The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles

by Tammie Painter

  For the second time, I prepare to jump.

  For the second time, I’m distracted by my opponent.

  A gurgling gasp rumbles from the Solon’s throat. Despite the ache it causes my knees, I crouch warily, ready to lunge at Eury if necessary. His eyes have sprung open wide. The dagger drops to the dais with a clang as my cousin clutches at his throat. His hands are decorated in streaks of black blood. The deadly paint coats most heavily across the wound where his thumb belongs. Seeing where my eyes have landed, Eury, choking out frantic whines, scrubs the wound against his tunic. But the hydra’s blood is already in him, the tiny drops of Lerna’s life have found their way into the gaping mouth on his hand. The audience chants for his death. The Solon’s face changes from red to purple, then rapidly drains of all color as he collapses before me. His crown of false jewels slips from his head.

  The crowd cheers, roaring loud enough to rattle the dais. And then they begin shouting my name, calling me leader. Maxinia appears on the dais, her face a mix of sorrow and beaming pride. The vigiles who were to arrest Eury, escort the Solonian Guards from the dais and dismiss Deianira who clearly didn’t know what her vial contained. A crowd of vigiles below the dais hails me as commander and Solon.

  I cannot celebrate with them. I kneel beside Herc and Iole, stroking their heads that rest so near each other. I want Herc to be alive to take his role as leader. I want Iole to be his advisor and my friend. I don't want what now rests on my injured shoulders. I touch the charms at my chest. The simple act stills my thoughts.

  Eury’s treachery has left me, as Nikos’s only surviving descendant, the Solon of Portaceae. It is up to me to restore the polis to greatness, to defeat the Areans, to rebuild the city, and to reform alliances that have withered under Eury’s watch. I have no idea how I will do it, especially not alone, but whatever I do will be honest and just, and that is more than Portaceae received from her last Solon.

  I stand, my knees protest the movement. I do not take the crown, let Eury be buried with his gaudy decoration. Ornaments do not make a man a leader. With my face wet with tears I face the crowd that has fallen into silence. My voice shakes with such emotion I’m uncertain if I can give volume to my words, but when I say them, the audience cheers and hope fills their faces.

  “Hera protect Portaceae.”

  The audience’s praises suddenly change to a collective gasp. My first thought is I have already done something wrong. From behind me, Maxinia cries out. I turn.

  The bodies of Herc and Iole are gone.

  44

  HERC

  I'm drowning.

  I can't breathe.

  I'm drowning.

  Although I feel myself climbing, clawing my way upward, my limbs refuse to move. Out of the pressure that is drowning me inch by inch grows a sensation of moving without making any progress. The pressure neither increases nor decreases; it just pushes upon me as if I’m lingering underwater. My lungs ache for air. My limbs hang immobile, but some inner sense tells me I’m moving.

  At the point I think I can't stand it anymore, when I decide to just open my mouth, breathe in whatever engulfs me in the hope that I can extract air from it, the pressure disappears. I gasp with my mouth fully open to take in as much air as possible in one gulp. The sound is horrible—a deep, rasping, gurgling inhale. Once, twice I heave in and my body is relieved of pressure. Three times and my limbs move again. On the fourth, my breath steadies and I open my eyes.

  I expect to see the arena. Or the jail. Or even the walls of the blood crime vault. Instead I see sky, clouds, columns. I’m on a floor that is too hard, too smooth, too cold to be anything but marble. Sitting up I realize no walls pen me in, only columns. Beyond their pale legs I can see whatever structure I’m in perches on a mountaintop looking over a valley. In the distance, islands dot grey blue water.

  “It's a lovely view, isn't it?” A woman's voice. I turn around. Although she’s beautiful, I hate her.

  “You,” I spit the word like a curse as I push myself up so I can stand and face her.

  “Yes, me. You've learned about me then? Hermes always delivers his messages.” She pauses as if chewing on a thought. “I'm sorry. I misjudged you.”

