The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

  The prince bade me be seated beside him on a simple bench, under a trellis of mutant grapevines, whose fruit looked more like miniature peaches. Enkidu, after being introduced, hung about uncertainly. Daedalus warned him sharply not to wander off.

  "The Labyrinth is not the worst place in the world to go wandering, but it is one of the very easiest in which to lose yourself."

  Enkidu flushed, and bowed in acknowledgement of the order.

  When I had recovered somewhat from my first embarrassing but uncontrollable reaction to the sight of a man with a horned beast's head, I questioned the prince eagerly on the subject of the father we were said to share; but Asterion could not, or chose not to, tell me anything on that subject that I did not already know.

  I sighed and moved on to other matters. "Do you know, Lord Asterion, why Hermes sends me to you?"

  "Yes. Because we have important things to talk about, and communication is much more reliable when both parties are awake. You know I have the power to visit the dreams of others, and also to draw others into mine. But those contacts made in sleep are too uncertain for the proper conduct of some kinds of business."

  The prince paused for a few moments and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Then he said: "Hercules, you have done well so far. But all that you have done till now is as nothing to the tasks that still remain."

  He paused again, then added: "I hope that you will trust me, Hercules, when in the future I intrude to speak to you in sleep. I will never do so without good cause."

  The idea that anyone could so invade the privacy of my own thoughts did not sit well with me. I said: "So far I have no reason not to trust you, Prince Asterion. But then I have no proof that I should trust you, either."

  He shifted his great weight on the bench beside me, so that the woodwork creaked. "You speak boldly, son of Zeus."

  "Because there is little that I fear."

  "No one here on Corycus bears you any ill will. Certainly I do not. But I advise you to fear Zeus, if no one and nothing else."

  "And what is the Thunderer himself afraid of?"

  "Giants."

  Had the prince answered with the one word nothing, I would not have been surprised. But the word he actually used astonished me enough to quiet my simmering resentment for a time.

  "What do you know of Giants, Hercules?"

  It was not the first time since my leaving home that affairs had taken an unexpected turn. First gods, then centaurs, and now this.

  "Very little, Prince."

  "Have you ever seen one?"

  "No."

  The prince pressed on. "And have you heard of a war between the race of Giants and the gods we know?"

  "Something of such a conflict, yes. But only in nursery tales, when I was very small."

  Asterion leaned his head back into the vines that grew behind our bench, as if he were trying to rest his neck from the weight of many dreams, or worries. He said in his strange voice: "I wish that the war was only a matter of nursery tales, and of dreams. But no, it is very real, and very terrible, though for most of the humans on the earth it is still invisible. That will not always be the case."

  The Artisan, who was sitting in on our discussion, nodded his head in confirmation.

  "The prince and I have decided," he said, "that it is time, and past time, that you know more of what your father Zeus is planning, what problems he and the other gods who stand with him must face. We can only hope that they will approve of our decision."

  "Understand, first," said Prince Asterion, "that all the gods, whether they admit the fact or not, are deadly frightened of a terrible and secret weapon that the Giants use against them. Like Apollo's Arrows, it can strike at a distance of a mile or more. But it is completely invisible, even to divine eyesight. It has never been known to injure a mere mortal human, like you or me"—for a moment I thought the bull-face smiled, at including us both in such a category—"but on a god or goddess the effect is devastating."

  "What sort of weapon?" I demanded, my throat suddenly dry.

  "One that is hard to identify precisely, or describe." The prince raised both hands in an odd pointing gesture. "The projection from their very fingertips of some invisible beam, or force, which ravages the memory of anyone in its path who happens to be wearing a god-Face."

  Each Giant, or at least a great many of them, possessed some form of this weapon, which must be somehow built or grown into their very bodies. Therefore any god who came within a mile of any Giant was at risk of losing part or all his memory, temporarily or permanently, even to the point of forgetting his own identity.

  Then the prince and Daedalus led me into a different corner of the vast Maze, where a massive door was set into a thick stone wall. As I approached the door, the smell of the sea grew very strong, and I marveled at this, for I knew that the shore was more than a mile away. My guides indicated that I should look through a small hole in the door, and when I did I saw beyond it a room that had been converted into a stone prison cell.

  The furnishings of the cell were simple. Its single inmate, a middle-aged man, was clad in a simple garment that might have been fashioned from a fishing net, and he sat on a simple bench studying his own hands, a blank expression on his face, like a man trying to remember what hands were for.

  "Hercules, do you recognize that god?" asked the prince, who was standing at my side.

  I had had no idea that I was looking at a god. "I do not, should I?"

  "He is Palaemon, called by some Portunus, the God of Harbors. Now he is a horrible example of what the Giants' mind weapon can do. He has been so badly affected that he has forgotten what it is to be a god. I'm not sure that it still makes sense to call him a god, though the Face of Portunus is still buried in his head."

  I was aghast at the sight. Now Enkidu came to the door to get a look.

  "He cannot see us or hear us," the prince assured us. "Dionysian magic has sealed him off."

