“Not another?” Iolalus says as he slumps into a chair. “Let me guess. Herc has to drown a unicorn in its own blood.”
“Not quite. But at least you’re being given two weeks to finish this.”
“Why so generous?” Herc asks as he sits back down on the edge of the bed. On the bench at the foot of the bed, his weapons are arranged in an organized row.
“That was my same question. It’ll take you most of the day tomorrow to get to Cedonia and another day to return. You can’t leave until morning so that leaves eleven days to find it. I just don’t know why he’s giving you so long.”
“Find what?” Herc asks.
“A deer. A stag to be precise.”
“A stag?” Iolalus says. “There are plenty of bachelor stags in Forested Park. We can just take one of them. He’ll never know.”
“He will. He wants the stag of Artemis. Golden antlers, silvery white fur, hooves of bronze. He’s hard to mistake.”
“Dead, I suppose. So he can take the precious metals from its body?” Herc’s voice is filled with contempt.
“No, he wants it alive. He wants us to think it’s to improve Portaceae’s mood, perhaps attract visitors, but I don’t believe that.”
“Should be easy. We’ll leave today. With your horses we can ride faster than the train.” Herc stands again and winces as he swings the quiver of arrows onto his back.
The arrows.
“That’s it! Your cousin is an absolute bastard.” I want to hit my head against the wall for my poor choice of words. “Sorry, I meant no offense,” I say to Herc. He smiles warmly.
“It’s only a word. And not the worst I’ve heard. Although a surprising one to come out of the mouth of a Herene.”
“Yes, well, our bodies have to be virtuous, not our tongues. Your cousin is trying to get you killed.”
“He saved me.”
“Only to be his errand boy and now he may be done with you. I also believe he fears you. You should have seen his reaction when I told him to deliver his message to you himself. He all but wet his toga.”
“I wish I’d seen that,” Iolalus says.
“Once Artemis finds her stag injured or taken she will find you and kill you.”
“Why not just stick me in the box?”
“Eury isn’t popular, but he’s not suicidal either. The only praise he’s received from the people of late is his show of mercy toward you. You haven’t been here when the feeds come through. Portaceae is crazy for both of you. If he kills you, they won’t just speak of revolting, they will revolt. But, if you’re killed by Artemis, well, then it was all part of the show. Eury wants to be rid of you without any blood on his hands. It’s why you’re still alive after his claim yesterday that you didn’t properly complete the task and why I’m going with you on this one.”
Herc drops the bag he has been filling.
“What?” he asks, his eyes stunned wide.
“I’m a Herene, a connection to the goddess Hera. If I’m there to vouch for you, to talk to Artemis, she may not kill you.”
“May not kill him?” Iolalus asks incredulously. “That’s the best you can do?”
“Iolalus,” Herc scolds.
“Yes,” I admit. “Unless she decides to shoot first and ask questions later. She’s better with a bow than you are,” I say to Herc. “She won’t miss. She loves all animals, but this one is special to her. Look at these.” I hand the envelope to Herc. He flips through the slips of paper.
“There are no names on these. He handed these to you with no names on them? Doesn’t he realize how dangerous that is? People would kill for these.”
“He may have. More likely, he’s just too lazy to pick up a quill. I’m not. I can fill in my name and yours.”
“And me?” Iolalus asks.
“No,” I reply. “There are only two passes and two tickets.”
“But Iolalus is my volunteer.”
“Tributes are allowed one companion during their tasks. You have to complete ten tasks—eleven now that Eury won’t count Lerna. There’s nothing in the law that says you’re required to take the same companion on each one. Think of it as a vacation,” I say to Iolalus. He nods his head absently as if he agrees with my logic even though Herc’s face is tight, sealed off from the proposal.
“It would be best if Eury doesn’t know you’re going,” Iolalus suggests. “After Lerna, you never know what loophole he might decide to whip up.”
