Brother Ghost

by Amorette

Part One: The Monastery

It's snowing again, wet and heavy, covering the cobblestones of the courtyard. Although I don't look directly out the chapel window, I see enough movement to realize two monks, their robes the red brown color of dried blood, are sweeping the snow away from the paths that lead from building to building. They aren't doing it to make it easier for the residents of the monastery to get from place to place but because their master set them to it, to teach them something, one of the endless lessons the masters teach in this place.

Stop it, I tell myself, tucking my cold hands into the sleeves of my red brown robe. You wanted to come here. You spent six month walking here, walking halfway around the known world, walking away from everything and to nothing, so shut up and learn something. Or nothing. These damn monks make everything riddles about emptiness. I wanted to laugh. I could teach them volumes on the subject.

One of the novices, kneeling on the floor in front of me, sneezes. I'm supposed to whack his bare feet, the soles turned up towards me, whenever any of the novices does anything besides kneel there like a statue. I have the whip, woven from willow branches, across my knees, balanced there. I've felt its lash often enough myself. I pick it up and slap it swiftly across the sneezing novice's feet, not so much because I think he deserves to be punished but because it is expected. The novice expects me to do it. A master, who is probably kneeling in some dark corner, watching me, expects me to do it. Everyone would be disappointed if it didn't do it so I do. Two quick blows, drawing thin pink lines across the bare feet. I see that the novice's shoulders hunched a little in anticipation of the blows but he made no sound. Still, he shouldn't have given any sign so I whack him again, this time two blows across the shoulders. He gets the idea.

A gong reverberates through the silence of the snow-cloaked monastery. We all bend forward in unison, our foreheads touching the stone floor, knocking our foreheads against the floor in the rhythm of the gong as one of the masters chants the prayers. Then we all stand, one perfect motion, as if we were all puppets tied to the same string, bow to the gaudily painted altar, and turn as one to move silently out of the chapel.

One of the masters, one whose tutelage involves poetry and calligraphy, under whose guidance I have never fallen, is standing next to the last pillar before the door. He steps out, silent as a ghost, an instant before I pass and inclines his head towards me. I stop, return the bow, more deeply because I am still a student, not a master, then straighten, puzzled. He turns and I follow, leading me not to the refectory, but into the great library behind the chapel, where the flat scrolls, called books by the monks, line the shelves.

Two other masters are waiting there, kneeling beside the low desks they use. One I recognize. He the master of the bow and one with whom I am quite familiar. We have spent silent hours together, testing each other's skills. He has used his willow wand on me countless times in the years I have been here. Next to him sits an ancient man, one of the very old masters of this place, one of the ones who is said to be nearly a god himself. I'm not impressed. I've known too many gods to be impressed, but I am impressed by how straight he holds himself, even though he looks older than the world itself.

The calligraphy master kneels beside the third desk. I kneel, facing the three men in their golden robes, tucking my feet under my buttocks while keeping my back as rigidly straight as the old master. We sit, the four of us, silent.

Fine. I had a great deal of difficulty with this at first, learning to sit still. I've always had too much energy and from infancy, I squirmed and wiggled, shifted and twisted. It took me many years and lots of whacks from those damn willow whips but now I can sit still with the best of them. Silent. Unmoving as a statue.

I focus my attention on the mandala painted on the wall in front of me. These people dress in plain robes, with no decoration, wear no jewelry, have plain furniture and plain food but when it comes to the walls, this place is a riot of color. They love bright jewel tones, all trimmed with giltwork, in ornate patterns that draw the eye into the mystery. The mandala I'm looking at is blue and red, cobalt and crimson, edged with gold, a twisting, mystical path that leads into the empty places in the soul. I walk that blue and red path, enjoying the cool feel of the blue beneath my feet, the red warming my hands, walking into the mandala until I have walked around the world and back again.

The old master clears his throat.

That is something else I had to learn to repress, my natural instinct to react instantly, to turn and look at a sound or movement. Those instincts had kept me alive and kept me fed, for years. Here, they were considered a distraction. So now, the sound doesn't make my muscles tense. It merely pulls me back into the room.

I look at the old master. He then does something that does startle me. He calls me by name.

Not the name I have used in the years since I entered this place as a novice myself. My name is difficult for these people to pronounce so they gave me a new one. It's based on my appearance because I am foreign to these people. Everyone in the monastery, from the most ancient monk to the youngest novice, has brown eyes. Mine are blue. That's because I came from far, far away.

I've come to appreciate the hundreds of variations of brown eyes among my brothers but I am still the only man here with blue eyes and my hair, were it not shaved, would be blonde. Everyone here has black hair, unless it is grey or white with age. I am a freak to these people, with yellow hair and blue eyes. Often, when novices first see me, they call me a ghost, because of my skin and eye color, and my fair eyebrows and lashes. That's what the monks call me. Brother Ghost. No one has called me by my true name in a long, long time.

"Iolaus," says the old master, pronouncing my name perfectly.

"Master," I reply.

"How long have you been with us, Brother Iolaus?"

"Not long enough."

You never give these people direct answers. It annoys them. That's another thing it took me a long time to learn.

"Have you learned what you came to learn?"

"I have learned I am ignorant."

The master of the bow raises one eyebrow a fraction, the monastery equivalent of a belly laugh.

The old master shakes his head and smiles. "You have learned how to use what we teach for your own ends, not for ours. You have learned what we taught you but have put it to new uses."

"Then I must study harder."

The master of the bow raises both eyebrows, meaning he would be rolling around on the floor, clutching his sides, were we back in my old world.

"No." The old master shakes his head again. "You must do one of two things." He pulls his hand out of his sleeve and makes a small gesture. Someone behind us moves and comes into view. It is another master, the master of open hand, with whom I have also spent a great deal of time. He holds in his hands a robe, one woven of fine wool and dyed warm yellow, the robe of a master. "You must take this robe or you must leave your robes behind."

Another master, the master of bladed weapons, approaches, carrying in his hands garments that I have not seen in since the day I removed them. My leather trousers and boots. The woolen shirt I had to wear because of the cold climate. My vest. My talisman. My sword.

It's time to decide, Iolaus. The rest of your immortal life in this place, trying to lose yourself in these alien teachings, or home.

Didn't I mention that I was immortal? I am. Have been for something more than a century, ever since my former best friend became a god and made me immortal so I could live out my life at his side. Instead, I ended up here, never growing old, even as novices became masters around me. My first master, the one who first called me a ghost, told me it would take me ten times as long to become a master as one who was born in this world. He was wrong. It only took me twice as long.

"If I take the robe," I said, "would you actually allow me to teach novices?"

Now the calligraphy master has his eyebrows raised. I was, as far as these people were concerned, illiterate. I have learned to read just enough of their strange language to get around the monastery but everything else I have learned by having it recited to me. I cannot read all the knowledge held in those flat scrolls.

"Of course we would," says the old master. "You will teach them the secret to your long life and eternal youth."

Oh, ha ha. I raise my eyebrows back at them, although mine, being so fair, aren't nearly as expressive. "I'll be master of immortality, then?"

The master of bladed weapons says, "We've never had one of those before. Brother Ghost will no doubt have many students."

Screamingly hilarious, by monastery standards. And suddenly, I want to laugh. Out loud. As I have not laughed in years and years and years. I want to laugh and sing, twitch and fidget, I want to eat spicy food and take someone to my bed. From the look on the old master's face, he knows that. Of course he does. He wouldn't get the job if he couldn't read minds.

"How soon do you want me to leave?"

The old master bows, low, a bow honoring me and my decision. I bow back, then rise, taking my old clothes from the master of the bladed weapons.

"Pity," he says, "I'd like to learn your secrets but then I suppose I'd have to become a ghost like you."

More humor. A joke about my appearance.

"Yes, and think how grateful your wife would be."

Ha ha, again. He is celibate and a virgin. He did ask me once, before he became a master, what sex was like. I suspect my answer wasn't entirely accurate, since it is a difficult thing to describe. I remember him looking vaguely horrified at the whole thing. He'd been sent here by his parents when he was seven years old, like many of the novices. Adult novices, as I had been, were rare. Adult, immortal Greek novices were unique.

We exchange raised eyebrows, slightly quirked smiles, bows, and I take my clothes to retreat to my cell and decide what I am going to do now.

First part completed April 2002

Part Two: The Homecoming

I had come through Indus and Kashmir on my previous journeys so now I took a different, more northerly route, joining caravans that crossed the mountains called "The Roof of the World," great peaks that put Olympus to shame. No gods lived in these high wastelands, though, where snow covered the ground even in mid-summer and no man could live through the winter, although it was said there were strange, monstrous creatures that could. If there were, I saw nothing of them.

I crossed the high plains of Kush, where there were no trees because the air was too thin but where nomads and their herds survived, wandering the top of the world behind their goats, spending the night in close, round tents, made not of woven fabric but pressed felt, that reeked of rancid butter and smoke from burning dung . The stink was taken quickly away when I stepped outside the tents, for the wind blew here constantly and the stars were so close at night, I could almost reach up and touch them.

