“Granddad?”
The bird blurred, shifting its shape. Now a man sat on the branch, dressed in colorful beaded clothes. He resembled a much younger George. Before she could greet him, he vanished.
“That was weird.” Angela had encountered many bizarre beings in the Otherworld, both animal and human, but this was the first time she had seen a younger version of her grandfather. She continued her stroll, and she watched all around her for more portents. He would show himself when he was ready.
Ahead of her, obscured by the shifting shadows of trees, a man, or perhaps a woman, stood in the path. Angela slowed her pace. As she approached the stranger, she was able to make out more details. It was indeed a woman. She had honey-blond hair, shoulder length, and wore an expensive-looking, high-waisted green dress.
Angela stopped walking. “Hello?”
“Angela.” The woman had a lovely contralto voice. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Angela racked her brain. She would have remembered someone so striking. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“I’m your old friend. Your old teacher. You used to call me George.”
Angela peered at her dubiously. “Ah, I don’t mean to be discourteous, but you look nothing like my granddad.”
The stranger beckoned with a graceful gesture. “Follow me, please.”
She turned to continue along the path in the direction that Angela had been going, and Angela followed her through the forest. Soon they arrived at a clearing. As the woman entered, her body smoothly shifted to the bearlike, balding form of her grandfather. He turned and awaited Angela.
She approached him hesitantly. “Granddad? What was that all about?”
“Everything changes, my Angel.” His face was radiant with that familiar smile that always used to soothe her doubts. “All things pass, sooner or later.” He scrutinized her with narrowed eyes. “Ah, good. You have brought your body with you. That will make this easier.”
Angela opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but he raised a hand. “We don’t have much time to talk. I need to show you something. Please, come over here.”
She obliged, absentmindedly noting that the accent he had had on earth was virtually gone. He took her arm in a soft grasp and pointed with his other hand. “Now, look at that tree. Look at the roots, then let your eyes go up until you see the crown.”
Angela studied the tall conifer that stood out against the skyline. Most of the trees surrounding the meadows in the Forest of Souls were deciduous, though she did not know why.
Her gaze traveled up the tree, and the daylight dimmed as if a cloud were passing overhead. At the crown a mist appeared, and she stared at it for a moment. Nothing happened. She started to turn to George to ask what she was looking for.
“Don’t look away,” he cautioned.
She stared at the treetop and gasped. The sky split like a curtain, revealing a battlefield. The sky there was black with red, violently churning clouds. Many warriors, dressed in all forms of battle gear from all the ages, were silently engaged in brutal combat below that sky.
Dark-haired, dark-eyed fighters, resembling Romani folk, faced off against fair-haired and light-skinned warriors, while larger people, some half again as tall as the rest, directed the battle. Swords rose and fell, splitting skulls and chopping limbs. Rifles sprayed dazzling thunderbolts that destroyed whatever they touched. There was no blood, though. As the warriors fell, they dissolved into shapeless masses. The ground was littered with the debris of war.
Then, as if the sound were suddenly switched on, the air was rent with the cacophony of battle. Bellowing cries, shouts of agony, and a continuous rumble of explosions shattered the peace of the Forest.
Angela raised her voice over the noise. “Granddad. What the hell is this? I’ve never seen war here before.”
“This is not really here,” George shouted back. “There are many levels in the Otherworld. What you see is a much higher one than where we are now. But this war belongs to you and to your people, my Angel, no matter where it is. It is a battle between cultures, between ideologies, between Egregores—or group-mind beings—like the one I showed you. It is fought by warrior angels who serve those great masters, such as you see there. Now that you can perceive other levels, I wanted you to see this.”
Angela reluctantly turned away from the scene and stared at George. “What do you mean, this war belongs to us?” The sounds of warfare faded. She resisted the temptation to look back at the treetop, keeping her eyes on her grandfather.
“Just that, my granddaughter… my student. This war has been fought since the beginning of time. But now your incarnation brings many changes to earth’s people. Creatures who slept for ages are awake, and there are some who would use the newly awakened for their own ends.”
“I knew that being born on earth would bring completion to some things.” She glanced at the now-silent tree. “The end of the Soul Thief being the most important. But how can a war be mine? I fought my last battle!”
George shook his head. “Not your last battle, no. You have hardly fought at all, my Angel.” His form began to fade.
“Wait!” Angela raised a hand. “When I saw you at first you were a woman. What does that—?”
But he was gone. George had been more forthright when she first started coming to see him, but now he was behaving like the other oversouls, speaking in riddles and shape-shifting. While she understood, intellectually, that change in the Otherworld was inevitable, that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Angela needed more answers from him, so she sat on the grass, cross-legged, to watch the flight of birds and listen to the rustle of the underbrush, seeking omens. None were forthcoming. Peace had been restored to the Otherworld, but now it was an undesirable peace, concealing mysteries.
Finally, running out of patience, she stood and walked back toward her meadow.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Coincidences
The trap they set for Angel’s feet
Would douse her light, her love defeat;
Then once again the Child will fight
To stoke the flames and feed war’s heat.