“No,” Herc roars throwing the envelope down on the bed. “I won’t have you risking yourself. It’s bad enough my foolish cousin has volunteered, but there’s no reason for you to waste your life on me. If I fail this, you die.”
If he only knew he faced more risks on this labor than I do. I step around him and, as he reaches for it, I snatch up the envelope. Before he can take it back, I slip it into my pocket.
“Then we mustn’t fail. The train to Cedonia leaves just before dawn. No,” I say as Herc tries to protest, “no argument. The train is slow but you’re not fit to ride yet. It will be dark in the morning and we can wear hoods to disguise ourselves. Iolalus, send word to Altair that he isn’t needed on this task. He’s not the most graceful of men and will only scare the deer off. Herc, be ready and meet me in the courtyard an hour before dawn.”
Before either of them can argue, I leave the room, my heart pounding with excitement over what I’ve just committed myself to.
The sky is just showing the change from night black to crepuscular blue when Herc’s footsteps crunch across the courtyard. Slung over his shoulder are a traveling pack, his bow, and a quiver of arrows. At his hip hangs his short sword. He wears the brown travelling cloak I sent up to him last night and pulls the hood over his head as he approaches. I slip my hood on as well and heft a pack of food from the kitchens onto my shoulders. We walk in silence to the train depot at the northern end of the heart of Portaceae City. Upon boarding, the conductor looks over our permits with a critical eye before recognizing the names on them.
“Priestess. Commander Dion.” He bows low, then stands upright and takes Herc’s hand in his, shaking it as Herc tries to pull back. “Such an honor to meet you. There’s a private compartment in the third car.”
“There’s no need,” Herc says as he manages to get his hand back.
“No, there is. You give us such hope. Such inspiration for—well, I shouldn’t say, but you would make an excellent Solon.”
Herc stares at the man. “You have a Solon. Portaceae has a Solon and it isn’t me.”
I smile at the man apologetically as Herc squeezes into the train car’s corridor.
“He meant no harm,” I say following Herc to the third car.
“Disloyalty is harmful.” He holds the compartment door open for me. “Let’s hope we can avoid drawing any further attention.”
We settle into the compartment, sitting opposite one another. As the train pulls out of the station and begins its slow journey, I think how much faster it would be to just take the horses. But Herc needs rest, despite what Eury says about his healing ability. Once Portaceae City is out of view, Herc’s head droops into sleep. Eventually, he slides down onto the bench seat and slumbers as the train rocks along.
The train travels east alongside the Great Col River and the view from the window holds my attention as we rattle past small, wooded islands and osprey dive to snatch trout from the river. Across the Col, steep cliffs jut up and then smooth out into hills painted in an assortment of greens. Herc sees none of this as his head lolls about in time with the train’s swaying.
It isn’t until the conductor knocks on our door that Herc wakes.
“Apologies,” the conductor says. “It’s just a formality. We’ve crossed into Cedonia.” He extends his hand and I give him the travel permits. After checking the arrival box and completing the date and time, he hands them back. He opens his mouth, about to say something to Herc, but Herc turns his attention to the view out the window. The conductor shuts his mouth and a lo
ok of defeat crosses his face as he slides the compartment door shut.
“You can’t know how many people wish you were leader,” I say handing him a roll from my bag. “Or Iolalus.”
“Iolalus would be a better leader,” he says still staring out the window. As an afterthought he adds, “If there comes a time that Eury is no longer Solon, that is.”
“Why do you say that? Why do you not want the Solonship?”
He looks to me and I feel I’ve asked the stupidest question in all of Osteria.
“One, it’s treason to even have this discussion. Two, I’m paying tribute for killing my family in a rage so blind I can’t even remember it. Third, I’m risking the life of a Herene and possibly her reputation by allowing her to travel with me on a mission to atone for that blood crime. And above all, Iolalus would simply be a better leader.”
Despite his serious tone, I laugh.
“What?” he asks, his face torn between humor and uncertainty.
