by Luke Romyn
Heracles strode down the rest of the hill, staring at the two halves of the Amphisbaena, nodding his approval, and Talbot was struck at the similarity between the two warriors. Though Heracles was almost a full foot taller than Wes, and much more thickly muscled, there was a certain cocksure assurance both men carried. Each bore himself proudly, as though challenging the world, and both seemed balanced at all times on the balls of their feet, like dancers.
Something slammed into Talbot’s back, and all breath instantly shot out of him. Falling heavily to the ground, he rolled, swiftly getting his feet beneath him, rising to face his attacker. Snarling before him was a beast about twice as large as a big dog, but otherwise very similar to one. The hind legs were a bit lower, like those of a hyena, and a huge, solid plate of what appeared to be bone replaced its teeth, but otherwise it was a mongrel.
The creature opened its mouth. “Help me! Help me!”
Talbot stepped back in shock at the voice emitting from the creature’s mouth, but soon heard answering calls of, “Help me! Help me!” approaching. It wasn’t speech so much as a sound made by the creatures. They somehow had the ability to mimic human voices. It was most disconcerting.
But Talbot didn’t have time to ponder the situation. Within moments, a pack of the creatures had surrounded him, and Talbot spun around, lashing out as one, and then another would try to rush in at him from behind, cowering again as he turned on them. The creatures seemed very skittish and unwilling to attack him outright.
Footsteps rustled on the rough shale of the hillside, but Talbot feared turning, knowing the beasts would attack his back. Wes and Heracles suddenly appeared among the creatures, their golden swords flashing through flesh which appeared thicker than the toughest leather. Within seconds three of the animals were dead and the rest had fled.
“Thanks,” gasped Talbot, still trying to gather his breath.
Heracles gazed down on the deceased beasts. “They’re called leucrota – much like the wolves of your world. They must be hungry to attack a person.”
“They’re attracted to me, coming for me wherever we go.”
Heracles stared at him. “I have heard of this connection between the denizens of Tartarus and the holders of the Elder-tongue. This will make things more difficult.” Looking around, he gestured widely. “Welcome to Hades.”
The vista before them, viewed from atop the hill, was nothing short of underwhelming. The entire land appeared dead. Not a tree, not a blade of grass. Nothing of color for as far as the eye could see. Talbot glanced at his hands and his companions to make sure there was nothing wrong with his eyesight, for it seemed as though everything he gazed upon was struck in monochrome, like an old movie, but their flesh remained vibrant and untainted. He stared back out at the vista.
Hades was indeed the land of the dead.
“We must go beyond those peaks,” said Heracles, gesturing toward mountains upon the far horizon. “We can eat nothing from this world, nor drink from its waters. Everything in this place will kill you.”
“Lucky I brought my supplies then,” said Wes, indicating his pack still lying at the bottom of the hill. “And you thought I was an idiot for lugging it all this way.”
Talbot said nothing, knowing the words were not really intended the way they sounded. He’d forgotten about the provisions in Wes’s bag, in fact he hadn’t even thought about the need for supplies. They made their way down to where the backpack-style combat bag still lay on the ground, and Wes opened it to reveal an assortment of brown, vacuum-sealed bags.
“All the fucking MREs you could dangle a fucking Muppet at here, ladies,” drawled Wes. Talbot looked at Heracles and knew, once again, Wes’s linguistic metaphors were completely lost on the Olympian.
“How do you know about Muppets?” asked Talbot suddenly, realizing the huge time gap involved.
“Historical tapes, mate,” replied Wes. “Funny shit there. What about that Gilligan idiot eh? Makes you wanna kick him in the head, don’t it?”
“Uh yeah,” said Talbot. Changing the course of the conversation he asked, “What’s an MRE?”
“It’s a meal,” replied Wes, picking one up and tearing it open. “Ready to eat. Meal, Ready to Eat – MRE. Pretty fucking obvious if you ask me.”
