Chapter 12 - Callisto in Illusia: Scene 12


                                                  Callisto in Illusia

                                                       by Volpone

                                                         Scene 12

          As Fionn walked towards the Temple of Hephaestus, hoping that he would arrive before Callisto,
he thought again of the items he carried in his pack and shuddered involuntarily. The contributions of
several gods rested within. Such terrible power of life and death...
          It had been dry for quite a bit, and the road was rather dusty. This was so different from Hibernia.
He could stand a bit of rain about now to keep the dust down, but he realized that if he were home, he
would as likely get a downpour that would make traveling miserable, turning the track into a ribbon of
mud stretching for miles. Of the two, the dust was preferable for his purposes. But he did miss the
greenery.
          He became aware of the horsemen long before they overtook him. They must have been riding
hard because their horses were breathing heavily... not lathered, but another fifteen minutes or so would
certainly do it.
          Standing aside off the trail, Fionn was only slightly surprised when they drew rein as they
reached him.
          There were four of them, all big men. The smallest probably outweighed Fionn by an easy twenty
pounds, and Fionn wasn't what would be considered small. Their leader was built like Hercules and had
the most powerful-looking chest that Fionn could recall. His face would be almost pretty in a slightly
vacant way, but now it was clouded in anger. He rode a truly beautiful horse... a large dark grey dappled
stallion with intelligent eyes. In fact, Fionn thought the animal looked brighter than his rider. The
remaining three riders had the look of hired thugs about them.
          He nodded in greeting, leaning the butt of his spear casually on the ground.
          "Greetings to you. And what would you be wanting of me?" He smiled easily.
          The leader of the men didn't dismount.
          "Throw me the pack," was all he said.
          The Hibernian shook his head, still smiling.
          "Now, why would you want that? I've no coin or jewels... nothing to put dinars in your pocket."
          He wasn't about to admit what he actually did have in there.
          "I'm Pecstocles the Great, and I shall perform your part in this quest."
          Fionn looked at the hulking pretty boy and tried to imagine him doing anything more difficult
than tearing himself away from a mirror. He failed.
          "And just why would you wish to do such a thing?"
          "I was chosen by Aphrodite as her representative, but I was delayed. Being without a task, she
told me she no longer needed me as her champion and dismissed me. But I will take your task and be her
champion again. Then I will have her favor again, instead of some puny barbarian like you."
          "You can have her favor if you wish, but the pack stays with me, as does the task."
          Fionn knew that he was taking to a blank wall. Masonry would probably have a greater mental
capacity. This one was so self-absorbed that he would never listen to reason, if reason was a word that
could be used in his presence at all. A though in that great cabbage of a head would probably die of
loneliness.
          Pecstocles glowered.
          "I will not ask again."
          "Good. Then that'll save me from repeating myself."
          To his men, Pecstocles snapped, "Take it."
          The three kicked their heels to their mounts and charged, but Fionn took two steps towards the
lead rider, grounded the butt of his spear and swung his feet up as if pole-vaulting. The first rider was
caught full in the chest with both feet before he could slow, and sailed in a graceful arc right off the back
of his horse, landing in an ungraceful heap on the far side of the road.
          Instead of landing on the ground, Fionn's feet came down lightly on the back of the now riderless
horse and stuck fast. He'd done a similar trick back home in Hibernia with the small, sturdy ponies of his
people. He stood on the horse's back, facing the rear, looking down somewhat on his other adversaries.
          The other two riders looked up in surprise as their target was suddenly elsewhere. Instead of standing
politely on the ground to be ridden down like a normal person, he now stood higher than they were. They
had just a fraction of a second to realize that they had lost their advantage when Fionn's spear flashed out
like a quarterstaff, taking each squarely in the forehead. They did wonderful synchronized back
somersaults right off the back of their mounts to land unceremoniously in the dust.
          Before the horse had carried him more than a few feet, Fionn dropped lightly to the ground at the
ready.
          "Now," he announced, "we're on equal footing." He really didn't want to see the horses possibly
get injured anyway.
          Pecstocles sat his mount stoically, displeased but not deigning to soil his hands on this upstart
barbarian.
          His men proved to be tougher than they were smart. Slowly, they regained their feet, shook
themselves off and eyed their opponent warily. Fionn smiled at them in a relaxed manner.
          Without warning, all three charged Fionn and hoped to bear him down with their numbers.
          The chief of the Fianna bent his knees and sprung high over their heads, did a tuck-and-roll in
midair, twisting so that he landed behind them facing their backs. All three skidded to a stop as he went
over them, unable to reverse their momentum. The one on Fionn's left slipped and went down before he
could stop. The one who'd been kicked in the chest moved a bit slower than his compatriot, but both
approached Fionn much more cautiously this time, allowing their third partner to join them before
closing with this acrobatic foe...Two took cudgels from their belts while the third pulled a short sword.
          Even with an opponent on each side, MacCumhail still had the advantage of reach with his spear,
so they didn't rush in on him.
          Then the sword-bearer too the offensive. Fionn reversed his grip on the spear, spinning it so that
the slash was taken on the metal strapping of the spear-head. He parried a backhand cut on the return.
          Taking advantage of the distraction, on e of the cudgel-swingers moved up behind Fionn, raising
