Hercules: The Legendary Journeys Two Book Collection (Juvenile) (9 page)

“Don't deny it,” Hercules said. “I know what you've done.”

In the woods all around, the soldiers suddenly found their panic had eased. They stopped running.

“You must have made a deal with Hera. She'd give you the power to transform yourself, provided you used it to kill me.”

The last soldiers to flee, the ones nearest the enclosure, heard Hercules' voice ring out.

“You knew that killing me wouldn't be easy. I'd escaped death traps before. So you planned one so huge it couldn't fail to swallow me up.”

More and more soldiers turned to listen.

“First you came to Ferocius and made your deal with him. Then you turned yourself into a bunch of people on this island, one by one. You started spreading rumours about the Mercantilians and the Pastoralians. You made them hate each other.”

Soldiers nearby started nodding as the revelations rang out through the trees.

“Then you turned yourself into me. You found the Mercs and acted like such a pig that they wanted to kill you—or rather, kill me!”

The soldiers who had run further into the forest, now no longer scared, noticed that the soldiers closer in were listening attentively to something going on at the enclosure. They headed back that way until they could hear it too.

“Then you went to Pastoralis. You met the real Slaughterius. You were still disguised as me and you made a pig of yourself again to make the Pastors hate me. When Slaughterius got suspicious, you knocked him out cold, threw him into the dungeon and took his place.”

Soldiers were by now ringing the mouth of the open-sided square of trees, with more of them returning from further away, like iron filings crowding towards a magnet.

“You made a deal with the forest nymphs to watch for trouble. That's why they kidnapped poor Cactus—you didn't want another Hercules imitator running around.”

All of the soldiers were gathered in a ring around the two demi-gods.

“Now all you had to do was bring me here. When I first came to Pastoralis, one of your guards said that ‘Slaughterius' had left town a couple of days earlier without saying what he was doing. I think you were moonlighting as the boatman who brought me and Salmoneus here.”

The soldiers at the back tried to push towards the front, while other soldiers shushed them so that they could hear what Hercules was saying.

“Thanks to you, the Mercantilians tried to kill me. When I came to Pastoralis, you poured acid on me and you had Captain Vicius' men attack me. But when my friends and I outwitted him, I'll bet you figured that he wasn't tough enough to kill me. So you ordered him to bring me here. You launched your ultimate plan: to have two entire armies attack me. You set up a whole war and risked the lives of hundreds of men just to kill me. Then when the men found out your plans and wanted to punish you, you sent them away in terror. You made them so desperate they didn't care if they trampled their best friends!”

Hercules stepped towards the impostor. He could feel the rising anger of hundreds of men around him. A Zeus-like storm of rage was billowing up inside him too.

“It won't work anymore, Pan,” he spat. “These men know what's going on now. You can't fool them and you can't scare them. You've failed.” In a voice dripping with contempt, he snapped, “Get out of our sight.”

The fake Slaughterius said nothing. He only smiled, his teeth gleaming in the sunlight. Even his skin was shining. No, not shining, Hercules realized, but burning. Hercules squinted and raised a hand to block out the blinding beams of light that shot from him.

The man's skin cracked. Fissures crawled from between his fingers, down his palms and up his arms. His flesh began to peel from his body, swirling downward in large coiled strips. As it fell, it drooped and softened and melted, dripping into sticky puddles on the ground.

Hercules heard someone laughing, from inside the glow.

Then, quick as a handclap, it was gone.

Before Hercules and soldiers stood a stocky little man, but not quite a man. The creature's legs were shaped like the hind legs of a goat. They were covered with fur the deep brown of mahogany and ended in dirty cloven hoofs. Thick curly hair covered the being's muscular chest. His coarse skin was tanned as dark as dirt. A goatskin bag hung from a rope looped around his waist.

Most striking, though, was Pan's head. His hair was a curly black bush, his eyes dark and glittering, his nose as long and curved as a buzzard's beak. His ears tapered to points. Just above them, little horns poked out of his temples. He grinned merrily. Several of his teeth were missing. His tongue was long, red as blood and pointed like his ears.

