When they'd lost the mast, there hadn't been anything left to do	

When they'd lost the mast, there hadn't been anything left to do.The
sailors wailed in the troughs of the ocean, crying prayers and promises to
their patron god.Hercules went below after that.Sink or swim, there was
someone waiting for him. 

 

It was inky black in the hold, glistening wet over every surface in the
single gesticulating lantern.He lurched on the slick, rotting planks,
black with salt and scud, vomit and blood.They'd brought the surviving
injured here. 

 

He found him by the sound of his breath, familiar amidst other foreign
souls.His leg stuck out awkwardly in front of him, bound hastily with on
hand rubbish.Blood oozed sluggishly through off color bandages, and
Hercules winced with sympathy as he knelt.Both of them were shivering. 

 

Eyes that weren't afraid looked at him in the heaving, wild darkness, "I
heard the mast go,he said, and waited for Hercules to nod confirmation
before going on."No good at all?" 

 

"You know how these things are.There is always hope.We could run aground."


 

His response was unsatisfying, and his partner sat there close lipped,
puzzling out why if that was the case, he wasn't upstairs.Damp had
frizzled his blond hair, like sea foam.Finally, he smirked, a faint,
genuinely amused thing. "Skipping out on prayers, are we?" he asked. 

 

When Hercules made a face at him, he laughed and laughed until he was
coughing wetly.Hercules lowered himself beside him, wedging himself in
against the crazed rolling of the ship.Almost immediately, warmth seeped
through the layers of wet cloth and wind blasted skin.He felt a head on
his shoulder, lolling and exhausted.Iolaus' eyes were glazed with
concealed hurt, but he was completely awake. 

 

The larger man poked him as they sat"How do you always managed to break
yourself?" he asked, only half-teasing. 

 

Iolaus pouted, and though his expression was lost in the deep gloom,
Hercules knew the look well enough without seeing it.He also recognized
the wounded response, "That's not fair." 

 

It wasn't the outraged slap to his shoulder, laugh, or fussing exclamation
he had wanted.Worry chilled him deeper than the storm, forcing his
question, "You'll be alright?" 

 

There it was.Iolaus gestured vaguely, and Hercules took in the creaking
around them, breaking apart sounds and over that there was the storm.The
floor beneath them vibrated as through on the verge of tearing
asunder.Bemused, Iolaus asked, "What kind of question is that?" 

 

Hercules looked up at the straining seams and wiped running water from
sopping burnet bangs.He took the point.All their lives were precarious
right now. 

 

A hand on his gauntlet recalled his gaze.Iolaus smiled at him,
unafraid."Hey."His hand a pressure that proved he was there."It'll come
out alright."A gleam of mischief lit him up, even in the damp dark of the
dying ship's bowels."It almost always does." 

 

Hercules caught hold of his hand, and gave a returning squeeze.Together
was the message. 

 

Suddenly, an ominous crash jarred them both, a shudder and lurch like
hitting a wall.The deafening roar rose past chaos, and everything came
apart.They both looked up to the inpour of water. 

 

<> 

 

The beach was a fingernail scrapping out of the side of a cliff face, a
narrow, impossible lee-shore of dark, gritty sand and broken reef.Leafless
black-branched trees lingered above the inlet's high walls, and their
weathered scaffolds stood out like streaks of obsidian lightning against a
sky of churning charcoal and ash.The boiling cloud-cover mixed ominously
with a bloody grey sea-break that seemed like the end of the
world.Desolate, eerie. 

 

 

 

When he woke sprawled on the beach, the first thing that Iolaus became
aware of was reverberating cold.The wind wailed as though breathed out of
a throat of ice, pulling savagely at his hair and drying his clinging
clothing against his skin like starch and frost.Second, he became aware
that he hurt.Simply and exquisitely hurt, everywhere.Every bit of exposed
skin had been scoured bloody by salty grit, and everywhere his hurting,
beaten body felt surrounded by ice that was really water.And sand. 

 

He there, dazed, like he'd been clouted.Then he remembered the ship.  

 

His mind's panicked cry was silenced almost instantly, however, as his
senses widened enough to realize that he wasn't alone.A familiar hand held
him captured as surely as a metal cuff, circling his wrist.Somehow, by
demi-godly strength, or pure stubborn willfulness, Hercules had gotten
them to shore. 

 

Iolaus dragged himself forward, desperate to see if the other man lived.He
was surprised when he was greeted by familiar eyes, though only at
half-mast, heavy lidded."Herc," it was almost a whimper, a relieved
murmur.His voice barely a hollow wail that the wind snatched away.Inching
closer, he gently smoothed the brackish, blood-matted hair from his
friend's forehead, grimacing to see the deep gash at his hairline,
wondering about what he couldn't see.But Hercules was alive, and Iolaus
let out a weak gurgle of one truly at the end of themselves, giggling even
as he cried, though the salt in his eyes made it hard to tell if there
were tears."Herc," he spoke to the eyes locked on him, dilated and
wild."Buddy, some words, .Are you alright?"The other man was so the hand
he had pressed to his brow sensed hardly any warmth at all.And there was
the blood.Feeling desperation rise again, he called softly, "Herc." 

