Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 02 (21 page)

He braced himself.

And waited.

Iolaus shrugged, yelled something about his funeral, then turned to the recovering Klothon and waved his arms, danced, ran to the edge of the cliff and back, stuck out his tongue, and seemed to be considering throwing a rock or two, when the monster pulled back its head, measured the distance, and lashed out.

Iolaus yelped and threw himself to the ground, covering his head with his arms.

Without hesitating, Hercules leaped toward the Klothon's head as it completed its sweeping motion, and grabbed the nearest horn, pulling as hard as he could as the Klothon rose.

The head lowered, twisting to one side, in the direction of the pull.

Hercules was dragged several feet before
he
released the horn, yelled to Iolaus, and ran for the trees. On the way, he snatched Cire under one arm and ignored her cries of protest until they were safe.

"You're crazy!" she yelled, slapping harmlessly at his chest.

Iolaus, his front slick with mud, only looked toward the sea, brow creased in thought.

"It's the only way," Hercules told him.

"No, it's not," Cire said. "We just keep running, that's all."

In the flashes of lightning they could see the green eyes of the Klothon searching for its prey, could sense the strain as it tried to drag itself higher.

"I don't get it," Iolaus said. "Why doesn't it come up?"

Cire put a fist to her chin and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. "The waves," she said through chattering teeth. "I saw it before. They hit it, and they drag it back, too. If it wasn't for the storm, it. . ."

She looked at them both. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Hercules, you can't be thinking that—"

She didn't finish.

One chance, he told his friend. There's only one chance, and if Poseidon's right, we may be okay; if he's wrong, we're going to have dinner with Hades tonight. All you have to do is follow my lead.

Iolaus shoved his hands back through his hair. "You know, all this talk about my funeral was only a joke."

Hercules smiled, winked, and turned to Cire to explain her part.

She balked.

"It's the weight we need," he said earnestly, "and you haven't got it."

Cire remained unconvinced. "If that's supposed to be a compliment, it's a little late, don't you think?"

The Klothon bellowed.

The storm intensified, and they looked back at the city, at the lightning strikes that lifted bright smoke over the rooftops.

At last Cire swallowed and said, "I'm not a hero."

"Someone else told me that today," Hercules said gently. "He was wrong, too."

Iolaus was tired of waiting. He said, "Go," and headed for the cliff.

Where the Klothon waited, watching every step.

Hercules did his best to ignore the rage of the storm, concentrating on the Klothon and its pursuit, its head swaying slowly, jerking only when a wave threatened to unbalance it.

It knows, he thought, and shook the thought off.

"Herc?" Iolaus tried futilely to dry his hands on his vest. "What are the odds?"

"Thinking about the odds will get you killed. Just think about what we have to do."

Cire walked half a hundred yards to their left, her head bowed against the wind and rain, her hands pressed tightly to her thighs.

She didn't look up until the Klothon showed its fangs and roared.

"I hate your plans," Iolaus confessed with a rueful laugh.

Hercules didn't reply.

He watched Cire, willing her not to panic, afraid that even if she didn't, she wouldn't be fast enough to get away.

The Klothon struck at her before she was in range.

She didn't jump, or run away.

Iolaus sighed loudly enough for both of them.

"Watch," Hercules told him. "Watch it, the way it moves."

The Klothon struck at Cire again, but not as a snake would. The head came down in a long rapid arc, as if the creature knew enough to use its weight to give it speed. Swift enough to catch the unwary, almost swift enough to catch even the wary.

The sea's support again, Hercules supposed. If he was right, they had a chance.

Cire stopped and looked over at the men.

Iolaus waved, and Hercules nodded.

This time the Klothon struck at them, too close, and they leaped to avoid the sharp fangs.

They moved closer. Warily. Listening to the sea match the Klothon's roars.

"At least there's the lightning," Iolaus said, bracing himself.

Just then the lightning stopped.

Nothing left but the night. And the storm.

"Nice," said Hercules.

"It's a gift," Iolaus answered gloomily.

It was bad enough being blinded by the night; what was worse, the Klothon had stopped roaring, and all they could hear was the sea hitting the cliff.

Hercules had to remind himself to breathe.

Suddenly a single lightning bolt sliced out of the clouds and struck the water.

In the brief illumination Hercules was able to discern the huge green eyes not ten feet from where he stood.

He yelped and threw himself backward, feeling the push of air as the snout missed him by inches, the nearest fang leaving behind a thin tracery of white.

"I am not happy," Iolaus told him from somewhere in the dark.

Iolaus couldn't get his hands dry.

He knew he'd need all the advantage he could get when he performed his part in this madness, but he couldn't get his hands dry enough.

Not that it would matter much if Hercules missed and he didn't. Or if he missed and Hercules didn't. Or if one of them slipped and was caught by those teeth.

He shuddered.

"Stop it," Hercules said, somewhere to his left.

"What do you mean?"

"Just stop it."

Iolaus scowled. He hated it when Herc did that; it was a reminder that sometimes the guy just wasn't human.

