The God of Battles

by David Menefee

  She began sidling in that direction. “Simon,” Angela said in a calming voice. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  Simon frowned. “I… uh. You look like the woman in my dream. But that’s impossible. Dreams don’t walk through locked doors.” He raised his gun. “Nice and slow, now. Just turn around and walk out.”

  —Simon!—

  Cassandra’s voice echoed in Angela’s head.

  Simon jumped as if stung and looked around at the room. “Cassie?”

  —Simon, what the fuck are you doing, pointing a gun at Angela?—

  She sounded exasperated.

  Simon blinked at Angela. Then he quickly lowered his gun. “But… how…?”

  Angela’s hands were still raised. “I have a special talent, Simon. I don’t know how to explain.”

  With the gun now pointing at the floor, Simon’s hand visibly shook. “I can’t believe…” His voice trailed off with a gasp as he dropped the pistol and slumped in his chair.

  Angela hurried over, stepping carefully around the fallen weapon. She checked his pulse then went to the kitchen sink that was visible from the living room and, after hunting a bit, found a cup. She filled it with water, returned to crouch by Simon’s side, and dribbled some into his mouth. “Simon. Wake up. You’re in shock.”

  He coughed, and she took the cup away. His eyes opened, blinking rapidly. Then, seeing her face, they opened wider. “Lady? Oh my God.”

  Angela rocked back on her heels. “No one’s called me that for a very long time. Who are you?”

  He rubbed his face, silently trembling.

  “You must be chilled. Hang on; I’ll get something to warm you.” She went into the lit room, a bedroom, which was orderly and sparsely furnished. There was a blanket at the foot of the bed, and she brought it back to the other room. She met Simon as he was rolling toward her, and she held the blanket out to him.

  Simon took it gratefully, shivering, and looked up at her. “For a second there you looked like someone in my dream.” He looked around the room, still clearly dazed.

  Angela took a seat on the couch. “I get told that a lot. Look, just take some deep breaths and try not to think about what just happened.”

  He stared at her and then nodded. After a moment, color returned to his face. He reached over to a floor lamp, switched it on, and scrutinized Angela carefully. “Okay. Please tell me what the hell is going on here.”

  “Okay.” Angela adjusted her position on the arm of the sofa and rested her hands on her thighs. “Let’s start over. I’m Angela, Cassie’s girlfriend. You’re Simon, and you just had a nightmare.”

  “Yeah. What I want to know is why you were there. And how did you get in here? My door is always locked and dead-bolted.”

  “First answer.” She paused, wondering how much to reveal. Well, if Cassandra had already confided in him, she could too. “I have a talent. I can bodily enter other people’s minds, even become part of their dreams.” She looked at the room and sighed. Her scientific mind hated to admit it, but her talent had definite supernatural elements to it. “And for the second question, I can travel from one physical place to another through this realm of the mind. We call it the Otherworld. Yeah, I know. Real creative name.”

  Simon’s lips twitched up at the corners. “You know, I’m not completely ignorant. I know there are unseen things in the world.” He waved a hand. “Powers that can control our actions. I have other friends besides Cassie who can do pretty crazy stuff. But there’s no one anywhere who can do what you say you just did.”

  “I’m pretty unique that way.” She sighed. “If it’s any consolation, I spent most of my life thinking that it was just some form of telepathy. But last year changed my mind. Long story. Ask Cassie about it sometime. So let’s get down to it. Maybe we can learn more about the big man with the eyes. Tell me about this nightmare.”

  “Okay. I don’t know if Cassie told you anything about him.”

  Angela shook her head. She opened her mouth and hesitated. Could this have something to do with what her grandfather had shown her? There appeared to be a warfare theme to her recent excursions in the Otherworld. “Cassie didn’t tell me anything. Only that she met someone.” Her voice came out a little harsher than she intended.

  Simon squinted at her and shook his head. “I get it. Relax. Like I said, you got nothing to worry about between me and her. Anyway, about five years ago…”

  Angela jumped as if stung. Five years?

  “What is it?” He stared at her.

  She waved her hand. “Nothing. Go ahead.”

  Simon looked at her curiously then shrugged. “About five years ago, I was stationed in Baghdad. I was part of a guard detail, and we were manning a checkpoint. Keeping the bomb-throwers out, you know? Anyway, one night—” He grunted and frowned and then, in an unsteady voice, related the nightmare.