 

When no answer came, Iolaus struggled to knees, violently shaking.He felt
fragile and heavy all at once.He tried to move the leg that had previously
been so mangled, but stopped when it became too much to bear.Even blurred,
the desolation of their new world was desperately obvious. 

 

He thought, they had survived the storm, but if they stayed here, they
would die in its wake. 

 

Hercules didn't respond to his prompting or weak tugging, the opaque navy
eyes seeming oblivious to his anxiety.Finally, he dragged the man up
against his shoulder, frightened when he leaned against him limp and
indolent.Though he looked awake, he didn't seem aware.And he bled and
bled, from his head. 

 

He couldn't drag Hercules across the beach.Trying to move forward, he
almost crumpled under the weight.His leg was almost useless, certainly
broken.Staggering, he'd uttered a desperate squeak, "Herc!"He panted,
"Herc, you have to stand up." 

 

Mechanically, obediently, he felt the man beside him respond.Relieved,
Iolaus stood there heaving, "Good.Good, Herc.Hold onto me then."He felt
the grip tighten, almost compulsively.Too tight, but he pushed that pain
aside with all the others.A hesitating intake of breath pulled his
concentration into tight focus.And he grunted, shifted, and slowly, slowly
moved. 

 

Broken shale and fine sand dug into his bare feet, leaving behind a
watery, wavering red trail, quickly lost in the misting drizzle that
filled the air still, perhaps perpetually.Ebony cliffs filled his vision,
pitted and torn by surf and spray.He headed to their edges. 

 

Once, close to the sea, they'd crossed paths with the raggedly shredded
body of one of their shipmates, constricted by spiny weed and torn open
against a rock.Iolaus had turned away, nauseated grief clawing at
him.Hercules just stared, until his partner pulled him onward. 

 

Then there was a nightmare of underbrush and darkness, with his dearest
friend draped across his back, mute and questionably conscious.He ached
well beyond his reasonably limits, but when he stumbled, he felt himself
caught in a strong grip and pressed close.Hope flitted in him, small,
desperate.But the emptiness in his eyes scared him. 

 

It seemed a mockery to call what they found a shelter.It was little more
than an overhang, partially shielded from the wind and rain that started
to fall, one minute just a part of the miserly drizzle, but quickly a
tossing deluge that poured out irrespective of gravity.Iolaus collapsed
beneath it, too tired to go on.And Hercules sunk down beside him. 

 

Trying to breathe, Iolaus looked up at his partner. "How are you doing,
Herc?" he asked, swallowing against the briny taste that threatened to gag
him."Hit your head, didn't you?It's alright.We're fine."He examined the
pallid, bloodless face, the bluish lips, and wondering if he looked as
bad.Wincing, he murmured weakly, "Ah, Herc." 

 

As he sat there shivering, he wondered if there were any other
survivors.He ached, deep in every joint, in every sinew.But he'd long
since resigned himself to his heart.If there were others, he had to look
for them.He didn't want to think they had all come out like the man
crushed against the rocks.Surely someone... 

 

Iolaus reached to touch his friend, seeking warmth beneath numb
fingers.But Hercules was cold.Swallowing compulsively, Iolaus spoke to the
blank, so loved face, "I've got to go see if there's anyone else.I'll be
back, okay?" 

 

But as he stood to leave, he once again felt his wrist captured in a grip
of steel.Turning, he found intense, disoriented eyes on him, red with the
spray.It was a half-alive look.The man said, "No." 

 

The solidarity of it startled Iolaus. There was no tremor in that
voice."Herc," he almost physically wilted, glad to hear him speak.He
reasoned"I have to.I'll come back." 

 

Abruptly, the grip clinched even more firmly around him, tightening until
the bones creaked.Iolaus grasped the fingers, trying to pry them away,
"Herc, let go!" 

 

Tighter, and the demi-god shouted at him, Tartarus' fire, "NO!"But the
next moment, the same moment, he was shaking his head, leaking.Iolaus
watched the tears fall out of shallow, dazed eyes.His friend
cried"No.They're dead. 

 

"Maybe not," he soothed."We survived."He spoke gently, tugging once more
for freedom, "I have to -But his persuasive attempt to pull away only
resulted in having his other hand captured.Finally, he stopped fighting
and drooped, feeling like a child.He felt the power that Herc so rarely
used, and never on him.He thought of might-have-been's, and felt a shudder
that had nothing to do with how cold he was. 

 

And at last, he relented, gave in.Iolaus suck beside his dear friend, as
they had once sat on the ship, wedged close against one another to keep
out the wet and the pain.He felt a hand move through his curls, petting
them down tenderly, and looked up into the distant face of his friend, so
obviously not with him at all, even now.Seriously, the younger man told
him, "We're dying."Lightning flashed outside, blinding, but there was
light enough to see the blood, highlighted lividly across his
forehead.Hercules giggled, madly."We're..." 