  "Why is he imprisoned?" I asked in a low voice when we were headed down the twisting branching corridor again, back to the room where we had begun our conversation.

  "For his own protection. Palaemon has been so enervated mentally that he neither knows nor cares where he is, or what might be happening to him."

  "Terrible," I said.

  "We are trying to find a cure, of course. But so far none of our treatments have much effect."

  I was more shaken by the sight of a fallen god than I could have been by any fabulous monster or towering Giant. "But—if the Giants prevail, and all the powers of the gods should fail—how will the Universe endure?"

  "It is not the fate of the Universe that worries me," said Daedalus grimly. "The Universe can take care of itself. The real problem is what is going to happen to ordinary, mortal humanity, should the Giants win."

  "I don't understand. If the Giants' weapon doesn't hurt ordinary people, then what is the special danger to them?"

  The Artisan spoke convincingly about the monstrous ways in which the Giants treated ordinary humanity whenever their paths crossed those of ordinary people. Fortunately such encounters had so far been fairly rare, because of the Giants' fondness for desolation. But the numbers of both races were increasing, and more contact was inevitable in the future.

  "And then there is the problem of monsters. Some cases of severe deformity"—he looked around, I supposed to make sure that the prince was out of earshot—"are the result of interbreeding between gods and mortals. But others come from experimentation by the Giants. Your Hydra and your Boar are good examples."

  "And the centaurs?"

  Daedalus frowned. "I am not yet certain about them. They have an ancient history."

  My pair of tutors also told me about their examination of tissues from the Hydra and the Boar; they both regretted never getting any sample from the Nemean lion.

  "There are grounds for believing that the lion, too, was a monster created by the Giants. You say that no weapon could pierce its hide."

  "Qui
te true." Enkidu and I both nodded.

  "What do you know, Hercules, of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides?"

  "I have never heard of them," I said, after exchanging glances with my equally puzzled nephew.

  Hermes and Daedalus and their assistants were also struggling with the problems of learning exactly what the Golden Apples of the Hesperides meant to the race of the Giants, and of obtaining a sample of this mysterious fruit.

  "For all we know, the Apples may have something to do with the Giants' secret weapon."

  Our talk drifted on to other matters. The Artisan observed casually that he had analyzed some of Prince Asterion's blood and would like to be able to analyze some of mine as well. But, considering my impervious skin, he was not sure how to go about trying to draw a sample.

  I was not sure whether I ought to be worried, annoyed, or only amused. "So, you'd like to see me bleed?"

  "Yes indeed," he answered absently. "Of course, were you a female," he mused, "there would be your monthly cycle as a source."

  "Yes, and were I an olive, you could squeeze me for my oil." The idea that my skin might actually be broken, my blood flow like that of other humans, grew more disturbing the more I thought about it. No doubt my feelings were so sensitive because nothing of the kind had ever happened to me. Not for me the scraped knees and cut fingers that normal children suffered without much thought, being inured to such damage from earliest childhood.

  The thought was frightening, and I began to bluster.

  "Yes, and were I a duck, I would probably lay eggs. But as I am, I think you will not get any of my blood."

  The Artisan said there was nothing urgent about the matter; he was willing to wait until he could think of some good method of collection.

  Asterion went on: "Sooner or later, Hercules, we are going to discover just what effect the special weapon of the Giants has on you. You are no god, but you are hardly an ordinary mortal, either. Nor am I, of course, but I am not going to leave the Labyrinth."

  Asterion raised a very human palm in my direction, forestalling protest. "No, we are not asking you to volunteer for any experiments. We would all like you to avoid the test as long as possible, but in the end it will not be possible to escape."

  We all of us rested overnight, and in the morning we held another lengthy conversation.

  Meanwhile, I had still seen only a little, here and there, of the great Maze. I found it deeply fascinating. Daedalus pointed out the spot where he had labored for the young queen's predecessor, and other places where marvelous events had happened, many of them over the last two years.

  I discovered that on Corycus, spring came early—more accurately, that there was hardly any winter. Now sunshine striking through the tangled vines made patches of bright translucent green, leaving caves of shadow within the roofed-over sections of the endless, intertwining passageways that comprised the great bulk of the Labyrinth. Somewhere just out of sight, perhaps in the next open courtyard, or maybe in the one after that, water was trickling musically from one of the Maze's many fountains into an adjoining pool. While we remained within those walls, the sound of running water, far or near, was almost never absent. The curving walls and tunnels, most of their surfaces hard stone, sometimes played games with sound.

  Asterion surprised me with the claim that he had recently been able to enter the dreams of certain Giants.

  "It was not an experience that I would willingly seek to repeat. I felt as if my mind, my nature, was in danger of being absorbed into the earth."

  And Asterion, as was so often the case, had dreams of his own to tell. Rarely had his physical body ever left the confines of the great Maze, but in sleep his mind roamed to the ends of the known world, and sometimes beyond.

  As our conversation went on, digging deeper into the topics of the previous day, Asterion and Daedalus explained a little more of the ongoing problem between the gods and the Giants, until I began to understand why even Zeus was fearful.