Cassandra knew Simon was waiting for her before she opened the door to go into Julian’s Café, so she scanned the tables, zeroed in on his, and in her best casual walk, made her way there and plunked into a chair.
“Hey, Cassie. Thanks for calling me.” His face was lined and pale, but his eyes were warm with gratitude.
Cassandra mumbled a greeting. Now that she was face-to-face with Simon again, and they shared some intimate history, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Even though she had only danced with him psychically, the contact between them had been intense. The fact that he was male only made it worse.
Simon proffered his menu. “Want to order something?”
She took the menu and stared at it, unable to decide, unable to even read it. Her head was full of voices, but unfortunately, they were all her own. “You had another nightmare today, didn’t you?” She did not look up at him.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “I tried to fight. I think… you heard me call you, didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
She put the menu down, and the waiter appeared. Ignoring him, she leaned forward on her elbows. “Listen. I know someone, and I think she can help you. She’s a psychiatrist.”
Simon shook his head in a spasmodic movement. “Nuh-uh. I’ve seen enough shrinks to last me a while.”
“She’s not just a shrink.”
The waiter cleared his throat. “Can I take your order, or do you need a few more minutes?”
“Just a couple of minutes,” Cassandra replied without looking up. She studied Simon’s face, noting the new lines around his eyes and the tension in his neck. The waiter disappeared from her peripheral vision. “Look, I don’t know if I can help you. I thought I could, but there was a fight at the market right then. I almost got dragged into it.”
“Holy crap.” Simon said. “
You’re okay, right?” When she nodded, he continued. “That’s a relief. But… what does that have to do with my nightmare?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” She looked away from his face, which had hardened, accentuating the shadows under his eyes.
Simon put his hands on the table to push away. “I’d better go.”
Cassandra reached out. “No. Wait. My friend. She understands this stuff better than I do.”
“I already said I’ve seen enough shrinks.” He sighed. “I’d rather just talk to you. I don’t know where you got your power. But you can see what I’m seeing, and maybe you can see what or who these people really are.” His voice was pleading now. “Are they parts of my own mind, forcing me to relive that night? Are they ghosts, haunting me?”
Cassandra stared at him for a moment. She shivered, thinking about how close the violence at the market had been to her. If only Simon would come to his senses and seek professional help. But his mind was made up, and in a rare moment of clarity, she decided to choose discretion over confrontation.
She shrugged. “Hell, maybe the fistfight was just a coincidence. Oakland can be pretty rough sometimes. Okay. If you aren’t going to see my friend, maybe I can sort of tag along next time. Someplace safe. At least I can tell you what I find out.”
“Wait.” Simon’s brow furrowed. “You don’t actually live through what I’m experiencing, do you?”
“Hell no. I just see it, like I’m watching a movie.”
Simon grunted. “Good. It’s kind of bloody. Cassie, I’m really sorry you had to see that.” His voice cracked on the last word, and his shoulders heaved as he started sobbing. He put his head down on his arms.
Cassandra looked away from his public display of grief and glanced around, but no one else was paying attention to him. She stared down at her hands while he sobbed, and silently willed him to pull himself together. Right now she was seriously jonesing for a smoke.
After a moment, he blew his nose and dried his eyes with a napkin. “Sorry about that. I don’t usually let myself go. I’m just really tired.”
“Don’t mention it.” Really don’t, she echoed mentally. She reflected that she was probably not cut out for therapeutic work, after all, if it meant watching people fall apart like that.
Cassandra spent the early afternoon shopping for comfort food then caught a movie. After that, there was an interview that didn’t go well, but she hadn’t wanted the job that badly anyway. Angela would understand—or so Cassandra hoped.
The night was cool but humid when she returned to the boat. The dead-fish aroma of the bay tickled her nostrils, and she sneezed. Cassandra clomped over to the companionway. Then, remembering her boots, she shucked them and wiggled her sweaty toes. The slats had been removed, so Angela was already home. Time to have that little talk. Cassandra paused, took a deep breath, and gathered her wits.
“Angela?” There was no answer. She started down the ladder into the darkened interior and found that the salon was empty. “Angela? Are you here?”
The boat was silent but for the slapping of water against the sides. She looked for Angela in the master cabin, but it was empty, too. Maybe Angela was at the marina store getting some whiskey. Cassandra’s stomach rumbled, and she returned to the galley to grab a granola bar out of the cabinet. Dropping her backpack on the dinette table, she settled on the settee with her paperback and waited. Soon she was engrossed in a midnight chase through Paris with the heroine of her novel.
—Cassie!—
Simon’s voice echoed in her mind along with the sound of other men shouting. An electrical jolt of adrenaline rushed up her spine.
“Simon!” Cassandra leaped up, dropping her book and the snack. Simon was having the nightmare again. This was her chance to help with something meaningful.
She hurried to the master cabin, formulating a plan as she went. She would pull him out of the nightmare with her telepathy. It was the only way she could think of to assist her friend.
