The God of Battles

by David Menefee

  “Five-ish. There’ll be dancing, I promise. Love ya. Bye.” Angela’s voice always tightened Cassandra’s throat with longing, and she knew she would crawl on broken glass if her girlfriend asked, but the birthday party was going to be hellish. Noting that her battery was almost dead, Cassandra turned the phone back off as a waiter approached the table. She ordered a sandwich and coffee then read her book while she waited. It occurred to her to reply to Angela’s message, but she told herself there was plenty of time before the party started.

  Twenty minutes later, lunch finished, she paid her tab and started for the door. As she opened it, she nearly collided with a wheelchair-bound man coming in. She glanced at his face and froze. Dark hair, lean, pale face, colorless eyes. The man from her vision was real. As he saw her, he stopped.

  “Sorry! I…” Cassandra stepped to one side.

  The man began to wheel through the door and stopped again, a puzzled frown on his face. “Thanks. Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Cassandra caught herself backing away and froze. She had to know if he was really the man who had called out to her. She closed the door and faced him. “In your dreams.” She felt heat rise to her face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  They stared at each other for three seconds, blocking the doorway.

  “I’m sure I recognize you from somewhere,” the man said. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names.”

  “Oh. I’m Cassandra. Cassie to my friends.”

  “Hi Cassie. I’m Simon.” He stuck his hand out, and she touched it and then jerked hers away as if stung. A woman came up behind him and cleared her throat.

  He grinned at Cassandra and gestured. “Why don’t we find a table and let this lady through?”

  Cassandra nodded, and they went to sit where there was good clearance for his wheelchair. The waiter approached them as Cassandra plunked into her seat.

  She glanced up. “I already ate, but I could use a latté.”

  Simon took a menu. Then he lifted an eyebrow at her. “So… where do I know you from?”

  Cassandra shrugged. “NutriMart, maybe? Do you go dancing… oh, shit. Sorry.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t shop there. And dancing is a little awkward. I’m always running over someone’s feet.”

  They both laughed. Cassandra felt the tension in her shoulders ease somewhat. “Yeah, I recognize you too. Just can’t say where from.” Won’t say, she added silently. She paused as she got one of her telepathic “news flashes.” “But I remember that you don’t live around here. Right?”

  “Right. I’m visiting a friend in the City. I live in Oakland.”

  The waiter took their orders and left.

  “My girlfriend and I live in Alameda.” It was best to let him know where he stood with her. Guys always got the wrong idea when she talked to them.

  Simon’s eyes tightened for a moment, but he said nothing.

  “Actually we live on a sailboat at Bayside Marina in Alameda.”

  He sat forward. “That’s pretty cool. I used to want to go sailing. Never really got around to it.”

  Cassandra’s eyes widened as another flash came. “You were in Iraq.”

  Simon’s face darkened. “Apparently, you remember a lot more about me than I do about you.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

  Simon raised a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just not used to forgetting a pretty face.”

  “Huh. Sure. Whatever.” A charmer. She looked around, momentarily at a loss. There was an awkward pause. “So what do you do?”

  “I’m a computer programmer. It’s good work when you can get it.”

  “I bet. I thought about getting into that. I need to go to college first.”

  “Focus on web design. That’s where the money is.”

  Cassandra drummed her fingers then tugged at an earring. This wasn’t going anywhere. “Look. I don’t actually know you. But I think you were in trouble last night. I heard you calling for help. What’s going on?”

  His face hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You called out. You said, ‘Lady.’”

  Simon’s mouth opened, and his face went pale. Cassandra waited.

  “How could you know that?” he blurted. “That was a nightmare!”

  On an impulse, Cassandra tried projecting a thought. —I’m a telepath, Simon.—

  He jumped, jarring the table and spilling some of his coffee. “Holy shit!”

  Several of the other diners turned to stare. Simon, his eyes wide as he stared at Cassandra, took no notice.

  Cassandra leaned forward. “Like I said, I saw you last night.”