I walked through the ancient cities of mud and stone, my sword ever at ready, for men were like as kill you as look at you in these places. These people were said to be the fiercest fighters on earth and the few times I had to draw my weapon, I found the reputation well earned. I kept my face mostly concealed and my hair, as it grew out, under a turban, for I was still hauntingly different in these places. I put up with lice and fleas until we reached Persia, where I could take a decent bath and soak myself in sulphur until I was clean and insect free.

The caravan that crossed Persia had less need of my skills as a warrior and more as a hunter, for it was a large train, with three hundred camels carrying silks and spices, gold and emeralds, guarded by a private army. We moved slowly, no more than ten miles a day, and camped in tents made of brightly dyed fabric. I gave up my century of celibacy in one of those tents, sharing my bed with a fierce desert warrior who was fascinated by my pale hair and wouldn't let me cut it so it grew long enough I had to tie it back in a short braid at the nape of my neck.

When we were a day away from the Thracian border, I shaved the beard I had grown on my chin and along the fringe of my jaw, cut my hair, thinking, as I did so, that I had spent as much of my life with my head shaved as with my blonde curls. I gave away the long coat and turban I had worn across the desert, along with the woolen shirts and trousers that had kept me warm through the mountains. Wearing only my old vest, trousers and boots, my sword and carry sack over my shoulder, I faced my past and my future, all at once.

There was a temple just across the border between Persia and Greece. When I had left, it had been dedicated to Hermes. Now I could see the two shrines on the porch and, from where I stood on a slight rise, read the names inscribed on those shrines.

My bed partner came to stand beside me, sliding her hand around my waist as she nibbled on my ear.

"All this lovely bare skin," she whispered. "Why haven't you dressed like this before?"

How could I explain to her that slipping on this vest meant so much to me? That it was more than a choice of clothes but a precarious step into another life? I just shrugged and gave her no answer. When there was so little response to her caresses, she stepped back, hand on her hip, eyeing me suspiciously.

"What's wrong, Greek?" She never called me by my name because, in truth, I had never told it to her. I was just "hunter" or "greek" to the members of this caravan. "Bring back bad memories?"

I shrugged. "Not really. It's just. . .changed."

"You said you'd been away a long time. Change is to be expected." She studied me closely, leaning in to brush a kiss across my freshly shaven cheek. "Afraid you won't be welcome?"

"Hardly." I took a deep breath. "There isn't anyone left here who would know me to welcome me."

"So, why go back?"

I smiled. "Sometimes, you have to go backwards in order to move forward."

She snorted and shook her head. "You're full of mysteries, Greek. Is it true, what they say, that you studied with masters in Chin and can walk on the clouds if you want to?"

That made me laugh. I was odd enough to be the subject of conversation among bored travelers no matter who they were and the story of how I had joined a passing band of merchants at the foot of a sacred mountain had been passed along with me.

"If I could walk on the clouds, my dear, then why would I have crossed this miserable country on foot?"

She squinted up at the clear, blue sky. "No clouds, of course."

The master of our caravan approached, frowning as he recognized me despite my change in appearance. "You are a strange one," he said, holding out a pouch that contained my wages. "but if you ever want to make the trip back, I'd welcome you."

"I'll remember that, Urubus."

He gave me a nod and walked on to talk with others of his employ who would be wanting paid.

"Take care, Greek." my companion said in parting and turned to walk away. While we had shared our bed for these weeks, we had shared nothing else. I could bid her farewell with no tug at my heart.

Another stage in my education, I told myself, speaking in Chin even in my head. And what have you learned, I asked. That Chin is still a long way from Greece, I answered, and started walking towards the temple.

The main temple was still the property of Hermes, whose statue stood at the apex of the roof, but the two shrines on the side were covered under a common porch. The shrines were nearly identical: two low altars, a plinth with a bust, a pile of lead tablets and a stylus for writing petitions and a large clay jug for receiving them. On my left, as I faced the temple, the bust was of Hercules. It wasn't a very good likeness, In fact, it looked a good deal more like Iphicles than Hercules, the hair curling around the shoulders. On my right, the shrine was dedicated to Iolaus, companion to Hercules. I read the inscription beneath the bust.

"Iolaus, Friend of the Traveler, Protector of the Innocent, Paragon of Loyalty."

Well, a little overblown but nice. The likeness wasn't bad, even if the expression on the stone face made it look as if I had eaten something that didn't agree with me.

Coming back to Greece was a mistake. I should have skirted around north or south, and gone on someplace else. I hadn't been to Egypt or Africa in years. I wonder if the pyramids had changed in the last century? Probably not. I didn't really want to go north, it was too cold, but I had heard about the lands of the Russ and they sounded interesting. Shouldering my pack, I turned away from the temple. As I did, I sensed the presence of a god.

Brace yourself, Iolaus, I told myself firmly, in Greek this time, and turned around.

Ares. His hair was cut very short and he wore only a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee instead of the extravagant beard or sideburns I recalled. His tunic was a little different, although I couldn't say how exactly, but the sword on his hip and the sneer on his lips looked exactly the way they had when I left.

"HA!" said the God of War. "I win the bet."

I sighed. There wasn't anyone close by but I still didn't care to be seen talking to thin air so I walked around to the side of the temple. Ares actually followed on foot, making a quick face at his half-brother's statue.

"Looks like Iphicles," he said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It does. What bet?"

"When you left, Hermes said you'd never come back." Ares gave me a quick grin. "I knew you better. You may have been a thief for a short time but you were a warrior most of your life. I said you'd be back someday, even if it took you a century. And here you are!" He spread his hands. "Back again barely 107 years after you left."

I sat down on a bench and studied the crowds moving around the temple. There was someone on the portico, writing on tablet in front of my shrine. I looked away, towards a large and apparently prosperous tavern across the road.

"I'm just passing through, Ares. I won't be staying long. A night, no more."

"He' s in Norseland."

"What?"

Ares laughed, shaking his head. That short hair of his made the gesture much less effective than it had been long ago. "Hercules, of course. Zeus sent him off on some boring diplomatic mission. Since he's friends with the Norse gods. . .well, some of them. . .he got the job. And he is diplomatic, unlike the rest of us."

I thought about denying that I was interested in where my erstwhile friend was but I knew Ares wouldn't believe me. He was right. I did care where Hercules was. I wanted very much to see him at the same time as I wanted to avoid him. I guess the Fates were stepping in.

"He's well, then."

"He's a god, you idiot. Of course he's well."

I glared at Ares, who just laughed. "I know that. I meant, he's doing all right as a god."

"He's doing fine, not that he 's the god of much of anything."

"What about his children?"

"They turned out more like him than my sister. They are sort of demigodly and wander around Greece during the hero thing." Ares made another face. "Just like their old man."

"Oh." I had always had trouble with the notion of Hercules marrying Hebe, who was, after all, Ares' full sister but I guess they were happy. I could see the appeal. She was gorgeous and seemed to like Hercules as much as Ares loathed him. "Well." I stood up. "I'd best be going."

"What?" I could hear the smirk in his voice. "No message for Hercules?"

"I said everything I had to say a hundred years ago. He's a god. He remembers."

Ares' laughter was fading in my ears as I approached the tavern. I could smell the garlic and olive oil. I took a deep breath and smiled. The food in Chin was interesting, and with all those vegetables, probably terribly healthy, but I had missed boar stew. Although, from the smell of it, the stew today was mutton. Still, they weren't much for cheese in the east and I was starving for a good piece of sharp, rich cheese.

Inside, the tavern wasn't crowded. There was a large group around one table in the corner, who appeared to have a map spread out on the table in front of them, and a few scattered groups of two or three people, lingering over their afternoon meal. I could see into the kitchen beyond, where two youths were bent over a tub of dishes. The tavern keeper was putting a stack of plates away behind the bar as I approached.

"Greetings," he said cheerfully, and gave me a broad smile. I gave him one in return and asked if there was stew left. He replied in the affirmative and I ordered a bowl, with bread, cheese and beer to accompany it.

"Come in with a caravan, did you?" he asked as he set the food in front of me.

I took a moment to inhale the scent of familiar food before replying. "Yeah, from Persia. I'm looking to hook up with another train."

The tavern keeper raised a bushy eyebrow. "Not from here, then? You don't sound foreign."

"I'm Greek," I replied, "From Thebes. I just don't live in Greece any more. So, know of anyone who needs a guard along the route? I'm a decent hunter, as well."

The tavern keeper raised his head and called out, "Mentes? Still need help?"

"Aye." The man the tavern keeper addressed as Mentes left the group by the table and came over, walking slowly, evaluating me as he approached. Over two hundred years of experience behind my sword arm and everybody still looked at me as if they thought I couldn't hurt a fly. I had almost forgotten, during those years in the east, that I was of somewhat less than impressive stature, by Greek standards. In the monastery, I'd been of average height.

I took the time to evaluate Mentes. Not tall, only a few finger-breadths taller than me, but broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with brown hair going grey and a full beard. He was decently dressed and the sword he carried looked well-used. His deepset eyes were rimmed with lines.

"Mentes," he said, extending his hand. I took it in a warrior's grasp.

"Iolaus," I replied. Might as well use my name. If I were traveling with a bunch of my countrymen, calling me "Greek" would just sound stupid.