 

Iolaus felt fear for him.Fear for the bleeding, fear for him to
sleep."Stop it," he said, and it sounded like a plea, even to .He told his
friend"Everything's going to be fine." 

 

Exhausted from shaking, the hunter leaned back against the damp earth and
his brother's body, watching the storm dash and canter as though it was
the climax of the world's end.He felt the roughened pads of fingers on
face, and looked up into puzzled eyes, as expressive as black buttons.And
he had to swallow a sob, sniffing into cusp of his arm."You'll be okay,
Herc," he muttered, rocking."You'll be okay." 

 

Then someone was pulling him close, pressing a cheek against his hair so
that the lost sounds it made reverberated straight through his body.But it
was laughing, not a cry.Mad and it felt like Herc was mocking him.It felt
like, in his hurt, he knew something that Iolaus didn't.Hercules embraced
him, his mirth rolling on and on.And this time he knew he was crying even
amidst the rain, because it was the only warm thing. 

 

Amidst the lightning and the wailing world, Hercules laughed.And Iolaus
feared. 

 

<> 

 

They'd been stranded on the inhospitable shore for close to a week before
the weakening hunter started to think about taking more desperate
action.Close to a week of raging wild-land that was always rained on,
drenched, and hurting - and the skyline, sea-line empty of succor. 

 

At first he had thought...`we were lost, someone will come for us.'But
more days watching the ocean curl and bubble endlessly on an impossible
shore, feeling nothing but growing sickness and his friend's uncertain
breath, he came to realize...no one would think they had survived such a
wreck. 

 

And they were dying here. 

 

Not quickly.Hercules was still breathing.But...to say that his condition
had improved was a joke he couldn't bare. When the night had passed
without him falling into a coma, he'd let the topmost layer of his
hysterical anxiety go.His friend was there, and he knew Iolaus.But
sometimes....sometimes he just stopped and stared at him, looking lost. 

 

And he'd said almost nothing more than his friend's name, "Iolaus,
Iolaus," over and over. 

 

His own wound, his leg, had turned black.It leaked fluid, pussy and
yellow, as well as the thick dark blood that came up at the gentlest
pressure, viscous and diseased looking from the open, gapping hollows that
wouldn't close.The lightest brush was unbearably painful, and his movement
had further stiffened, making any kinds of productivity a test of will. 

 

If that wasn't enough to finish him, the wind and clinging wet weather
would.He feared that pneumonia had set in, turning a minor infection into
brutal, almost perpetual harsh wet coughing.And he shook until, exhausted,
he finally collapsed at night into an indolent stupor.Those were the times
when Hercules would gather him up close against him, and spend the deep
twilight and cold darkness together.Probably it kept them alive. 

 

 

 

But he knew he was weakening, knew somewhere deeper than knowledge that he
was on the verge of loosing his leg.But there was nothing, not a tiny
hollow of fresh water, not a branch of dry wood.Only Hercules' mismatched
eyes staring back at him, making him afraid. 

 

The terrain beyond the beach looked impossible, thick black trees with a
maze of low branches and underbrush.Not when one of them could barely keep
his feet and the other was concussed halfway out of his mind.And even if
they did venture out the question remained, where were they?There were
civilizations that still called the Greeks barbarians, but he knew there
were far worse people...and things. 

 

But they were going to have to do something, because if they stayed here,
they would die.And he refused to die without trying.He refused to let
Hercules die, even if...Well, for him, he half suspected "too late" had
already come. 

 

<> 

 

He left Hercules with a promise to return soon.So close to the sea, even
the rain was bitter.And they needed more than the trickle they managed to
swallow from the sky.They needed water, and a way out.Iolaus went looking
for both. 

 

He followed the gnarled trees further along the coast, watching the sky
for a puff of smoke, the sea for any ship.It was slow going, with each
staggering step making him feel like something inside him was tearing.The
foliage thinned. 

 

Then something - a whisper of something - stopped him dead, leaving him
weaving slightly as he sought balance on his sorely wounded leg.A small
sound tickled a trained ear.The headache impeded his judgment, made him
ease another step further from the dubious shelter of the low, naked
treeline. 

 

`What -?' he wondered.But then a breeze stirred, and he smelled it.  

 

his heart jerked, and he swiveled on his hip, gulping against the pain as
he tried to retreat.
 
  

He heard the hiss of a flying anchor, felt it whip up like a snake at his
heels, winding around his ankles.And then he was falling, hard onto his
face before being wrenched into the air at the mercy of equilibrium and
gravity.It killed him, drove pain through is body and into his skull.The
black spots almost overcame the white as his blood rushed to his head. 

 

Helplessly, swinging there, caught in the snare. 

 

Noises filtered back to him slowly, beginning with the hiss of the
perpetual drizzle.A bright `shiiiing' that he knew intimately as the sound
bronze made when being pulled out of a sheath.The sound danced like stars,
like it had physical shape.Then reality came back, like a brick. 

