Young Hercules (Novelization) Transcript

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Young Hercules (Novelization)

Young Hercules
A novelization by Mel Odom.
Based on the teleplay by Andrew Dettman & Daniel Truly.
Story by Rob Tapert and Andrew Dettman & Daniel Truly.

Chapter One

Hercules hooked his fingertips over the thin lip of rock above him and pulled himself up a little farther. During the last hundred feet, the climb up the mountain had been a matter of inches. Wind blew over him, cooling him as he sweated from his struggle. His arms, back, and legs ached from the strain. Anyone normal, he knew, would have given up a long time ago. But he wasn't normal. He was the son of Zeus, a half-god, an he had things to prove.

He found a toehold and shoved his boot against it, pushing himself up another few inches. He pulled with his fingers again. The rock crumbled under his fingertips, and he started to fall.

And me without the wings of Icarus!

Frantically, Hercules swung for another grip. He slid his fingers into a narrow fissure on the mountain's face. The rough stone bit into his flesh, but he hoped it would hold.

C'mon, c'mon!

The fissure held, even though a cascade of small pebbles tumbled over him. His feet slipped. Now he was dangling from one arm. The coiled rope on his shoulder brushed against his cheek, and the backpack slammed against his spine. He took a deep breath and, without thinking, looked down. His stomach rolled.

Big mistake, he realized. Looking down is always a big mistake.

The highest trees of the forest were hundreds of feet down now. Birds flew well below him. Hercules grinned, remembering that no one from his village had ever climbed the mountain because it was so dangerous. That alone might have interested him in the climb at some point. But today he was here for another reason.

Hercules took a deep breath and looked back up. Okay, no more looking down. He scanned the harsh rock for another handhold above him and found it. He hooked his fingers into it and started up again.

Finally, after long moments and summoning patience he usually didn't have, Hercules reached the top of the cliff. He caught his breath, then walked to the ragged edge and peered over. Up where he stood, Hercules felt he was more on an equal footing with the sky than with the forest far below.

Man, that's a lot farther down than it looked up from below, he thought. When he had looked up at the mountainm he'd been concerned, wondering if he could manage the climb. Now the distance seemed even more impossible.

But, by the gods, it's going to make a great story, isn't it? Hercules grinned and stretched his fingers, working the kinks out of them.

He walked to the other side of the mountain. The drop raced down a surface that was almost as straight as a stone mason's ax cut. No one, not even he with his incredible strength, could climb down that. But that was where he had to go. That was where the legends said the cave would be.

A silvery glimmer of the river that ran through the mountain snaked between the trees and bushes below. The legends had all agreed that the river sprang from the Cave of Ares. The cave cut into the base of the mountain on this side, and no human had ever entered it.

No human or half-human. But that's going to change today. Hercules grinned. Getting into the cave was only part of the challenge that had brought him here.

He'd first learned about the cave from a traveling merchant who had come to the village bazaar nearly a month ago. Local legend labled the cave as forbidden to mortals, a place where the god of war had stashed fortunes and trophies he'd taken in battle.

Hercules had come to the mountain seeking one of those: an urn that had reportedly belonged to Zeus. My father. He'd found mention of it in the temple documents he'd searched after hearing the story. Ares hadn't taken all of his trophies fairly, and Hercules felt certain the urn had been one of those. No way could he let Ares take something from Zeus. Hercules had decided to journey to the cave to get the urn. Hercules intended to give it back to one of the priests at the temple of Zeus.

Okay, time to get this done. It's not going to get any easier, and erosion takes too long.

Hercules dropped the heavy coil of rope from his shoulder. Carrying the rope up the cliff had been hard, but getting to the cave below was impossible without it. Sweat from his earlier exertions covered him. His leg and back muscles quivered with fatigue. But excitement filled him.

At eighteen years old, Hercules stood tall and lean, but he still had his full growth ahead of him. His skin was bronze from the summer sun, and his hair blond. He wore a sleeveless leather shirt and leather pants, and leather bracers covered his forearms from his wrists nearly to his elbow. Old Chadduz the cobbler had made his knee-high boots, a gift from his mother on his last birthday.

Working quickly, growing more excited about the adventure, Hercules tied one end of the rope around a thick tree. Then he wrapped a piece of blanket around his ankles and tied the other end of the rope over it. He let out a breath and threw the rope's slack into the yawning abyss, then watched as it unfurled to its full length.

Breathing evenly, trying to relax, Hercules inched to the cliff's edge. The wind plucked at him with breezy talons, blowing hard enough to almost knock him off balance. He stood his ground and gazed down at the leafy canopy. He'd carefully measured the rope, but he didn't know if it was the right length.

At least, not until after I take this jump.

The rope trick was something he'd learned from a traveling acrobat troup that had come through the village after the spring rains had passed. If he had measured the distance properly and if the rope held, he thought the jump would work. Of course, he wouldn't know for sure until he did it.

He reached over his shoulder and took the oil-soaked torch from the pouch on his back. He slammed the torch head against the rock shelf at his feet. Sparks flared, then fire reathed the head of the torch.

Holding the torch tightly, Hercules leaped, throwing himself out from the cliff and falling headfirst in a swan dive. He fell so fast the wind ripped through his hair, but the flame stubbornly clung to the torch.

