The God of Battles

by David Menefee

  She turned and strode toward the path where she had earlier left the meadow. She glanced over her shoulder. Simon hurried to catch up, half walking and half floating. They entered the forest, and Angela began humming a pathfinder song of power to help her locate Simon’s meadow.

  To her surprise, the path opened up to the windswept escarpment above the ocean where George had shown her the Egregore—where her spirit Guardian had “pushed” her vision. The pathfinder song was not infallible, after all. She took in her surroundings, looking for hints as to what had gone wrong, but there was nothing evident. The clouds overhead were thicker, hiding a wan sun and lending a chill to the ocean-scented air, but there was nothing abnormal about it.

  Time for plan B, apparently, only she had no idea what plan B was, aside from following her instincts. She turned and motioned for Simon to come closer. “Now, what I want you to do is think about home. Think about where your physical body is. Close your eyes.”

  He did so, and his translucent body began to blur at the edges. Angela reached toward him with her staff, following that intuitive urge. Everything around her began to glow more brightly, becoming indistinct, as she felt her talent take hold.

  “I hope this works,” she muttered.

  The scene changed. For a moment, she and Simon were surrounded by trees as if they had been transported to a mind meadow. But before the scene could solidify, it was swept away by darkness.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  War in Heaven: Traps

  Iron Star’s Workshop, Bald Eagle

  The air in the cavernous workshop was cluttered with glowing orbs and geometric solids, some of which were shedding sparks. These objects were floating in midair. Some of them were in motion, traveling along glowing lines of light to merge with other forms.

  Iron Star stood on one of the geometric solids. In his right hand he held a Condition Calibrator, a complex device festooned with levers and spiked knobs. He was tinkering with a dissolution bomb, a much more powerful weapon than the dissolution gun. Resting on a pedestal, the trap resembled a head-sized, faceted quartz crystal, but extended into many more than the normal three dimensions. He crooked a finger, and an angel materialized by his side.

  “Set this trap by the Root Hexagon,” he said. “Attach it to the primary avenue of approach from below. That appears to be the weakness that Diamond Angel is using. Report to me when this is done.”

  He handed the object to the angel, who disappeared in a burst of orange light. Iron Star laid down the tool and swept his hand in an arc before him, creating a portal. He stepped through and, arriving in his chamber, strode to his chair. His lieutenant approached from the red shadows at the perimeter of the room. Iron Star waved the angel forward. “Speak.”

  “There has been another power loss in the Root Hexagon despite the image that you placed within it. We have seen signs that our ancient enemy Dark Eyes has taken a hand. We did not see any sign of Serpent Lion, though.”

  “No doubt the power loss is the work of Diamond Angel. That enemy will discover the folly of its actions soon enough. For now, though, deploy a strike force into Dark Eyes’s territory. That miscreant has been assisting Diamond Angel.” He waved a hand peremptorily. “Send troops from Bald Eagle to weaken Dark Eyes’s defensive perimeter. If he is busy rebuilding that, he will lose interest in the Root Hexagon.” Iron Star paused, considering. “And use poison. I recall that it is quite effective against Dark Eyes’s people. It worked well against Serpent Lion.”

  The angel nodded and disappeared. Iron Star leaned on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his fist, contemplating the deep connections between Dark Eyes, Serpent Lion, and Diamond Angel. More disturbing, he saw a similar connection between Diamond Angel and himself, as Bald Eagle had hinted at.

  Realm of Dark Eyes

  Fierce Hands, a female warrior angel serving Serpent Lion, approached the perimeter to Dark Eyes’s realm, searching for another guardian to entrap. Once she’d absorbed the guardian’s psyche, the resulting power would enable her to attack the Root Hexagon again.

  The sound of crashing underbrush made her freeze. To her left, perhaps twenty paces away, a small detachment wearing the livery of Bald Eagle had arrived. A towering commanding angel led them. Fierce Hands watched as they brought their powerful weapons to bear on the invisible perimeter force field.

  A bone-rattling hum filled the air as powerful beams lanced out to strike the field. Angels from Dark Eyes poured out of the woods within the perimeter, raising their own weapons. Soon the night was crisscrossed with energy-weapon fire and filled with the screams of dying angels.

  Fierce Hands, seeing a weakness in the field near where she waited, crept forward, hoping to remain unnoticed. She raised her own weapon, a Spear of Desire, and lashed out at the perimeter. With a crackling snap an opening appeared. Just as she’d hoped, she was able to piggyback on Bald Eagle’s assault. Her spear alone would not have succeeded. Crouching, nearly doubled over, she breached the perimeter then sped toward the darkened woods beyond as Bald Eagle’s forces, with a tremendous shout, broke through a portion of the perimeter.

  Her core warm with the anticipation of finding a high-ranking commander to grapple, she dodged swiftly between the trees. Suddenly, an electric blue blaze consumed her world, and she was gone.

  War on Earth

  The man tipped his beer bottle. “You said it, buddy. Our women need to be put in their places.” He took a swig.

  —

  The pastor nodded to the young woman. “I mean that authority flows from God, through man.”