 

Well, the voice was dusky, dark.Foreign, like the sounds were made with a
different part of the mouth.Well, well.And they said we were foolish to
look for survivors.  

 

There were murmurs of agreement, just out of his dimmed eyesight in all
directions.He jerked in his bonds, reaching instinctively for the knife at
the back of his belt.Only to remember that he'd lost his knife. 

 

Fighting for consciousness, he only dimly felt the hand that grabbed a
hold of his hair, jerked his neck to the side for a better look at his
face.Though a mist he saw a smile in a scar-lined, ill-shaven face.Ah, he
said.Greek.  

 

This seemed to please those with him.He heard a soft chuckle somewhere to
his right, starting to be able to make out the forms of others in the
loose circle.His eye-level was at his captor's belt.His vision sharpened
on a copper talisman hanging there, like a charm.He felt his breath catch
as he recognized the shape, dangling so innocently beside the heavy
chained bracers. 

 

 

 

"Gutan," he snarled, hatred flaring with his returning fight.His mind
filled in the rest, `And a slaver.' 

 

"Bright slave," the man praised him in accented but quite passable Greek,
and patted his side like he was an especially pleasing animal.That dark
grin smiled at him out of the chiseled, calculating face.Iolaus could see
the gold pieces dropping into neat piles behind his eyes.Damaged, a
little, but nice.The priests will like you."He asked, "You were on the
ship?" 

 

Iolaus was dehydrated, but he had enough moisture left in him to spit.It
trailed down the other man's leg, onto his boot.The hunter only regretted
he didn't have the leverage to hit his face. 

 

He expected the strike when it came.It slammed him back until he was
pinned, upside-down, against the tree that was holding him.He gurgled when
the sizable hand pressed into his throat, mixing pain and breathlessness'
terror. 

 

The sound of injured disappointment was accompanied by an ungentle squeeze
that made him pant desperately against the tribesman.The barbarian leader
spoke, just loud enough so that his men could hear and enjoy.Fire is good;
probably while you're alive.But things have just changed."He drew close to
his face, close enough to whisper to him, "You should be afraid." 

 

Iolaus gagged, choking as the smell of breath-for-a-byer ghosted against
his cheeks.But resolutely he faced the man, tore through his eyes with his
own defiance, "I-I've faced gods," he wheezed, and dredged up a trembling
smile."Do you think you can scare me?" 

 

When the man grinned, his teeth were stained foul with hemp and
blood."Boy, you're about to find out that some things," his words
resonated with crushing pressure against his trachea that made Iolaus arch
desperately, retching for air. 

 

"Some things," he repeated softy as he let off just enough to watch his
captive gasp mouthfuls under his hand.	

 

The world resonated oddly as Iolaus struggled against the encroching
dark.He knew that another man had joined the first, felt other hands take
him and ease him back from the rough bark.He screamed hoarsely, wanting to
writhe away, but the new barbarian stopped long enough to clout him
heavily before returning to his wounds. 

 

He'll live. 

 

Iolaus heard the words though he didn't understand them.The men were
moving some were taking hold of him.One asked, We should cut him down now?


 

The answer never came. 

 

The rock flew in out of nowhere, a disk of cutting shale.It caught one of
his captors in the throat, throwing him on his back in the underbrush and
away from the trapped hunter.A wild, barely human roar followed it like a
shriek from heaven.And then the wrath of a god descended. 

 

The voice broke through the hurt stupor, and suddenly Iolaus was awake -
awake with fear and an overwhelming, heart-pounding giddiness.`Hercules!'
his feverish mind cried out, and he felt the tunnel of his vision widen to
take in the tableau. 

 

Men were flying, two tumbling off ingloriously to smash into others of the
party, one rearing back just in time, holding a blackened sword up as
though the man though he was warding off all of Tartarus and it's
demons.Hercules didn't pursue them when they'd backed up beyond the reach
of his arms. 

 

He tore at the rough rope and the next minute Iolaus was falling.Arms were
around him in a second, righting him, holding him while he swayed and
almost couldn't stand.He felt the desperate, uncontrolled tremble in the
massive hands clinging at his shoulder, patting at his face. 

 

"Herc," he answered the unspoken question, reaching to grab one of the
hands."I'm okay, I'm okay."He feared the shuddering power holding onto
him."I'm okay." 

 

The admission turned the demi-gods attention back to the prowling,
cautious slavers.They had formed a defensive crescent just outside of
reach, made hesitant by the suddenness and deadly fierceness of the
attack.But the dark creatures were far from the fear needed for a full
retreat.These were hard men, men of the untamed wilderness and man's
deepest darkness.No, they didn't run. 

 

The leader watched the new arrival, growling like a beast.Wind swept and
blood-spattered, Iolaus knew that Hercules appeared wholly mad.He'd had
nothing to sew up his friend's head, and now it appeared to be running
sanguine again, a hot, holy trickle down his face and over one swirling
eye. 