“You should also add that you’re terrible in a debate. You can’t say Iolalus would be a better leader because he’s a better leader.”
He returns to looking out the window, his face finally choosing to smile. “Shut up, Iole.”
Pulling into the station of Cedonia City brings to home the worn down state Portaceae has fallen into. Although Cedonia City’s primary building materials are wood and stone, the city sparkles with clean windows and swept streets. The squat buildings preferred in this polis stand sturdy despite having been subject to the same earthquakes Portaceae experiences. And the people milling about the station appear well-fed, well-dressed, and happy. We step out of the train into the fresh evening air that flows down the Hooded Mount’s glaciers and cools the city in the summer. Walking out from the station it’s hard to miss that the roads are even and paved with what looks like new stone.
“To think Portaceae was once like this.” Herc looks up at one of the city’s few four-story buildings. Unlike such a building in Portaceae, this one doesn’t sway in the wind and doesn’t have piles of crumbled mortar at its base.
“It did. I often look at the old drawings in the House’s library. Portaceae City once put all other cities to shame and the polis was the envy of all of Osteria.”
“What changed?”
“They say Hera became distracted.”
Herc remains silent a moment. His size draws attention and people give a few curious looks as they pass us, but they don’t stare as they would in Portaceae. Even as visitors here, we aren’t oddities. Cedonia still has travelers coming to it, whereas people rarely tour Portaceae these days. Teetering buildings, dangerous roads, wasted countryside, and starving children have a nasty habit of driving tourists away.
“How do we find the deer?” Herc asks, pulling his hood up.
“Artemis doesn’t keep a house of acolytes like Hera does. She doesn’t like the confines of walls. There’s a forest that begins at the edge of Cedonia City that serves as her religious center. It’s just west of the city if I remember correctly.”
“Portaceae has a forest. Forested Park.”
“Yes, all the gods love nature and we keep natural areas within the main city of a polis for them. Some, like Poseidon have water areas. Dionysus feels most at home in vineyards, and Demeter in her fields, but most gods default to woods,” I say as we walk in the direction of the setting sun.
“I know so little of other places. During my night in jail though, my cellmate told me a great deal of the rest of Osteria. It’s not the same as being there, but close.”
“I only know what I was taught in training. If Portaceae ever gets on her feet again and out from Eury’s chokehold, perhaps her people would be able to travel freely again.”
Herc ignores the treasonous comment and we continue through the small city that, unlike most of the other capitals in Osteria, has no defensive wall surrounding it, relying instead on the difficulty of the mountain passes to the south, the river to the north and a strong force of vigiles stationed at Cedonia’s eastern and western districts to defend the entire polis.
By the time we enter the forest, the sun is just touching the horizon. Inside the forest, the spacing of the trees allows the dusky hue of sunset through providing us sufficient light to wander far enough into the woods that we can no longer see the city’s buildings. Before the sky grows too dark to see, we find a flat clearing suitable for a camp.
“I’m sorry,” Herc says.
“Sorry? For what?”
“You shouldn’t have to sleep on the ground.”
“I don’t mind. It’s you who needs to rest and recover.” I take off my cloak and spread it on the ground. “I should look at your stitches in the morning.”
I pull out a couple rolls and some cheese. It takes sitting down to eat to realize how tired I am and I’m asleep, before I can finish my meager meal. Sometime soon after, I feel a blanket being laid over me.
I awake under the warmth Herc’s cloak. The forest is dappled with morning sunlight and Herc is already up, arranging a breakfast of rolls and berries.
“I found a patch just over there. Artemis won’t mind, will she?” he asks with a grin. “After all, I am stealing snacks from her creatures.”
“I think it will be overlooked,” I reply as he hands me a roll.
After eating, I check Herc’s dressings despite his protests. The sight of scar tissue under the bandages on his leg surprises me.
“You do heal fast. These were dripping blood the other night, now they’re closed. I’ll need to get the stitches out before they heal into your skin any further.”