Hercules could hear the soldiers gasping, out startled comments. They had never seen a disguised demi-god reveal himself before.

Hercules was not impressed. “I've seen better transformations, Pan. Now get lost.”

Without a word, Pan reached into his goatskin bag. He pulled out a set of pipes: seven wooden reeds strapped together by vines, each reed a little shorter than the one next to it. He raised the pipes to his thick lips and began playing a lively dance, low in pitch at first but rising ever higher.

Beneath their feet, the soldiers felt the ground begin to rumble. Hercules could see them looking around worriedly. Leaves fell from trees; birds abandoned their trees, screeching; an egg from a nest high in a tree splattered at Hercules' feet.

The earth suddenly burst aside as great trees, wider than a house, thundered up, their leaves brushing Hercules' face. He stumbled backwards into more trees that were also shooting from the ground.

Shadows stretched over him. Hercules bent back, looking up, and saw the new tree tops far above him, blocking out the sunlight. The trees had grown into a tight, nearly solid ring about him. He was trapped.

Hercules clenched a fist. Well, if he thinks a few trees are going to stop me . . .

The ground shivered again and the same process started. This time, new trees burst up just outside the first circle. As they rose, the inner trees began to groan and lean forward.

They're being pushed over by the outer ring, Hercules realized. They'll fall—and they'll squash me like an ant.

The creaking and groaning fell silent. The ground seemed solid again. Hercules looked up: the trees were still angled dangerously close to toppling on to his head, but at least they were moving, for now.

“Hercules,” Pan said in a rough voice. “Let's have a chat.”

“I don't have anything to say to you,” Hercules growled.

Pan laughed. It was a harsh sound, like a saw ripping through wood. “Oh, give me a chance. I've always liked you. A bit stuck up perhaps, but a nice guy. Of course, I never thought you were that bright . . .” He paused. “But now that's changed. You were a bit too clever, working out my plans like that.”

Pan's voice dropped lower, more secretive. “Since you are so smart, I want to suggest a new deal. Listen, I don't really want to kill you. Like I say I've got nothing against you. The guy I really don't like is old Zeus. Now, I know he is your dad, but don't get excited. You know us gods, we often disagree with our dads. Zeus did something similar when he took over Olympus.”

Pan's tone turned mean. “And he cheated me out of my place. I won that battle. Made the old king panic and run. But does Zeus seat me at his right hand? Oh no. I get ignored like yesterday's dishwater. So when Hera talked to me about wiping you out, I said sure thing. Nothing personal, but I know it would make Zeus mad, which is fine by me.” His voice went smooth. “But, Hercules, I didn't realize how sharp you were.”

Hercules turned and followed Pan's voice as it circled the trees; apparently the goat god was pacing about.

“Here is the deal. I pretend to kill you. I go back to Hera, she's happy, everything's great. You lie low for a while. Then we kill Zeus. No one'd ever suspect you for the job. I get my revenge and—you get the throne!” He paused to let the message sink in, then went on. “That's right buddy. You run Olympus. You are the guy for the job; the deposer of Zeus and his rightful heir. Me, I don't want the job, I hate running things. I'd rather stick around and chase the forest nymphs. You can run things your way. Get rid of Hera and Ares, make the gods stop picking on people, anything you want.” Pan stopped circling. “What do you say?”

Hercules wanted to throw up.

Pan's offer was a naked bribe and probably a lie too. Hercules could believe that Pan hated Zeus. But he didn't believe that the other gods would let him take the throne. Not that he wanted the throne anyway. Besides, the idea that Pan or anyone else could even think he would want to join such a despicable plot disgusted him.

Hercules turned slowly, examining the trees leaning over his head. If he rejected the offer Pan would send them crashing down on him. But he couldn't accept, even if Pan's offer were sincere. The thought of deceiving the gods, killing his own father and setting himself up as new ruler of Olympus was repulsive.