 

The barbarian watched the blood run, and made his guesses."Hit pretty
hard, was he?" he asked, and the hunter started when he realized the man
was talking only to him.When the Greek warrior remained stony, he followed
with, "Too hurt to get out of this place?" 

 

It was far, far too close to the reality.It was where their trap . 

 

But the barbarian was as smart as he was ruthless.Casually, he crossed his
arms, smiling easily as though he didn't notice his unfortunate comrade -
the one who had been struck with the rock - hissing his last breath
through blood at his feet."He's set to fight for you," he nodded at
Hercules, who snarled."Partner," he spat.He seemed to think it was so
funny. 

 

He knew he had them.He looked right at Iolaus, and his attack was so
precise that it was almost telepathic.The master-reader of men said, 

 

"You have two choices, Greek.Call off your friend and come with us
willingly, and we'll see that the giant sees a healer before we sell
him.Or, fight like a fool and we'll kill him, and then drag you off for a
pretty mint anyway.One way or another won't change the circumstances much
for you.But they will make all the difference for your boy." 

 

The man was a monster and a liar.Greed defined soul-sellers, even ones who
sold to their gods.Defiantly he raised his he made his words sound sure.
"Men like you don't let riches get away from you," he said. Trembling
inside him, he repeated it to himself. They wouldn't kill Hercules. 

 

The Gutan's teeth glittered, a repulsive combination of copper and
rot."That brute could cause a lot of damage to my men trying to haul him
off.Oh, no doubt we could kill him.Eventually kill him."His grin grew icy,
cruel, "I'm not stupid," he spat."We'd still have you, in the end.But,
you're right.I would rather not let the deadlands have my money.He's worth
more to me alive."Again, the feral, dominating black eyes bore down on
him, "Probably more to you too." 

 

The helpless hollow that had been gnawing on him during the long days and
nights in this place, knowing his friend was dying, knowing that he was
dying...now it rose up to consume him."He...he would hate me if I let you
have his freedom," Iolaus murmured, and dammit, he sounded so small. 

 

"He'll be alive to hate you," the tribesman offered.The gothic coin
glittered in the tangle of his hair, cold like the sallow, lying
sun.Reminding him this was a seller of people, a money-gather. 

 

And these Goths would take them to Germania.It reminded him of that too. 

 

A snarl from just beside his shoulder reminded him of the enraged
demi-god, out of his head with cold and concussion, and now with
instinctual fury.The wild eyes found his, pinpricks now, so that he was
swallowed in feral blue.The man would defend him with his life.And like
this, he couldn't count the cost.Wouldn't question or reason.He would
fight.And he would die. 

 

The burning, aching stab of pain in his leg made sure he didn't forget his
helplessness.He was standing on adrenaline, on his own need to protect.It
wouldn't be enough against the metal and ruthlessness facing them. 

 

He wasn't enough for this. 

 

They followed the slump of his shoulders as the defeat swallowed him.They
dimmed from anger to confused uncertainty.The wind whipped damp greasy
locks across his unshaved face, scored and matted with blood, foam, and
dirty rain. 

 

Iolaus looked at him and despaired.He felt his heart break as he doomed
them both.He'd pay with his honor, his soul.He'd pay with his body. 

 

And he would also pay with Hercules' body. 

 

`Where there's life, there's hope.' 

 

He turned to the waiting Gutan.Their leader had a fierce pleasure on his
face, a barely constrained lust for blood and power.And triumph already,
because he knew he had won.Iolaus looked at him with empty sea-blue holes,
lost. 

 

"Okay," he said, and sobbed."Okay." 

 

<> 

 

Now he regretted those thoughts, bitterly, as though just by thinking them
he had provoked whatever vindictive deities that ruled this land to find
some more complete Tartarus for him and Hercules to suffer.And they had. 

 

But they were far from disappointed.Their best bounty was breathing, if
they could keep it that way enough to turn them over to their gods. 

 

Iolaus had recoiled from the man's mottled yellow-brown grin,
stain-upon-stain and truly hideous on the pitted and pox-marked, cragged
face.His curled nails tore like talons, and Iolaus had feared for his
sanity when the hands prodded his jaggedly torn leg appraisingly and
forced their way excruciatingly into the opened, seeping wounds.
 
  

 

 

Iolaus didn't want to think about what kind of god would accept a crippled
sacrifice. 

 

Even in age the man stood with the tall, dense stature of his people,
though his muscles were lean and gnarled instead of full and taut like the
younger men and boys of the party.Still, he had to pull the demi-god into
a stoop to reach the gash on his forehead, yanking his head in place with
a handful of sea-stained brown hair as though Hercules were a horse rather
than a man.His business-like appraisal echoed the sentiment, and when he
slapped Hercules on the flank and cackled in his face at the end of it,
Hercules had flinched away from him with a dumb, puzzled expression that
was indeed very bestial. 