  “It’s these dreams.” His voice faltered. “Nightmares. I’ve been having them for years, but they got really bad about a year ago.” Now his face was drawn. “So, you know I was stationed in Iraq. Marine Corps. I was on a fast track to sergeant, thinking about officer school. But then my unit was deployed to Iraq…”

  Cassandra lost her nerve, feeling the riptide of Simon’s emotions now that she had reached out mentally to him. This wasn’t going well at all. She stood. “I’m sorry. I gotta go.”

  Simon put his hand out. “Please stay. Look, I don’t think I know you either, but something tells me I need to.”

  She sat back down slowly, her pulse quickening.

  He continued. “I was having one of my nightmares. This is going to sound crazy, but something or someone is controlling my dreams.”

  Cassandra nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. “That’s not so crazy.”

  He stared at her, his mouth open, then shook his head. “I’ve had these nightmares for a while.” He hastily added, “Oh, I’ve been to therapy. I’ve got my meds.” He shook a pocket. Then his eyes became distant, introspective. “I was a guard at a checkpoint in Baghdad. I did something bad…”

  “Go on,” Cassandra tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. This guy had a story all right.

  “Look, I really don’t know who you are, and I’m not sure why I want to open up to you. Maybe I’m just lonely.” Simon chuckled. “I don’t run into telepaths every day.” He glanced around as if to reassure himself of the reality of their surroundings.

  “Well, I don’t run into guys who saw me in their nightmares, either.”

  Simon sighed heavily. “Like I was saying, I did something at that checkpoint, and it gave me PTSD. So I’ve been coping with that, forcing myself to stop the nightmares. But lately, these really creepy guys show up in my dream. They grab me, hold me down, put the gun in my hands, and make me shoot.” He stopped.

  “Shit.” Cassandra felt a shiver run up her spine.

  “Yeah. I had another one last night.” He sat forward a bit. “That nightmare was a little different. See, there was this lady. The dream stopped when I… when I stopped it. And then she was in front of me. Somehow, I knew I needed to ask her forgiveness. Then those bastards showed up and took me away. Back to the checkpoint.” He thumped the table repetitively, lightly. “And then somehow…” He looked at Cassandra, eyes wide. “I saw you there.”

  Cassandra smiled grimly. “That’s because I was there.”

  Simon trembled, pulling his hand across his hair and down his face, and he started breathing faster. “Oh shit. Oh shit. This is crazy. I’m having another episode.”

  “Stop. Simon, look at me.”

  He swallowed, his hand covering his mouth, and looked at her.

  “You’re not crazy,” she said. “I’m not crazy. I’m a telepath, and I saw you while you were having a nightmare. I didn’t give you that nightmare or anything. So calm down, okay?”

  He remained silent and unmoving. Just staring.

  She smiled, trying to defuse the tension. “So let’s cut the bullshit and try to pretend that the world is weirder than either of us can possibly imagine. Okay?”

  After a moment, Simon nodded. “Okay. Okay. I know it is. I’ve seen some weird shit too, you know. You’re not
going to believe this, but I can go out of my body any time I want.”

  “I believe it.”

  He stared at Cassandra for a moment then blinked. “Okay. Well, Alice, let’s take a tour of Wonderland.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “So here’s the deal,” he continued. “In Baghdad seven years and four months ago, I was on patrol at a checkpoint. When we saw a car approaching fast, we had to act. I mean, there were car bombers everywhere. So finally, we had to fire on them.” He swallowed, his hand trembling. “You know, it’s been years, I’ve been to therapy, and it’s still really hard to talk about this.”

  Cassandra kept her mouth shut, though she was once again struggling with the intensity of emotion radiating from this wounded man across the table from her. She braced herself and nodded encouragement.

  “I shot a mother and her two daughters.” He was talking fast, his words spilling over each other. “I didn’t know who it was. It could’ve been someone with a bomb. It could’ve been someone with guns ready to shoot us all. But instead it was just someone who didn’t know who we were, and so now…” He stopped.

  Cassandra pinched her fingers together surreptitiously, shutting off the pain, and sagged with relief. Sometime during his recitation, the waiter had brought their orders, and she sipped her latté to conceal her reaction.

