Storming Paradise Read online

  Hercules gestured once, speaking to Iolaus without taking his eyes from the scene playing out within the cavern. “Come on, quietly,” he said, indicating that they were to both go inside. “And stay low—we don’t want to be seen.”

  Iolaus nodded. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” he assured his partner.

  The two men snuck into the circular cavern, staying in the shadows as they shuffled silently to the edge of the winding spiral path and peered below. Iolaus stifled a gasp when he saw the strange, muddled figure of Campe.

  “Who’s the broad with the dragon’s body?” he asked Hercules as they watched the gathering below.

  “The giant addressed her as Campe,” Hercules said. “She seems to be the boss around here.”

  Hercules was correct. Campe had been charged to guard the Tartarus Pits many years before, when the gods were still young. Assisted by the Hecatonchire giants, famed for their fifty heads and one-hundred arms, Campe was responsible for the orderly running of the Tartarus Pits, just one of the final destinations that a dead soul could end up in. It was a thankless task.

  Inside the cavern, Campe had finished interviewing one of the lifeless husks through sorcery—she had a way with the souls of the dead—and was raging as she tried to understand what had happened. “Without the souls we cannot begin our assault,” she wailed. “An underpowered army is worthless.”

  “But if Olympus is onto you—?” the giant who stood at Campe’s right hand asked. Like the other guards down here, he was one of the Hecatonchires, the so-called hundred handed ones. His name was Cottus the Striker.

  Campe turned on him and glared. “Why else would the trap fail? No mortal can resist the call of the street, and once there they would give their own safety in return for the spirits and foods we provide.”

  “Perhaps the trap landed in a place where no one came,” Cottus proposed. “Perhaps it struck land in an abandoned town.”

  Campe shook her head. “No,” she hissed with the certainty of the paranoid. “They’re onto us, Zeus and his family. They know we conspire to overthrow them. It all makes sense.”

  “Zeus is the allfather,” the Hecatonchire known as Gyes the big-limbed said. “He sees everything sooner or later, or so the stories tell.”

  “Stories,” one of his other heads repeated.

  “Tales!” “Fables!”—two more chimed in.

  “Warnings,” a fourth head added, ominously.

  “Zeus may be the allfather,” Campe snarled, “but he is arrogant in his power. He has left us down here, trusting us to tidy away the worst souls, far from his brother Hades’ realm, far from the perfect fields of Elysium. He forgets how much power the dead have.”

  “But without the power of the living,” Briareos said, “it’s useless. A living soul is worth a thousand dead. Without their power we cannot ascend.”

  Watching from above, Iolaus nudged Hercules. “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” he whispered.

  “Not yet,” Hercules admitted, “but the way they talk about ascending can only mean they plan to escape this place somehow.”

  “Why didn’t they just go up on the street?” Iolaus wondered.

  Hercules fixed him with a look. “You saw what sunlight did to your dance companion when we first encountered the street,” he said. “We can speculate that the same thing—or worse—would have happened if these denizens of the underworld were to simply try to walk out of here in broad daylight. They need powerful sorcery on their side to survive.”

  Down below, Campe made a face, her massive feet pawing against the stone like a cat sharpening its claws. “One of us could ascend now,” she reasoned. “We have enough stored power for that, at least. Don’t we?”

  Cottus scratched at three of his heads with a multitude of limbs. “Yes, we would have enough,” he said. “Perhaps even more than one ascent.”

  Campe shook her head. “No, I’ll go alone,” she said. “Prepare the elevator.”

  The Hecatonchires looked surprised. It was a strange thing, seeing one-hundred-and-fifty faces show surprise all at once, especially when it was one-hundred-and-fifty faces located on only three bodies.

  “How do you expect to invade Olympus without us?” Cottus asked. His other heads chimed in with cries of “Betrayal!” and “Impossible!” and “Sheer foolishness!” among other criticisms.