 

He had submitted to this without resistance under the puzzled gaze of his
poor, disoriented friend.Hercules had let the men close to them only after
Iolaus had had calmed him and then stepped forward willingly into their
hands.He'd let their captors move freely, after that.But those estranged
deep blue eyes had remained on Iolaus, deeply and irresolvably confused. 

 

Iolaus might have told them that, but he wasn't feeling very magnanimous,
and anyway the small part of him that wasn't swallowed in a growing
despondency felt some satisfaction in their open-mouthed dismay when his
friend snapped their ropes with an irritable twitch of his wrists and left
them with their ruined pieces of hemp.He also enjoyed their whispered
discussion afterward, almost certainly wondering just who (or what) they
had managed to salvage from the beach. 

 

It reminded Iolaus of light reflections on the bottom of the sea, and when
the shadows bullied the sparkles into oblivion, it only served to
accentuate the darkness even more - a bleak thought to accompany him as he
staggered to keep up during those first days of their march. 

 

 

 

At first Iolaus had dared to hope it was the dazed confusion of one
getting better.But even if this was so, the vacant compliance was even
more terrible.He went where he was led without resistance, even if it was
away from his struggling friend.And Iolaus was struggling. 

 

It sunk past what remained of his clothing until it clung to him like a
rotting skin, catching against his wounds and insuring that he was always
cold and never dry.The black, crusty soil here crept up his legs and got
into every crevice.It got into the jagged mess on his leg, so that he
could barely walk and would collapse whenever and wherever bidden; filthy,
fevered, and very near the end of his endurance. 

 

 

 

They had been herded steadily northward for a number of days by then, and
Hercules seemed beyond caring for much of anything.When they stopped he
simply sat where he came to a standstill, staring at nothing.No longer
deigning him to be a threat, their captors left him, unsupervised. 

 

Though you are slowing a bit..." 

 

Still he managed to harden his eyes against this man, to set his lips and
make his face rigid and unreadable. 

 

"Do you know what we do to prepare a creature for sacrifice to Loki?" 

 

But he'd heard the stories from traders, and from distorted, well-traveled
tales in the northernmost villages of his homeland.The man smiled."We tear
apart their bodies and hang their forearms from tree branches to attract
our gods.Sometimes we tear off their limbs as well and tie up what remains
to rot in the wind and rain."Then, half whispered, like it was a joke
between them, "I know you've been wondering about this," the words were
accompanied by a cruel jab, digging into Iolaus' leg so that his body was
caught in an involuntary wrenching seizure. 

 

The smell of cured hide and wet, dirt-heavy furs lingered heavily between
them.Falsely comforting, the man continued, "I just wanted to relieve your
fears that you'd be a poor sacrifice.Because even if you should lose that
leg...why, we'll just saw it off completely and hang up the more...viable
parts." 

 

In his hurt, it was harder to remain unaffected and undefeated.But as much
as Hercules had been used to restrain him, Iolaus also gained strength
from each breath his partner continued to breathe.It was his greatest
leverage as well, in a way.Grinning crookedly, he reminded the Guton of
this."Do you think you can tear him apart?" he asked, and his reference
was only too clear. 

 

The warrior did not even grimace."I think your `friend' is beyond this
world already.I'm just going to hasten his journey to the inevitable."This
offhanded statement was true to its purpose, twisting Iolaus' heart
involuntarily.With full knowledge of the gut-level reaction he had
inspired, the Guton leader continued, "Under different circumstances, I
might have been tempted to keep him around.A half-wit warrior of his
strength could have been a very beneficial addition to my party - however
foreign or damaged - if he were controllable.But my healer has told me
this increased docile behavior means the poor brute is very likely
bleeding inside his head.I expect we'll be leaving his body along the road
before very long.Still, we've already made such good time and..." his
expression of ironical amusement was vile, "hope springs eternal.He might
yet make it to the priest's tender ministrations." 

 

Iolaus felt ice in his toes, welling in his blood and through his
body.Panic flitted in him, until his breath came fast and labored, thick
and wet.He choked on the congestion that caught there, until he was
hacking harshly, and his whole body shuddered.There was the distinct
sensation of being supported, held in the unfamiliar curl of his captor's
sinewy arms while his body struggled.The farce of comfort hurt more than
it should have, possibly because the only real embrace he'd felt in over a
decade had come from the arms of Hercules. 

 

Because he suddenly realized he was crying.Deeply awkward, deeply wretched
things that clawed down his filthy cheeks and brought up sounds from his
throat more than just coughing.Herc... 

 

It was such a weak protest, so weak.But for the brother of his heart he
would beg, and he would barter and cry - he would degrade himself or sell
his soul for Hercules' life.He'd already sold them both once.And so he
pleaded again, now."Save him.You said you'd -" 

 

The rain beaded down them both."I said that I would have him looked at.I
also promised that it would change absolutely nothing for you."His arms
spread as though to display the full breadth of his magnanimity, "And I
have not lied!" 