  “Every few nights I relive that.” Simon stared at nothing now. “But later when I learned how to get out of my body, I also learned how to stop the dream. Used to be when I stopped it, I could just walk away. About a year ago, that changed. Now, when I go to sleep, or try to go out of my body, I end up at the checkpoint. And if I try to leave, those guys show up.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  He glanced at her. “They look like Marines in desert kit. But the light’s weird—weirder than usual for a dream, anyway. And behind them is a really scary dude. Way taller than me, more like basketball-player tall, but built like a quarterback. Wears a general’s uniform, but his eyes are glowing white.”

  They both shivered.

  “I’ve started to call him Iron Star.” Simon picked at his food. “Not sure why. The name just came to me. So, last night, the dream changed. I can’t remember the details, but there was this really tall woman. The Lady. I felt like I should know her, and I thought she was going to save me. So, when the General was pushing me down to shoot those people, I yelled out for the Lady.” He looked at Cassandra. “That must be what you heard. And saw.”

  Cassandra nodded slowly. “I think I can help. Iron Star’s probably a part of your mind that wants you to keep reliving that. Maybe I can talk to it.”

  “Nuh-uh. If this nightmare gets in your head, it’ll fuck you up. I don’t want that on my conscience, too.” He pushed down on the grips of his chair and shifted in his seat. “Cassie, I’ve had to learn how to live with some nasty shit.”

  “Me too, Simon. I lived on the streets for five years.” She closed her mouth firmly.

  “No shit. Five years ago I was on patrol when my APV drove over an IED. Boom.” He gestured at his legs. “That’s when I learned how to get out. One minute I was lying there, knocked out on a morphine drip, and suddenly I was bobbing near the ceiling.”

  “Cool. I’d like to know how to do that.” The five-years thing was probably just a coincidence, Cassandra told herself.

  Simon shook his head. “You don’t want to learn that way. Trust me. Look, I know you want to help, but there’s other stuff that came back home with me that you probably don’t want in your head. Like, I used to get in a lot of fights.”

  Cassandra frowned. Anyone who would pick on a guy in a wheelchair was a real prick. She opened her mouth to say so when he interrupted.

  “Not fistfights. Arguments. It seemed as if everything I said pissed someone off. I drove away a lot of friends, lost some clients. Then one of my buddies from the war told me about an anger management class.” He chuckled. “Turned out that it wasn’t real helpful. But I figured there wasn’t anything to lose. While I was in that class getting my ear chewed off, I met a woman.”

  Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

  He grinned. “At the time, I was curious about Buddhism. It sounded like a good way to develop inner peace. When I mentioned that in class, she told me she was a member of a group that melded meditative practices with western polytheism.”

  “You mean like multiple gods?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I read a lot of mythology books when I was a kid. Loved ’em.”

  Simon nodded. “It turns out that there’s a modern movement to restore the religion of ancient Greece. You know, altars to Zeus, Poseidon, Ares. Ritual. Prayers. That’s what I’m doing these days when I’m not designing websites.”

  An odd thrill ran down her spine. It felt as if something or someone was calling to her. Cassandra finished her latté and set her cup down. “Did it help? I mean, do you still get into lots of arguments?”

  Simon stopped eating and stared at her. “If I still had that problem, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’m serious. Every time I talked to someone, it went badly. Yeah, I think that my spirituality really helped me get a grip on myself. Guess which god I worship these days?” He looked down and took another bite.

  “Zeus? Or… Apollo?” She liked Apollo. Sun god, played music. He’d be entertaining. She had a serious boner for Artemis the Huntress. But she doubted that Simon worshipped the Virgin.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Ares. Turns out that if you want to control yourself and stop fights, he’s the one who can help the most. I light incense to him every Tuesday. That’s his holy day.”

  Cassandra leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. This guy was serious. “Crazy. So, can anyone join this religion?”

  “They took me, didn’t they? If you’re interested, you could come to one of our meetings. The next one’s on the second Tuesday in July. You’d be my guest.”

  Cassandra shrugged, pretending a lack of interest. “Maybe.”