his club to brain the Hibernian while he engaged the swordsman. He was about to swing his club down
when the butt-end of the spear swung back and caught him soundly in the solar plexus. He stopped
suddenly and the butt came straight up, catching him squarely under the chin and his world went dark.
          One opponent out of action, Fionn shifted to bring both his antagonists into his field of vision.
          He made several feints with his spear tip, moving the point so quickly that the swordsman couldn't even
bring his sword into contact with it. Then, whipping the blade of the spear under his foe's guard, he
thrust forward. The swordsman expected to be thoroughly punctured, but the blade went by with the flat
against his side.
          “Hah!” he exclaimed at being missed, and raised his sword to slash at the unprotected head of his
target.
          “Hah!” exclaimed Fionn, drawing the spear back sharply, its razor-honed edge slicing through
the wide leather belt holding the man's armored skirt. The mercenary's eyes goggled as he suddenly felt
an embarrassing draft. As he looked down to see himself exposed to the world, Fionn almost casually
stepped close and lifted him from off the ground with an uppercut to the jaw, knocking him cold.
          “Sometimes old fashioned ways are the best,” Fionn observed.
          The third mercenary backed towards the standing horses, deciding to take a defensive stand. The
superior reach of the spear gave his foe an advantage, but if he could draw him into over-extending
himself, he might get inside the effective range of the spear to where his club would give him the
advantage. He managed to block several jabs from the butt of the spear and began to feel ore confident.
          He might be able to hold his own long enough to put his ploy into effect. He took another step back.
          Suddenly, after fighting almost silently up to this point, Fionn gave a loud war cry, whirlinghis
spear in a dizzying spin as he took several menacing steps forward, a fierce expression on his normally
friendly face.
          His opponent dropped back several more feet.
          Abruptly, the Hibernian stopped his advance, grounded his spear, his threatening posture gone.
          Stooping, he picked up a rock about the size of an apricot and flung it towards the mercenary. It wasn't a
terribly hard throw and there was plenty of time for the warrior to duck under the the path of the throw.
          Unfortunately for him, the rock struck Fionn's true target... the unprotected rump of the horse
standing behind the warrior.
          Suddenly stung, the horse reacted in a completely normal manner. It kicked its back hooves,
catching the unsuspecting mercenary squarely, sending him sailing to sprawl unconscious a few feet
away from Fionn.
          The man from Eire turned to the motionless Pecstocles.
          “Well, my fine fellow, what's it to be?”
          The massive man slowly dismounted, and Fionn thought he could sense a sigh of relief from the
man's horse as it was unburdened.
          Pecstocles drew his broadsword, making a chilling wheep noise as it did. He brought his blade
up to guard.
          “Give me the pack.”
          Fionn looked at him, took in how he moved, how he held his sword, how his eyes flicked from
his face to his spear and back, and came to a decision. The man could probably hew right through a tree
with his sword, but the tree would win a battle of wits.
          “Very well.” He took the pack from his shoulder and tossed it... almost straight up.
          Pecstocles whole head went up as his eyes followed the pack. As his chin went up, Fionn swung
his spear around and carefully rapped the big man's knuckles a sound whack.
          “Ow!” he yelled, dropping the sword and clutching his bruised hand.
          The spear changed directions and bopped him on the nose.
          Then Fionn caught the pack.
          “Aargh!” cried the hulking man, clutching at his face. “My dose! You have broken by beautiful
dose! I ab ruined! I ab disfigured! Killing be would be better!”
          Fionn spoke like a parent comforting a child who's skinned their knee.
          “Stop yellin' like a babe and let me look.”
          All thoughts of animosity gone, the large man very slowly took his hands away.
          Fionn looked with an appraising eye. Oh, that was going to smart for a day or two, the but break
looked clean. His nose would be slightly crooked, but not deformed.
          When he spoke, he sounded as if he had a severe head cold, his n's and m's all being changed
from the swelling of his sinuses.
          “Tell be... I ab hideous, do?”
          Fionn couldn't rub salt in the wound of such a completely vacuous boob.
          “Oh, it's broken all right, but it;ll heal well and won't look bad. It'll give you a bit of a dangerous
look... add some character. The ladies should love it.”
          He brightened.
          “You dink so?”
          Fionn nodded. “Aye. One the bruising disappears, you should look quite the proper rake.” He
didn't tell him that in the meantime he would look like he had a piece of badly over-ripe fruit stuck to his
face.
          He continued. “Now, are we done here?” The other three were just beginning to stir, and though
Fionn was confident they were no threat at the moment, he didn't want them interrupting him once he got
to the temple.
          Pecstocles touched his fingers to his swelling proboscis and winced.
          “Yes, we are done. Aphrodite would dever take be as champiod dow.”
          “Good. Then, I'll be going along now.”
          Fionn walked over and began mounting the former champion's horse.
          “Wait! Dat is by horse.”
          “I know,” replied the Hibernian. “Think of it as your penalty for setting your bully boys on me
when you knew what was at stake.” He tossed him the saddle bags from the horse, then added one of his
own heavy heavy gold armlets as well. “That's more than a fair price for your steed. Your nose wouldn't
welcome the jolting of a long ride anyway.”
          He finished mounting, and he could sense the the horse beneath him sighing relief at a rider who
knew what he was doing and didn't weigh so much.
          “Let's go, boy,” and he aimed his mount down the road in the direction of the temple and urged
him to a trot, leaving Pecstocles to settle with his hirelings before his long walk home.