There was only one way out. I could always lie, he thought. Pretend to accept the offer, then turn on Pan as soon as he frees me. Knock him cold. It would be easy. And it would be wrong.

He would not lie.

Still, it seemed the only way out. Lie or die.

“Hercules,” Pan said in a teasing voice. “I'm waiting. Yes or no. Answer me, or the trees fall.”

Hercules took a deep breath. “No.”

“What?”

“I said no!” Hercules declared. He felt new strength rushing into his body. “No more lies. The game's over.”

“You're darn right it's over!” Pan screeched. “You're over! You're dead!”

He blew wild, shrieking blasts on his pipe and the outer ring of trees began to rise again, pushing up the roots of the inner circle of trees.

Hercules looked up. The trees trembled, branches shaking. The tree tops began to dip lower. The trees started to fall in on top of him.

Outside the circle, Pan was dancing a jig. Eyes closed in ecstasy, he raised his pipes high, sending notes screaming from the reeds, and leapt into the cool, misty air.

A body hit him in the back, slamming into the ground. Pan, coughing dirt, opened his eyes to see Vicius grabbing for the reed pipes in his hand.

Pan pulled the pipes away from the soldier and struggled to stand. Hands grabbed his wrists. He saw the face of Honorius crouching over him, pinning his arms to the ground and squeezing so hard that he had to let go of the pipes.

“Get them, son! Get the pipes!” Honorius yelled.

Peuris dived to the ground and grabbed them.

Pan felt the heavy bulk of a Mercantilian soldier landing hard and sitting on his legs. A Pastoralian shoved his shoulders into the dirt. Many more soldiers, from both sides, looked down on him, blotting out the sky.

Pan began to sing, but Vicius grabbed his hair and banged his head on the ground.

“It won't work, Pan,” Honorius growled. “We know too much. You can't panic us anymore.” Honorius looked up. “Peuris!”

“Yes, Dad. I mean, yes, Captain Honorius, sir.”

The soldiers moved aside to let Peuris reach his father.

“Stick the pipes in his mouth. Now, Pan, you're going to reverse what you've done to Hercules, or we're going to bury you under seven hundred bodies.”

Pan spat the pipes out. “Can't!”

“What?” Honorius started as Peuris grabbed the pipes again.

“I can't,” Pan wailed. “I'm a fertility god. I make things grow. I can't make 'em ungrow.”

Honorius was getting angry. “You know my men want to kill you for what you've done. If you're making up an excuse to keep Hercules trapped, you're telling it to the wrong people.”

“No!” Pan screamed. “It's true. I'm not lying this time.”

“He's not, you know.”

The voice, calm and low, came from up on the ridge. It was rich and feminine, sweet and satiny. All the men turned as one.

Dryope glided down through them, as if she knew that they would part before she reached them. Behind her trailed a line of her most beautiful nymphs. When she reached the centre of the crowd, she knelt and stroked Pan's sweating brow.

“Oh, Pan, Pan,” she purred. “I could always tell when you were lying. I even saw through that disguise when you came to me as ‘Slaughterius' to get my help. I never knew you'd go quite this far.”

She rose regally to her full height. “Let him go, boys,” she declared. “He can't help you anymore. Or hurt you.”

The soldiers hesitated. Honorius nodded and one by one, the Mercantilians first, they slowly removed their hands from the prisoner.

Pan stumbled to his feet and, grabbing his pipes from Peuris' hands, played a single, ear-splitting blast.

With a thunderclap, a blinding column of white light burst down from the sky and covered Pan. The column receded into the blue as fast as it had come.

Honorius looked at the spot where the light had hit. It left no mark, but Pan was gone. He swung an accusing finger at Dryope. “You knew this would happen.”

“Of course I knew.” She smiled at his anger. “Oh, don't worry, cute man. He's just going back to Olympus. Now, I know Hera. She'll be very angry and will certainly punish him for failing in his task. She'll do worse things to him than you or I or all of us could do, I assure you.”

Honorius was not sure what to think. He had little time to consider Dryope's trustworthiness, though. He could hear his son sniffling.