  “Sorry? That's it? You ruined my life. You killed my children. For nothing more than spite, you took from me my destiny to lead Portaceae and stuck that greedy, pompous, whore-loving cousin of mine in my place. I don't doubt you even had him kill Iole just to watch me suffer one more time before I died.” A vengeful thrill pulses through me when I see this last sentence makes her flinch. “Sorry does not cut it.”

  “No.” She moves about the, the what? Temple is the first word that comes to mind, but the cushioned lounges and chairs are not furnishings normally found in temples. As Hera paces the area, a trail of misty cloud follows her. “No, you’re right, it doesn't. I'm a foolish, jealous woman. I hated you for being Zeus's favorite, for the gift he gave you. A gift he had no right to give a child of any mortal. But I've seen how you've conducted yourself, how you've stood up for what you love, how you protected me even when you had no need to. And for that I bow to you, begging your forgiveness, or at least not your hatred.”

  And she does. Hera, the most prideful of goddesses, lowers to her knees before me, bowing her head. It is a sight no one, mortal or god, would believe. It doesn't erase the feelings I have for her, but it does soften them.

  “I shall try to forgive you,” I say. “That's all you can ask of me. Please, stand.” She rises and stands facing me. I cannot look into her eyes. They are Iole’s same green and gold. It hurts too much to see those eyes in another face when I will never see Iole again. I turn from her to pace the length of the temple. “This gift you mention. I don't understand.”

  “When you were conceived, Zeus gave you the gift of the gods. I insisted you should meet two requirements to receive it. One, that you honor the gods in all things. Second, that you make an immortal love you, and that you love her back. You have met these requirements. No,” she corrects herself, “you have exceeded both of them.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask warily.

  “You are immortal Hercules, son of Zeus.”

  The drowning feeling floods over me again. I stagger back into a trio of stone steps, plunking down hard on them.

  “I don’t understand. Why? How?”

  “Zeus loved your mother.” From the tensing of her jaw muscles, it’s clear she is making an effort to hide the bitterness in her voice. “Not just sexually but with his whole heart. He wanted to give her child something only the gods should have.”

  My head races. I’m not dead, but neither am I alive. A spinning sensation slaps me and I drop my head between my knees to ease it. As the whirlwind slows, I realize I don’t want this. There’s no point in living forever. All through the trials I have accepted my inevitable death. Although I forced it to the back of mind, I knew Eury would not let me live. I had accepted that fate and then I had embraced it when Iole’s life was taken, ripped away from her by my cousin. Without my children, without a life with Iole, what would be the point of having eternity?

  “I don’t want this,” I say.

  “Then I have a proposition for you,” she says in a tone that carries no surprise. Clearly, she had been expecting my refusal. “Because I took what should have been yours, I'm offering it back.”

  I perk up. Hera took my children. Though it was my hands that killed them, it was she that put the madness on me to do the deed. My heart lightens, my head steadies. Can she mean my children?

  “Eury is dead by the same poison that claimed you. You are rightful ruler of Portaceae. You can give up your immortality and return to claim your title, or you may stay here amongst your brothers and sisters and father.”

  My heart sinks. Her offer is not the return of my children. Of course it isn’t. Why should I have thought this cruel goddess would grant me anything I truly wanted? I consider what it would mean to return. If Eury has died, Iolalus is now rightful
Solon. Like Minos, he is a natural leader and the people will love him. If I accept Hera’s offer, I would take from Iolalus what he has just won and he would not grudge me for it. But would I be a better leader? I would return to Portaceae City. I would see the House of Hera every day. I would grieve for my loss. Would the grief change me as jealousy had changed Hera?

  On Mount Olympus—for I now know where I am—Hera is right, I will have a family, but I will spend an eternity without Iole or my babies. Either way, my life will be a misery, incomplete. The idea makes me want to fling myself off the mountain.

  I stand and face Hera.

  “I want neither. I want to descend to the Chasm to find Iole and my children. Let me be there. I want neither mortal nor immortal life without them.”

