Storming Paradise Page 6

  Hercules did not answer. He simply dived over the side of the boat, bringing his hands together as he cut the water.

  “Hercules?” Iolaus shouted in his wake as he was splashed with water. “Now what’s he think he’s doing?”

  It was cold beneath the surface; colder than Hercules had been expecting. Moonlight painted everything at the surface in a kind of deep blue shade, but a few feet below the ocean was just a spreading darkness, black on black on black, ad nauseam.

  Holding the breath he had taken, Hercules swam down, driving himself farther into that characterless blackness. He could not see anything down here, and in just a few strokes it was like being lost in absolute darkness, with no sense of direction, no up or down.

  Something moved close by, close enough that Hercules felt the pull of the current and found himself lurching sideward. He looked all around, the pressure in his lungs building, trying to find the source of the drag—and hopefully locate the captain.

  For a long span of time—where seconds stretched to hours in the featureless darkness—Hercules saw nothing. Then the creature shimmered past like a millipede, scales catching just a fleck of the moonlight so that it looked like a handful of coins had been dropped in the water. Hercules swam for those “coins,” driving himself onwards, ignoring the growing ache in his lungs.

  It moved fast, whatever it was. Hercules saw it turning, following a different course away from the boat and its destination. It was fast, yes—but it was also big, a long body wavering in a great arc as it made its way through the dark water.

  Come on, Hercules chided himself. Catch it. Don’t think about the need to draw breath, just catch it.

  He swam harder, faster, driving every iota of his strength and stamina into that chase as the mystery creature plunged away through the curtain of darkness. For a moment it seemed that Hercules would not catch it, that it was moving too fast, in its element here in the water, while his breath stagnated in his lungs and threatened to sink him. Then something brushed right beside him, a curving length of tentacle or tail—Hercules could not be certain which—wavering through the water, thick as his arm. Hercules grabbed it, felt the pressure in his arm as it was almost wrenched from its socket. A conga line of bubbles escaped Hercules’ mouth in that moment, forced from his lungs with the sudden jolt of his body.

  The thing that Hercules had grabbed swam on for a moment, slowing as it realized it had picked up a passenger. Hercules felt the extended body turn, flipping through the water as it doubled back the way it had come. An instant later, Hercules saw the thing’s face, drawn in flashes in the moonbeams, a blunt nose with dead eyes to either side and a grin of teeth as long as his forearm stretched around to the sides of the monster’s head.

  Hercules did what he did best. Out of breath, out of time, he bunched the fingers of his free hand into a fist and drove a mighty punch—slowed by the water’s drag but still impressive—straight into the thing’s nose, right smack between the soulless eyes.

  What happened next was confusion. Hercules felt his grip loosen on the thing’s—tail? tentacle?—and then he was hurtling away from it in a wash of bubbles as his breath charged out of his mouth and nose. Something hurtled past him, a ridged body, a rigid fin, a man. The man was the boat’s captain, Hercules realized as he tumbled away in the darkness, and he had the presence of mind to grab for the man and hold him as they both went careering through the water in the backwash of the sea creature.

  “Hercules!” Iolaus shouted, scrambling along the deck of the boat. “Come on, buddy—where are you?”

  The ocean stretched out before Iolaus, a shimmering dark blanket lit only insubstantially by the slip of a moon. It had not seemed so bad when they were just sailing through it, Iolaus lamented, but once you were looking for someone in that undulating darkness it suddenly seemed a whole lot scarier.

  Long moments passed. Iolaus considered jumping back into the water, wondered what good that would do if he didn’t know where Hercules and the boat’s captain were, let alone what they were facing. Granted, he was already wet, but still—diving into darkness was not his idea of a smart plan.

  As Iolaus debated this, Hercules reappeared, thirty feet away and clutching the static figure of the fisherman.

  “Hercules!” Iolaus called. “Over here!”

  “Iolaus!” Hercules called back as he turned towards the boat. “Watch the water. There’s something out here. I don’t know what it is.”