Mentes quirked an eyebrow. "Well, that's a good sign. Named after him, are you? You have the look."

"No. I'm named after some kinsman of my mother's." Which was true. I couldn't be named after myself, could I.

"Still, I'll take it as a good sign." He had released my hand after giving it a good squeeze, evaluating my grip. "Yellow hair and blue eyes, too."

I was pleased he said nothing about my height. "Can't help that," I said, trying to sound as if I found the conversation amusing, even though I didn't. Maybe I should have called myself 'Brother Ghost.' I repressed a snicker at the very idea.

Mentes sat on the stool next to me, still looking me over. "So, any references?"

"I just came in with Urubus from Persia. You can ask him."

"Urubus the one-eyed?"

"No, Urubus the two-eyed. I never heard him called anything but Urubus."

Mentes grinned. "And you won't. Man doesn't care for nicknames."

Which explains why he looked askance at me for not giving a proper name. Oh,well. Water under the bridge.

"We're going north," said Mentes, gesturing towards the group at the table, who were all looking over at us. "To Varna. I've got some cargo but I've been hired mostly to take some people. They have kin there." He leaned in closely. "Ever been in that part of the world?"

"Yes." Yes, I fought those bloodsucking monsters along side Hercules and nearly got turned into one myself, not long after I came back from the dead the last time. "It's been some years ago but I know the route."

"They say the wolves are thick along the road."

"They are. They say the strygoi aren't much of a problem any more."

Mentes eyes went wide. "Gods above, no! Not for ages, lad. Not for ages." He gave me a wink. "Never really believed in them myself. Sort of like mermaids."

I let the remark pass and smiled. By the time I finished my mutton stew--which was very good, as was the rest of the meal--I was employed by Mentes. We would leave at first light. He was a man who made his living traveling the roadways, hauling cargo and sometimes passengers, and normally had his own men but there were rumors of trouble in the north. He wanted a few extra hands. I took a bed in the tavern, taking advantage of having some money in my purse. Not much, just a bench in a dormitory above the common room, but out of the weather.

Maybe it was the good Greek food I ate but I slept easily, not tossing and turning as I had the last few nights, and woke at the sound of a knock at the door and a voice saying, "Mentes says to meet him in front of the shrine in half an hour."

I was a bit late, just in case Mentes wanted to make an offering. He must have because he was walking away from the temple when I arrived. He said nothing. I wasn't late enough to be worrisome. The wagons were loaded, ten of them hauled by oxen teams, and there were half a dozen horses for the outriders. Since the wagons were well loaded, I knew we'd be moving slowly so I chose to walk.

As we started, Mentes introduced me to everyone. I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming, "Yes, my name is Iolaus. Get over it." Still, everyone seemed so pleased to have someone along with that name that I couldn't be truly angry. The last person I met sounded familiar. I realized, as we talked, that it had been her voice that called to me through the door this morning.

"This is my daughter, Kore," said Mentes, indicating the lead outrider. She leaned down and shook my hand firmly. Like her father, she had dark hair and dark, deepset eyes, but she was built along more graceful lines.

"I knew a Kora once," I said, conversationally. "A long time ago."

"Well, I've never known an Iolaus. Guess there's a first time for everything. Fall back and keep an eye out for anyone following us."

And nice to meet you, too. Oh, well. She was right. Thieves often followed prosperous caravans out of town and robbed them as soon as they were far enough away. No one was following us, though. I walked off to one side of the caravan, to avoid stepping in anything, and, after only a day, left Greece again.

Part Three: The Way North

The next few days were pleasant. The weather held, the road was decent, as were the company and the food. It was nice to be among Greeks again, to speak my own language, to eat the food of my youth, and to be addressed by my own name. After the first day or so, everyone seemed to forget the association with the "other" Iolaus, except when Mentes remarked, on the morning of the seventh day, that I must be a good luck charm because we were making such good time.

I should have made a sign against curses right then and there.

During the day, we rode or walked, exchanging pleasantries. I did learn that there were some border troubles--something Ares had neglected to mention--and our passengers wished to return home in case the troubles turned into something serious. No one in the train cared but none of them were soldiers or politicians and so cared little about war. I hunted and fished, along with a few others, and generally relaxed.

At night, we gathered around the fires and talked and sang. We saw wolves occasionally, slipping silently through the trees along the road, but I had never heard of a wolf attacking a man, unless driven to starvation, and based on the game I had found, that wasn't a problem. This road wasn't popular with bandits. It was too far from the comfort of a town and why rob some traveler if you had no place to spend your ill-gotten gains?

I found myself telling stories about myself and Hercules, although I had to make a careful effort to make them sound as if I were telling them about someone else. I slipped a few times, but blamed it on the wine and everyone laughed. Mentes had talked to Urubus and learned I had come back from Chin, so I told stories about that place as well. I was enjoying myself, which should have been as clear a sign to me as Mentes commenting on my luck. After all these years, I should have learned never to trust the Fates. Hercules always thought they liked me, because they seem willing to tie knots in my life thread, but I've always been suspicious they just liked to see me suffer.

We were laughing, all of us, as Mentes told a story about a runaway wagon and a compost pit. I turned to say to Hercules, "Remember the time. . ." and found myself looking at Kore. She gave me an encouraging smile. I just mumbled an excuse and left the fire.

I found a rock some distance from the firepit. The night was warm but I still had on a cloak someone had lent me. At this altitude, it would quickly grow cool. There were no clouds and the stars looked almost as close as they did when crossing the mountains in Chin. I could almost hear the voice of one of my masters saying, Who are you? and my helpless answer. I don't know. I knew who I was but I had no idea who I am.

I heard someone approaching but didn't turn. I was sure it was one of our company,

"Iolaus?"

It was Kore.

"Yeah."

"Would you rather I went back?"

I sighed. "No. I could use the company."

She came and sat next to me on the rock, pulling her own cloak close. She gave me a sideways look, then lifted her head to study the stars.

"You lost someone, didn't you?"

"How could you tell?" I could hear the underlying bitterness in my voice.

She sighed. "You were turning to say something to her. Or him?" She shrugged. "I do the same thing sometimes. My husband has been dead for more than two years and I still turn to him, expecting him to be there. We were together for ten years and I guess the habit takes as long to break as it did to form."

"Then I'm in trouble. My friend and I knew each other since we were children."

"He died, didn't he? Your friend?"

I glanced over at her. "How do you know he just didn't settle down somewhere?"

"The look in your eyes."

Now I sighed. I was twisting the edge of the cloak in my fingers and I stopped, annoyed. "Yeah. He died. We had traveled together for so long. . ." I sniffled as the tears welled up in my eyes. Kore slid her hand over one of mine and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"He was Hercules to your Iolaus."

"Yeah." I tried to laugh but the sound came out choked. "He was my Hercules. And after he died. . .we went all over Greece and there was nowhere I could go that didn't remind me of him." I didn't add, and since he was now a god, there was nowhere in Greece that was hidden from him. "So I left Greece."

"And walked to the end of the world."

"Not quite." I sniffed again and took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "I only got halfway across Chin and there is supposed to be an island off the coast, in the far ocean. . ."

"I wonder if there is another island past that."

"Someone told me. . ." My first master, in fact, but I didn't explain that. "Someone told me if I kept going, I'd end up where I started. I was never sure if he meant that figuratively or literally."

"I don't think there is any place far enough away that lets you leave yourself behind." After she said that, Kore laughed weakly. "I don't think I should make profound statements. They don't come out right."

I smiled at her. "But you're right. Tell me about your husband. Did you have any children?"

"His name was Telegonos. We knew each other since we were young, too. We were never blessed with children but since his father was a traveling merchant like my father, I counted myself lucky that I didn't get left behind the way my mother did." Her fingers were laced with mine now and we had turned to face each other. I gave her another encouraging smile. It's always nice to be able to talk about someone you missed. "He didn't look like you but he was like you in that he was gregarious and quick to smile. He had a wonderful laugh." She sighed. "He was thrown from a horse two years ago this past spring."

"I'm sorry." I truly was. Kore was nice. She deserved to have someone to love.

We talked a little more. She told me about Telegonos. I learned that he collected bird's nests and could recognize a bird by its call and the way it flew, even if he couldn't see its markings. He liked music and bawdy songs and didn't like garlic as much as she did, which lead to the occasional argument.

I told her about Hercules. I avoided using his name and made sure that nothing I said gave away that I was talking about a god but told her funny little things, like the way his nostrils flared when he got mad and how much fun it was to goad him into getting just a little mad.

"KORE?" It was Mentes, calling from the camp.

She turned and called back, "Yes, Papa."

"Set up the watch, would you?"

We sighed and shook our heads. Both of us needed to wipe our eyes and blow our noses, then we walked back to camp together. I volunteered to take the first watch. Kore gave me a smile and retired to her tent. I wondered, vaguely, if she would slip back out of the tent later and decided that, although I wanted her, she would be better off if she stayed with her father. After all, what could I offer her besides a warm body for the night? She needed someone to love, someone to build a future with, and that could never be me.