Talbot and Heracles watched as the commando tipped the contents of the MRE onto the ground, squatting down to prepare his meal. First Wes grabbed a white satchel bag from off the pile and opened it up. “This here doo-hickey is your cooker,” he said. “You chuck this thing – um, what is it?” he looked at a slim cardboard box, slipping a pack from within it. “Yeah, well this one is a ham omelet, but they come in all sorts of shit. Anyway, you put your omelet in the cooker thing and chuck in some water,” he produced a large water-canteen from the bag, throwing it to Talbot before grabbing another for himself. “Sorry Herc, I only brought two of ‘em, but you can share my spit if you like.”
Heracles merely shook his head, and Wes continued. “Alright, well the chemicals heat up in the cooker, and in fifteen minutes you’ve got yourself a fucking omelet. It tastes like shit, and you won’t crap for a month, but it’ll keep you alive.”
Talbot shook his head in resignation. He glanced through the other things from the MRE, seeing coffee, chewing gum – even a pop tart! At least they wouldn’t starve in a hurry. Wes put everything back into the bag and hoisted it onto his shoulders, keeping Chiron’s sword in his hand.
“We’d better get moving,” said the commando.
His companions nodded, and Wes took the lead, moving off swiftly toward the mountain Heracles had indicated. It was at least forty miles away, and would take hours of arduous slogging over the deathly, gray desert to get there.
If we get there, thought Talbot, glancing around at the inhospitable landscape, feeling as though something was missing, something he should have noticed immediately, but which continued to remain hidden. Finally it came to him, and he knew they were truly in a land of the damned.
There was no sun.
The ground itself seemed to emit the only light in this interminable land of twilight, and Talbot felt his spirits fade even further. What sort of creatures would they encounter here? The ones he had come across already were apparently those denizens of a world called Tartarus – Greek mythology’s equivalent of Hell – but what would Hades, the land of the dead, produce? What could possibly exist in this forsaken place?
Glancing at his companions, he noticed something which terrified him even more than the thought of what might oppose them here. Wes carried on as he always had, seemingly casual, but with an alertness to his visage which betrayed his concern. In contrast, when Talbot glanced over to Heracles, the son of the man known as Zeus, he saw only one emotion:
Fear.
***
The hours passed and Talbot’s throat felt as though it were coated in sandpaper. Under instruction from Wes, they were only allowed a single small sip of water each hour in order to preserve their supply for as long as possible. The gray land stretched endlessly before them, flat, like a giant salt basin, the colorless ground cracking beneath their steps like weathered parchment.
Nothing had attacked them since they’d first arrived, and Talbot was growing concerned. Was there really nothing out here, or were their enemies merely hidden, waiting for them to become comfortable, in order to strike? The fact that the landscape prohibited stealth was contradicted by Talbot’s memory of the attack on the beach, when their enemies had erupted from the very ground.
Several hours passed, before his unspoken question was answered. Hidden within a shallow hollow was a great skeleton bearing a head at each end. It took Talbot a moment to recognize this beast as identical to the one Wes had defeated when they’d first arrived. He wracked his memory for the name of the creature....
Amphisbaena!
It appeared this amphisbaena had died of natural causes, possibly starvation, and Talbot had a sudden vision of thousands of creatures hurtling through the rift fro
m Tartarus, only to wander this desolate land in search of food. A part of him felt some sort of remorse for those poor creatures – that is, until he remembered they were all potentially driven to find and kill him.
His remorse dried up pretty quickly.
Thunderous hoof beats snapped Talbot out of his reflection. Through the gloom two beasts hurtled at great speed toward them. Wes and Heracles drew their weapons and stepped protectively in front of Talbot. The beasts appeared to be dragging something behind them through the gray earth, plumes of dust churning into the lifeless air.