Still, he'd feel a whole lot better if he could just dry his hands.

Another bolt forked in several directions, lingering just long enough for Hercules to drop to his knees without thinking, and for him to see Cire run forward instead of back, the underside of the jaw brushing her spine and knocking her to the ground.

The beast was higher this time, he realized. It had found purchase on the rocks.

The wind stopped. The rain stopped. Nothing left but the sea.

Hercules felt the tension, the gathering of a force as the Klothon prepared to launch its last attack.

Iolaus gripped his hand, squeezed once, hard, and let him go.

"One chance," he said. He swiped the hair from his eyes. "We need just one chance."

"Is that a prayer or a statement of fact?"

"Yes."

"That's what I was afraid of."

The storm's second eruption took them by surprise, beating them to their knees in a fury of rain and wave and wind. Hercules heard Iolaus curse, saw him then as the lightning renewed its assault on the city.

They stood and looked for Cire.

Hercules couldn't see her.

No, he thought; she wouldn't have.

"There," Iolaus said, pointing.

The white of her gown was an eerie glow at the edge of the cliff, her hair as bright as the unnatural lighting. Her arms were up, and he could see her lips moving as she taunted the Klothon, dared it to attack again.

He and Iolaus closed the distance between them, knowing this had to be the moment.

And when it happened, Hercules stopped thinking and simply let his strength take over.

It's all right, Iolaus told himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders, frantically trying to convince himself he was ready for anything; it's going to be all right.

He had long since abandoned the notion of attempting to change Hercules' mind. If there were other arguments, he couldn't think of any; if Cire was ready, then he had to be ready as well.

Still, Venitia and her squeaking were looking awfully good about now.

But when it happened, Venitia was forgotten, and so were all his fears.

This was war; there was nothing left to do but fight.

The wave sprayed over the edge just as the Klothon swung at Cire from her left. She waited until the last moment, to be sure it wouldn't stop, then lunged for the edge, arms outstretched.

The Klothon had jerked as the wave struck him, and in so doing had missed her.

At least Hercules thought it had, but he was already off his feet, reaching desperately for the right-hand horn, grabbing it and nearly losing it as it swung past him, clenching his jaw as he held it, and
pulled,
feeling but not seeing Iolaus do the same.

It happened too slowly, and much too swiftly.

He saw the huge eye, staring at him, hating him.

He felt his grip begin to slip, and only then remembered the rope the guards had left behind.

The head kept its arc, twisting to one side, then the other, bringing them over the edge.

Hanging there.

Hanging.

The eye didn't blink as Hercules strained, drawing on the power that was his father's legacy.

Hanging for what seemed like a lifetime, and much longer.

Until Hercules' strength, and the sudden added weight, brought the monstrous head down.

Hard and fast.

The tallest boulder caught it just below the throat, and there was a moment's resistance before he heard the flesh part and the Klothon begin to scream.

The next thing Hercules knew he was flying. Tumbling toward the beach that boiled with the last wave.

He thought he heard Iolaus yelling, knew he heard the Klothon bellowing in agony, just before something struck his head and everything merged with the storm and night.

Iolaus fell, thought he heard Hercules, knew he heard the Klothon, but the idea of landing on the beach made him twist in midair and watch the wave recede just as he reached it. The water wasn't deep, but it was, thank the gods, deep enough to slow him down when he hit the sand with palms out to brace himself.

A push, another twist, and he was on his hands and knees as the water swirled away, sucked into the base of another wave somewhere out there.

When he could stand he began to run. He didn't bother to look for Hercules; there was something else he had to do first. Before the next wave came in and smashed him against the rocks.

Stumbling, for the first time grateful for the lighting that kept him from colliding with the high boulders, he made his way along the base of the cliff, pushing at every rock until suddenly there weren't any rocks left.

He saw the wave as he fell into the tunnel.

Boy, that sucker's big, was the only thing he could think as he pushed into a run that had him halfway down the dark tunnel before the walls shook, water surged around his knees, and he realized that for some reason, the wave couldn't follow.

Five minutes later he saw the glow.

Five minutes after that he was back outside, grinning broadly and wishing someone was there to see him.

That's when he saw the wave cresting cliff-high over his head.

Big, he thought, and closed his eyes, and waited.

A voice tried to convince Hercules to open his eyes, but he didn't want to. It was nice in here. No monsters, no vengeful goddesses, no storms, no women with squeaky voices. Nice. And until that gentle nag-ging began, quiet.

"Go away," he muttered.

The voice kept on.

"Leave me alone. I think I'm dead, and I think I like it."

Laughter now. Familiar laughter, and against his better judgment, Hercules opened his eyes.

He lay on his back on an expanse of grass and sand. The clouds were gone, the sun flirting with the western horizon. Seagulls and shore birds swarmed over the beach, picking at the debris the waves had left behind. The breeze was slow and warm.

His head hurt.

He groaned and sat up, touching the lump at the back of his skull and hissing.

"Sorry about that."