The wind had started to blow by the time my watch ended and by the time I woke in the morning, the weather had definitely turned for the worse. There were two overland routes to Varna. The shorter ran close to the sea, but was dangerous in foul weather. I had been surprised when Mentes said we were taking the inland route, since I hardly expected bad weather this early but he turned out to be right. By late afternoon, the wind was blowing at near gale force, whipping a cold rain before it.

We made little progress that day. The road was soon slick and the oxen kept trying to turn away from the wind. Mentes called us to a halt in early afternoon. We pulled the wagons together and staked the oxen and horses on the side away from the wind. Combining the fabric from several tents and weaving together branches from the evergreens that lined the road, I made a large shelter for those of us who didn't have beds in the wagon. The layers made it water resistant and, in this weather, sharing body heat was a matter of necessity.

We ate, talked a little, and then most of us tried to sleep. Someone was keeping watch but it wasn't me. I was wrapped tight in my borrowed cloak and blanket, curled up into a ball, wishing I were with Hercules. Cold didn't bother him much and he was always willing to be the one away from the fire. His big body was an excellent wind break and he was happy to wrap his arms around me to keep me warm. Plus, unlike the man who was sleeping next to me now, Hercules didn't snore. Or smell like wet dog hair.

I dreamed about Hercules, about the two of us fighting Echidna. My sword split her body in half and the halves turned into Ares and Discord. We fought until Ares threw a ball of fire at Discord. As she burst into flame, I found myself in front of that damned funeral pyre, watching the mortal remains of my best friend and life's companion burn away, leaving behind only the god. I sat up with a gasp. The man next to me opened one eye, frowned, and rolled over.

I crawled over to the edge of our shelter. The sun was down and the wind, while still brisk, was no longer brutal. The rain had stopped and I could see the moon behind the breaking clouds. Mentes was sitting by the fire, adding a some wood and talking, softly, to his daughter. I only nodded at them as I headed for the tree line. I'm sure they knew where I was going.

After I tended to nature's call, I didn't return to the camp. Something was setting my teeth on edge. It wasn't the wolves. They were sensibly bedded down for the night, since the air was still cold and wet. I wasn't sure what it was but I was glad I had my sword with me. I had picked it up as I left, more out of habit than anything else, and still had it in hand.

Was it the dream? I shook my head, dreading that memory.

Hercules had been poisoned. Not, as it turned out, by the plot of any of the gods but by a jealous man who thought Hercules lusted after his wife. The man had been a priest of Apollo and had learned of a poison made from the blood of centaurs. It had been a few days after my fiftieth birthday. We were in Corinth, celebrating with Jason, Iphicles and Iphicles' family. Jason, whose hair was more grey than black by then, had given me a bottle of hair dye as a joke. Fool that I was, I had been insulted and was still sulking when Hercules suggested I go with him on a royal hunt.

I had refused. Hercules had laughed, slapped me on the back, and said something about I was too fine a hunter to want to go out with all the trappings of the court. Truth was, I was feeling my years a bit that morning and had indulged too much in the fine Corinthian wine. I bid him farewell, then went back to bed.

A few hours later, the court returned, not with stag and boar but with Hercules, an arrow in his back, dying. The murdered confessed and was summarily executed but that didn't help. Iphicles held one hand and I held the other and Hercules died, in mortal agony.

Zeus had appeared then, only after Hercules was dead, and commanded us to put his son on a funeral pyre, the largest ever built. I wanted to take Hercules back to lie beside Deianara but was ignored. The pyre was built, a huge thing the size of a house, and Hercules' body, wrapped in linen and gold cord, was laid on top. Jason, Iphicles, Iphicles' son who was my namesake and I lit the pyre. They moved back as the flames burst forth but I stayed close enough that my clothes were singed. I was seriously considering throwing myself into the conflagration when a bolt of lightning struck the pyre.

When I came to, a few hours later, Hercules was there. He explained. What was mortal was gone. He was a god and there was no going back. And then. . .

Something moved in the wood behind me. Something that made more noise than an animal should have. I crouched down, pulling the hood of my cloak over my damned pale hair. There were at least a dozen men moving through the wood. Not bandits, either. They were too organized and, from the glimpse I had of two who passed close to me, too well dressed, in leather armor with matching sigils. Soldiers. I should have paid attention to the discussion about the border dispute since I was about to be in the middle of it.

Part Four: The Unwilling Truth

I half slid down the muddy hillside, desperate to warn Mentes before the soldiers arrived. Fortunately, they were taking care to get into position. I moved around behind the wagons, so our would-be attackers wouldn't see me.

I was in luck. Kore was talking to one of the passengers in the wagon, the matriarch of the family we were taking back to Varna. I sprinted up to her and hissed, "We're about to be under attack. A dozen soldiers, well armed." I gestured towards the hillside above us.

Kore's response was to whistle. It must have been a signal because her father was up and giving orders in a heartbeat.

The fight didn't last long. I suspect the raiders--whoever they were--weren't expecting such a well organized defense. Towards the end, we were driving them back and Mentes' told me to go around and make sure there were no stragglers. I was doing just that when I saw one, a single man with long bow, taking aim at the camp. Glancing down, I saw Kore was standing near a wagon, short sword in hand.

Hercules could catch an arrow in flight. I'd seen him catch several arrows, in fact. But I wasn't the son of Zeus. There was no way I could grab that arrow out of midair. I only had one possible means of saving Kore's life. All I had time for was the thought, Iolaus, you're an idiot, and then I felt the arrow enter my body with such force that I was thrown backwards, slipping helplessly down the slope.

Pain, like love, is an inadequate word. Even agony doesn't quite cover what I felt. The arrow was like a path of flame boring through my body. I couldn't breathe for the pain. I couldn't move. Couldn't think. All I could do was lie in the mud, curled up as tightly as a frightened hedgehog, and wait for the worst of it to subside.

When I could finally draw panting, shallow breaths, I managed to get on to my knees and determine just how badly I was injured. I could move, so the arrow hadn't severed my spine. The feathers were protruding under my rib cage, on the right side of my body, angled down and in. Carefully, I slid one hand around to my lower back, judging where the arrow must have come out. Unfortunately, only the very tip had broken through, next to my backbone, which meant pulling it out was going to be very difficult.

"Iolaus."

I could barely raise my head. Kore was standing above me, my cloak in one hand, a small lantern in the other. I vaguely remembered my cloak pulling free as I rolled down the hill.

She slid down, dropping to her knees beside me, holding up the lantern. Her eyes were wide and I knew what she was thinking. The arrow had gone through my lung and liver at the very least. I was a dead man who just hadn't fallen over yet.

"Kore." I managed to gasp her name.

She looked at me, her eyes bright with tears. "Oh, Iolaus." She sobbed my name as she said it. "I saw what you did! What were you thinking?"

Actually, I wasn't thinking. I was just doing, which is how I go through life.

"We have to get you back to camp," she said, setting the lantern down so she could try to cover me with my cloak. "I'll get help and. . ."

"Kore." I grabbed her wrist and held it tight, noticing that my hand, which had been wrapped around the shaft of the arrow, was covered in blood. "Wait."

"I know it looks bad," she babbled, trying to comfort me, "but. . ."

"Shut up." I winced. That hurt, talking that loud, but I had no choice. "Listen. There is a knife in the back of my belt. . ."

"Oh, Iolaus." She was crying in earnest now.

"Kore. Please. Help me."

Her face was a mask of pity but she nodded. I assume she figured I'd be dead in a few minutes anyway so pretending to help would make me feel better.

"Take out the knife," I gasped, keeping hold of her wrist. I wasn't sure why but that contact made me feel better. "You need to. . .cut along the head. . .and then. . ."

She shook her head. "Iolaus, it won't help. I know what you're thinking but. . ." She couldn't talk as she started sobbing.

"Kore." I gave a hard tug on her arm, enough that she stopped crying and looked surprised. I should be dead and here I was, strong enough, in spite of the blood mixing with the mud beneath us, to keep hold of her. "Do as I say!"

Lips white, she nodded.

"Cut along the head." I had to stop and whimper in pain for a moment. Drawing breath was like sucking in fire. "I'll push it through and. . .you pull it. . .out."

"Iolaus. . ."

I tugged her wrist again and sat up, giving her a stern look, making her realize that I wasn't dying, wasn't going into shock or bleeding to death.

"My knife," I commanded, and let go of her wrist.

She found it with a minimum of fumbling and pulled it free of its sheath. Then she ran her fingers along my back, stifling a cry when she touched the point of the arrow. I had to stifle a cry as well but wasn't quite as successful.

It took considerable effort but I shrugged out of my vest, then I snapped the feathers free of the shaft and let them fall. Resting the palm of my hand on the broken end of the arrow, I gasped, "Cut. I'll push. You pull."

I thought she might continue to argue but she didn't. I felt her fingers, gently tracing the path she would have to cut. Get on with it, I thought. I can't start healing until this damn piece of wood is out of me.

The knife was sharp and the incision was little more than an annoying sting, compared to what else I was feeling. And it was going to get worse.

I pushed, gasping at the burn and twist inside me. To my relief, Kore didn't hesitate. I felt her grab the head of the arrow as it came free of my flesh, pulling it as straight out as she could manage, then tossing it away.

