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 ans, 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