It was real, Herc. They were real. I couldn't have imagined it."

"I don't know," Hercules admitted. He kicked at a loose clump of cinders and heard a dull scrape of metal against the grit. Kneeling in the debris, he uncovered a rusted blade. It had once been a fine sword, he supposed. The hilt was plain, but finely crafted. Iolaus took it from him wordlessly, and recognized the feel of it.

"I fought UiCiardha with this less than an hour ago. But it was new."

"UiCiardha?" Hercules echoed. The demon woman's son.

"Yeah. He was some kind of... I don't know... He was like a man, but I couldn't see his face. But he was the one who..." He raked his hair with shaking fingers. "There was a girl, Tiabhal. He beat her. And a woman with a baby. She was hiding from him. He had the stone. I had to fight him for it."

Hercules clasped his friend's shoulders. "Iolaus. There's no one here. There hasn't been anyone here in years. There..." He stopped abruptly, face frozen. Iolaus turned to see what had stopped Hercules in mid-thought. A ray of sunlight caught it where it hung from a peg in the wall, something he'd seen every day of his life, the jade amulet that had been his father's, that had been taken from him on the shore of Lake Ohrid. Hercules watched his friend hang the jade talisman around his neck. "Or maybe there has been," he finally said.
 
 

********************
 

The sun had set, but the orange and pink of its passing still glowed in the west when they came at last to the little valley where Macrina's cottage lay. The warm yellow of firelight showed in the windows and escaped through the open door.

"Looks pretty festive for a place where someone's dying," Iolaus observed as they drew near.

"You know, that's not just firelight," Hercules said. "It's too bright."

As they approached the little house, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. A broad smile creased Hercules' face as he saw the serpent-wreathed staff and purple chiton. "Asclepias!", he cried, clasping the other's forearm. "You're alive!"

"And well," the god of healing affirmed, returning the gesture. "Zeus relented after Aphrodite and Apollo interceded."

"Interceded?" Iolaus ventured.

Asclepias laughed heartily. "Well, pitched a bitch is more like it. Apollo rounded up all the Cyclopses and threatened to barbeque them. Zeus didn't fancy the idea of spending all eternity without any more of his special lightning bolts. So I promised not to raise any more mortals without his permission. A small price to pay."

"And you healed Macrina?" Iolaus asked anxiously.

"There is no cure for old age, Iolaus," the god of healing said gently. "She is dying. But her life has been long and full and her soul is safe, thanks to you. Her time has come and she is ready and at peace. Come. See for yourself."

The tiny old woman lay sleeping peacefully in her narrow bed. Her wispy white hair had been carefully arranged, and she wore a soft, embroidered gown of fine Egyptian cotton. Her apprentice, Ena, sat by her side, keeping vigil. She greeted Iolaus solemnly, but her eyes lit with joy when she saw that he carried the turquoise soul stone.

"Thank the gods!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. She took the stone from him and placed it in Macrina's hand.

As her fingers closed around the egg-shaped stone, the old woman's eyes fluttered open. They were grey, Iolaus saw, the grey of a stormy sea. And in those eyes he saw the truth; he saw the battered child there, the young mother, the deposed queen.

"Tiabhal," he said softly.

She reached up to stroke his cheek and nodded. "No one has called me by my true name in fifty years. I had almost forgotten its sound."

Iolaus sat beside her on the bed, and took her hands in his.

"I knew you would come," she said to him. "As you have always come when I needed you most. ."

"How...?" Iolaus stammered. "I don't understand."

"Perhaps not everything was meant to be understood," she comforted him. "You haven't changed in eighty years, but I have grown old. And yet you have never deserted me. Because of you, my treasure is safe."

"Treasure?" he asked.

"My children, of course. And their children. Because of you, I was able to escape with them to this place, where my enemies could do them no harm."

"UiCiardha..."

"Yes." She looked up to see Hercules and Asclepias join them. "You see, Asclepias?" she said to the god who had loved her. "He is real. You always called him my phantom lover, but he is real, my liege knight."

Iolaus felt his face redden. "I... I think you've got the wrong guy. My name's..."

"Iolaus," Macrina finished for him, "Who never deserted me. Just as you promised all those years ago."

She reached out to him again. He didn't know what to say to her, but he lifted her frail body into a comforting embrace, felt once again the warmth of her healing, heard her final breath in his ear. Her fine white hair was damp with his tears when he lay her gently back onto the pillows.

"I wish I could have known you," he whispered.

"She knew you, Iolaus,"Asclepias said softly. "And that was what mattered, in the end."
 
 

********
 

Iolaus watched at a respectful distance as Asclepias lay a wreath of wild roses on the grave. Hercules stood nearby, waiting for his cousin to finish his goodbyes.

"I wish you could have met her, Herc," Iolaus said softly. "And that I'd had more time. That I did a better job in the tower. I keep feeling like I let her down somehow."

"Never," said Asclepias as he joined them. "I don't understand Keltoi magic, whether the tower took you into her past or somehow brought her past into the present. But I do know that she came here all those years ago because she felt safer being close to Greece. A hundred of her people came with her. They built the broche for her, but her enemies had followed her. She came here and sent her children away with the others. She never saw them again. She was alone in this cottage when I found her."

"She felt safe in Greece because of me?" Iolaus wondered. It sounded implausible.

"Because of you. You'd saved her three times from impossible situations. I believe she came here to find you. But she couldn't have, of course. You hadn't been born yet."

Iolaus considered the possibility. "But what about UiCiardha?" he asked.

"He was a warlord in northern Gaul. Son of a powerful shaman or sorceress. His mother called a dark spirit out of the Otherworld, fed her son to it. He's been through several bodies since then. There's always an UiCiardha in those lands. When Macrina married him, he was king of a little province near Ys. He was a tyrant. The people rose up against him and drove him out, and the new king made Macrina his queen. UiCiardha came back with an army, but he was defeated and killed. Who knows what he is now. Maybe he's Keltoi. Maybe he's Roman. But you can be sure he's causing trouble."

"And his mother?" Hercules asked.

"She's the queen of Ys," Asclepias told him. "She bewitched Macrina's husband away from her. But he didn't live long after he made her his queen. She's been in power for fifty years. No one seems to question the fact that she never grows old. Perhaps the Kelts are more accustomed to magic than we are. Perhaps she clouds their minds. But she can't last forever. Evil never does."

Something cold landed on his nose, and Iolaus looked up to see fat snowflakes floating lazily to the ground. "Neither does summer," he commented.

Asclepias looked up into the grey sky. "Time to go," he decided. "I hate snow." Without further ado, the god of healing vanished in a shower of sparks.

"Huh!" Iolaus snorted. "I thought you said he was different than the other gods."

"A little different, my friend. A little different." They took up their carry sacks and started up the trail.

"Yeah, well he could have at least offered us a ride."

"You know it's not that simple."

"Common courtesy."

"Uh huh."

"Hey, come on, Herc. If we hurry, we can get to Korca by night. Sleep in a real bed. Good ale, pretty girls..." Iolaus took off in double time.

Hercules rolled his eyes and smiled in spite of himself. There was no one else like Iolaus. No one in the world.
 END

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