For the next few moments, I wasn't aware of much of anything besides that line of pain that cut me in half and the pumping of blood, hot down my back and belly. Separate yourself from the pain, I commanded myself in the language of Chin. You are not your body. It is only the shell that houses you and you can escape from it if you choose. I repeated the mantra I had learned so long ago until the agony receded.

As I got the pain under control, I realized I could hear Kore's voice, muttering prayers, as she wrapped something around me. I came back to awareness to see that she had cut the hem off of her hip length tunic so that it was now only waist length. It must be that fabric she was tying around me as a bandage. I wanted to laugh. A few twists of linen wouldn't be enough to staunch the blood I had lost. It would take yards of bandage and packing to stop the bleeding. Or rather, it would, if I were still mortal. For that matter, if I were still mortal, I'd be dead.

Kore was praying to Apollo, Ares and Hercules. I wanted to tell her to stop. Ares and Apollo weren't likely to help and I would rather not bring myself to Hercules' attention just at the moment.

"Kore."

I managed to raise my head and meet her eyes. They were wide with terror and, I saw, awe. She knew who I was now. In that instant, I stopped being a man she might sit and talk to and became a distant, mystical creature. Damn.

"Water?" I knew there was a stream at the bottom of the slope. We must be near it.

She nodded, unable to speak, then turned around as if looking for water right where we were. Great. She was the one in shock. Repressing the urge to sigh, I managed to lurch to my feet. Kore had wrapped my vest and cloak around me and I clutched them close as I staggered down to the stream.

"You're hurt," she finally said, sounding confused.

I dropped to my knees next to the stream. I washed the worst of my blood off my hands, then cupped them so I could take a drink. Kore knelt next to me, her arms around my shoulders. I realized I was shaking and she was probably trying to keep me from pitching face first into the water.

"Yeah," I finally answered her, my teeth chattering. Shock wouldn't kill me but it could still make me miserable. "I can be hurt."

"And freeze," she said, suddenly sounding like herself. "Are you all right? I mean, if I were to build a fire. . ."

"I'd appreciate it."

While Kore collected the driest stuff she could find, I sipped some more water. I didn't want to add to my problems by chilling myself senseless but I needed fluids to replace the blood I lost. I can't die but it hurts like Tartarus to have your veins half empty. As long as I was at it, I slipped my vest off and gave it a quick rinse. Didn't want the bloodstains to set.

"I don't suppose," she said behind me, "You can start a fire with some sort of godly powers?"

I laughed weakly. "No, sorry. No powers." Just immortality against my wishes but I wasn't going into that.

I kept sipping water and washing my vest, listening to Kore strike her flint and swear, eloquently. She went through most of the Pantheon before the fire caught. Once she had it going, she came and helped me walk over and lie down next to it. Well, collapse in front of it would be a more accurate description. She laid my vest over a bush and wrapped both my cloak and hers tightly around me. I would have protested but frankly, I didn't have the energy.

"You're him, aren't you?" She was staring at me, as if she expected me my appearance to change now that she knew the truth. "The Iolaus."

"Yeah."

"Then. . .you came in answer to my prayers."

"No." I was having trouble concentrating, especially on a conversation I didn't want to have. "I can't hear prayers. I came along because I needed a job."

"But. . ."

I raised myself on an elbow, wincing at the pain. "Listen. I'm the same person I was this morning. There is nothing special about me. Nothing. I can't be easily killed. That's it. No powers. Can't answer prayers. I'm just a guy named Iolaus who should have died a century ago and didn't."

The speech was more than I could manage. I doubled over, coughing, bringing up blood from my damaged lung. The world took an abrupt spin and the ground reached up and smacked me in the face.

The funeral pyre was huge. You could build half a dozen houses with the wood being piled up in the main courtyard. Iphicles was going to make sure Hercules got a grand send off. He ordered oil poured over the wood so it would burn hotter. I tried to argue, tried to convince everyone to just let me take Hercules home and bury him with his family but I lost. Hercules' father's orders took precedence over the wishes of Hercules' long dead mortal relatives. As the wood caught, I felt Jason tug at my sleeve, trying to pull me away from the flames. I think he knew what was running through my mind at that moment.

I hadn't been to Indus then, so I didn't know about the custom of a widow being burned alive with her husband. I guess some of the Norsemen do it, too. As I stood there, feeling my face burn, I wanted to throw myself into that pyre. Squinting against the waves of heat, I had looked up at the wrapped body and saw that the linen was burning away. I could see one of those familiar gauntlets. Was Hercules beckoning to me to join him?

"Iolaus?"

Wait. That wasn't Hercules' voice. It was a woman's.

"Iolaus?"

I pried my eyes open. Kore was crouching next to me. The crackle of wood burning came from her fire, not the funeral pyre.

"What?" My voice was a hoarse croak.

"I'm going back to camp. My father will be worried. I'll bring him back and we'll carry you. . ."

"No." It hurt but I sat up. "Don't."

"But. . ."

"Please." I swallowed against my dry throat and she handed me a cup she had folded out of leaves. I drank the water gratefully. As I handed her makeshift cup back, she flinched away from my touch. Damn. "Please, Kore. Just say I'm standing guard out here. I don't want anyone else to know."

She nodded. No argument. Double damn. She was doing what I said without argument because I was the immortal Iolaus, companion to a god. Oh, well. At that point, I no longer cared. I laid back down, hissing at a stab of pain in my gut. I lay there, trying to fall back asleep, because I heal faster when I 'm asleep, but not wanting to go back to that dream. Only a few minutes passed and I heard someone coming back.

"Iolaus?"

I opened my eyes. It was just Kore, a couple of blankets in her hands.

"Here." She spread one out and helped me move over onto it, then spread a second over me. "I told father I'd help you keep watch."

"Thank you." I wanted to say more but all I managed was to squeeze her hand and fall asleep again.

If I had dreams, I don't remember them. When I'm injured, I often sleep very soundly. Dead to the world, you might say. But only while I'm asleep. The next morning, I woke up, vaguely aware of a warmth at my back. I almost said his name before I remembered. I pulled carefully away from Kore, who was curled up beside me.

I still hurt. The scar under my rib cage was red, swollen and tender to the touch. I could feel the pull inside me as I stood up. I healed fast, the way Hercules had back when he was half mortal, but that doesn't mean I recover from having an arrow run through my vitals instantly.

"Iolaus?"

I heard her call me, sounding. . .nervous? Did she think I had vanished off to Olympus or something? I laced up my pants as I called back.

"I'm taking a piss." There. Gods don't say things like that. Even Ares wasn't that crude. And, even after all these years, I don't actually know if gods do have ordinary bodily functions. They eat and sleep, drink and screw, but I have no idea if they piss.

I came out of the brush, feeling grumpy. Kore gave me a weak smile as she stirred the embers of our fire.

"Never mind. We need to go back."

"You're all healed then?"

"Healed enough."

She was looking at me, her dark eyes wide. She wasn't looking at me the way she had a few nights ago, when we talked about our losses. She was. . .gazing. . .that's the word. Gazing up at me from where she crouched by the fire. I'd seen that look before. Adoration. Worship, even. It did nothing for my already foul mood.

"Listen, we when we get back to camp, I don't want you telling anyone what happened last night. No one. Not your father, not anyone." I gestured at her for silence as she started to open her mouth. "I am not anyone special. You may pray to Iolaus, protector of travelers, but I can't hear those prayers and I sure as Tartarus can't answer them." I could hear the anger in my voice and saw how upset she was by it but I didn't care. "I don't want anyone to know because once they do know. . ." They expected me to have godly powers. "They treat me differently and I hate that. Do you understand?" Now I just sounded tired.

Kore nodded. "I understand."

We walked back to the camp. Mentes had set guards, who greeted us cheerfully. One of them gave me a wink. Great. For the first time in my life, people thought I had been having sex out in the woods when, for once, I hadn't been. I just hoped Mentes was neither an overprotective father nor a man looking for a new son-in-law.

"All right, lad?" It was Mentes himself, giving me a broad grin that faded as he took in my stance and expression.

"I fell," I said shortly. I was probably pale from the loss of blood and felt pretty damn fragile and no doubt looked it. "I was knocked out and I think I cracked a rib. Nothing serious."

Mentes rubbed his chin while he studied me. I suspect I didn't look like a man who had spent a night of passion. I looked like man who was tired and hurting.

He spoke slowly. "I saw you. . .jump in front of that arrow. I thought you'd taken it."

I shook my head. "No, just snagged my cloak and threw me off balance. I rolled down the hill, hit my head and cracked a rib." I tried a smile. "I'm not in the habit of getting run though with arrows if I can help it."

"Well, then." He harrumphed, obviously changing his opinion of what his daughter and I had been doing. "Come along, then. We're making some decisions."

Most of the group was gathered around a large bonfire. I counted and there were six of Mentes' outriders missing, including the one guard I had seen. He was being cautious. I hadn't seen much of our passengers. They mostly kept in the wagons or spoke only to each other. They wore covering robes and cloaks and spoke a language I didn't understand. Now, one of them, a grey-haired matriarch with a straight spine, had her cloak folded back.

"I am sorry," she said as I approached, her accent making her sound as if she were hissing. "that you were hurt. We were just deciding to turn back."