  —

  “You can take your authority and shove it,” she yelled at her boyfriend. “Who…”

  —

  “Who’re you calling?” he demanded. “Put the damn phone down.”

  “My mother.” His wife glared. “I’m moving out. You can…”

  —

  “Cook your own damn…”

  —

  “Go to…”

  —

  “… hell.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bitterness

  The Wednesday evening service at the Methodist church had been less than satisfying for Nadia. The pastor had been all fired up as he talked about the flow of authority from God. Something about what he said had bothered her, though she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  As she and Michael made their way back home, she gripped the armrest tightly. Cars always made her nervous. They were giant metal boxes careening in all directions, soulless and pitiless. Oakland traffic was the worst. She picked at her starched blouse. The thing was wretched and uncomfortable, but she would never be seen in anything less than her best at church.

  “The Carters were there today.” Michael drove carefully, and at the next intersection, he signaled for a right turn. “Robert said they’re on their way back south.”

  Nadia shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. She had a long-standing feud with the matriarch of that extended family. It went back decades, but she was sure if she put her mind to it, she could remember the original reason for their animosity.

  “Yes,” she said irritably. “Emma was ridiculously overdressed. And she brought the twins. She should not have done that.”

  Michael grinned and shook his head. “Well, I thought they were good boys today,” he said. “They fought just once, and the pastor only had to tell them to be quiet twice.” He chuckled.

  Nadia sniffed. “Be that as it may. They were ridiculous.” Her brother had never taken the feud seriously. He had no idea. She lapsed into silence, her mind turning to more important matters. How could she broach the subject of Angela? Finally, she gave up searching for diplomacy. “I have reconsidered talking to Angela about our problem. Things are going from bad to worse. Did you see how empty that church was?”

  “Nadia, we are supposed to be nomads. Our own family has settled down, but most of our people keep moving. What did you expect?”

  “I am aware of that,” N
adia snapped. “But there are always at least a dozen families in the area at any one time. Today I saw three. Three Roma families in that church.”

  “So, our people aren’t steady churchgoers. I don’t see how that’s a sign of terrible things.” He swerved to avoid a badly parked truck, forcing Nadia to clutch the safety handle above the door.

  “Michael, I can see something dark over our people. Something that makes us abandon our Romani heritage. It weakens our families. It destroys our values. It steals our souls.” With that pronouncement, she released the safety handle and placed her folded hands in her lap once again.

  Michael slowed to turn, negotiating a pedestrian-filled corner. “There you go again. The Soul Thief is dead, and Angela said there were no more like him. I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

  Nadia turned, shocked into speechlessness. Her mouth opened then shut. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Some nerve you got! How dare you question my Sight!”

  Michael shrugged, avoiding her stare. “Well, someone’s got to. You think you are God or something, controlling people’s lives. You are a human just like—”

  “I most certainly do not! My Sight is a gift from God! When you question it, you question—”

  Michael thumped the wheel, making her jump. He glanced at her, and his face was twisted in anger. She held her breath, shocked into silence.

  “You interfering old biddy! You see your visions, you meddle with other people’s affairs, you plot and scheme like a fat old spider, and you treat us all like we’re nothing but your tools.”

  He glared at her for a moment longer than it was safe, glanced back at the road, and slammed on his brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision. “Du te dracu!” he shouted.

  Nadia shrieked and straight-armed the dashboard. Then, when it looked as though they weren’t going to be smashed into bits by the other cars, she lowered her hands once more. As his words sank in, her fear gave way to desolation.

  She felt dizzy and weak. Her brother had always been supportive of her and had championed her amongst the Roma as a faultless seer. Now he called her a sorceress, a witch, poisoning her own people. As she thought about this, hot anger burned away the sadness. How dare he say that to her?

  Meanwhile, as if nothing terrible had just happened, he drove carefully though he refused to look at Nadia. She seethed. The coward.

  Finally, she turned on him. “You will take all that back. I serve our community, and I have served our people most of my life. This is the only way I know to serve, as a chovihani. I will be damned if I let you lecture me and call me a witch or worse.”

  “You have let your power go to your head. I see you jerking strings and messing with people’s heads. You have no respect for them. No respect for me!”

  “Well, maybe if you did something worth my respect, I’d change my mind.”

  The instant she said that, Nadia clapped her hand to her mouth. Michael’s face went white then beet red. He actually growled.

  “Fuck you dead, Nadia! I’m leaving you. You can rot in your goddamned chair without me.”

  His words hit her like thrown bricks. She gasped, her heart racing. Despite herself, hot tears gather behind her eyes, and pain stabbed briefly in her chest. She could not speak for a moment. She had endured far worse from others, giving as well as she took, but she had never been shouted at like that by her younger brother. George, yes—he and she had fought like cats—but Michael had always been so devoted to her.

  A black wave of despair threatened to overwhelm her. She surreptitiously wiped her eyes. Michael was staring straight ahead, mouth set, his shoulders hunched. She had no idea how to respond without making it worse.

  They passed the rest of the drive in stony silence.

  Michael had dropped her off at the house and muttered something about going out. She suspected he had gone to a bar somewhere. His explosion at her and the subsequent fight had left her drained, though, and she couldn’t bring herself to care where he was.