  Hercules took long strokes to bring him back to the boat, dragging the sea captain with him. After a moment, the sea captain began to struggle, and Hercules thanked all the gods that the man was still alive. “It’s okay, I have you,” Hercules told him. “Don’t struggle, I’ll get us—”

  “Hercules!” Iolaus shrieked. “Behind you, right behind you!”

  Still swimming forwards, Hercules looked over his shoulder and saw the creature emerge from the water like a tidal wave. It was large—its body at least fifteen feet in length, larger than it had seemed even in the water. It barreled up out of the water, leaping and diving in an undulating mass of muscle. The head was gray-white, with the blunt nose and wicked grin of a shark. But the body was not a shark’s—instead it appeared to be something snakelike, thick like a boa constrictor, some kind of water snake perhaps, darker than the face with a single jutting fin poised along its top like an up-thrust blade. Following that, last of all, came the ridged thing that Hercules had mistaken for a tentacle. It was not a tentacle, he saw now—it looked more like a crocodile’s tail, great armor plates running along its length with two stubby legs protruding from its sides.

  Hercules did not have a name for it, but he had an idea of what it was. A trick of the gods, an amalgam thing made of the welded aspects of three animals. Bellerophon had fought something similar in the Court of Proteus—a creature that was part lion, part goat, and with a viper for its tail. The thing had been called a Chimaera.

  “Hold onto me,” Hercules instructed the dazed fisherman, pushing the man’s arms so that they were wrapped over his shoulders. Then he began to swim in earnest, huge strokes that ate up as much water as he could, taking great gasping breaths each time he surfaced before lunging for that water once more.

  Behind Hercules, the Sea Chimaera disappeared and then emerged again, seen in fragments through the moonlight and the wash of the dark water.

  Iolaus knelt down at the very edge of the boat and reached forward, grabbing Hercules’ hand the moment he got there.

  “Take the captain,” Hercules ordered him.

  “What about you?” Iolaus retorted.

  Hercules had a hand on the edge of the boat by then and was in the process of pulling himself up. “Just take him, Iolaus. Quickly.”

  Iolaus reached down with both arms and grabbed the boat’s captain. The man was awake but he seemed dazed, as if he could not comprehend what was happened. Iolaus pulled, hefting the fisherman from his partner’s back as Hercules pressed his own body against the boat.

  Then the Chimaera emerged again, its great writhing body leaping out of the water as it plunged towards the boat. Hercules pushed against the boat in that same moment, kicking off and diving back into the water where the monster was hurtling like a loosed arrow. In an instant, the two figures met.

  Hercules came at the Chimaera from under its great length of body, slamming into it with all of his might in a cannonball blow. The Chimaera lurched and flailed, body curling around and vicious teeth snapping at Hercules where he had struck against it.

  On board the little fishing vessel, Iolaus listened to the frantic sounds of battle as he tried to revive the boat’s captain to full consciousness. The water chocked and splashed as Hercules and the Chimaera fought, tossing the boat up on a swell of rising waves.

  Beneath the surface, Hercules was struggling to get a grip on the beast. He reached around its snake-like torso as its body knifed throug
h the water, his hands slipping from the slick, scaly hide before he could secure a grip. Then the face came at him, that sinister blunt moon of a face, jaws distending to reveal twin rows of sharp, triangular teeth. The mouth snapped closed, missing Hercules by the faintest of margins.

  Hercules pushed away, feet kicking out as he swam for the surface. A moment later he had emerged, sucking in desperate breaths as the beast circled just a few feet beneath him.

  Then the Chimaera rammed against Hercules, knocking him just below the ribs with a savage blow. Hercules gasped, ducked under the water to locate the Chimaera before diving lower, powering himself down into the shadowy depths of the ocean.