  And then, more shocking than her kneeling to me, a tear spills over Hera’s cheek. She clasps her hand to her mouth to hold back a sob. I’m unsure what I have done. Any other woman, I would reach out to comfort, but not her. Not this cruel goddess. I can think of nothing to do but wait for her to collect herself.

  In a few moments she does, but her voice still trembles and her hand flutters at her chest as if to ward off further emotion. She then clutches my hand and bows to kiss it.

  “You truly are deserving of anything Zeus bestowed on you. Hebe, he is yours.”

  I don't understand her words. Who is Hebe? A servant of Hades? My body tenses and an ache pulses through my thigh where the dead had plunged their fingers. The memory sends a wave of fear through me. I want to run, but to where? And why? If Hades’s creatures are coming for me, it’s what I have asked for. I take a deep breath and stand my ground ready to face whatever horror is being sent for me.

  The mist that trails Hera takes on a shape, a solidity it hasn’t had before. I’m fascinated, but also fearful of the monster it will become. Will it be one of the dead? An unleashed Cerberus? Hades himself?

  But it’s not a monstrosity that the mist reveals. It is a beauty that I cannot pull my eyes from. She launches herself toward me and clutches her arms around my neck. Her kiss is long, deep, and mixed with tears as I stroke the silk of her white hair.

  “Iole, but—”

  “Did you forget that I’m Hera’s daughter?”

  “Then you're—”

  Her face glows with joy and her green and gold eyes sparkle as she nods at my words. “Immortal. Like you.”

  I hold her tightly, kissing her, wanting her, loving her. Appearing from behind the columns, the gods of Olympus bow their heads to us and look on with smiles. Only Zeus, my father, is missing from the scene.

  “As a gift of my own,” Hera says. The trail of mist is again a formless shape behind her. “I have made a rare deal with my brother.”

  She sweeps her hand back and from the trail of cloud appear three figures. Three small figures. Familiar figures that even before they fully form send a pang through my heart. A sob chokes my throat. I drop to my knees as I whisk my children into my arms. Cassie, cradled in Sofia’s arms, wails at the sudden motion, but Sergio and Sofia giggle as my fingers tickle their ribs.

  “But I thought you couldn't,” Iole says to her mother.

  “You are my daughter and son-in-law, I'm allowed to indulge you a bit. Besides, Hades got three full-grown dead in exchange for three tiny ones. He was more than pleased at the trade.”

  “And you,” I say with more accusation in my voice than I intend. Iole squeezes my hand trying to hush me, but I continue. “Will you now protect Portaceae as you are supposed to do or will you leave Iolalus to battle the Areans with only a handful of vigiles?”

  Hera’s eyes flare, but soften just as quickly. She gives the briefest nod of submission. “You are right. It’s time I take charge of my polis. I will help restore the land to rebuild the polis’s wealth and productivity. It will take time, but I will not let emotions sway me again from my duties.”

  “And the Areans?” I demand.

  “You underestimate your cousin’s leadership skills. He had a strong plan already in play before you reached the Chasm—a hospital bed allows plenty of time for planning. Before you ever stepped foot off the train in the east, Iolalus made Odysseus his second-in-command and ordered that each of Portaceae’s vigiles rally no less than ten vigiles from other poli. The combined forces are the largest numbers Osteria has ever seen. Odysseus has organized them and two armies are on the move to Augea and Nemea as we speak. Word has it that the Areans are already breaking camp; there may not even be a battle. Does that satisfy you?”

  Iolalus is Solon and may soon rule a peaceful Portaceae. Cassie coos in Iole’s arms as Sofia sits on my shoulders and Sergio stands by my side in his best imitation of a vigile’s stance. I cannot imagine being more satisfied.

  Good,” says Hera reading the smile that has taken over my face. “Now, shall we go welcome your cousin to his new position? Oh, and Maxinia to hers,” Hera says to Iole. “The peacocks will be selecting her as the new head priestess.”

  EPILOGUE

  HADES

  “Welcome to the Chasm.” No one ever truly feels welcome when they come to my realm, but it never hurts to be a good host.