  “You know something?” Simon eyed Cassandra. “I think you’d like Aphrodite.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m not the romantic type. A love goddess seems kinda mushy to me.”

  “No, I’m serious. She’s mysterious. Powerful. Works behind the scenes.”

  “Hm.” Cassandra glanced out the window at the afternoon sunlight. “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  War in Heaven: Root Hexagon

  Root Hexagon, Bald Eagle

  Iron Star and two attendant angels were tending the Root Hexagon, tuning its power flows. He held a barbed-and-hooked tenacity staff so that one end touched the Root Hexagon. The angels stood to either side of the crystal, their hands held out toward each other. The flickering light of a data stream danced between them. Visible in this flow of information were images from a military checkpoint scene showing a careening vehicle riddled with bullet holes. That was replaced by an image of an explosion that threw one man aside and killed several others. Still another image, a close-in shot of a woman’s agonized face as a group of men raped her, evanesced between the working angels. He viewed all of this dispassionately. The needs of Bald Eagle required sacrifice.

  “In your dreams!”

  The shout echoed from the Crater walls, breaking the attendants’ concentration. Two enemy angels, armed with glowing spears, leaped over the lip of the crater opposite Iron Star, landed gracefully, and raced toward them. Iron Star dropped the staff, drew his sword, and ran to intercept them. The attendants lowered their hands and turned sluggishly, having been completely absorbed in their work.

  An attendant angel collapsed with an agonized cry as one of the enemy thrust its spear entirely through its body. Iron Star charged the enemy, shouting a deafening battle cry. His sword moved in a vicious sweep, tearing through two adversaries at once. He whirled, his weapon clanging and showering him with sparks. He beat aside another angel’s spear and skewered his attacker.

  A scream of t
ormented air and the throb of lively martial music announced the opening of a portal nearby. Iron Star turned to see more attackers pouring over the Crater’s edge. Racing toward the Root Hexagon, the dark-eyed, black-haired newcomers brandished short, stabbing swords and axes. They immediately set upon the power cables, hacking with their weapons.

  “Warrior angels, to me!” Iron Star shouted, desperation lending power to his voice. “Protect the Root Hexagon!”

  He glanced over to where the remaining attendant was heavily embattled. It was wounded, electrical discharges arcing from its side to the ground. The enemy dropped its spear and grappled the attendant, and there was a searing flash as the attendant was absorbed by its attacker.

  Iron Star raised his sword as three assailants set upon him. He parried their attacks and dispatched them with ruthless efficiency.

  Another angel howled in pain near the Root Hexagon. One of the spear wielders had skewered a member of the dark-eyed faction. The wounded angel locked gazes with Iron Star then collapsed into a gelatinous pile of disorganized matter. Iron Star knew better than to be grateful to the spear wielder, however. Both factions sought to disrupt the Root Hexagon in their own ways. He bounded toward the enemy, a ululating cry on his lips, batted aside the spear, and decapitated the angel.

  Another shout of defiance announced the arrival of a dozen reinforcements. Bald Eagle’s angels poured over the lip of the crater behind Iron Star. He spared a glance at the Root Hexagon. It was glowing far more dimly than before. Seeing a new crack in the crystal, he growled.

  With renewed vigor, he swung his deadly sword, and with his help, the forces of Bald Eagle drove the enemy back. Finally, forced away from the Root Hexagon, the foemen turned as one and scrambled out of the crater. Iron Star had sent more than one back with poisoned wounds inflicted by his weapon. With any luck, the poison would spread amongst the enemy angels and weaken their masters.

  He turned to survey the Crater, the sword in his hand dripping with ichor. Iron Star’s forces had taken heavy losses from the enemy’s wild, determined assault. He scrutinized the damage to the Root Hexagon. Its integrity had been breached, and he guessed that at least one of the enemy had penetrated it despite its isolation within the pool. It was remotely possible that an enemy had actually sabotaged the keystone, though he dismissed that terrible possibility as being unlikely. They would need to destroy his projection first. He believed he would know if that had happened.