Alcmene stood before the faded wooden door and drew a deep breath that shuddered with unshed tears. How many times had she come here in happier times? No, Alcmene, she scolded herself. Don't lose yourself in memories. They'll swallow you whole. Do what you came for. You have the rest of your life to think of happier times. The rest of your life...
She pushed the door, knowing it would swing open easily. Iolaus had never locked his door, even when he knew he'd be gone for weeks. It had nearly driven Ania mad with worry at first. But then, she was a city girl. It had taken her awhile to grow comfortable with the country ways of Thebes and to understand what Iolaus seemed instinctively to know, how trust has a way of begetting trustworthiness.
Oh, but there came the memories again. Sweet, clumsy Ania, with her horrible stews and patchy sewing. Sometimes Alcmene missed her more than she did her own daughter-in-law. Deianeira had been so self-sufficient, even intimidating at times. Ania had been the one who begged recipes to ruin and who sat with her for endless hours trying to learn the arts of sewing and embroidery. That dreadful patchwork vest had been Ania's crowning masterpiece. And Iolaus, who could be vain as a peacock when the mood struck him... Alcmene could see him now, accepting it as the gift of love it was, with twinkling eyes and his broadest smile, kissing away his little wife's embarrassed tears. She could count on her fingers how many times she'd seen him without that vest in the years between. How many times had she patched it, herself, since then, fondly running her fingers over the crooked, uneven stitches Ania had suffered over so bravely?
No, she wasn't going to cry again; not standing here in the midday sun in front of an empty house. Her tears were no one else's business.
She stepped into the cool darkness and let the door swing shut behind her. The room smelled faintly of spices and candle wax. The village woman Iolaus paid to keep the place up had been in recently. So many times she'd heard her friends wonder aloud why he didn't just sell the house. He hadn't lived in it since Ania's death, had instead taken his infant son to the shabby rooms attached to the forge he kept near the stream at the edge of town. But when the epidemic of fever had swept through Thebes three years later, he'd brought the dying child back to his mother's bed.
Alcmene had found them there, drawn by some mother's instinct. Her heart always ached remembering how Iolaus lay curled protectively around the still, small body; sick with the fever himself, he'd cried himself to sleep, his face buried in his son's silky yellow hair. She'd almost lost him, too, between the ravages of the fever and his despair at the final loss of the family he'd cherished. In the end he'd come back from the shadows, the indomitable spirit tempered to new strength. But sometimes when she had stopped in at the forge that summer, she had found him staring off into the distance, looking for what, she knew too well.
She'd been watching the sun rise over her garden the morning he'd shown up, long bow over his shoulder, traveling pack on his back and sword at his side. He was going to the East, he'd told her, and might be gone a long time. She knew he'd met a man from the fabled land of Chin not long before he'd gone off with Hercules to meet the Minotaur, a warrior priest of some sort, he said. The fellow had taught him just enough of the physical and mental disciplines of his people to sharpen his curiosity -- and what was there to keep him at home now that Ania and the child were gone?
She'd hugged him close, begged him to keep safe and come back to the people who loved him. He'd smiled his sweet rogue's smile and told her he'd always come back to his favorite girl. She watched him walk off into the sunrise and prayed the gods would bring her surrogate son home.
Seasons passed. Hard winter gave way to spring and her grandchildren grew like the flowers in her garden. Autumn swallowed the summer whole and the winter rains returned. Hercules went off to set things right in the underworld. And Iolaus came home.
He'd been gone more than a year. He was lean and strong and brown and his wild bright hair was tied back with a leather thong. Alcmene wondered if he had found what he sought in the Orient. He was still headstrong and hot-tempered, full of bad jokes and bawdy songs and raucous laughter, and he still loved a good brawl, but he'd changed somehow. The boy she had half raised had grown into a man who filled her heart with pride and love.
Then Hera had taken Hercules' family with unearthly fire and her son had nearly been driven mad with grief and a burning need for revenge. Without Iolaus, Hercules would have been lost forever. But together they had survived and triumphed.
She passed through the silent, twilit room, stepping softly in the gloom. The bedroom was bright by comparison. There were no shutters on the windows here; they looked out onto a small atrium. Ania's little household shrine, with its precious cache of memories, sat on the mantel. Iolaus had never been much concerned with the gods, but the altar was testimony to his love for his lost family, and Alcmene knew he came here from time to time. Here lay Ania's delicate lace head scarf and her ivory combs. Hercules had teased Iolaus for months about how much he'd paid for those combs, Alcmene remembered. That was before he'd met Deianeira , before he'd known the importance of a gift for the woman you loved. A tiny wooden horse lay upon the scarf. Iolaus had carved it for his son's third birthday, the birthday that had never come. Alcmene gently stroked the smooth wood of the little horse's flank, lost again in the memory of those simple, happy times that had passed too soon.
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her, followed by the dull ache in her chest that had become all too familiar in the past weeks. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Not here, she prayed silently. Not now. Not yet. She concentrated on taking steady, even breaths, and the spell gradually passed. She would have to tell Jason soon, and he'd send for her sons... all of her sons: Iphicles, Hercules, and Iolaus.
As much as she wanted to spare them her death, she wanted to see them again, too, to tell them that everything would be all right, that she wasn't afraid, that she had no regrets. No regrets save one, and she'd come to lay that one to rest.
Looking back through all the years, Alcmene couldn't remember actually telling Iolaus how dear he was to her, how proud of him she was, what joy he had brought into her life. And now her time was running out.
She pulled the rolled parchment from her bodice and spread it open on the bed. She had suffered over the words, wanting, needing them to be right. She was as clumsy with written words as Ania had been with a needle. But she had faith that Iolaus, with his loving heart, would know the meaning she had tried to capture. And he would understand why she had left the words here to be found later rather than risk embarrassing him or missing the opportunity to speak with him alone. She read her message one final time.
"I need to thank you now for the joy you've given me all these years, to tell you how precious your friendship has been. Ever have you anchored Hercules to humanity. How effortlessly he might have surrendered to the gods, become like them, if not for your love and loyalty. He is the warm and compassionate man he is because of you. He is a hero because of you. Alone, I do not believe I could have held him back from the empty pleasures of Olympus. Together, we have done so, and for this I am more grateful than these words can hope to say. Iolaus, I have loved you as much as any mother ever loved a son, though you were born to another woman. When you think of me, think of me with joy. Do not weep for me, Dear One, for I have known happiness unbounded, and I know we will all meet again on the other side."
It wasn't right, she sighed. But it would never be perfect, no matter how long she worked, and it was time to call it good enough. She re-rolled the parchment and slid one of her rings over it to hold it secure. She laid it on Ania's scarf next to the toy horse, where Iolaus would find it when the time was right. She patted the horse one last time and left the room. There was still so much to be done, and there weren't many days left. It was time to go home.
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