"Back?" A wave of dizziness passed over me and I sat down on a convenient bundle.

"Back." She gestured at the tree line above us. "We knew that there were problems at home but nothing like this. I think. . .those soldiers were enemies of my clan and they wish to capture my son and his family as hostages. We do not want to bring innocent people into our war so we have decided to go back to Thrace."

I was aware of Kore staring at me. What did she expect me to do? Summon Ares or Hercules to come to our aid? I looked down at my hands, which were shaking. I tucked them into my armpits to try to warn them.

"We will pay Mentes for his efforts and he will pay all of his people. None of you will suffer any further loss because of us."

There was a long silence. I don't know if anyone expected me to chime in with some brilliant suggestion but I wasn't going to. I was taking this as a sign that north was not the direction I should travel. As soon as I got back to Thrace, I was heading for the nearest Persian seaport and finding a boat going to Egypt. I shivered. Some place sunny and warm. I was heartily sick of being cold. Damn monks thought being half frozen all the time taught you something. Taught me the value of warm clothing.

"Right then," said Mentes, clapping his hands together. "We'll start back at once. Kore, get the wagons turned. Iolaus?"

I looked up. He gave me an appraising look and then a quick smile.

"Guess you weren't my good luck charm. Ah, well. You look like Charon refused you passage. Crawl up into the supply wagon and rest. If you feel up to it, you can take your turn at guard tonight."

I nodded, not about to argue. One of the passengers touched my arm, a tall man with a long, thin nose.

"You were our charm," he said slowly, his Greek so heavily accented I could barely understand it. "You warned us and saved us. Thank you."

"You're welcome." The world spun again. I might have fallen to my knees but Kore was there, her arm around my waist. She helped me to wagon and as soon as I was curled up on top of some grain sacks, I fell asleep.

I dreamed but they were the perfectly ordinary dreams everyone has, disjointed images that float out of somewhere. If Morpheus was sending them, he wasn't sending me his first quality stuff. I woke up a couple of hours later, wondering if pigs could fly if their wings were big enough. I shook that thought out of my head. There was a jug of watered wine and some bread tucked securely next to me. Kore or the matriarch or Mentes? I didn't know or care. I ate and drank, then swung out of the slowly moving wagon.

The weather was lousy. We were moving through a cold, grey mist of low clouds that froze you to the core and hampered visibility. The armed guard surrounding the caravan, who had been jovial and chatty, singing songs and telling bawdy stories, day before yesterday, were now silent, eyes watching the half-hidden trees above us.

I appropriated a bow and quiver of arrows to go with my sword. I'd prefer to take out any potential assassins at a distance. Several times during the day, I nodded to Kore or Mentes to indicate my intentions and went up in the tree cover, trying to see if there were more soldiers waiting to attack. All I got for my efforts was wet. I was certain we were being followed but no one approached close enough to be clearly visible. Knowing they were out there and invisible in the fog made every muscle in my body tense. By late afternoon, I was exhausted and soaked to the skin.

When I returned to the caravan, they had stopped for the night and set guards. They had also built a fire and I was soon standing as close to it as I could, the steam rising off my sodden clothes.

"Iolaus."

Mentes came up to me and handed me a piece of warm bread wrapped around some pheasant I caught the day before the attack. I tore off a bite gratefully.

"Walk with me."

I followed him until we were far enough from the fire that any conversation we had would not be overheard.

"I wanted to say," he began, not looking at me, "that when I saw you jump in front of that arrow. I was sure you were dead."

I shrugged and took another bite. Kore must have done the cooking. The pheasant was heavy with garlic.

"I know you did that to save my daughter. Thank you. I never expected a hired sword to make that much of a sacrifice."

"It was no sacrifice," I mumbled around my mouthful. "The arrow only tore my cloak." I poked my finger through a hole at the edge. That had happened when I rolled down the hill and I assume it was made by a branch but I didn't tell Mentes that.

"Still, it was a near thing."

I shrugged again. I knew Mentes was leading up to something else. He was still staring off into the gloom and I don't think he was looking for our enemies.

"Cracked a rib, did you?"

"Maybe. I'm feeling fine today."

"Good. Good."

Good. We could stand out here all night if he wanted but I wanted more dinner.

"I don't want you to think I'm upset that Kore. . .that you and my daughter. . ."

"I had a nasty bump on my head, Mentes. Your daughter and I did nothing."

He waved his hand negligently. "No, no. She told me that. But something did happen out there." Now he looked at me, puzzled. "You went from being quite friendly to barely saying a word. I was wondering if you thought that Kore was. . .you know, in the market for a new husband."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. He wasn't worried that I had been screwing his daughter. He was worried that she had scared me off.

"Really, Mentes, you don't have to worry about it." I found my smile fading. "I like Kore, I really do and if my life were different. . . " I sighed. "I'm not looking for a wife, my friend, but if I were, your daughter would get first consideration."

"So. . ." He studied me, his eyes narrowing. I made mine wide, giving him my best innocent blonde look. I'm pretty good at it. Shaking his head, Mentes managed a weak smile. "Just so you aren't worried she's planning to get her hooks into you. Not that I'd mind, but I know you're not the marrying type."

"Do you?" I raised my eyebrows. "Do I strike you as the non-marrying type?"

"You strike me as the love 'em and leave' em, footloose and fancy free, roaming and wandering as the wind would take you type."

"Mentes!" I laughed. "You're a poet!"

He laughed as well and slapped me on the back, nearly knocking me off my feet. On that note, we walked back to the camp. Kore even came and sat next to me, giving me a plate of more pheasant and bread. She seemed a little shy, but at least wasn't staring at me the way she had earlier.

I remember the first time someone did that to me. I'd seen the priests and priestesses who served Hercules give him that adoring look and I'd teased him unmercifully. Then I discovered a shrine built in my name, staffed with three young women, who all gazed up at me as one of them lead them in a prayer. I had been speechless with horror.

"Iolaus?"

One of the problems of living beyond a normal life span is you have so many memories, you get lost in them. I shook myself mentally and gave Kore a bright smile.

"Honey cake?"

I gave her an even brighter smile. I've never seen the point of pouring libations on the ground but handing me honey cake makes me happy.

The soldiers stalking us made no further attempt during those six days as we retraced our route. No one was as relaxed as they had been before but neither were we walking with our weapons in hand. As the days past, Kore stopped staring at me as if I had grown another head and we even managed a normal conversation or two, although that sense of intimacy between us was gone. She was woman, who wanted a lover or a husband. And I was. . .

What was I? That was the question that drove me away from Greece and around the world, to a mountaintop in Chin. I had been Iolaus of Thebes, friend to Hercules, sometime blacksmith, occasional hero, lover of life. And now I was something else and I still hadn't quite figured out what.

Part Five: The Answer

"Can I ask you a question?"

Kore and I were riding ahead of the others. We had stopped at the top of a ridge. We could see the Thracian border from there. We'd be back in Greece by nightfall.

"What?" I said, not really listening. I wasn't much of a horseman and I would have preferred walking. I shifted in the ill-fitting saddle.

Kore took a deep breath gave as she gave me a very intent look. "What's so bad about being immortal?"

"What?" The question startled me so much I nearly fell off the damn horse. I got myself settled, ignoring the way she suddenly had to cough and yawn.

"You said you didn't want people to know you are. . .who you are. . .because they treat you differently."

I sounded a little sulky but couldn't help it. "They do! Look at you! You expected me to wave my hand and light a fire. I told you. I'm a perfectly ordinary person and I hate being treated as if I were something different. I hate the distance it puts between me and everybody else."

Kore thought about it, chewing her lower lip as she did so. I really regretted, at that moment, that she had found out about me. Had I managed to keep up the illusion of normalcy, we might have gotten to know each other much better.

"But. . .you get to live forever."

I shook my head. "Big deal. Living forever. . .or at least as long as I have. . .is a miserable proposition. Think about it!" I didn't add, I didn't when I had the chance. "You have buried your mother, your elder brother and your husband. You have grieved over them, cried over them. Someday, you'll cry over your father's grave. Imagine how it would feel if you knew that everyone you loved. . .everyone. . .would be lost to you."

My voice caught as I remembered those graves. There were so many of them, over so many years. Friends, lovers, companions, relatives. All dead and buried.

"In the normal course of life," I said, wanting her to understand, "each generation mourns the one that went before. Sometimes, we have to mourn our children, but we know that, in the fullness of time, we will grow old and die and others will mourn us. For me. . .that time never comes. Everyone I grew up with, everyone I counted as a friend in my mortal lifetime, is dead. Dead more than a hundred years. Ever heard of Jason of the Argonauts?"

Kore nodded. To her, I supsected the story was as much legend as the tales of the days of the Titans.

"He was my friend, for years. We grew to manhood together. We were at each weddings. We mourned each other's losses." I had to swallow against the tightness welling up in my throat as I remembered. "He was older than I was but he grew old and I didn't. He was offered immortality and refused it, because he wanted to be with those who were already in the next world."

I had accepted the offer. I was an idiot. Jason hadn't quite said that to me at the time but he had hinted at it. I should have listened. Jason was always a damned sight smarter than I was.