  “I’ll have the warriors of Elysium behind me,” Campe reminded him. “The greatest warriors in all of history. They shall form the new pantheon with me as their queen. Olympus shall be overthrown, and Zeus, Poseidon, Hera—all of them—shall bow down before me.”

  “What about us?” Briareos the vigorous asked.

  Campe leaned forward and stroked two of his cheeks delicately with one of her womanly arms. “How many times must I promise I won’t forget you, my special boys? When the assault is over, the gods will retreat here. And when they do, you shall be allowed to do with them whatever you please.”

  The Hecatonchires laughed at that, the grim sound of one-hundred-and-fifty throats braying at the thought of revenge.

  Chapter 14

  Crouched in the shadows above the vast circular hall, Iolaus and Hercules had heard enough. Iolaus glanced at Hercules and began to speak, while Hercules did the same.

  “She’s crazy,” Hercules said.

  “She’s ambitious!” Iolaus said at the same instant. “I mean, ambitious and crazy,” he added as he realized what Hercules had said.

  Hercules looked at his friend. “You think this woman’s plan has some upside?” he asked, frowning.

  Iolaus shuffled in place uncomfortably. “She’s power-mad, vindictive and she doesn’t seem to value human life in the slightest,” he summarized. “I’d say she’s no better or worse than any of the other gods.”

  Hercules nodded grimly. “Your point is made,” he said. He was clearly thinking deeply.

  “Wait a minute,” Iolaus hissed. “You’re not actually thinking of trying to stop this—are you?”

  “Iolaus, people’s lives are at stake,” Hercules told him. “They were kidnapped by that illusory street—”

  “So were we,” Iolaus reminded him. “We’ve not figured out a way back, yet.”

  “But they don’t know that,” Hercules said, gesturing over the ledge to where Campe was still talking with the three multi-limbed giants.

  “Good,” said Iolaus, “then let’s get out of here and leave these nutballs to get on with their business.”

  Hercules shook his head as he looked at his friend.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Iolaus whispered. “I know you want to help, but you have to pick your battles—and this one, it’s way too big for you . . . us.”

  “Iolaus,” Hercules whispered, “they’re going to bring their plan forward because we disrupted it. They think that the gods are onto them because of our interference. You realize what that means?”

  “Why don’t you explain it,” Iolaus proposed.

  “It means they’re going into battle unprepared,” Hercules said. “They’re bringing forward their agenda and, judging by what the she-dragon said, they’re compromising aspects of their plan to meet that new target. It means we have a chance to disrupt it.”

  “Yeah,” Iolaus hissed, angrily. “But why are we going to do that? What do we care if the gods get their butts kicked? Look at Hera and all the trouble she’s caused you over the years. We hate the gods, don’t we? What have they ever done for us?”

  Hercules fixed Iolaus with a hard stare. “Have you never heard the phrase ‘Better the Hades you know’?”

  Iolaus had no answer to that. He looked down at Campe and her giant guards where they had gathered in the depths of the Tartarus Pits and realized that Hercules could be onto something. These people lived to torture the most hateful, vile souls who had ever lived. They had been assigned that task
by Cronus, long before the Titanomachy had seen the Titans deposed to be replaced by Zeus and his brethren. Campe and her faithful guards had had an eternity to perfect their cruelty, an eternity that had been punishment for them too, poisoning their minds and changing them irrevocably. Little wonder they wished to depose the Olympic pantheon and change the order of things. The question was: what nature would that new order take?

  Reluctantly, Iolaus nodded. “You’re right,” he whispered. “So what are we going to do about it?”

  Hercules pointed towards the doorway through which he and Iolaus had entered the cavern, and together the two of them exited as stealthily as they were able. Once outside, Hercules felt more able to explain his plan.

  “Campe intends to somehow use the souls of the living—the ones she’d trapped down here—in her plan,” Hercules stated as he and Iolaus hurried back along the wide rock path. “As such, our first order of the day is to free them and find a way to get them back to the surface.”