He plummeted and spotted the silvery gleam of the river below. The ground came up quickly. At the bottom of the river he saw broken and scorched skeletons lying scattered in all directions, like toys abandoned by a careless child.

Hercules kept falling, his eyes drawn to the empty sockets of a skull lying face up. How long does it take to become a skeleton in those waters? He really didn't want to know, but the thought filled his mind. He waved his arms, trying to stay in control of the dive. Too much flailing, though, and he'd smack into the mountainside and maybe rip himself to shreds. Small pieces probably reduce to bone even faster. The crackle of the torch's flame struggling to stay lit popped in his ears. He saw his image reflected in the River of Skulls, growing larger and larger, and for a moment he didn't think he was going to stop, thought maybe he'd measured the rope too long and he was going to plunge right into that deadly river.

Then the rope snugged tight, pulling his ankles together hard enough to hurt even through the padding of the blanket. Briefly, he thought his legs had pulled from their sockets. His sudden stop only inches above the river's surface also made him lose his grip on the torch.

The flaming brand dropped into the river. A small, fiery explosion puffed up when it touched the water. Hercules already knew the water held a strong acid. That explained how the bones of the dead had acquired their burned, crusty look.

Now, that'll keep out the tourists, Hercules thought. He ignored the loss of the torch and twisted his body until he could see into the mouth of the cave at the base of the mountain. The entrance was more than ten feet high, and forbidding looking. Weak yellow light came from inside, intriguing him even further, but darkness swallowed the distance. Hercules' sense of adventure flared, overcoming his wariness of the acidic water. He was so near the prize he'd come to claim.

Slogging through the River of Skulls wasn't a good plan, he knew. Even if he didn't get killed, he'd be badly burned and in no shape to climb back up the rope. Hanging upside down, Hercules glanced at the jagged edges of the cave's mouth, then started swinging.

When he swung high enough toward the cave, he jammed his fingers against the nearedt ragged edge of rock, scrabbling for a hold. Pebbles and rock chips flew, tumbling into the River of Skulls. Hisses and smoke boiled up from the rocks as moss burned away from them.

Hercules swung again, feeling the rope slip just a little. He thought about the way the swinging was rubbing the rope against the rock above. Not good. He flailed again and managed to lock his fingers on a rough ridge above the cave mouth. He reached back with his free hand and untied the rope from his ankles. Holding onto the ridge, he dropped, twisting to land on his feet with a thump that echoed into the throat of the cave.

The rope drifted back to hang over the river of burned bones.

Cautiously, Hercules walked into the cave, drawn by the weak, flickering light. The cave was damp and cool, and it smelled like old death. His nose wrinkled in disgust, but he kept moving. Even walking quietly, he heard his steps echo.

He followed the twists and turns of the cave's tunnel. Ahead of him flaming torches sat on top of carved stone columns lining both walls of the tunnel. The floor was littered with decaying skeletons.

Halting, Hercules studied the brurning torches. They stood at shoulder height to him, the flames wavering in the small breeze wafting through the cave. He knew they weren't normal torches. Normal torches would need replacing. Hercules didn't think Ares trusted anyone to take care of the torches.

Hercules looked back the way he'd come. Only his footprints marred the dust that covered the smooth stones of the floor. No one had been through the tunnel in years.

Crouching, he gathered a handful of dust and looked at the torches again. He knew that the gods didn't leave their trophies and personal belongings unguarded.

Hercules blew gently on the dust in his hand, guiding a cloud of it between the first pair of stone columns. When the dust gusted between the columns it revealed lines of light burning between them. Hercules knew the lights had to be trip wires for whatever trap lay just ahead.

He stood, then swung his fist through one of the lights. Immediately, a jet of flame leaped from the stone column, blossoming into a fireball three times the size of his head. Flames shot from the other columns as well, spraying again and again. The heat washed over him, hot enough to sear.

That's not good. Hercules glanced around. He didn't intend to give up now. The flame jets had a rhythm between blazes. All he had to do was find a way through them.

The bright flames ripped away the shadows near him, revealing discarded weapons and armor on the floor. A rectangular shield drew his eye.

He picked up the shield and shook it free of dirt and grit. The arm straps looked strong enough and the padding behind the shield face looked thick enough to block some of the heat.

If that doesn't work - fssst! Flash-fried to a crackly crunch.

Picking up the shield in both hands, Hercules counted down the timing of the fiery bursts. When he was ready, he moved forward with all his speed and lifted the shield to block the jet of flame. Fire struck the shield, curling over the sides. None of it touched him.

He took another step and whirled, getting the shield up just in time to keep from getting crisped by the second stone column. There was no time to think as he moved on to the third column, and the whirling dance with death continued.

He kept moving, losing count of how many times he blocked the flames. The shield grew steadily hotter in his grip. He didn't get the shield up quite in time on the next one, and his hand got singed. He stopped the impulse to dodge away too quickly and concentrated on regaining the rhythm.

Covered with sweat and breathing hard, he burst free of the last stone column. Gratefully, he tossed the overheated shield to the stone floor.

Should have brought marshmallows, he told himself. He meant the thought to bolster his own courage, but it didn't help as much as he'd hoped. He took a deep breath of the cool air. The flames continued to blaze brightly behind him as he stepped deeper into the tunnel. No matter what lay ahead, he wasn't turning back.

~*~