  Sometimes a chovihani needed counseling, too. Sitting in her chair, she dialed her phone. “Andrea? It’s me, Nadia.”

  “Nadia! How are you?”

  “I could be better, but I can’t complain. How are you these days? And Jordan?”

  Andrea chuckled. “We are all fine, though I bet Jordan is hitting the sauce again.”

  “It’s going around.” She sighed. “Do you have a few minutes? I think I can complain, to tell you the honest truth.”

  “You have my permission.”

  Nadia cleared her throat. “We’re under attack.”

  “Hang on a minute. I need to sit down.” There was a pause. “Start at the start. What do you mean?”

  Nadia slowed her breathing, trying to calm her voice. She’d had no idea she was so worked up. “Michael and I just had a huge fight. In fact, it’s the worst one we’ve ever had. You know how close we are. Were.”

  “Oh, Nadia. I’m so sorry. What did he do this time?”

  Nadia chuckled now, ruefully. “It’s not just him. We both got into it. For a little while I really hated him. My brother!”

  “Go on.”

  Nadia crossed her legs. “I have realized that we’re fighting because we’re under attack. There is a darkness that’s driving our families apart.”

  Andrea actually tutted. “Now, aren’t you reading a bit much into this? I haven’t seen a single thing that tells me of a darkness. I haven’t seen anything amiss since the Soul Thief died.”

  Nadia squirmed, uncrossing her legs, but she could not get comfortable in her chair. “This is different. Andie, you need to ask your Guardian to show you this thing. Right now. It’ll know.”

  “Okay.” She sounded dubious. There was a muffled thump and then silence on the line. After several minutes, she came back. “Nadia?” Andrea’s voice was rounded by fear. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

  “Because I just learned about it. Anyway, the same darkness that’s driving our families apart is affecting me and Michael. I just don’t know how it got in. My Guardian should have taken care of it.”

  “Yes.” Andrea fell silent.

  A memory surfaced from earlier in the day. Nadia had to choose her words carefully as Andrea was a devout churchgoer as well as a powerful chovihani. “At church, the pastor said something. Something about authority proceeding from God to man to woman.”

  Andrea grunted but said nothing.

  “Well, that pastor’s no Rom.” Nadia recrossed her legs the other way and rested her elbow on the arm of her chair. “He does not understand that each of us has a role in society, and within those roles, we have the say-so.”

  “Yes, you have a point. But the Good Book says…”

  “Never mind what the Good Book says!”

  Andrea gasped. Nadia pressed on, no longer cautious. “This is about our people. Nobody really knows what everything in the Bible means anyway. But what I do know is that this is where the gadje are driving their wedge. They are destroying our people with words. Can’t you see that?”

  “Maybe the pastor was right, or maybe he was wrong. But what does that have to do with—”

  “Everything. Those words were a worm, and words just like it ate up Michael’s Romani soul. He is nothing but a sorry old drunk now.”

  “What are you needing, then, Nadia?” Andrea’s voice was quiet. “What about your sons? Did you call them?”

  Nadia sighed, feeling old and vulnerable. “They’re on the other side of the country, and I don’t want to bother them with chovihani problems. Andrea, I need to know I’m not alone. Angela’s fighting it, too. I can feel it. I’ve been dreaming about her again. Her and war. Something is happening. There’s a war in heaven, Andrea, and I’m fighting blind. Will you help me?”

  There was but the barest hint of hesitation. “Yes. I will go to my spirits and find out what I can do to help. Should I call you tomorrow?”

  “Please do. Thank you, Andrea.” Nadia hung up. She looked
around her empty living room and felt a premonitory chill. Someday, she would be alone for good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Strange Journeys

  Bald Eagle soars above the sun

  Believing that the battle’s won,

  Yet ancient magic will prevail

  And finish that which was begun.

  Angela stood in pitch darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that she was standing in a room, though it was still far too dark to see more than the dimmest of shapes. She remained still, afraid to move for fear of colliding with something. “Simon?”

  There was a muffled thump from her right followed by indistinct swearing that sounded like his voice coming from another room. The only reasonable approach, she decided, was to act as if it were perfectly normal for her to materialize in someone else’s home and to explain herself as honestly as she could.

  “Simon? It’s me, Angela, from the meadow.” She was able to keep her voice steady with effort.

  There was more muffled cursing, then a door opened. The accompanying light revealed that she was in a living room. She moved to a clear spot in the center in case she needed to run for her life. There was another loud thump, the door opened farther with a jerk, and Simon emerged. To her surprise, he was sitting in a wheelchair. He saw Angela and stopped, mouth gaping.

  “How in the hell…?”

  She raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. “I followed you here.”

  “Whaddya mean, you followed me? Are you a burglar?” He wheeled backward, disappearing into the room.

  “No! Wait! I’m Angela. Cassie’s girlfriend.”

  He came back out with a pistol. She raised her hands further and froze, suddenly aware of the sweat cooling on her forehead and her heartbeat in her throat. He rolled into the living room.

  “I don’t know how the hell you got in here, but you’d better get out. Now.” He motioned with the gun toward what she guessed was the front door.