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, and 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 mountain, 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 labeled 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 troupe 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 wreathed 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 nearest 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 burning 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.

~*~

      The sky burned red and orange over the battlefield where men and horses lay dying. Smashed battle chariots added to the carnage. Carrion birds had gathered, gliding patiently on the slow winds above.

      Ares looked out over the scene in satisfaction. Despite having taken part in the battle himself, he still looked fresh. It was one of the perks of being the god of war.

      He sat astride a heavy warhorse, watching as soldiers under his control chained a few pitiful moaning survivors to the wheels of overturned war chariots. It's always good to have a few prisoners left over to torture, Ares thought. A cruel smile touched his lips. He was tall, broad across the chest, every inch a warrior born. His hair was thick and black, and a neatly trimmed beard set off the high planes of his rough-hewn face. His creased leather armor had seen years of hard use.

      The captured men groaned in pain as Ares' warriors secured them to the chariot wheels, and the sound was music to Ares' ears. Being a god meant making mortals suffer. Otherwise, where was the fun of godhood?

      A horse's hooves clomping against the hard-packed earth of the battlefield being him drew his attention. He turned to look at the rider.

      She wore studded leather armor and heavy pants. Her long black hair trailed down her back, and excitement flushed her beautiful face.

      Ares returned her smile, then looked past her at the city of Corinth. Black smoke curled up from the city. Some of the battle had spolled over its walls before he'd marshaled his army and shoved the opposing forces back again. The damage left broken men, chariots, and structures scattered across the ground. Corinth and its king had become one of his pet projects, something to while away the boredom that was the curse of immortality.

      "Discord," Ares called out in greeting. "How's King Aeson doing?"

      "He grows weaker and weaker," Discord replied. A pleading note entered her voice. "Let me finish him off, Ares. Please. I haven't killed a monarch in centuries."

      Ares shook his head, amused by her wheedling. "No, sister. We need him alive a tad longer." He pointed to one of the men chained to a chariot wheel. "Care to spin a wheel?"

      Discord frowned, showing her disappointment. "Maybe later. There's other news - about our half brother Hercules."

      Ares glanced at her sharply. Hercules had been a sore point for a long time. "Father's half-mortal mistake? Haven't given him a thought in years. Still in diapers? Playing in his sandbox?"

      Discord's malicious grin told him she didn't buy his lack of interest. They knew each other too well for that. "He plays in your temple, even as we speak."

      Ares didn't ask how his sister got her information. She was always snooping somewhere, hatching schemes of her own. Most people couldn't hide things from her. He remained calm. "Hmmm. He's probably after that urn I stole from Zeus. The little runt is trying to score points with Dad." It was the only thing among all the valuables Ares had that might capture Hercules' attention.

      He's not so little these days," Discord replied with a taunt in her voice. "He's eighteen now. Tall, exceptionally strong, and quite handsome." She licked her lips in anticipation. "Let me go rip his face off."

      Ares shook his head, drawing a small dagger and twirling it idly in his fingers. "No need. He can enter the cave, but he'll never exit. Remember - I designed it!"

Chapter Two

      Hercules stared at the treasures scattered around the main chamber of the cave. Light from torches cut through the darkness. A king's ransom sat everywhere he looked. He'd never seen anything like it.

      Now, that's what I call a treasure trove!

      Gold and silver statues and figurines, as well as ingots and coins, poured across the floor. Precious gems shone bloodred, deep sea blue, tiger's-eye green, and amber yellow. Crowns and scepters in dozens of different shapes were casually tossed about.

      Ares obviously doesn't care much about the trophies he's collected, Hercules thought. Looks like he doesn't even visit. All that matters to him is aquiring them. As Hercules looked at them, he wondered how many battles, wars, and lives the treasures represented.

      Hercules walked into the room cautiously, looking for any further traps. Ares had kept the journey to the main chamber interesting, and if Hercules had been slower or weaker, he'd have been dead already. A mortal man would have died in minutes. But then, a mortal man wouldn't have trespassed in Ares' temple. Hercules grinned, enjoying his triumph.

      Hercules felt pretty good about defeating his half-brother's traps. Not only had Zeus spurned Hercules, but none of his half brothers of half sisters from Mount Olympus had shown an interest in him either. Well, Zeus is going to have to acknowledge me when I return the urn to his temple. Nobody else has bothered to try to return it.

      Smoke from the torches curled up and pooled against the ceiling. Hercules walked on into the room, past mounds of gold and silver. As he looked at the amount of treasure the cave contained, he got worried. Finding Zeus's urn in the middle of all the confusion was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought.

      Then a sparkle of dark green and silver attracted his attention. He turned toward it, spotting an urn placed in a position of importance on top of an altar.

      He walked past ivory tusks and a collection of gold bowls and pitchers to stand in front of the urn. The alter the urn sat on caught the light. Hercules looked up from the urn to the huge snake head at the top of the altar. The white marble snake looked dierce and evil. Only its head and part of its neck were visible; the rest of it lay hidden behind the wall.

      The altar was creepy, but Hercules forced himself forward. He stared at the urn, seeing through the dark green glass. Another snake was rendered in the bright silver of the urn's cap. The hooded snake was poised, ready to strike.

      Standing in front of the urn within easy arm's reach, Hercules laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. He smiled and told himself, Zeus has to notice me now. I'm going to be the one to return the urn to him.

      He reached for the urn. The glass felt cool and smooth. He lifted it from the wrought-iron perch that held it and gazed more deeply into its depths. He saw nothing at all and couldn't imagine why Zeus would want something like it.

      Was the urn always empty? The temple records had mentioned that the urn held something but hadn't said what.

      Breathing a sigh of relief, Hercules turned and retraced his steps. Guess I beat Ares' Security system. He grinned, then lost the grin when a low hissing noise came from behind him.

      Slowly, he turned to face the alter.

      The snake's huge eyes burned with ruby fire. The black tongue lunged out, stopping only inches short of Hercules. In the next heartbeat, the snake broke free of the barble skin that encased it. The creature rose up tall, nearly to the top of the huge cavern. Hisses echoed all over the treasure vault.

      That's a big snake, Hercules thought.

      With the sound of scales shushing over stone, the snake sped free of the wall, striking at Hercules. Its mouth gaped open wide enough to swallow him, and there were plenty of fangs to help him go down easier.

      Oh, man! Hercules jumped to one side, barely avoiding the snake. He clapped a hand on top of the urn, holding it shut. Even though it looked empty, he didn't want the urn's lid to come off. There was no telling what Zeus might have stored inside the urn that mortal eyes couldn't see. Or even half-mortal ones.

      Landing on his side from the jump, Hercules wolled to his feet as the snake went past. He didn't know if the guardian creature was twenty, thirty, or forty feet long, but it was easily the biggest thing he'd ever seen. He took out a black cloth pouch from the backpack, stuffed the urn inside the pouch, and pulled the drawstrings tight.

The snake coiled around