Wrath "Rise of the Fallen"

Hercules’ palace perched like a magnificent eagle on the remains of a mountain that dominated the center of the Bay of Acanthus. The only thing more spectacular than the palace itself was the rock it was on: carved by the people of Acanthus over the course of decades in the likeness of the great Titan Prometheus. So wondrously detailed was the work that Zeus could see both Prometheus’ strain as he held the palace on his broad shoulders and his love for those he protected. A long, narrow bridge spanned from the shoreline to the palace’s lower gate. A complex system of pulleys could rotate bridge sections, allowing the palace to be nearly unassailable.

These days, thanks to Hercules and his Lions, the bridge kept the palace and village connected throughout the day. Zeus tipped his chin at a scowling bridge guard and began the trek across the bay. The day grew progressively warmer and the deer heavier, and even the breeze off the water seemed sultry. Sweat sheeted down his back, but Zeus enjoyed the human labor. The bridge ended at an unadorned wall of thick stone broken by a gate of massive timbers and wide bands of iron. Guards patrolled along the top of the wall, armed with bows and long spears. The gate stood open, watched by two heavily armed and armored Lions who scrutinized Zeus with unconcealed distrust on their faces, their spears angling toward the ground but oriented toward him.

“Well met, sirs,” Zeus called out with a big smile. “I’m here to pay respects to the king.”

The guards, both tall though one was much wider than the other, stared stonily at him. They wore the lion’s head shield on their backs, swords sheathed through them, but not the full-face, crested helmet with the lion’s mane; they were not, after all, at war.

“I have meat.”

One guard grunted. The other, wider one looked mystified at the deer slung across Zeus’ sweat-drenched shoulders. “No, really?”

“Yes, it would be my great honor to present this to King Hercules.”

“I’m sure,” the wide guard said without much conviction. He glanced at his mate, who gave a minute shrug. “Come on with you then.” He pointed his spear at Zeus. “You first.” The wide guard followed Zeus through a short tunnel that led to a semicircular clearing holding several huts, barracks for some of the Lions. On the far side was a stone staircase. Two more Lions stood watch at the top of it. The wide guard explained the situation with the utmost annoyance—and maybe a little glee at the effort his charge needed to haul the deer carcass—and left Zeus to the new guards. And so on up the mount, past beautiful greenbelts and waterscapes with fountains and falls and tiled terraces occupied with delightful statuary and pottery.

Finally, Zeus ascended a broad staircase of delicately veined white marble that led to an imposing double door of polished hardwood and steel. His shoulders and arms burned mightily, but he pasted a pleasant smile on his face and once again explained his purpose. Both guards listened with hooded eyes and no expression, glanced at each other, and nodded. The one on the right, pointed his spear at Zeus and swept it behind him to say after you. Zeus quashed the urge to roll his eyes and moved into another short tunnel.

This one opened up onto the parade ground where dozens of the Lion Legion churned up dust practice close-quarter combat. Shields and swords clashed and clunked. The square was enclosed one three sides by palace balconies from where clusters of people watched the goings on. Almost immediately Zeus spotted Hercules striding among the Lions. He wore no crown and no shirt, but nonetheless it was clear that he was the leader. Tall as any man there, he was broader and far more muscular, his sun-darkened skin roped with veins and scuffed with scars. His black hair swung about his shoulders as he looked this way and that, barking corrections and encouragement.

Zeus marched across the parade ground, ignoring the annoyed hailing of the guard and the stares of the sweating, dust-coated soldiers got decked for their loss of focus. Hercules turned at the disruption and his stern face instantly broke into a huge grin. He put his hands on his hips and waited for his father to approach.

When Zeus arrived, Hercules slapped a hand onto his shoulder and leaned in. “So, father,” he asked, “what’s your name today?”

“Thaddeus,” Zeus whispered, suddenly unsure. “I think…. Yes, Thaddeus.”

“Thaddeus!” Hercules bellowed. “Well met, my favorite hunter! I see you brought meat. Hardly even a taste for my Lion Legion though!”

To a man, the Lion Legion roared with laughter like some great beast. Laughter echoed from the balconies too.

Zeus laughed too. “I hear your Lion Legion is properly scaring the piss out of the region’s various brigands, ne’er-do-wells, and dead-enders.”

“Aye, we do keep the city-states of the kingdom secure,” Hercules said, looking around the parade ground. “Come, let’s get out of the dust and get that deer to the kitchen before it breaks your back.” Hercules chuckled. “And it would be unseemly for a king to carry that for a lowly hunter…” Zeus glared at his son, but was met with only glee. “Legion! Practice phalanx tactics!” Hercules led Zeus off the parade ground and into the palace proper.

The supreme god and the demigod sat in a small antechamber. It was cool and a high window cast a mellow white light. Each had a kylix brimming with honey mead. They caught up a bit; the talk was always easy, lots of laughs and good-natured ribbing. They ate a bit of venison and bread and maybe more mead than they should have. Zeus enjoyed both just fine, but truth be told, nothing tasted quite as good in human form.

Hercules looked enough like his mother, Alcmene, that by the time the antechamber light began taking on a yellowish cast, signaling the approach of sunset, regret once again nibbled at Zeus, as well as melancholy—another human emotion he could do without. He wasn’t looking forward to what he now had to do.

Zeus drained his mead and stood. “Again, son, congratulations on bringing peace to Acanthus. You’ve done a good thing. You are a good man.”

Hercules stood and embraced his father. “We’ll see how long this all lasts.”

“You are wise, Hercules,” Zeus said, “for half a god.” They laughed for the last time that day. He hugged his son again and then held him at arm’s length, looking him in his eyes, which were so much like his mother’s. “Stay vigilant, Hercules.” In the dimming light Zeus took his true form. “I will show myself out.” And with that he was gone.