The Characters in this story have a slight resemblance to those who belong to Renaissance Studios, and after reading this, they will probably want them, so I guess I'd better give them credit.
It was the time of the harvest. One of those days of cool, crisp transition between the muggy heat of summer and the cold of winter; a day resplendent with clear blue skies and the smell of ripe fruits and grains. Even as Hercules and he were on their way to his favorite wine festival, Iolaus seemed to have a strange feeling. Where could doom come from on a day like this?
Of course, it came from a strange man running down the road toward him. If he had a dinar for every one of those strange men, he would be a rich man today. This one looked worse than most, however, that was for sure. His clothes were torn and burned and he was covered with a fine gray ash. Iolaus wondered if he had been in a volcanic eruption.
"You're Hercules, thank Gods I found you." They always asked for Hercules. Iolaus was used to that.
"It's Galadia." Both Herc and Iolaus recognized the town. It was known for its apple festivals, in fact they were thinking of heading here if the wine festival at Dafni wasn't as much fun as it had been last year. "It's gone."
"Gone!" Both men exclaimed at once.
"You mean like Syllabus," Iolaus mentioned the name of the village where his grandmother had lived which had disappeared with a little help from the Gods.
"No it burned. Completely. I may be the only one left. Everyone was getting ready for the festival. The town was packed. There were straw decorations everywhere. It was going to be a great festival this year. Then out of nowhere, this driverless cart, pulled by four white horses, came down the road and into the town. Suddenly, without warning, it burst into flames. Everything burned so quickly. I still can't believe it."
While he talked Herc had sat the man down and given him a wineskin full of water. The man took several large drinks and continued talking. "It's gone. The houses. The people -- maybe a few of them ran. I don't know what happened."
"Was it Zeus or Ares? Did you see lightning or a fireball?" Herc asked.
"No it wasn't like that." The man grabbed the water and took two more huge swallows. "It was just a cart. But it burst into flames."
"If everything is burned, we can come and help you clean the place up. Bury the dead. " Herc continued. "But if someone is attacking festivals, perhaps we should stop at Dafni and warn them. Their wine festival is this week."
Iolaus didn't like the sound of this at all. Festivals usually attracted their fair share of ruffians and loud mouths. It was a rare festival that he and Herc did not end up fighting with some fool who thought it would be manly to pick a fight with strangers. A random act like this was much more frightening.
As the three men walked along the road, they were surprised when a rider on horseback caught them from behind. Hercules recognized him as Tabor, one of his brother Iphicles' guardsmen.
"Hercules. I take it you haven't heard. Iphicles needs you immediately. Corinth is gone."
"Gone." All three men gasped at once. Iolaus was going to add "Like Syllabus" but realized it wasn't funny anymore.
"It's horrible. The town, the castle, everything burned to the ground. The castle walls crumbled under the heat. Thank the Gods your brother was not there. They are going to get him too, but he is a month away. You have to come and help."
Once again Hercules offered his water. Once again he heard an unbelievable story of four horses, a riderless cart and a horrible fire. The two strangers compared stores with incredulity as Herc and Iolaus listened. It seemed as if they both had lived through the same nightmare, at almost the same time, in different places.
"We were going to warn Dafni, if there is anyone in Dafni left to warn." Hercules told the guard. "And regardless of what you say about no fireballs and no lightening, I have to find out if my brother or my father has something to do with this."
"I assure you he doesn't little bro." Hercules turned to see a woman who looked like a dusty, dirty version of his sister Aphrodite. Her blond hair was matted, her dress torn, and two black streaks ran down her cheeks. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her head in his chest. "I'm so glad you are both all right."
His sister didn't want water. She wanted to talk. She told both stories he had heard earlier that day, and would not allow anyone get a word in to let her know that they already knew. By the time she finished, they were all exhausted, and decided it would be best if they all used the rest of the light to secure some food and water to prepare for what they were going to have to face the next day.
Aphrodite would not let go of Herc's arm, clinging to him like a small child's ragdoll. He had never seen her this way before. After all, she was a goddess.
No one really wanted to eat. They all wished they had wine. No one wanted to sleep, afraid of what dreams might bring. So they had to talk.
"I was on Atlantis when it disappeared into the ocean; it was horrible. But it collapsed upon itself from the over-mining of crystals. The people brought it on themselves." Herc stated.
"When Thera blew up, back 1500 years ago, it was a volcano. Natural forces." Herc realized his sister must really be upset. She was talking like a normal adult, not some kind of valley nymph. "That was horrible too. But not like this."
"Here we have two vibrant cities being destroyed by some outside force, and you assure us Aphrodite that it is not the gods." Iolaus had noticed the chance in Herc's sister too.