  “Any ideas?” Iolaus asked.

  “Freeing the captives should be easy enough,” Hercules stated. “You saw those cages they’re held in. They look pretty flimsy to me.”

  “Yeah, your ‘flimsy’ and my ‘flimsy’ ain’t necessarily the same thing though, remember?” Iolaus pointed out.

  Hercules dismissed his friend’s concerns. “Let’s take a look at the magic street, or whatever it really is, and try to figure out how to get it back to the surface,” he said. “Once we do that, we can run a ferry service straight back to the top.”

  Iolaus smiled warily as they passed back into the area where the cells were located. “You make it sound easy.”

  Hercules patted Iolaus on the back. “That’s the spirit, Iolaus. The best plans are the simplest ones.”

  Buoyed, Hercules hurried through the second cavern of cages to the circular-walled cave where the platform that had once been the street waited. There were a few hopeful groans and utterances from the cages as the two men passed, and Iolaus could not help but be distracted by the desperation on the wall of faces.

  “Come on, Iolaus,” Hercules urged. “No time to waste.”

  Back in the elevator room, Hercules hastily marched around the borders of the platform-street, searching for clues as to how it was sent to the surface. To one side, on the opposing wall to the cavern mouth, was the small flight of stairs he had noticed earlier, leading to a sunken, roofless chamber. Within this, Hercules saw something glowing. He hurried down the steps to take a closer look while Iolaus waited up top.

  There were eight steps carved from the rock, well worn, their edges rounded. Hercules jumped down the last three to the floor. A grate occupied one wall, framed by a metal door whose workmanship was worthy of Hephaestus himself. The glow was coming from behind the grate, a warm orange in color like sunset over the Aegean.

  Hercules leaned down, peering between the bars of the grate. Something was bubbling in there—that was the only word that Hercules could think to describe it. It was not fire or gas, it was more like a kind of liquid, but one that stood like sheets hung out to dry. It crackled with incredible energies, the orange edges fraying away from a red core, black bubbles firing away from it at random intervals. It was a power source, one unlike any that Hercules had ever seen before.

  Warily, Hercules brought his hand closer to the door within which the grate was located. He expected it to feel hot, but it did not. Instead, it seemed to emanate a field of power, the static electricity running up Hercules’ arm so that the hairs on his arm and knuckles stood rigidly on end. Presumably this was what was powering the strange street on its travels to and from the surface.

  Hercules stepped back, peering around the sunken area, searching for some kind of pulley or control mechanism that would engage the platform. Behind him, tucked below a porch-like protrusion was a handful of tools, a long-handled shovel, a hammer, some tongs. It looked like the kind of things a metal-worker or perhaps a gardener would use, and Hercules could only assume that they had something to do with the manipulation of the power source.

  “Hey, Hercules,” Iolaus called from above as Hercules studied the tools. “You want to hurry it up already? I’m getting nervous up here.”

  Hercules glanced up at him. “Do you see a lever up there anywhere?” he asked.

  Iolaus scanned the platform. “No, I . . . wait.”

  “What is it?”

  “Up,” Iolaus said pointing to one side. “You see?”

  Hercules looked to where Iolaus was pointing. There was a square recess in the rock wall, within which something metallic was glistening as it reflected the faint orange glow of the strange furnace. The recess was fifteen feet above the floor but there were indentations in the rock wall like the rungs of a ladder running from about eight feet off the ground.

  Hercules hurried back up the steps and jogged across the cavern until he was perfectly placed beneath the indentations.

  Iolaus stood beside him and whistled. “That’s one high jump,” he said.

  “Not for a giant,” Hercules pointed out, taking a few steps back. A moment later, he took a running jump, leaping up and reaching for the lowest ladder-like rung of the rocky wall. Hercules pulled himself up, stretching to reach the next rung which was placed farther above him than it would be on a normal ladder, designed instead for the Hecatonchire giants. Gritting his teeth, Hercules pulled himself up, hand over hand, his legs swinging back and forth until he could bring his feet up onto the lowest rung to rest them there while his hands grasped a higher rung.