  The creature was large and swift, but close up it had trouble handling prey that was moving alongside it. Prey that lay ahead was fodder for its snapping jaws, prey behind would fall victim to its crocodile tail, the way it had wrapped around the boat captain. But alongside, it had only the scantest of crocodile limbs to reach for its prey, and its long body worked against it where it could not see what was swimming by its flanks. Hercules had figured all of this out as he tussled with the creature the second time, ensuring that he remained side-by-side with the Sea Chimaera as it hunted for him. But the abomination still had the advantage over Hercules—it could breathe underwater where he could only hold his breath for a relatively short time. Hercules only hoped that would be enough.

  Hercules had tried before to grab onto the thing’s snake-like torso, only to discover it was too slick to secure an adequate grip. This time he aimed his body like a dart through the water, reaching ahead until his hands snagged the single, protruding fin that stood proudly up from its back. He grabbed it, pulling himself up and behind the creature as it thrashed in place, trying to locate its attacker. Once atop the beast, Hercules wrapped his legs around its slithering torso, pressing tight. It was like riding a wild stallion—the Chimaera bucked and shifted, trying to lose its unwanted passenger.

  Once he was there, Hercules let go of the dorsal fin, drew both arms back and then—

  Slam!

  Hercules brought both fists down in a brutal blow, striking either side of the creature’s torso just beneath the dorsal fin. The creature lurched, a trembling spasm running through its body in the wake of that powerful blow.

  Hercules struck again, driving his mighty fists into the creature’s flanks, once, twice, thrice, even as the pressure on his lungs started to build. Below him, the Chimaera flipped and flopped, turning and turning in place as it tried to dislodge its attacker.

  Hercules kept up his assault, striking again and again, over and over. The beast quaked, another great spasm running through its whole body. His blows were having an effect, Hercules knew—but whether he was enraging the Sea Chimaera further or forcing it to rethink its attack, he could not tell. Thus, he kept pounding on the creature, driving punch after punch into the same two spots on its sides.

  Suddenly, the muffled light that Hercules could see beneath the surface grew brighter. A moment later, the creature cut the surface, leaping up in its writhing attempts to dislodge its attacker. Hercules took that moment to suck in a breath of desperately needed air, clinging tightly to the monster’s body by his strong leg muscles.

  The monster shook, rolling in the water to try to dislodge Hercules. Hercules reached for the dorsal fin, but his hand slipped and suddenly he was floundering in the water as that long expanse of slithering body hurried past beneath.

  An instant later, Hercules found himself adrift. He could no longer feel the beast beneath him, only the momentary pull of the current in the wake of its passage. The Sea Chimaera was gone.

  Hercules took a few moments just to catch his breath and to wait to see if the beast was planning to renew its attack. He ducked his head below the water, dived once, twice, three times, trying to locate the Sea Chimaera. But, there was no sign of it and, after a minute’s searching, Hercules was satisfied that it was gone.

  It took Hercules another three minutes to swim back to the boat, for the Sea Chimaera had taken them both so far from where it was drifting. Iolaus called out when he saw his partner cutting through the water, and leant over the side of the boat to give Hercules a hand up.

  Once he was back on board, Hercules asked about the boat’s captain. The man was a little shaken up, and his voice was hoarse from bringing up the salty seawater he had swallowed, but he was otherwise okay.

  “How about you, buddy?” Iolaus asked.

  “We still need to get to that island,” Hercules said, dismissing his friend’s concern. “Captain? Are you fit to sail?”

  The fisherman rocked uncertainly in place. “I will be,” he said, rubbing at his forehead. “Give me . . . a little . . . more time . . . to catch my . . . breath.”

  Hercules looked up at the sky, judging the passage of the moon. He estimated that it was less than two hours to sunrise, not long to find the correct island and locate the sinister street party. “I’ll work the sail,” he decided, “and Iolaus, you work the rudder.”

  Iolaus did not need any further coaxing; he simply trotted to the rear of the boat and placed both hands on the rudder while Hercules adjusted the sail to catch the wind. A moment later, the boat was moving again, clipping through the water towards the distant echo of music.