"I'm sure."
"Why are you so sure?" Herc thought he could tell that his sister was lying about something. She grabbed his arm again, and clung to him. She started to shake. "He'll be really, really mad if I tell you. He didn't want me to tell you." She was starting to cry again.
"Who's mad, Aphrodite. Who doesn't want you to tell us?" Iolaus asked. Herc was pretty sure he knew.
"Ares. He -- he made me -- promise -- not to tell you."
Herc's face grew red with rage. It was low even for his brother. Destroying cities with riderless carts. And Corinth. He had always thought Ares and his brother were friends. "I knew it was Ares. Why has he changed his style?"
"Ares didn't burn the cities." She sobbed. "He didn't want me to tell you -- that one of his temples was burned to the ground. Set fire by a riderless cart pulled by four white horses."
His sister crawled inside his huge arms, and he held her tight. He was not sure what she feared more, what she had told him, or the man whose secret she had just revealed.
Iolaus and the two men who had just been sitting and listening gasped. Whatever, whoever, this was it had even struck the headquarters of the God of War. It sounded like the end of the world. Iolaus and Hercules had been there, too. With Ares when Michael, the guardian of the light, had decided to destroy the world. Somehow this was even more frightening. This was an attack by a formless, nameless entity. The only thing in common was the four horses.
The next step had progressed beyond warning other villages. Hercules believed that his brother, King Iphicles, was very important to whatever they decided to do next. If his brother was really a month away, Aphrodite or Ares would be needed to expedite his return. Not wanting to face Ares knowing what he knew, and should not have known, his best bet was to get Aphrodite into a shape where she could travel. That, however, would require him to unfasten the hands that were clinging around his neck and gave no sign of ever letting go.
"Please, sister, I have to get you some new clothes, and something to wash you up so we can travel." He whispered to her. The whisper was met with sobs.
"You have to let me go." More sobs.
He looked over at his friend Iolaus. "Please Dite, can you just hold on to 'Sweet Cheeks'" his faced cringed when he called his friend his sister's favorite nickname. "Just for a few minutes. I will be back I promise."
Reluctantly, he slipped out from between her clasped hands, and held them while Iolaus slipped inside them. His sister seemed to be asleep standing up and did not seem to realize that the two men had changed places. He hoped Iolaus could get her to lie down, but figured he had better hurry.
A kettle of fresh water warmed in the coals of the fire would wipe the streaks from his sister's face. Clothes were much more difficult to come by. He finally took off his inner shirt, which he hoped would fit his sister like a short dress. It was fortunate Dite was used to not wearing many clothes. She cried the entire time he washed and dressed her, but agreed when he said she had to take him to Iphicles. He instructed Iolaus and the two men to go to Corinth, telling them he would be there as soon as possible, and not being entirely sure what they could do there or when he would arrive. Herc and Dite disappeared in a cloud of pink smoke.
Iolaus was not surprised when the trio encountered Ares slightly after Hercules had left. The God of War had probably been lurking just outside the camp and would be aware of everything that had gone on. Still Iolaus did not want to be the one who told him he knew.
"Where is my little brother?" The God of War asked.
"He's gone with your sister to get his other brother." Iolaus answered.
"Ah family, don't you just love them. Four half siblings all happy and together." Because of his father's dalliances, Hercules' family seemed to go on forever.
"His brother is needed. His city is in ruin. He needs to get back to rule." Iolaus agreed, although he worried that Iphicles would not be kingly enough to handle the situation that he was told existed in Corinth.
"His city?" Ares appeared not to have known about Corinth. "What happened in his city."
Iolaus explained what had happened both in Corinth and in Galadia. Ares seemed totally shocked, yet made no mention of his own problems.
'This is probably the reason these things never get solved. People don't want to talk about them. All the facts are never together in one place.' The three men and the god walked silently toward Corinth.
Iphicles would not come out. When Hercules had told him what happened in Corinth he had screamed and crawled under a big table in his tent. 'So much for my brother acting kingly,' Herc thought, and finally had to knock the table over and pull his brother to his feet.
Aphrodite, who had secured cleaner but not less revealing clothing in the local market, appeared to transport them back to Corinth. Hercules was even more worried about how the actual site of the carnage would affect his brother. But they had to get back immediately.
The gods and goddesses had the most efficient means of travel known in Greece, and the Hercules group would have beaten his companions group by three or four days if Ares had not broken a heel on his boot which made him walk with a decided limp. Rather than risking being seen as a gimp on the road to Corinth, the God of War transported the entire group to an area just outside what once was the city wall.
None of them had ever seen such devastation. Except for debris and smoke there was little remaining of once what was a great city. The seven of them, god and goddess, demi-god and hunter, two strangers and a king, all stood with their mouths agape and tried to find words. The two strangers began to pray, then realized they had no idea to whom to direct their words.