"I buried him. I buried other friends. I watched them grow old and die and I buried them. And their children. And their children's children. And I can never have the kind of friendships I had before because everyone I meet now, all I can see when I look at them, was the way they would die. And I wouldn't." I shook my head. "Your father thought I was worried that you were setting your sights on me as husband material. I can never marry because. . .I'll always be the one the left behind."

I had to take a deep breath, calming myself. "And once someone knows who I am. . ."

"They treat you. . .differently."

I shrugged. "You said it. I'm 'the' Iolaus. You expect me to be able to answer prayers. To intercede for you with the gods! I don't even speak to the gods and as for hearing prayers. . ."

"But," she said, interrupting me, "Maybe. . ."

I gestured at Kore for quiet, not giving her a chance to continue the conversation. I had seen something moving on the ridge back in the trees between us and the train.

"I think we have company," I said, reaching for my bow.

Her gaze followed mine and she nodded, a bare dip of her chin, and followed my lead. We pretended to continue the conversation, our words of little consequence, as she reached into her quiver. She had an arrow with a whistle built into it. The thing made a very clever signaling device. She passed the arrow over to me and I, as casually as I could manage, turned my horse, strung my bow, and pulled the string to my shoulder.

When the whistle sounded, long and shrill, the soldiers attacked.

I won't go into the details. It was like a hundred other. . . a thousand. . .ten thousand other battles I have been in. I was aware of Kore at my side, which was nice. I couldn't count on her the way I had on Hercules but just catching movement out of the corner of my eye, as she countered an attacker's thrust or spun to deliver a blow, gave me a sense of comfort.

Towards the end, as we were winning and most of our attackers were down or fleeing, I deflected a knife thrown at Kore. I didn't do anything dramatic, just hit it with the flat of my sword. She saw and gave me a wide smile. For a brief instant, I was the Iolaus I had been, long ago, and even smiled back.

Mentes was pleased, giving me a big hug and calling me his good luck charm again. The matriarch of the travelers--who recognized the attackers and told me she was grateful, for they were in the employe of a particularly ruthless man--tried to give me a pouch full of gold coins of northern mint. I pushed them back into her hand, pointing out she had a big family to feed and had to pay Mentes and the other men.

We were close enough to the Thracian border that we felt safe. Some of Mentes' men set up small shrines to Ares, to Hercules, to Hermes and to me, around the edge of our camp that night but since we could see the warm lights of the border village, we weren't worried. There was food and dancing, laughter and wine, and I had to be very firm in pushing Kore back into her father's tent that night.

No one besides me rose early the next day. There was one advantage to my altered state. I never got hangovers. As a consequence, we didn't reach the border until late afternoon. Mentes paid me off, shaking his head sadly when I refused his offer to join his next caravan. When he asked me for a lock of my hair, for luck, I'm afraid I was rather abrupt but he quickly apologized and we parted amiably.

So, two weeks after my first arrival in my homeland, I was back again, standing looking down at the temple of Hermes just over the border. There was some celebration going on at Ares' temple closer to the center of town. I hoped he was busy there. With luck, I could skirt the edge of Thrace and work my way to Abydos, on the Persian coast, and find a ship there to take me somewhere far away and warm.

"Who are you?" my first master had asked, staring at my fair hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. He spoke bad Persian. Mine wasn't much better but we managed to communicate. "I used to be a man named Iolaus. An ordinary Greek sometime blacksmith, sometime soldier, wanderer and friend to a half-mortal son of Zeus. I don't know who I am now."

"Ah." The old man had looked up at me, his dark eyes still bright in their nest of wrinkles. He seemed quite ancient but I think I was actually older than he was even then. "Then the first thing you must do is learn the answer to that question."

A hundred years later and, while I was wise enough to be a master at that mysterious place, I still didn't have the answer to that question. Who was I?

"Iolaus?"

Kore wasn't looking as delicate as she had that morning when I saw her hunched by the fire, a cup of strong tea in her trembling hands, but she still looked less than well. She gave me a weak smile and sat down on a fallen log.

"Papa says you won't go with us again."

I shook my head. "No. And not just because. . ." I smiled apologetically. "I think I'll go south." I pointed to my borrowed cloak, which I had folded on the seat of a wagon, waiting for its proper owner to reclaim it. "I'm getting tired of cold weather."

She dropped her voice, although we weren't close to anyone and the rest of the train were busy.

"I can understand why it bothers you to be treated as something. . .unnatural? Is that the right word?"

I laughed sadly and nodded. "Perfect."

"And I can understand how lonely it must be for you, especially since. . ." Her voice trailed off at something in my expression. She cleared her throat and started over again. "Maybe you can't hear prayers. . ." She leaned closer to me. ". . .but you still answered mine."

Her lips, soft and slightly open, touched mine. Without conscious thought, I slid my hand up to rest gently on the back of her neck and kissed back. It was full of promise I knew would never be fulfilled. We kissed for some time, then she pulled back, her cheeks flushed, and licked her lips.

"Good-bye, Iolaus," she said softly, squeezing my hands. "I hope you find your way."

I watched her walk away, my heart breaking a little. Then I remembered a similar kiss, two hundred years ago and more, and could hear Hercules' voice saying, amused, 'looks as if your lips are working.' I laughed under my breath as I remembered my response. Everything was still working. Sighing, I shook the memories out of my head and turned towards the border, wondering what I was going to do now.

"She's right, you know."

My heart stopped. Had I not been immortal, I think I would have died in that instant. When it started beating again, I drew shuddering breath and turned towards that painfully familiar voice.

He looked much the same as he had when I saw him last. Not just physically. He was a god now and his appearance was the same as always. His expression was the same as last time I saw him as well, sad and lost and longing.

"Right about what?" I asked when I finally found my voice.

"About answering prayers."

"I told you! I can't hear prayers!" And the same anger as I had felt, all those years ago, welled up in me.

"You didn't have to hear her prayer to answer it." He sounded as patient as he always did when he argued with me. After a mortal lifetime, he had had lots of practice, let alone the years that came after. "You still answered it."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it does." He looked over at the men Mentes was paying. "Some of them sent up prayers to Ares when they were fighting those northern soldiers. Do you think he stopped and heard every one? Answered every one?"

"Knowing Ares, he ignored them."

He shook his head and sighed. "No. He never ignores them. But he doesn't really hear them, either. Ares serves as a. . .conduit. . .the way an aquaduct channels water, he channels bravery and courage in battle."

"And violence and bloodlust."

"When required. The point is. . .you do the same thing. You may not be aware of hearing a petition but you do the same thing. You channel a certain bravery. Loyalty." A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "Paragon of Loyalty, remember?"

I snorted, trying not to laugh. That was pretty silly.

"And you inspire people." Now the smile was broader. "You always did. You always served as an example." His voice caught and I thought I saw tears shining in his pale eyes. "A hero."

I looked away. No one was looking at us so I imagine he was invisible to mortal eyes. Great. That's one of the problems I faced in my life. When I was talking to invisible gods, I looked to everyone else as if I had lost my mind. If I was going to continue the conversation, I was going to do it in private, so if I started shouting and waving my hands, no one would see me. I walked up the ridge, towards some trees and bushes growing in the shelter of an outcropping of rock. I passed him as I walked. He turned and followed.

As I brushed by one of the trees, I realized it was an ancient olive. My chest felt tight as I realized how much I missed seeing olive trees.

"So," I said, as I soon as I was far enough away to suit me, "I answer prayers without being aware of it."

"Yeah." He was leaning against the rock, as casually as if he were mortal. "You answered Kore's prayers. And her father's and everyone else in that caravan."

I chose a tree to lean against, facing him. "What about everyone else sending me prayers. What if while I was off helping Kore and Mentes, some poor idiot in Thebes or Corinth or Sardinia was busily sending me frantic petitions. I couldn't help him!" Yup. Good thing I moved away. I was shouting and waving my arms.

"Couldn't you? Could it be that you are channeling the sort of help he needed, without being aware of it? Could you be protecting him, inspiring him, without being aware of it?"

"Of course not!"

"All over Greece, there are people who try harder, to be braver and better people, in order to emulate the example you set."

I made a rude noise, which he ignored, although his lips quirked again.

"You were a mortal man who walked beside the son of Zeus. Who taught a half god how to care about the mortal world." Oh, great. His voice was cracking and I could see the tears again. "You are an example of friendship and loyalty and you channel those qualities without even being aware of it."

"Really?" I tried to wipe my nose surreptiously but I know he saw me.

"Really." He almost smiled, but didn't quite manage it. "But I guess it's still awfully hard for you." He glanced back towards caravan, out of sight below us. "Kore is a wonderful woman. She would be . . ."

"Even if I were mortal, I wouldn't be right for her."

He shrugged. "Maybe not. But I heard what you said." He took a deep breath. "If you really hate it that much. . .I can take it back."

I looked at him suspiciously. "Make me human again?"

He nodded. "Completely. You can either live out your life or. . .I can even take that away and you can go. . .wherever you're destined to end up."

He hadn't offered me that last time we argued about my condition, as it were. He had just tried to convince me that I needed time to adjust. Something else occurred to me.

"Hey! You didn't give me this channeling speech before. How come now?"