“We are indeed in luck,” rumbled Heracles, sheathing his sword. Wes appeared more reluctant to lower his guard with the beasts still thundering toward them. “These are the bulls of Khalkotauroi – the bronze bulls.” When Talbot and Wes said nothing, Heracles continued. “They were created by the smith Hephaestus as a gift for one of your kings. Upon his death they were returned to Olympia. During our wars they disappeared; now somehow they’ve arrived here. They require neither water nor nourishment, and will transport us all in their chariot faster than we could ever possibly hope to move on foot.”
Talbot gazed up at the huge, artificial creatures. As Heracles had claimed, both bulls appeared to be constructed completely from bronze, yet the metal flexed and moved like flesh. Their shoulders stood level with Heracles’s head. Talbot noticed a strange red glow dwelling deep within their soulless black eyes. A part of him really didn’t want to trust his life on these strange beasts.
“Alright, let’s go,” said Wes, leaping lightly into the chariot.
The chariot appeared to be bronze as well, but more like the metal Talbot was used to, and unlike the flesh of the bulls. Wes helped him clamber up, and they were soon joined by Heracles, who took up the reins.
“You two had better hold on,” Heracles said, and Talbot thought he sensed something akin to amusement in the warrior’s tone. Tightening his grip on the railing of the chariot, he noticed Wes do the same.
Talbot glanced down at the construction of the vehicle. As an archaeologist, this was more to his interest. The single set of spoked wheels showed the lightness in constr –
The chariot shot off the mark so quickly that Talbot lost his grip and fell toward the back of the open vehicle – only to be grabbed and hauled back in by Wes. Talbot nodded his thanks and gripped the rail once again; more securely this time.
The landscape shot past them faster than he would have imagined possible as the artificial beasts raced across the dusty ground with seemingly boundless energy. Considering it, Talbot realized this was quite possibly the case. Someone, the smith Heracles had referred to as Hephaestus, had made these beasts using a technique unknown of in Talbot’s world. The ancients had taken this as magic and divinity, but Talbot was beginning to see the reality.
If an ancient race saw a man climb into a machine which then lifted off into the sky, then that man would in all likelihood be seen as either a demon or a god. But in Talbot’s time such a thing – a helicopter or small plane – was a common sight. Even more drastic would be the results if Wes had landed in a place such as ancient Greece when he’d hurtled through time and space. They would have either deified him or hacked him to pieces.
So it had come to pass that the inhabitants of Olympia had opened a doorway to the world of ancient Greece. Their technology – such as these giant, bronze bulls – had seemed so incredibly fantastic that the Greeks had little option other than to think it was some kind of magic.
Along with the horrific creatures of Tartarus which occasionally broke through, the legends of Greece had been committed first to memory, and then to script by authors such as Homer, growing with each telling until men like Heracles had become gods.
“Heracles,” called Talbot. The huge warrior turned his head, still guiding the bronze bulls. “Did you ever have to perform twelve tasks, or labors?”
The enormous Olympian appeared momentarily shocked, but swiftly recovered. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “How do you know of those?”
“Do you mind telling us about them?” asked Talbot. “I need to test a theory.”
Heracles returned his gaze to the front. “What would you like to know?”
“I don’t need the details, but why did you have to do them, and what did they entail?”
“They were tasks requested by my father, in order to create a power strong enough to battle the beasts of Tartarus. Each involved bringing a creature or object of power back so that we could examine it in Olympia. Combined, these things unlocked the power found in the weapons your companion and I now carry.”
“Hmm. Interesting,” mused Talbot. “In my world there are many legends surrounding these tasks. Some say you had to atone for some great evil, while others claim it was a trick by Hera.”
“Hera!” Heracles spat the name. He twisted around, madness shading his gaze. “What do you know of Hera?”
“Very little,” admitted Talbot, noting Wes had adjusted his position behind Heracles, gripping the hilt of Chiron’s sword tightly. “My brother was the expert in such things. But I take it you were not close with her?”