He followed the sound. The boy was kneeling beside the double ring of trees circling Hercules' body. The trees, now collapsed into a heap of trunks, branches and leaves, were packed so tight that no one could see Hercules under them, but they all knew he was there.

Honorius knelt next to his boy and laid an arm on his shoulder. “Son,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

The trees twitched. Honorius looked up. He heard a dull, thudding impact from within the inner ring, which shuddered as if a volcano were erupting within it. Another thud, a louder one this time. One of the trees flew up, wiggled unsteadily for a moment and then fell outwards.

“Hercules!” Peuris yelled.

The demi-god stood in the gap where the tree had been. He strode around the cone of trees, which collapsed, shaking the forest. Hercules didn't care. Nor did the soldiers. They sprinted towards him, roaring in joy.

Honorius fought his way to the front of the crowd. The soldiers were hugging Hercules, shaking his hand, pounding his back.

“Hercules!” Honorius yelled over the crowd's chaotic roar. “How'd you do that? We thought you were finished.”

“I would have been,” Hercules shouted, “but you all saved me. When you stopped Pan's pipes, the trees stopped uprooting each other, so they didn't fall all the way. I got knocked out for a moment or two; but I'm feeling fine.” He looked around. “Where's Pan?”

“Fled back to Olympus,” Vicius explained, pushing through the crowd.

“Our only problem now,” Honorius added, “is who's going to run our cities? Who will be mayor?”

“What about you, Honorius?” a soldier asked from the crowd.

As hundreds of faces turned to him, he blushed.

“Your dad was mayor, so you know how things are done. And we all trust you—right, guys?”

A cheer arose from a thousand Mercantilian throats.

“Okay, okay,” Honorius said, holding his hands up to quieten them, “but only until we can stage an election.”

There was another cheer.

“What about us?” a Pastoralian yelled.

“Hey, Vicius, what about you?” another chipped in.

Vicius shook his head. “No thanks, fellows. I'm a soldier.”

“Mind if I apply for the job?” said a voice from the crowd.

“Slaughterius!” Hercules shouted happily as he saw his ally making his way through the press of people.

“And what about me?” Salmoneus grinned, close behind the old man.

Hercules gathered each man in an arm and hugged them both. “You're safe! I didn't know what had happened to you.”

“Uh! Relax, Herc,” Salmoneus grunted. “Vicius' guards took us to the city and kept an eye on us. We saw the whole thing from the guard station. When Pan disappeared, I talked the guards into letting us come back.”

“We're fine,” Slaughterius agreed. He turned to the crowd. “My friends,” he called. “As you know, Pan took my place. But I am alive and well. And if you want me to become mayor again, I will.” His humble tone left him. “And this time, I won't listen to any lies about our great friends, the Mercantilians!”

All the soldiers cheered. Honorius and Slaughterius shook hands, and they cheered even louder. “Well, you did it, Herc,” Salmoneus said softly. “You stopped the war. I guess you'll be leaving soon.”

“I think so,” Hercules agreed. “But you sound like you'd rather stay.”

“Me?” The pedlar grinned. “Heck, no! I've got a job to do. See, Slaughty and I were talking about it. These two cities like each other now, but the other towns don't. They need their image changed, and I'm the guy to do it.” Hercules looked skeptical.

“Don't worry, I won't tell any lies. See, what I thought was . . .”

“Later, my friend,” Hercules said.

He made his way through the happily dispersing crowd and walked up to the top of the ridge. The morning sun was bright, but the air was still comfortably cool. The birds had flown back and were twittering sweetly. Peace had returned.

Dryope was there, alone, brushing her golden hair. “Hello, Hercules.”

“Hello, Dryope. Thanks for helping my friends.” He paused, then asked, “Are you still mad at me?”

She wheeled, face flushed with anger. “As long as you keep turning me down, you great hunk, I'll always be mad at you.”

She turned away and resumed brushing her hair, as calm as if she had never flared up.

Hercules smiled. Same old Dryope, he thought. Just can't get used to a guy turning her down.