Yeah, that's right-- I watch "Hercules."  You want to make something of it?  Well, I did want to make something.  Now granted, sometimes it seems like ol' Herc get himself a new true love every couple of episodes, but there's just some real inherent possibilities in the setting.  Beyond the typical romantic stuff-- remember who's writing this story-- I'm striving for some real characterization in this one, something I can sometimes gloss over in favor of action or pace.
 

So, to avoid the "love of the week" feel, I decided to set this one before the series.  Unfortunately, after the first chapter was written, and a lot of the plot worked out, I did some research, only to find out that my story contradicts one of the original "H:tLJ" TV movies.  Oh, well.  I suppose if you care about that kind of thing, consider this an alternative dimension or speculative "what if" kind of story or whatever you like.

“THE EIGHTH LABOR”

by Eric R. Umali

Chapter 1 - “Happenstance”

It was the beginning of another perfect day in Greece.  A young man walked briskly along the quiet road, his senses drinking in all the early-morning sights and sounds and smells around him.

The young man was handsome, and his dark hair was long enough to touch the nape of his neck.  He wore a sleeveless tunic, leggings, and gauntlets made of soft kidskin, and carried a walking staff.  As he walked along, he whistled, very much at ease.

In the distance, there was a sudden noise-- people yelling, and even the sound of steel on steel.  Without a second thought, the young man bolted into the forest, dodging trees at a full run.

A few hundred yards from the road, he was nearly bowled over when a limp body came flying towards him.  It was a man, dressed in hunter’s clothing, and he crumpled against a wide tree, unconscious.  Running on, the young man found the source of the fighting.

More than a dozen men stood in a circle, surrounding three women.  With the greater numbers, the men were pressing their advantage.  Swords in hand, the almost seemed to be toying with their prey.  The young man watched a moment in revulsion before he took a second look at the women.  He was stunned.  The three of them were breathtakingly beautiful, clad in brief dark leathers, revealing strong, powerful forms.

*Amazons-- they must be Amazons,* he thought, though he’d never seen one up close.  But the young man had heard much of their reputation.  From what he saw they deserved it.  The three women fought with a fire he’d never seen, and the trio would have been a match for almost seven or eight assailants.  Here, however, they were outnumbered, and would soon be overpowered.

The young man entered the fray.  He ran hard, and leaped over the ring of men.  His booted foot lashed out, connecting with a dull thud.  It was followed by a powerful uppercut that sent the man flying into the high branches.  He heard a familiar whistle, and ducked to avoid the sword he knew was swinging for his head.  The attacker was down a few seconds later.

The Amazons, to their credit, paused just a moment at the surprise of a male coming to their aid, but just a moment.  Immediately, they used his sudden entrance to their advantage.  The tide was turned, and the swaggering hunters’ ranks quickly began to thin.

A few minutes later, there were only three men left, and they were smart enough to turn tail back into the forest.  The four combatants crouched, waiting for the second attack.  When none came, they straightened.  One of the women, who seemed to be in her early thirties, turned to the young man.  She had thick, wavy black hair and wore an air of authority like a cloak.  She raised her hand in peace.

“You have our thanks, stranger,” she said simply.

The Amazon a yard behind her visibly bristled at this.  “We did not need his help!” she spat with a swing of her braided flaxen hair.  She looked a few years the leader’s junior.

“The knife aimed at your throat a moment ago says differently,” replied the third.  Standing several yards away, she seemed the youngest-- about the young man’s age-- and had a full shock of tightly curled brown hair, and pale skin.

The young man was about to speak when he stopped.  There was a shrill sound in the distance.  With a sudden lunge, he lashed out towards the leader.  The second Amazon raised her staff to strike him when, as if by magic, he plucked a speeding arrow from its flight just before the leader’s heart.  Another sound, and he whirled, catching another arrow a finger’s width from the second woman’s throat.

The Amazons stood stunned a moment until the young man leaped towards the youngest.  He flew in front of her as a final arrow buried itself in his shoulder.  The young man crumpled heavily against the forest ground.

He blinked a few times to see the young Amazon kneeling above him.  Her eyes, like burnished gold, were wide with concern.  “Are you all right, stranger?”