 

 

 

 

 

Thought it was many hours before they would normally stop for the night,
fear that another downpour would ruin their chances for something hot
brought the group to a premature halt.Iolaus, who'd felt like he'd been
walking in a half-trance for many miles, crumpled at the first pressure on
his shoulder.An almost carelessly loose circle of rope secured him to the
base of a tree, and he was abandoned there for the blazing warmth a short
distance away. 

 

Iolaus trembled as he lay limp against the damp bark.The world resonated
harshly around him, but with increasing lack of clarity.His leg had gone
from a constant agony to a hurt so great that he throbbed with it
everywhere there was blood in him to beat. 

 

He didn't see the shallow gaze move around, or notice when the stormy blue
rested on him.So when the mass shifted nearer and the familiar voice spoke
for the first time in so long, it jolted him badly enough to steal away
all his breath from his lungs, "Iolaus?" 

 

Holding his forehead, he asked, "Iolaus, w-where are we?" 

 

It came upon his body too fast, and left him gasping, breathlessly
heaving.White spots danced in front of his vision.And then the hands were
on him - but not with the unconsciously possessive tightness.They were
there with firm, protective love. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 miracle.But then his partner was connecting the dots, speaking it aloud,
"We were going to Thessaly.There was a storm." 

 

Since their youth, Hercules had always been good at fitting together the
loose pieces."My head," he murmured."I hit my head.And then..."Now they
both looked toward the fire, from where the companionable drift of foreign
voices wafted."Oh," he said."Oh." 

 

The embers were being smothered by kicked dirt, and burdens were being
reclaimed.Iolaus beseeched his partner with a panicked, `quiet, be quiet'
look.But Hercules didn't have to fake the look of dazed confusion.The Goth
that had been sent to fetch them leered at the bigger man's hand clenching
around the ruined fabric at his partner's shoulder, oblivious of any
change. 

 

He accompanied it by dragging up Iolaus bodily.It jolted him with a
freshly enlivened throbbing that almost felled him again.But he sensed
Hercules stiffening behind him and bit down hard on his will.He kept his
feet.And though he felt his friend's eyes burning into him - alive, aware
- he refused to look back. 

 

 

 

Hercules kept his distance as he had in the past - though whether by
memory or instinct, who could tell?He slowed steadily as night fell,
dragging behind more than usual and once even half-staggering into the
side of a tree.The Gutons mocked him in undertones, chuckling among
themselves at the dying brute.Iolaus let himself look back then, and the
leader fell in beside him to watch his grief and agitation more closely. 

 

His captor observed the giant's dull, openmouthed, lost expression, and
sighed almost wistfully."Too bad," he remarked."It's a pitiable waste,
really." 

 

Instinctively his body moved to go to him, but he was still a
captive."Ah," the Guton spoke to him in smooth, even tones."That won't
do."By strength alone, he turned them both, calling to his men to do the
same. 

 

 

 

It's not even worth dragging him the rest of the way."He shoved Iolaus
towards another of the party, who took him by the arm.The man led him
numbly onward, until the woods became closed, and nothing behind them was
visible any more. 

 

 

 

 and hunting party close to twenty men and boys strong.He'd been so sorely
injured, and so very out of options, that the group had seemed huge.So
when the trees began to ease and the underbrush thinned to paths, he was
unprepared for the Guton camp with its many, many more men and handful of
woman and animals.Suddenly he was among a multitude, where dozens of
smoldering eyes tracked him, business-like or amused or anticipatory.He
met them with his own empty gaze. 

 

 

 

She crept to the leader of the band and exchanged a few words, until her
dusky, wrinkled cheeks crinkled into a million folds and then pulled
upward in a smile's indifferent parody.She turned her head and her eyes
prickled over Iolaus' flesh like a clinging blanket of ember.He twitched
away from it without will, and she laughed at him. 

 

 with him all the time captured under the intensity of the woman's crazed
eyes."Ooo," she cackled when they were upon him, reaching to hold his
chin.Men held him for her examination.Her low voice was like gravel as she
petted his cheek slowly with long fingernails.He gasped at the touch.It
was tangibly Black, so black it physically hurt. 

 

He introduced her calmly, "Greek, I would like you to meet Death." 

 

She fingered his filthy, formerly blond hair, caressed his thinned
shoulders, his hands.The storm had lelt him practically naked, and now he
felt it keenly for more than just how cold he was. 

 

 But sadly he didn't make the journey.	

 

 

 

 

 

The two of them together would have been a rich sacrifice.  

 

He said, One will have to do."	

 

She put them in his captor's palm and a throaty roar of approval went
up.Apparently, this sagging, wretchedly exhausted, one-legged, gaunt and
sickly foreigner was good enough for Loki, the Gothic god of death. 

 

 

 

 

 

It began with the tying of ropes between a vast, sturdy tree and the back
legs of a runty colt, still young enough to tremble at the knees.The
forelegs were tied again, but these to the thick halter of the heaviest,
most strongly muscled draft horse Iolaus had ever seen. 