Aphrodite touched the villager's shoulder and calmly said, "I wish I could help you. I wish I could." Ares turned to Hercules and Iphicles and tried to come up with something godlike to handle the situation. But when he tried to move his mouth, only silence came out. In rage he threw a fireball, it went about twenty feet and fizzled out on the dry, burned earth.
"There have to be people here somewhere, don't there, Herc?" Iolaus asked. "Where would they go?"
"Probably the river" the guard and the king said at once. Hercules was glad to see that his brother was recovering some of his thinking powers. While the river came through the city in a thin stream, most of its waters were dammed into a small lake about two kilometers from the city. People could go there to escape the heat of the fire, and to find water undamaged by the carnage.
Everyone was relieved to see the cluster of small fires that ringed the lake. Iphicles was not sure that his subjects would be happy to see him, and was certain they would not want to welcome the God of War.
"I think it would be best if Tabor and I go in alone. I want to check out my reception with my people."
'Acting more Kingly be the minute' Hercules thought.
The people of Corinth had more to worry about than the reception they would give their returning King. They had water, but very little food, no shelter, and a limited amount of weapons. They also had no idea what had happened to them. Most of them walked with their arms at their sides looking straight ahead, or sat by the fires and rocked back and forth. Few noticed that Iphicles had returned.
Disgruntled, Iphicles returned to his brother and the gods, leaving Tabor to survey the situation.
"What are we going to do Hercules?" Iphicles asked.
"You are the king." His brother replied.
"But you are the hero."
"He's the god," Hercules passed the buck.
"Since when did that make a difference." Growled Ares.
"Since I don't know what to do." Hercules and Iphicles answered at the same time.
Iolaus, who had been unable to wait for Iphicles' return had assessed the situation as it now existed. Everyone here was going to have to work together. He had to figure out a way to get the king to lead, Hercules to hero, and Ares to kick butt. In their present situation, this wasn't going to be easy.
"Hey gang, these people need food." If you don't mind, I think I am going to organize a hunting party and see what we can find. It may take a while since most animals would have been pretty scared by the fire. May have to go over the mountains to find game."
"I can do that Iolaus," the man from Galadia said. You stay here and help with the injured.
"I can do that Iolaus," It was Aphrodite. " I haven't done much, but Gabrielle has told me a little about care of wounded mortals. At least I can make them feel better. You need to go down with Tabor and work with the people."
"That is my job," Iphicles said. "The survivors need their king. I will get a group of men to go with you Iolaus and sift through the ruins and bury the dead."
"I can do that," Hercules added. "We're going to need a lot of men for that job. Thanks brother."
"And I" said the god of war, "am going to find the dastardly cowards who did this and whoop their asses."
Iolaus smiled. Something was going to get done that day, because everyone of them was going to be doing what they did best. He thought about the massive undertaking ahead. He probably couldn't hunt as well as the Galadian, comfort as well as Aphrodite, rule as well as Iphicles, dig as well as Hercules, or fight as well as Ares, but he could do something. He could find a forge and start making weapons and he thought -- tools.
"That's it!" Iolaus exclaimed. "We each have to do what we do the best."
"And the wind will do the rest."
All of them looked at Hercules, and mouthed a silent "What?" to themselves.
September 16, 2001
Commander Owen Jansen stood on the bridge of the ship crossing the vastness of the Indian Ocean. His ship on its way into what he knew would be a long and difficult war. For the first time in his life he wished that he had decided to go into another branch of the U.S. armed services. It was going to be a ground war and an air war; his ship was probably going to just be there to pick up the dead and wounded. He certainly did not feel like the warrior he always thought he was, but then the events of the last week had destroyed most of his feelings, except those of hate and numbness.
Why then was he thinking those old "crazy thoughts" that had haunted him since he was a child? Why was he once again missing them? Missing him? All of his life he had had to suppress this idea that there was a hero somewhere with whom he needed to attach himself. That the two of them were bound in some unknown way, that they needed to work together, back-to-back so to speak. For a while he thought it might be latent homosexuality, which would have been the death of his navy career, but he had decided it had nothing to do with desire. For a while he thought he might have just been looking for a substitute for his father who had died when he was a baby, but as he grew to adulthood that reasoning seemed also incomplete. But this week he realized, it was not just him; it was the whole world that needed a hero.
So here he was with his world of weapons and tools getting ready to fight a war. Here, a thousand miles from land, what could cause him to smell sandalwood and evergreen.