The young man almost smiled.  “Well, there’s an arrow in my shoulder.”

She gave a quick derisive snort.  “Not much of one.  And not for long, either.”  The young Amazon grasped the shaft with one hand and held him down with the other.

“Now wait a minute,” the young man said, trying to get up.  A few inches from the ground, he was struck with a sudden wave of dizziness.

“Stranger?” said the Amazon.

“The arrow,” he said groggily, “it must be... poisoned...”

His vision went dark.

**********

The fog lifted.  The young man found himself staring once again into those deep golden eyes.

“Good,” said the Amazon.  “A few more hours and you may never have woken up.”

He began to speak, only to find his throat parched.  “Water,” he whispered.  He sipped cautiously as the Amazon lifted a small skin to his lips.  “Where am I?”  He looked around to find himself inside a large tent, its flaps closed against the midday light.

“I convinced my mother to bring you to our village to heal you.”

He looked at her and noted the resemblance to the Amazon leader.  “Your other companion must not have been too pleased.”

The girl laughed, and nodded.  “Alea wanted to leave you in the forest to die.”

“And you?”

“I owed you my life, stranger-- now we are even.”

The young man nodded, and accepted more water.  “My name is Hercules.”

“I am Hippolyte,” she answered.

There was a rustle of activity.  The tent flap opened, and the Amazon he knew now as Alea entered.  She gave a curt bow to the girl.  “Princess Hippolyte-- your mother has summoned you.”

“Thank you, Alea.”  The other Amazon nodded, and left.  Hippolyte looked at her charge.

“So it’s ‘Princess Hippolyte,’ is it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“One of the others you saved was Queen Larisse, matriarch of the Amazon Nation-- and my mother.”

“I see,” Hercules replied, and lowered his head a bit.  “May I pay my respects to your family?”  The young man began to rise, but was stopped by a surprisingly strong grip on his arm.

Hippolyte gently but insistently pushed him back towards the bed.  “You will be well enough to get up by tomorrow.  Your recuperative powers are impressive, but not that impressive.”  Hercules acceded, and was struck still a moment by the young Amazon whose fingers still circled his wrist.

The Princess was at least eighteen or nineteen, making her just a year or two Hercules’ junior.  Long, tightly curled brown hair cascaded to her shoulders.  Hippolyte’s face was set in a serious expression at all times, but lines at the corner of her bowed lips hinted at a ready smile, complimented by curious, alert eyes that shone like burnished gold.  Her leather Amazon raiments were decorated with metal scales and rings, and exposed much of her pale pink skin and strong, compact figure.

Hippolyte was quite probably the most stunningly beautiful sight Hercules had ever seen.  He believed the Princess was even more attractive than his half-sister Aphrodite, though he hoped the goddess wasn’t listening in.

The young Amazon allowed a few seconds of Hercules’ silent staring before responding.  “What is it, stranger?”

Hercules shook himself from his reverie.  “Nothing, your highness, nothing.”  He saw her cringe a bit at the royal address.

“Save for times of ceremony, Hercules, I rarely have use for my title.  My name is Hippolyte.”

“Of course.”  Hercules pushed himself up on his elbows, letting the warm skins he had been covered by drop to his lap.  Now Hippolyte herself froze a moment as she admired the form of the young man before her.

Hercules was just passing his twentieth year, and was possessed of a form that spoke of many of those years being spent working hard.  His taut whipcord muscles rippled slightly underneath his tanned skin, and his chest was covered sparsely with soft hair.  The young man’s features were taking on the angular, rugged good looks of maturity, and his dark brown hair just touched the nape of his neck.  He had been stripped of his tunic and boots, and wore only tight leather leggings.

As an Amazon, Hippolyte had been exposed to very few men in her life.  The one before her made them all seem exceptionally homely.  This, she decided, is what the gods must look like.

Hippolyte felt just the tinge of warmth creep onto her cheeks when she returned to the present.  Turning slightly towards the shadows of the tent, she reached for the flap’s ties.

“Rest well, Hercules.  Tomorrow you shall have mine and my mother’s thanks.”

With a sharp turn that sent the tied-back tail of her hair flying, Hippolyte exited the tent.

Hercules let out a low whistle as he settled back into the bed.

TO BE CONTINUED...