Page 4 of The Trickster's Heart

Hercules had never known his father, and contrary to most women of the time, she never claimed that he was the son of a god. Alcmene didn’t regale Hercules with stories of a whirlwind love affair or of a dashing, heroic Olympian who would one day return to her. She never spoke of his father, and Hercules stopped asking.

He worked alongside Alcmene from the time he’d been old enough to stand and hardly left her side since. Hercules learned all too quickly how dangerous the world was for a woman like Alcmene; if his father wouldn’t defend her, he certainly would.

When Apollo’s plague and wars rushed through Greece and destroyed nearly every life it touched, Hercules was away from Alcmene. He had taken over going to the village for her as soon as he was able and sold everything that she could make and he could hunt in the town market. Most people avoided him or under sold him, their disdain for the harlot and her bastard son apparent, but no one was as skilled as Hercules when it came to the hunt. When there was seemingly no boar or game to be found, and Hercules was the only one in the market selling fresh meat, the pious found it in their hearts to look the other way—and pay half the market rate. Hercules had been trapped there, a day’s ride away from his mother, when the chaos descended.

The carnage and the fighting stretched from street to street, and there was no way to get anywhere in the country without bloodshed. For three days, Hercules fought his way back to his mother, only to find at the end of the third day that she had succumbed to a raid while he was gone. There was hardly anything for the thieves to take, but they ransacked the small mud brick home that Hercules had shared with Alcmene for all of his life, leaving nothing inside but her corpse and broken pottery.

So, cradling the cold body of the only person who had ever loved him, in one breath, Hercules cursed the gods and swore to become one.

For the next year, Hercules put himself to task in such a manner that it would become the stuff of stories. He lived in the same home, barely bothering to repair it, and became a cautionary tale. For entire weeks at a time, Hercules would disappear into the surrounding wood and not return. His abilities with the sword and bow were already known throughout the region, but now rumors were circulating that Hercules was a demigod already…or at least possessed immortal blood.

Neither were true.

The most supernatural thing about Hercules was that damned determination. All men may dream of immortality, but only Hercules decided one day that he would take it, by any means necessary.

He worked in the forest, clearing land and fighting predators until he became one. Almost one year to the day after the death of his mother, Hercules left the ruins of their home and didn’t look back. The Temple of Zeus in Olympia was rumored to be the best place for a mortal to gain an audience with the king of the gods, and Hercules started walking in its direction with only a sword at his waist and a bow over his shoulder.

Zeus was a vain god, which meant it was easy to get his attention. When Hercules stepped into the temple, Zeus immediately took notice.

Hercules had always been a tall man, but practically living in the wilderness for the past year had honed him into the image of heroes. He had curly brown hair that framed a strong face, with shoulders as wide as Hephaestus’s. His body was covered in dark hair and rippled with muscles and scars, and after the long journey to Olympia, his face was obscured by a rough beard. Zeus’s first thought was to obtain this mortal as a champion before Ares got wind of the stranger.

All it took on Hercules’s part was a carefully constructed plea and a few mentions of how he’d never met his father. Zeus—being Zeus—wrongfully assumed Hercules was his son. He charged Hercules to go and live with Eurystheus, a Mycenaean king, for ten years and complete any task the king commanded him.

If Hercules accomplished it, the godhood would be his.

The first nine years passed slowly. Hercules accomplished task after task, until his labors were the talk of Greece. He strode around the Mycenaean palace almost with more authority than the king himself, with the Nemean lion’s skin wrapped around his shoulders and a sword in his hand. Eurystheus had grown jealous of Hercules and his strength, refusing to believe that he was still only a mortal man. He was determined to make Hercules’s last labor impossible for any human to complete, in order to cast him out dishonorably after his decade of servitude.

So there Hercules stood, in Eurystheus’s great hall, waiting for the final task that would bring him to his goal. As he looked upon Eurystheus, he wasn’t surprised that the king held such ire towards him.

Over the years, Hercules had only grown stronger and more rugged as the tasks demanded it of him. The king, by comparison, was a frail man. He would never lead an army and wouldn’t survive as a general. Even now, he was seated on a massive plush cushion to make himself appear taller.

Hercules took in the sights of the great hall, for what he prayed would be the last time. The walls were decorated in colorful mosaics and lined with columns. A small pool was in the very center of the room, and crowds of people mingled around the edges. It wasn’t everyday that Hercules was assigned a new labor, and Eurystheus put on quite a show. He used it as a way to flex his political power and invited every noble man in traveling distance to attend. It meant three days of feasting and drinking for the attendees, most of which Hercules wouldn’t attend, as he’d be off preparing for whatever assignment had befallen him.

Two massive, smoking braziers rose up from the ground on either side of the king. They were full of cedar chips and perfumed the entire room, allegedly giving more power to the bargain seers that the king employed. He allegedly got Hercules’s tasks from the priests, but Hercules had been around gods and their holy men throughout his travels, and he knew the ones in Eurystheus’s court were paid charlatans.

“Oh, great ones!” Eurystheus held his hands up, his voice full of mock sincerity. “I humbly ask thee, speakers of the gods, what final great task might you have for our servant, Hercules?”

Hercules shifted his weight and fought the urge to curse.

Servant, my ass. He was petulant. You need a servant to help you up onto that throne of yours, so maybe remember who sent me here.

At the king’s command, three ancient looking men climbed out from behind the throne. They were covered in dirt and wearing tattered rags, which Hercules knew was all part of the act. The ‘priests’ stumbled around as if they were in the dark, slowly and clumsily making their way towards Hercules.

One of them extended their hand out towards him, and Hercules’s face twisted in disgust as he stepped backwards. He didn’t respect the gods and their psychopomps, and he really didn’t respect those who faked it for money or status.

“Hercules,” the man made a gurgling sound, “your final task shall be the one that proves whether or not a god walks among us.”

“I am no god.” Hercules’s voice was resolute. He stood taller and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke, he made sure everyone could hear him; he commanded the room better than a king or a warlord.

“Not yet,” another man whistled, stepping closer to Hercules, “but we shall now see if that’s what you will be.” His voice had a sing-song quality to it that made Hercules want to punch him in the nose.

“My task, if you please,” Hercules demanded again.

“Do not rush the gods!” Eurystheus snapped from his throne.

“Do not mock me!” Hercules roared, his tight-leashed temper flaring to life. His voice echoed off the stone floors and made the watching guests gasp. This was the Hercules they had traveled so far to see. “I commune with the gods more than you do, Eurystheus, so set me to my task, and I will depart from here.”

“Very well.” Eurystheus growled and clapped his hands. The priests crawled back towards the throne and disappeared behind it. “You have brought many wonders before this court, Hercules, and there is but one more that my palace and I would love to see.”

---