Popping the cork with her teeth, she grabbed the healer by the tunic and held the reviving liquid under his nose.
She had no idea if this would work. She’d only seen the liquid revive those who’d been put to sleep by the darts. But she had to try something. She released Dolos and watched him closely as he leaned against a nearby tree, his face scrunched in discomfort.
The moments stretched on, and when she could wait no longer, she said, “Dolos?”
The healer looked up at her. Relief swelled in her chest as she saw his pupils shrinking back to their normal size.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “An island... Lemnos?”
“Do you remember how we got here?”
The healer frowned. “A shipwreck...we were ambushed...what have they done to me?”
“They’ve been drugging us. I think it’s the lotus flowers. I’ll explain everything but right now we have to go. Heracles is hurt.”
Dolos’s face tightened with worry. “I’ll need my healer’s kit.”
Once they had Dolos’s bag, Danae led him through the jungle and told him everything that had happened since she fell into the river. Everything except the panther’s sacrifice.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” The healer looked at her with concern once they reached the waterfall.
“I’m fine, just a bit bruised,” she lied.
“You’re incredibly lucky.” Dolos peered over the edge. “A fall like that could kill, or at least break some bones.”
“This way. Be careful, it’s slippery.”
She began the descent toward the mouth of the waterfall. The sun had abandoned the sky, and the climb was twice as treacherous in the dark, but they couldn’t delay. Each moment they wasted might be Heracles’s last.
Danae landed on the bank and waited for Dolos to catch up before leading him through the waterfall. With no torch to guide them, they took each other’s hands, stretching out their free fingers to brush against the passage wall.
“So, you think the women of Lemnos killed their menfolk and brought them here?” asked Dolos.
“Not just their men by the look of the clothing. And some of the bodies are more recent kills. Maybe sailors who came to the island by chance, like us. I don’t know what the Lemnians are planning, but I think we’re all going to end up rotting in this cave if we don’t do something.”
“I wish I knew exactly how long we’ve been on this damned island.” Dolos’s voice was strained. “How long he’s been down here.”
“I think it’s been months. If he wasn’t a demigod, he’d surely be dead by now.”
Dolos was silent.
Eventually, the ghostly light appeared ahead of them. The healer dropped Danae’s hand and ran through the darkness toward it. She followed him, their breath chasing the sound of their footsteps as they emerged onto the edge of the pool.
It was a clear night, and the silver moon illuminated the grotesque scene below. Dolos barely slowed at the sight of the tree, crashing through the water, not stopping until he was by Heracles’s side.
The healer unfurled his pack. His usually steady hands trembled as he wafted a pouch of herbs under Heracles’s nose.
The hero’s eyelids fluttered open, then closed again.
“Can I help?” Danae couldn’t bear how useless she felt.
“His head,” Dolos said, retrieving a vial of blue liquid from his pack. “Prop it up.”
She shuffled round and eased the hero’s head onto her lap.
“Heracles, it’s me.” Dolos gently prized open the hero’s lips. “You need to drink this.”