“She was a swine,” Heracles said. “She tried to cause discord throughout Olympia ever since my birth and framed me for the murder of my children. The woman is the bane of my existence, and I wish my father had seen through her sooner.”
“How could he not?” asked Talbot. “Isn’t he able to see into people’s thoughts?”
Talbot heard Heracles curse softly, knowing he had divulged information in his heightened emotion which he shouldn’t have. “There are some immune to my father’s talents,” grated Heracles. “Hera was one such person.”
Talbot thought about it, understanding Heracles’s upset. If it got into the wrong hands, the knowledge could be disastrous for the Olympians. He decided to change the topic back to something safer.
“So the things you collected, they helped Zeus create these weapons?” he asked, indicating Heracles’s sword.
“No.” Heracles shook his head. “The items were for the Olympian smith, Hephaestus; the same man who created these bulls of bronze. He was a genius, even by our standards.”
“That doesn’t make you sound like an arrogant arsehole at all,” muttered Wes.
“Where is Hephaestus now?” asked Talbot swiftly.
“He was killed during an attack. He insisted on aiding us during the battles, and we were almost routed. His disability caused him to be taken by one of the stymphalian birds.” Heracles stared off beyond the bronze bulls he was steering, lost in his memories.
“His disability?”
Heracles snapped out of his reverie. “Hephaestus was lame,” he said simply. “Our physicians were never able to heal him fully. It saddens me to think that with all our perceived power, we could not heal such a simple thing.”
“Our worlds aren’t so different,” agreed Talbot. “We have weaponry which can destroy an entire planet, and yet can’t heal the most common virus. You’d think with intellect people would gain intelligence, but that’s not always the case, is it?”
Wes remained silent, and Talbot was reminded of his vow not to discuss any events from Earth’s future. The SAS commando looked away, gazing out at the barren landscape, his thoughts hidden beneath his stoic demeanor.
“How was Hephaestus able to harness the power?” Talbot asked, attempting to divert the conversation away from such morbidity. It would help nobody’s morale if they were thinking about the worst of their worlds.
“I am unclear on the details, but it had something to do with the combined atomic weight of the items I collected. When he spliced them together with the metal of the swords, the resulting fission infused the blade with tremendous strength. Similar power was recreated using other items, but to lesser effect. Arrows are an example of what we achieved using more common items; the power of fission is there, but fades quickly, and is only useful for items which will only be used once.”
“Was this fission used for
anything besides weapons?” asked Talbot.
Heracles turned slightly to look at him, a look of curiosity upon his brow. “What do you think powers these bulls?” he asked.
Talbot cursed himself for a fool. Of course the blacksmith had used the power of fission to fuel other things. The bulls were direct evidence of this, and he should have known. Something suddenly came to him.
“What about the resonance of the Syrpeas Gate? Is that achieved using the power of fission?
Heracles shook his head. “That is achieved using the vibration of the universe. Some structures – such as your human pyramids – are able to capture these resonations and amplify them into a singular power. Not all of these structures were designed to open doorways either. Some were created to prolong life beyond mortal expectations, while others could heal grievous wounds, but ironically could not heal deformations such as the one their creator, Hephaestus, bore.”
“What about Stonehenge?” asked Talbot, remembering the resemblance to the rift that had opened for them in Olympia.
“I do not know this name,” said Heracles.
Talbot thought for a moment. “Giant standing stones in Britannia, similar to the ones you use in order to create the rifts.”
Heracles seemed to think for a moment, but finally shook his head. “It is possible some of your ancestors attempted to recreate the power of the rifts, though to do so would be foolish indeed. A single miscalculated placement of a stone – even by a fraction of an inch – would result in a catastrophe beyond measure. It is likely they had no success at all, otherwise it would have been documented throughout your historical texts.”
Talbot nodded. He could imagine the arrogance of men thinking they could recreate the power of the gods. Thankfully the structures of Stonehenge were no more than a tourist destination, never becoming a gateway into another realm full of hideous creatures.