Cassandra lay down on the bed. Folding her hands on her belly, she closed her eyes. “Simon. Simon. Simon…” She sent her mind questing for the panicked soldier.
Simon was waiting for the car, his rifle at his shoulder, while the shouts from the megaphone rang out. As the car reached the crucial position in its headlong rush toward the checkpoint, he once again put the gun down and glanced around anxiously. The man next to him immediately turned and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Cassie!” he shouted. He broke the man’s hold and lashed out with his fist, but the man blocked Simon’s punch easily and put him in an arm lock. General Iron Star approached from the shadows. Simon began struggling again, and the General slapped him hard.
—Simon!—
Hearing Cassandra’s voice, he looked around wildly, thinking in his confused state that she was nearby.
—Picture my face. Concentrate on me.—
The voice was in his mind. He visualized her face, but then Iron Star picked up Simon’s rifle and forced it into his hands. He yelled Cassandra’s name again.
Cassandra heard Simon’s yell, but she could not complete her connection with him. Frantic, she searched for Angela’s mind. Between the two of them, they could break through into wherever Simon was and help him. But there was still no sense of her presence.
“Angela!” she yelled out loud, uncaring of what the neighbors might think.
Angela had just returned to her meadow and was heading for the cabin to put her staff away when she heard Cassandra’s mental scream.
—Angela!—
She froze then closed her eyes. “Cassie! Cassie, where are you?”
—I’m at the boat! Help us!—
Angela’s pulse raced as she scanned the clearing rapidly, searching for a path back to the boat. She froze suddenly when Cassandra’s words registered. “Us?”
Across from her, a gray mist boiled up out of the ground, rapidly growing into a column of colossal height. Churning shadows projected upon that cloud sharpened to reveal a violent scene. Several soldiers were subduing a frantic soldier, whose inarticulate shouts rang out in the still air. One of his captors, a colossal, powerfully built man wearing a general’s uniform, was forcing a rifle into his hands.
The captive soldier looked up then sagged in the men’s grasp when he saw Angela. His form wavered, indistinct within the cloud, but his wide-eyed face registered shock.
—Angela!—
It was Cassandra again.
—Help him! He’s my friend.—
Angela strode forward quickly and extended her staff to him. “Grab it! C’mon!” she shouted.
He wrenched an arm free and reached, straining, for the staff. As his hand neared it, his form suddenly sharpened. He touched the staff. There was a snap and a flash of light, and he stumbled free. For a moment, the large officer’s face came into focus as well, and he locked stares with Angela. An unexpected wave of terror washed over her. His eyes glowed! They narrowed as he opened his mouth to shout, but then the mist vanished, taking the scene and the terrifying man with it.
The soldier’s body wavered in and out of focus as he grasped the staff. He groaned and collapsed to the ground. Angela reached out cautiously to shake him by the shoulder, but her fingers found no purchase in the cold, misty substance of his body. He jerked as her fingers passed through him and released his grip.
“Sorry.” She straightened to give him space to recover, leaning on her staff.
He pushed himself to his feet and peered myopically at his surroundings. “Where am I?” His voice sounded muffled.
“You’re in the Otherworld. I’m Angela. Who are you?”
—Angela, this is Simon.—
“Cassie?” Simon looked around until his eyes focused on the staff. Following its length, he squinted at Angela. He stuck out his hand in greeting, but Angela turned away.
“Thank you for rescuing me.” He looked around again, lowering his hand. “Cassie?”
“She’s not h
ere. But she’s got a mind link to… to both of us, it seems.” Angela stepped back a bit and looked him over with narrowed eyes. “So, you’re Cassie’s new friend?”
His mouth tightened. “Friend, yes. You’re her girlfriend, right?”
She nodded. At least he knew that much.
Simon shook his head. “Look, let’s not get off on the wrong foot, okay? Cassie’s been helping me with my nightmares. That’s all.”
Nightmares? Then why hadn’t Cassandra referred him to her immediately? Angela shook off a sudden sense of déjà vu. “Okay. Nightmares are my specialty.”
She inspected his somewhat insubstantial form, which, though it had sharpened since he arrived, was still somewhat translucent. “You look like a ghost.” She remembered that her grandfather had once told her about how he and the other chovihanos could leave their bodies and explore other levels of the Otherworld. “You can go out of your body, can’t you?”
Simon nodded.
“So what was that all about? Who was that guy with the headlights for eyes?” He had seemed oddly familiar.
“I call him Iron Star. Otherwise, I don’t know who he is. But when I try to stop the nightmare, he shows up with his men, and they force me to relive it. To shoot some people.” He shuddered, looking down at his feet.
Based on his visible symptoms, Angela suspected that he suffered from PTSD. The large soldier probably represented an aspect of his trauma that he relived over and over. She wanted to learn more, but this was not the time to ask questions. First, she needed to get him back to his body. Unlike her or the Romani chovihanos, he probably lacked the skill to find his way back safely from the Otherworld.
“Okay. I don’t know how you fit in with what’s going on, but I don’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore.” Angela beckoned. “Follow me.”
The God of Battles Page 9