He looked a little embarrassed. "Because I didn't understand it myself."

"Oh."

"I'm learning, too, you know!" Now he was waving his hands. "I didn't want to be forced into godhood. I knew it was inevitable but I didn't want it then! I wanted to be able to live out my life. . .our lives. . .together!"

"That's why you made me immortal, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "I was. . .afraid to be a god. I was afraid to be. . .without you. Iolaus, you've always been such a part of my life that I just couldn't face living forever without you." The tears were slipping down his cheeks now. "I know it was selfish and pig-headed of me to coerce you the way I did but I . . ."

"Hercules."

He froze. I could almost feel time slowing down as he stared at me. He was so afraid and so hopeful at the same time. Exactly the way I was feeling. It took me two tries to say his name again.

"Hercules, do you remember the time the She-Demon turned me into stone?"

He frowned and nodded. "Very clearly." I could almost see him checking the box marked "Death Number Two."

It was my second death, the second time I had found myself by the River Styx, although my first death might not count since Zeus turned back time to before I was dead. I almost laughed, remembering explaining to my first master how many times I had been dead and how long each "death" had lasted. In truth, it was my strange tendency to return from the dead as much as my appearance that had led to my nickname in the monastery.

"The thing I remember most clearly about that was thinking how I had failed you."

"Iolaus, the She-Demon was. . ."

"Listen to me! I failed you. Regularly. Over and over the years and. . ."

"What?" Hercules launched himself off his rock and was towering over me in a heartbeat. I took a step back and ran into the tree behind me. I had almost forgotten how big he really he. He caught me by the shoulders and pulled me forward. "You never. . ."

"Yes, I did. . ." I stared up at him, trying to explain something I had been trying to explain for hundreds of years. "Yes, I did." I pulled away and crossed over to stand where he had been. "Every time I died, I failed you."

"You were mortal and I never saw it as a failure! I saw it as triumph of bravery and reckless courage and love." He sighed. "Iolaus, I've been trying to get you to see that for years. For centuries. You have never, ever failed me. And if you're afraid of failure, as an immortal, I'd say you're wrong there, too. Look at Kore. She'd be dead if it weren't for you being immortal."

I started to open my mouth in rebuttal, a thousand mistakes on my lips, a litany of every dumb thing I had ever done but Hercules' sad smile stopped me.

"Do you have any idea," he said, still smiling, "How great it is to have this argument with you? I have missed you so much."

I answered automatically, although the sentiment was sincere. "Same here, big guy."

He glanced back towards the distant caravan. "I know you hate being--what did you call it--unnatural? I can sympathize there. I know you hate watching everyone you love fade away. I know exactly how that feels."

"Hebe and your sons are immortal."

"Yeah, but I used to have mortal friends. Mortal relatives. I still miss them. Even though I can see them in the Elysian Fields whenever I want. . .it's not the same."

"And that's why you did what you did. Turned me into what I am."

"I didn't 'turn you' into something. You're still the same person you always were."

"Yeah, right. Iolaus, Friend of the Traveler, Protector of the Innocent, Paragon of Loyalty"

"Exactly." He gave me another careful smile. "What you've always been. My brave, reckless, loving friend. With no grey hairs. Ever."

I bit my lip and turned away, the tears in my eyes now. I heard him approach, walking across the dry grass. He must be in his most mortal form. I felt his hands rest on my shoulders.

"I was unfair to make you immortal without thinking it through but I was afraid. And I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I ran off."

His thumbs were pressing into the muscles at the base of my neck. I had forgotten how he did that and how good it felt. I was immortal but I still got stiff necks from the tension.

"It was probably for the best. I needed time to learn how to be a god and if you had been here. . .I'd have been clinging to what I what I was. Maybe we both needed the time apart."

"Question is," I said, leaning back into his touch, "should we be back together?"

His hands stilled for a moment, then started massaging my shoulders again. "I want us to be together. But the choice is yours. Do you want to be my partner again?"

His partner. Iolaus, friend of Hercules. That's what I was. That's what I am. I could almost hear my masters laughing at me. I imagine they had seen the simple truth.

"I can help people". Ah, lower. He moved his hands. Right there.

"Yes, you can." I could hear the hopeful smile in his voice. "People like Kore and her father."

Without me, they would be dead. Mentes and Kore and most of the people in that caravan would be dead if I weren't here. Was mine such a terrible fate? Yeah, being immortal wasn't perfect and people did treat me differently but did I want to be dead? Out of the game, as it were.

"Herc."

"Yes." He hands stilled.

I pulled away and turned around. I took a deep breath. "We made changes over the years. I guess we can make a few more, without really changing what we are."

"Friends."

"And partners." I held out my hand. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Together," he murmured, his cheek pressed against the top of my head, his embrace tight enough I found it hard to breathe.

"Hi, buddy," I whispered back, and knew I was back. Where I belonged. At his side. Forever.

Part Six: The Master of Immortality

Hercules looked doubtfully around at the snow that surrounded us. I had told him it was winter nine months of the year up here. I don't think he had believed me until we arrived. Here we were, a week after the spring equinox, and this mountain plateau was still deep in winter.

"C'mon," I said, pulling my cloak around my shoulder. Hercules didn't really feel the cold but he was wearing a bearskin coat to look as human as possible. He was always visible when we were together. I hadn't told him I preferred it that way but I think it did it because it made us feel more like the old days.

Two novices, who were busily sweeping the courtyard, looked up at us as we came over the bridge. Their eyes went wide and they backed away, terrified. A master came out of the main temple and bowed to us, calm as a still pond. Herc bowed awkwardly. We had practiced the gesture a couple of times but it didn't come naturally to him. We followed the master into the temple and into the main sanctuary.

They were gathered together, all of them, all the masters. We exchanged bows, then those of that could, folded our legs under us and knelt. Poor Herc was looking down doubtfully at the floor when a chair was brought for him. He gave the monk who brought it a grateful smile.

The oldest master looked at me and said, "You weren't exaggerating when you said he was big."

I laughed out loud, which made the master of the bow frown, then raise his eyebrows at me.

"So, Brother Ghost," said the master of the open hand, "Have you found what you were seeking?"

"No," I said, playing the game, "but I have found the map."

Raised eyebrows all around. Hercules, because of his godhood, could understand the words but not the nuances. He had his pleasant, "I may be all big and muscled but I'm really a very nice guy" smile plastered on his face. The masters and I all exchanged raised eyebrows and subtle twitches at his confusion.

"So," said the old master, looking up at my partner. "Is Iolaus behaving himself?"

More raised eyebrows and even a couple of faint smiles.

"Ah," replied Hercules, "I need to thank you for that. He is much better at sitting still these days."

The master of calligraphy actually chuckled, then looked horrified at his own reaction.

"Immortality is easy for some of us," said the old master. "We remove ourselves from the world and from all the ties the connect us to it. For you, Iolaus, to be born mortal and made what you are while still staying true to what you were, that is amazing. You deserve to be a master here." He looked up at Hercules. Or should I say up and up and up. "I suppose you'd want him to stay as well and I don't think we have any beds to fit him."

I laughed and the masters chuckled softly. Hercules laughed politely, although he didn't know that the monks in the place never slept in proper beds but only a thin bedrolls on the hard floor. That was one thing I didn't have trouble getting used to when I first came here.

We calmed ourselves and started drinking the tea a couple of monks were passing around. I had warned Hercules that it was thin, bitter stuff, served practically boiling hot. He took the tiny, porcelain cup from the nervous monk and sipped it, nothing showing in his expression but that fixed polite smile.

"So," said the master of the bow, smacking his lips over the tea as if it were the finest vintage wine, "are you going to back to Greece?"

"Maybe." I replied, blowing on my tea. Immortal or not, I hated burning my tongue. "Or maybe we'll see that far eastern sea."

The master of the open hand smiled broadly, his face folding into a myriad of wrinkles. "If you keep walking, you'll end up back where you started."

Hercules looked up and said, sharply, "I told you the world was round."

I opened my mouth to disagree but caught the exchange of looks between the masters.

"Maybe. But I imagine wherever we go, we'll be needed."

"No doubt," said the old master. "The world is a dangerous place. And before you go to see the four corners of it, we have a gift for you, Brother Iolaus."

The old master made a gesture. The master of bladed weapons unfolded his hands and leaned forward, handing me a small square of paper. I can read enough to make out the word "Master of" something on the paper. I unfolded it.

Inside, wrapped in the paper, was a square of yellow fabric, cut from the same cloth as a master's robe, and the same symbols were embroidered on the fabric as were written on the paper. The master of calligraphy leaned forward and said, in a loud, stage whisper, "Immortality."

"For the next time you mend that garment," said the old master, tugging at the edge of my vest.

I laughed. Out loud. All the other masters suddenly started to laugh. I stared at them, astonished. They were laughing, like ordinary people. The sound was infectious and we all laughed, even poor, bewildered Hercules.

So now, as we travel the world, Hercules and I, immortal heroes, I wear the old clothes I always wore save my vest has a yellow patch on it that says I am the Master of Immortality. But I know the truth. I'm Iolaus. Hercules' friend and partner. And that's all I need to be.

November 2002