  The source of the music became clearer as the fishing boat got closer to the clustered islands. By the time they crossed through the waters abutting the second island, it was plain that the street party was being held there, just a little way from the shore.

  Iolaus worked the rudder, while Hercules used a set of oars to navigate the last passage and bring them into port. The fisherman knew the island, though not well. “Small place,” he said. “Two ports, one on either side. I brought grain over here in my younger days, but I think they’re mostly self-sufficient now.”

  Hercules listened to the music as the boat drew up to the docks, noticing how hypnotic it now seemed. He had not consciously noticed that before, but with hindsight he realized that he and Iolaus had never questioned joining the party in the shadow of the mountains, and had stayed far longer than they had intended. It only served to confirm his suspicion that sorcery was involved.

  “I’d like to thank you for your time, sir,” Hercules told the fisherman once he and Iolaus were off the boat, “and pay you for passage.”

  The captain shook his head and laughed, a throaty noise where he had strained his voice earlier. “I owe you my life, I think,” he said. “That’s payment enough for any journey, wouldn’t you say?”

  Hercules touched his brow in acknowledgement. “Safe waters to you, sir.”

  “And keep your eyes open for sea monsters,” Iolaus added.

  The captain assured him that he would, and with that Hercules and Iolaus made their way into the town, ears tuned for the sound of the street party. Above them, the sky was beginning to lighten with the pre-dawn. Time was running out.

  Chapter 9

  The port ran along the bay of a small town, with less than two dozen dwellings running up a shallow incline away from the water. A statue of Poseidon overlooked the harbor, five feet tall but standing on a raised plinth, looking out to sea to provide protection for sailors.

  Hercules and Iolaus hurried through the darkened streets, searching for the party that they could hear echoing off the hard surfaces of every building.

  They found it after two minutes of searching, in a street that ran between the buildings on the higher levels, the sounds of music and laughter echoing down to the bay.

  As before, there was nothing particularly unusual about the street. It ran the breadth of the village, located between twin sets of wide spaced buildings, weaving a little to pass a jutting stable outside of which stood a two-wheeled cart. Colored bunting ran in streams from building to building, hanging ten feet above the ground. Tables ran along both sides of the street, a whole line of them geared to feeding the attend
ees, another shorter line playing host to barrels and wine skins, towering stacks of used goblets tottering on the ground beside it. People were everywhere, all ages and all sizes represented, doubtless the whole populace of this isolated island town. And again there were the songs, the cheerful, upbeat tunes, and people merrily dancing in drunken swagger. How the street knew where to go, or how it placed itself so seamlessly within a town or village, Hercules did not know. He only knew it was close to dawn, and that seemed to be the fracture point, when the street descended and its attendees were never seen again.

  As if he had read his mind, Iolaus hissed at Hercules as they strode onto the farthest reach of the party street. “It’s almost dawn, big guy,” he said in a whisper. “You might want to hurry this up if you have an actual plan.”

  The words struck Hercules like a blow. He and Iolaus had spent all this time searching for the street that abducted the unwary, but not once had they considered how they might actually stop such a phenomenon once they had found it. Oh well, time to improvise!

  Striding over to one of the drinks tables, Hercules climbed up onto it and stood there, surveying the crowd of revelers. Then, cupping his hands to his lips, he began to shout: “Friends—may I have your attention, please?”

  A few people turned to face Hercules; a few others tapped their companions and pointed. Presumably they took him for another drunk and expected him to put on some embarrassing performance before keeling over. They were about to be disappointed.

  “I need you all to listen very carefully,” Hercules continued. “You must evacuate this place right now. Go back to your homes. If you have children or other dependents here, such as the elderly or the infirm, you must take them with you. It is imperative that—”

  “Shut up, you boring old goat!” a woman shouted from a little way up the street.

  “Yeah, pipe down!” another crowd member called, this time a teenage lad with thick hair standing up from his head like a briar.