  Hercules scampered up the rungs until he reached the recessed area. The area was large enough to hold one of the giants, and its proportions seemed to dwarf Hercules. There was space here to stand and even walk a dozen paces.

  Hercules stepped forward and studied the mechanism before him. It consisted of a series of metal struts locked in place that were connected to a lid-like valve, behind which was another grate where something vibrant burned in rich yellows, greens and oranges. The valve was five feet across, and shaped like a stopper, and it was closed. Once open, Hercules guessed that it would release the energies that were being generated in the furnace-like area below, somehow powering the platform so that it would rise to the surface each night.

  Hercules looked around, trying to find a way to operate the valve. The struts were interconnected with the graceful efficiency of a spider’s web, one working another which in turn worked another, and so on, and beside them was what appeared to be a bowl of water to wash one’s hands in. The Hecatonchires had one-hundred hands each—maybe they liked to keep them clean, Hercules speculated. Hercules traced the line of struts, following them back to the master strut he knew must be there, like a keystone in a bridge.

  Above the network of metal piping, Hercules saw a water clock, water dripping down a length of pipe to slowly fill its mechanism. The wide-bottomed container at the end of the pipe was as tall as Hercules was and had just a fraction of an inch of liquid in it. Hercules realized in a moment that the clock operated the platform through a series of counterweights, launching it each sunset and retrieving it again at sunrise. Which meant that there had to be a way to force the mechanism to override the clock, he just had to figure out what exactly the weight of the liquid tipped and then move it.

  Hercules traced the mechanism with his finger. The base of the liquid container was resting on a weighted platform, one that would slowly depress as the weight upon it increased. The platform would drop past a horizontal strut that presumably worked some kind of pulley or spring to launch the street.

  Hercules looked at the vessel designed to hold the liquid, assessing its capacity. It was on a slow release and would take a lot of liquid to drip through to make the platform drop. He could break the pipe and force the liquid to gush out more rapidly, but that would only serve to send the sorcerous street up once, and he needed to ensure that everyone got out. />
  “Let’s try forcing it,” Hercules said to himself. He leaned down and put his hands against the weighted platform, pressing down. It was rigid, perfectly balanced so that it would not drop without a sufficient amount of liquid. He pushed harder, feeling a little give in the platform where the vessel rested. It would be hard, but maybe with enough weight . . . ?

  “You want to hurry it up, up there?” Iolaus hissed from the bottom of the rock ladder.

  Hercules peered over the side. “Iolaus, I’m going to try something,” he told his friend. “I want you to watch the platform, see if it starts to rise.”

  “Okay,” Iolaus said, turning to face the street platform.

  Then Hercules reached down for the horizontal level—easily as thick as his torso. It had a spoon-like appendage on the end where it met with the liquid container. Placing his hands on the very end, where the leverage would be the most acute, Hercules pressed down, straining his muscles as he tried to push the lever down. It was rock solid. Hercules huffed, pushing harder, drawing on his legendary wellspring of strength.

  “Anything?” Hercules asked.

  “Nope, it’s not moving,” Iolaus replied.

  Hercules grit his teeth and pushed harder. “It will,” he hissed between his teeth. It has to, he thought.

  Iolaus turned back to look at his comrade where the great strongman was poised at the recess. “No, it won’t and we’ll be trapped down here forever,” he despaired.

  Hercules could not help but smile as he concentrated on the mechanism. “Iolaus,” he said, “you worry too much!”

  Below, Iolaus became suddenly aware of heavy footsteps behind him and a large shadow passed across the corner of his eye. He turned in time to see one of the multi-headed giants approaching, his multitude of faces locked in the same expression of angry surprise as he spotted the intruders.

  “No, I worry just the right amount!” Iolaus yelped as the giant began to charge. “Incoming!”