The President of the United States could smell it too. He assumed the evergreen came from cleaning products, but had no idea of the source of the sandalwood. It seemed strangely calming. It made him not think about wanting to hide beneath his desk. It made him feel like he really was the leader of the free world; a world that was going to go to war to avenge the events of the last week. It gave him the strength to lead.
EMS specialist Cara Wilson was beginning her third twenty-four hour shift at "Ground Zero". Ever since she and her four co-workers from Easton, Pennsylvania had arrived on Wednesday, they had been working twenty-four hours on then twenty-four hours off. Even then they really never got to sleep. The bright blue sky they had driven through to get to New York was hidden on Wednesday, and on Friday the sky had cried heavy wet tears. It was now Sunday, and in the distance she could hear church bells ringing, but wondered about this act which had been done to innocent people in the name of a god.
She was an unlikely person to be working here. When she first joined the fire department her friend had laughed that she had only done it pose for the "Firefighter's Calendar." Cara Wilson was truly beautiful with long blond hair and flashing eyes. However, today the hair was pulled back, tucked under, and covered with the fine gray ash that filled the air. She was also a nurse, and although all the caring she had done the past three shifts had been for rescue workers, she had not yet given up hope that some people might still be found alive. While she helped unload another truckload of supplies that had come from another far away city, she again smelled it. Not the smell of ash which had filled the air 24/7, not the smell of death which was beginning to rise from the once grand buildings, but a smell oddly out of place in such destruction. It was the smell of sandalwood and evergreen.
Ari Sadam had smelled it too. It seemed even more out of place in the tiny Afghani village he had called home for the last two years, or was it two decades. He honestly couldn't remember. He had been here a long time. He wasn't sure if he even knew what sandalwood and evergreen really smelled like; it was just a thought that had crossed his head when he first smelled the aroma early Wednesday morning.
He had felt strangely comfortable here. He got to do the things he liked to do best: talk about war, train men to fight, plan battles and strategy, the usual warrior stuff. It hadn't even bothered him that the man he worked for called himself "God's Warrior", or that the God he served was not one he knew. He had been secure here for a long, long time. He had begun to think of himself as one of them.
He had even enjoyed the excitement of the preparation on Tuesday; things were going well, as planned. What he hadn't thought about was that in a few hours, strangers on the other side of the world would be getting up, getting dressed, boarding airplanes, going to work, and dying. What he hadn't thought about was the utter glee in the shouts of his fellow soldiers when the victory was announced. He was thinking now.
" WHAT KIND OF WAR GOD PLANNED THIS!" He screamed in a language no one there could understand.
He knew what he had to do. He had kept a low profile the last five days, supposedly working on defense plans using complicated electronic equipment. No one was to bother him. He had been thinking. While "thinking" and "God of War" were not phrases that usually went together -- his mind was playing all sorts of tricks on him again -- why was he thinking THIS?
Jeff Hartman smelled it as he worked his Salvation Army Canteen truck bringing hot coffee and cold sandwiches to the rescue workers. He had never had any ancient memories. He was not a hero. He was just a volunteer who had driven his truck from upstate New York to help as his organization did every time help was needed. But he could smell it too.
One man could not smell it. He was dead. His name would never be known because the name he had used when he boarded the airplane was not his own. It bothered him when the ticket agent had not really looked at him as she checked the driver's license and ticket that he had lifted from a business man he had left sleeping in his car in the airport parking lot. He realized that the act, allowing him to do what he had to do, was also going to cause the death of thousands of innocent people. He had sat uncomfortably in the aisle seat in coach, watched the three men overtake the stewardess, watched the pilots rush back to help her, and he had acted. He knew where the plane was heading, and with the strength of ten men he grabbed the hijackers and threw them aside. Grabbing the controls of the plane, he realized he had no idea how to fly a jetliner, so he did the only thing he could; he pushed the controls forward and flew the plane headfirst into the ground. Upon impact, just before the tanks of jet fuel burst into flames, the scent of sandalwood and evergreen arose from the plane.
Ari continued to smell it, and he knew what he had to do. It would be difficult, as all he had was a small dagger, but he knew where a sword was.
Access to the leader was easy. Ari was a war chief, a mastermind; he walked into the office in what once was a peasant hut without a glance from the guards. They knew their leader had been waiting for this old man to bring his report. The room was small, and a dagger thrown from eight feet, piercing the breastbone was enough to bring the man down. With a quickness he was unaware he had, he grabbed the sword mounted over the desk, his sword which he had bestowed as a sign of admiration, and swinging it with both hands, severed his former leader's head. He looked in amazement as the turbaned head bounced on the dirt floor several times. Had he expected fireworks? As the guards rushed him, he was even more amazed to find that he had dissolved into small golden particles that smelled of evergreen and sandalwood. The wind will do the rest.
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