“I can get them out.” He pulls out a dagger and begins cutting at the stitches on his leg where Lerna’s tail cut into his calf and ankle. But the blade is too large and he nicks himself in several places.
“Stop. Let me do it before Cecilia kills you herself for ruining her work.” With my own small knife I start the slow process of removing all the thread that laces across Herc’s back, arms, and legs. I try to remain professional, but am fascinated by being so close to him. To my delight and his amused annoyance, I discover the back of his calf is ticklish—although it does add to the challenge of getting out each piece of the heavy black thread.
As I tease out the stitches, Herc gives me a lesson on hunting. “You’ll need to stay quiet and in line with me. Any sound will scare it and if it catches our scent—”
I let him go on as if I hadn’t hunted with my father as a girl. I hated hurting the animals, but even as one of Portaceae’s wealthier families, we couldn’t afford meat until it was so putrid the butcher had to sell it heavily discounted just to get rid of it. We bought it on occasion, but the meat had to be cooked to the point it lost all flavor. One night I fell violently sick after eating the butcher’s markdown product. We took all our meat from the wild lands of Portaceae from then on.
After Herc’s hunting lecture, we head out. The sun is high in the sky when I find the first tracks. They are clearly deer prints and recent ones at that.
“There,” I whisper, pointing to the depression to my left that Herc just walked past.
“We don’t know if that’s the one we’re looking for,” he whispers back.
“It is,” I insist. He puts his finger to his lips and then points to his ear, leaning down so it is near my lips. “These are twice the size of the other deer tracks I’ve seen. It has to be Artemis’s deer.”
“You saw other tracks?” he blurts and then pinches his lips closed.
I nod. “They lead that way. They’re fresh. Maybe a day old.”
“Perhaps you should go in front,” he concedes.
I take the lead and we follow the tracks. I lose them a couple times sending us backtracking to find broken shrub branches, piles of scat, or other telltale deer signs. By evening we still haven’t sighted the stag.
“We should stop. We won’t have light much longer and this is the first flat area I’ve seen in some time,” I say.
I spread my cloak
on the ground and Herc places his next to it. We eat a dinner of rolls—stale and hard by now—and more of the tangy cheese the Herenes make. After a day of trekking, the meal leaves me wanting more. I’m tempted to devour the rest of our food, but instead I fill my belly with several cups of water from the nearby stream.
We lie down on our backs with our heads cradled in our hands. Our elbows touch as we watch the sky rapidly darken through the frilly branches of the firs and pines. My stomach rumbles.
“I’ll hunt a rabbit if we’re in here another night.”
“Could you hunt down some cake as well?” I ask.
“I’ll do what I can. Anything to make you happy.” The final word fades into a light snore. I lay there listening to his deep, even breaths until I drift off to sleep.
A light brush against my lips wakes me.
Herc is staring down at me with his dark-lashed, deep blue eyes. He presses his index finger across my lips as he makes a shushing gesture across his own mouth with his other hand. Once he realizes I’m not going to start yelling the moment I wake up, he points to the west. I prop myself up on my elbow and look to where he’s indicating.
In the filtered morning sun coming through the trees, the deer’s antlers blaze in golden glory. The creature is indeed beautiful and pity swells in me. I fear he’ll be injured when we capture him, but I worry more that, once captured, the noble animal will be put on show like the lowliest freak in a group of traveling hucksters. A light breeze flows from his direction, bringing with it his warm, wild scent.
Herc stands slowly. For his size, he moves lightly on his feet as he stalks the deer. He has his bow at the ready, but the arrow he has notched is capped with the cork from our water skin. From the shaft runs a thin line of cord.
The deer flicks its silvery ears backward then forward, pricking them straight up, then pulling them back again. It sniffs the air just as the breeze shifts. Our scent drifts over to him. His large, brown eyes widen and he stamps one bronze hoof. In a flash of white, the stag leaps over the stream.
The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles Page 14