  Speaking of the Giants, Asterion said: "Even if we could find some way to nullify their special weapon, they would still be, in many ways, as strong as the gods we know, or even stronger in some cases. They would be formidable antagonists. But as matters actually stand now, Zeus and his colleagues, the beings we have been taught to think of as the rulers of the Universe, are doomed to eventual defeat."

  After hearing that, I walked on for some time, slowly and in complete silence. That Zeus, the greatest of gods, with thunderbolts at his command, could be afraid, of anything or anyone, was a new idea to me and required some digesting.

  At last I said: "Then we know that our father Zeus lives, whether or not still in the avatar that sired you and me."

  "He lives indeed, I can testify to that. Though in recent decades he has been exceedingly hard to find."

  "It sounds better if we simply say that Zeus and Apollo and the rest are simply behaving prudently."

  "I don't care how it sounds."

  Prince Asterion also told me that he had been warned in a dream that it would be important for me to know something of the Underworld.

  "Is this some foretelling of my death?"

  "There is an implication of danger, certainly. And death waits for us all. No, there was some warning apart from that. But too vague to be of any real use."

  "What have either of us to do with the kingdom of Hades?"

  "As little as possible, I hope," said the odd voice from the bull's mouth. "Speaking of formidable gods, the Messenger also expressed a hope that you would be able to talk to Apollo while you were visiting our island. But Apollo is not on Corycus now."

  "Oh," I said. At the sound of that name, so casually uttered, something inside me seemed to cringe a bit and make an effort at withdrawal, turning inward even farther. True, we had just been speaking of almighty Zeus himself, and it was also true that I had confronted and even argued with great Hermes face-to-face. And I had now been privileged to catch a glimpse of the chariot of glorious Dionysus.

  But . . . Apollo.

  Far-Worker, Sun God, the Lord of Death and Terror and Distance. And of many other things besides. Shiva the Destroyer was known as a god of tremendous power and was feared by many—but on Corycus, people said that Lord Apollo had shot down Shiva's most recent avatar with the authority of a man swatting a fly.

  Beside me, Enkidu was now sitting still. The sound of Apollo's name seemed to have knocked him into the attitude of a chastened child, very nearly afraid to move.

  At last I asked the man who was sometimes called the Minotaur. "You know Lord Apollo? The Far-Worker himself?"

  "He calls me friend," said Prince Asterion simply. "It was his Arrow that struck down Shiva—was it only about a year ago? Sometimes I tend to lose track of waking time—not far from where we are standing now. The Face of Shiva was of course not destroyed, but it fell into a pit—I will soon show you where—with an Arrow still protruding from its Third Eye."

  For a moment or two I was silent, not knowing what to say. No doubt to be a child of Zeus was a glorious distinction, even if there were more than a few of us scattered around the earth. But to claim Apollo as a friend . . .

  When I remarked on this to Daedalus, he, too, claimed some familiarity with the Far-Worker, though the Artisan was generally more interested in solving problems without magic than in consorting with the gods.

  Now Prince Asterion strongly recommended that I should leave Corycus as soon as possible and set out on a voyage to try to discover the truth about the Apples of Hesperides. Daedalus strongly concurred.

  "Hesperides sounds to me like a chain of islands," was Enkidu's comment this time. Our tutors quickly explained to both of us that the three Hesperides were women, or perhaps nymphs, named Hespere, Aegle, and Erytheis. But in any case, the Apples might really have nothing to do with them at all.

  "This task is different, Hercules, from any you have undertaken yet. This time we can give you but little in the way of specific instructions."

  Enki
du was, as usual, ready for new adventure. But reaching the land where the Apples were thought to grow would involve serious traveling.

  Even with Skyboat to speed us on our way, a journey of that length would take us many days.

  But before leaving the island of Corycus, I wanted to make sure that it afforded no possible passage down into the Underworld; Asterion had suggested this as one possible meaning of the blurred dream-message. Daedalus also was strongly curious about what lay just underground; and Prince Asterion agreed that it was only reasonable that I should be the one to make the attempt.

  He and the Artisan both accompanied me to the very rim of the pit, with Enkidu as usual tagging along.

  We were standing in a kind of courtyard, created by a partial destruction of the Maze and larger than most of those located within it by design. In the center of this space of devastation was a crater, perhaps fifteen yards wide, and at the bottom of the crater a dim abyss of uncertain depth. The bottom, some ten or fifteen yards below us, was piled with rocks of such size that the crevices between them might very well offer passage to a much greater depth.

  Glad to accept advice from Daedalus, I allowed Asterion's attendants, supervised by the Artisan, to wrap my body in layers of thick wool, then drench me in water, against the heat, before I started down.

  Now I had reached the lowest depth yet attained by mortal men since the formation of the crater. From that point it was my decision to go on alone. I worked my way lower for a little distance, using natural handholds and steps in the rough rock wall of the great cavity. Descending cautiously a little farther under the Labyrinth, I felt the heat increase steadily with every step I took.

  Enough daylight still came down through the opening to let me see my way. I called up to my friends that I now saw a kind of tunnel, seeming to lead farther down.