  “Eury, Adneta, is it?” I check my list. I know perfectly well who they are, but my sister promised I'd be receiving three new residents to replace the three little ones she'd asked for. Normally, I have a strict no return policy, but one must make exceptions for family.

  So where is the third? Although Hera has her faults, she always sticks to her deals.

  “Sorry, Uncle,” Hermes says fluttering his way to me. With him is a tall man with a regal air about him.

  “Ah, my third.”

  “I would have gotten them all to you at once, but this one,” he indicates the tall man, “refused to get in the boat with that one.” He points to Eury who is trying to slide his arm around Adneta’s waist. She crosses her arms and pulls away from her husband. With a spoiled pout on her face, she slinks over to Baruch. The tall man bends down and gives her a deep passionate kiss. I look on the scene with a smile. Always so good when lovers arrive together. It becomes so messy when they get separated. Still, this promises to be interesting.

  “Adneta,” Eury cries. He reaches for her arm to pull her away, but she won’t budge. “Get away from him. What in the world—?”

  “We’ll take a private room. Preferably far from him,” she says thrusting her chin toward Eury as she cuddles into Baruch’s arms.

  “But darling, you love me,” Eury whines.

  She gives a sharp, derisive laugh.

  “What exactly is there to love? Certainly not your skills in bed. I needed Baruch for that. Yes, close your jaw. Baruch, you blind idiot. I wanted you for your gifts, for power, for the prestige of being the Solonia. I knew you would give me anything I wanted, but what can you give me here?” She casts a judgmental glance around my cavern that I think a bit rude after all the work I’ve put into the place. “Pieces of rock?”

  “You bitch. Is that really all I was to you? A gift giver?”

  “I'm a whore, darling. Did you expect more? I gave you what you wanted so long as you gave me what I wanted.”

  Oh, this is a good show. Certainly worth giving up three rather boring children who did nothing but cry for their daddy.

  “And what could he give you? He's a servant for gods' sake.”

  Adneta looks up into Baruch’s eyes with idolizing admiration. He strokes her cheek with his long, elegant fingers. She turns back to Eury. The warmth in her face freezes to ice when she glares at him. “You'd be amazed at what he can give me. Over and over he can give it to me. Since you can't hold up your end of our deal in here there’s no point in our staying together.”

  “Fine,” Eury says. His expression is a mix of pain and anger as if each emotion is battling for supremacy over his facial muscles. “Go be with him, you whore.”

  This is my cue. Gods, such fun. I really will have to thank Hera for the entertainment. I clear my throat.

  “The unde
rworld is not a roadside inn,” I say indignantly. “Do you not know how this works? You two promised yourselves to one another forever and that's what you'll get—an eternity together.”

  Cerby’s heads pant and drool as both Adneta and Eury cross their arms over their chests and turn away from one another like spoiled children.

  “However,” I say. Adneta spins back to face me, her eyes bright with hope. “There are rules down here. You three came together. That means, you must stay together. The room will be a bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll work things out.”

  Complaints erupt from three mouths, fingers point, heads shake in adamant refusal. The cavern echoes with their bickering. They’ll get over it. Soon they’ll be so consumed by hunger for the flesh of the living they’ll forget why they ever quarreled. Still, this tirade is irksome. I tap Cerby on her neck and, in unison, her heads let out a roaring bark. The noise silences them.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, your room is this way.”

  Ignoring their grumbles and pouty glares, I lead the trio into the deepest realms of the Chasm.

  Back to Table of Contents

  THE LABORS OF HERCULES

  IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY

  Although I tried to be true to the legend of Hercules, the labors in The Trials of Hercules differ slightly in their outcomes and details than in the original ancient myths. In addition, in mythology there were twelve labors compared to eleven in this book. When it came to writing the final draft of this book, the Cattle of Geryon became an awkward fit with the plot line toward the end of the story, so I removed it.

  The following are the original twelve labors of Hercules:

  The Nemean Lion

  The Lernean Hydra

  The Stag of Artemis

  The Erymanthian Boar

  The Augean Stables

  The Stymphalian Birds

  The Cretan Bull

  The Mares of Diomedes