 

At fever pitch she threw her hands apart, whips flayed, and the beast of
burden lurched forward with a protesting moan.Hands caught Iolaus' face
when he tried to turn away, sickened.They wanted him to see. 

 

It took long minutes, forever.And as Iolaus looked on, he wished he was
ignorant enough to believe that a prayer to his gods might deliver
him.Instead he thought of his friend. 

 

Because he had left his friend on his knees in a foreign wood, staring
blank and wavering bloodlessly as though he were about to die.He'd
thought, ...he'd had to think that Hercules had been faking this final
descent.Otherwise to have allowed himself be pulled away would certainly
have shattered him.It terrified him now, the uncertainty. 

 

 the fear away from him, shuddering.No, he had to believe that Hercules
was alive.The force around him was too strong for his own deliverance;
more than fifty men ringed the bloody sacrificial ground, and half as many
again of women and children.But even though Iolaus knew deep down that
Hercules could not save him, it would still mean that his friend was
free.Hercules was strong, and he hadn't been so injured that he couldn't
have made his way back to Greece.Hercules could go home. 

 

It stilled his frantically beating heart during the renewed chanting as he
was anointed with his predecessor's blood over his head and shoulders.The
sky above him was a dying bruise of dusk and growling thunderheads.Ink
tinged it, rain threatened.It seemed fitting.He hadn't yet been dry since
he'd involuntarily set foot in this wretched country. 

 

He planted his feet in the churned dirt, made muddy already with
blood.They threw stones to subdue him, but though they thudded square
against his bones, his body no longer felt them.He held to the last surge
of adrenaline stubbornly, and fought. 

 

It drew him off the ground and apart.His leg was the first to scream, but
soon every joint burned, creaked.He twisted until he could not move for
the tautness.Then he cursed them hoarsely with what remained of his voice,
until at last he felt his breath stolen as he chest was pulled until the
ribs themselves seemed as though they were physically spreading. 

 

Red leaked before and around him in a raging, senseless fire that left him
mute.A flickering, final kind of thought wished safety and farewell to a
friend he desperately hoped he would not find waiting for him on the other
side.And then the dim sensation of pulling against his middle increased,
until he was resigned to the death that was only moments away. 

 

 spinning suddenly into the camp.He didn't see the heavy rock meet the
head of Death, striking her at the temple.He didn't hear the crunch as her
skull fractured, or see the slow ooze of blood. 

 

It wasn't the shrieks that interrupted his fog of suffering, but the
sudden splintering of wood, followed abruptly by a slackening of the ropes
that dumped his body to the soil.Sound came back to him then, rebirthing
him into a world of rain, the panicked wailing of warriors and woman, and
the wild screams of the kicking horse while around them all the wrath of
heaven raged. 

 

Still attached, Iolaus was dragged with him, through the Goth camp and
beyond into the treeline.The tumbling, jarring ride over rock and debris
might ordinarily have been a torture, but for Iolaus it was just the
continuation of a pain that had begun a month before. 

 

 

 

 

 

But the last weeks had changed him and his priorities.He did not have the
remaining energy for shame. 

 

Hold still, shhh now."The words were strained.Fingers combed calmingly
through his hair.It signaled a dim recognition in him.His conscious mind
couldn't process who was supporting him against the back of a now
familiar, sweat-beaded animal, but his body knew, and his heart. 

 

Outside, he choked, on the blood pooling against his teeth, and on his
relieved tears falling in greasy, slow runnels down his face.He sobbed
harshly, in spite of the pain."Okay," he forced aloud.Then, `okay, you're
okay.'He'd thought, he'd suspected.But he hadn't known.And he had been so
afraid for him. 

 

"You have taken such good care of me." 

 

 

 

Just rest and I'll..." It was Hercules' turn to restrain the sound of his
grief.I killed the old woman in the village with a rock, and cut the rope
from the tree.I'm sorry that you were dragged, but I couldn't think of any
other way..."He took a moment to swallow."I was afraid you were dead when
I got to you.They must have thought so too, so they didn't come after the
horse right away.I'd planned on that.It gave us time." 

 

The death of the Goth's Death, and their panic at the missile that
assailed her from seemingly nowhere.They'd have been concerned with
hunting the mysterious attacker, not with the lamed sacrifice that could
not run away.And it had even provided them with a mount. 

 

The irony made him almost euphoric; that Hercules had defeated the Gutons
after and not as a brute with the rawness of his strength, but with his
mind. 

 

 

 

"But now we to ride, fast and far from here until we find help.Be strong
for a while longer, okay." And his hand was there again, against his
bloodied thigh."I can't give you all the help you need here, so close to
them." 

 

Iolaus' breath hitched at the movement, and he arched weakly, but his
partner was there to hold him firm."I'm so sorry, Iolaus," Hercules spoke
directly into his ear now."I'm so sorry for this.Live a little longer,
please.Oh, don't give up on me now." 

 

But he would try.For Herc he would give anything.His the peace that now
beckoned him unto death.He'd live, until Herc was able to save him.