  Angela watched him, saying nothing though her heart went out to him despite her initial misgivings. This was a man in hell.

  He cleared his throat. “So, ever since then, I’ve had nightmares. You know. Standard PTSD crap.” His voice had returned to normal. “A few months after the incident, I was on patrol, and our carrier ran over an IED. Boom. Body parts everywhere. I was thrown clear, and then I passed out. When I came to in the hospital, they told me I wouldn’t walk again.” He gestured to his chair. “So here I am. But get this. While I was in the hospital on drip, I’d wake up sometimes, floating up near the ceiling, looking down at my body. And ever since then, I can just pop out. Pretty much whenever I want.” He stopped.

  “Go on,” Angela said.

  “You believe me. Good. Saves us some time. But I guess this is pretty small potatoes for you.”

  Angela waved dismissively. “No. Nothing’s small potatoes to me. So, about the nightmare?”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I can control the nightmare. When I’m there, I can wake up in the dream and stop it. So far, so good. But a few months ago, something changed. Every time I had the nightmare, it seemed harder to stop. And then these guys would show up. They looked like our guys, but they’d fight me. Force me to go on with the nightmare. I could fight ’em off for a while, but they got real persistent. Then Iron Star started to show up.”

  He shuddered again and wiped his mouth. “You said you saw him. Well, he’s scarier in person, let me tell you. He handles me like I’m a kid. Just pushes that gun into my hands, clamps my hands on it, and makes me shoot those people. Over and over. Every time I have the nightmare.”

  Angela picked her teeth with a fingernail. “Simon, would you be willing to come see me at my office?”

  “Your office?” He grinned at her, evidently nervous. “That’s right, Cassie said you were a shrink.”

  “She’s right. I am.”

  His grin vanished. “No offense, but I’ve seen enough doctors to last a lifetime.”

  Angela got up, walked over to the window, and looked out. “You’ve seen what I can do. I can help you with your nightmares. We can go to their source, in your memories and emotions, and put a stop to them.” She remained standing by the window to give Simon time to consider what she said.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see how you can fight off those dudes.”

  “I don’t need to. We would work at a different level. More symbolic, I’d say, except that these symbols are real in their own way. We won’t confront your nightmares directly. I won’t make you relive that. But I can’t promise it won’t hurt.” She turned around and looked Simon in the eyes.

  His looked vaguely upward. “Cassie? Can you hear me?”

  —Do it. She’s a healer, what we call a chovihani. She can work miracles. She helped me.—

  Angela was impressed. Even though Cassandra had been an extraordinary receive-only telepath when they’d first met, Angela had helped her learn how to send messages, as well, and her skills were improving daily.

  Simon nodded and looked at Angela again. “Okay, Doc. When do we start?”

  All business
now, Angela looked around. Her eyes widened when she took in the room’s contents. It looked as if she were in an armory. Every wall had weapons of some form mounted on it—swords, guns, knives, spears. She even noticed a pair of Argentinian bolas in a glass case.

  She tore her eyes away from the display and glanced at Simon. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get back to the office. Do you have something I can write with? I left my backpack at home.”

  Simon rolled over to the coffee table and retrieved a pad and pen from a stack of papers. She took them and started to scribble some notes on what she had seen so far.

  “This is just too weird.” Simon’s voice was low. “God. You could just go anywhere in the world, can’t you?”

  “Only to where there are people,” Angela replied absentmindedly. “Can’t go to the deep desert or to the moon.”

  She tore off the sheet, folded it, and stuck it in her pocket. Then she put on her most reassuring smile. “Actually, it’s not like teleportation. I usually have to walk, and sometimes I need to go farther than I did tonight. Showing up here was odd, even for me. I’m not sure if I could do that again.” She tilted her head back to look up into the air. “Cassie? Can you come pick me up?”

  —I got the address out of Simon’s mind. You’re in north Berkeley. Be right there.—

  Simon chuckled and shook his head. “You two are something else.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  War in Heaven: Progenitor

  Egregore Space, Somewhere in the Upper Reaches of the Overworld

  There was a vast plain, which, if seen by human eyes, would be shrouded in thick darkness as the human mind could not begin to comprehend it in its true form. But for the great Egregore Bald Eagle, the place was both his secret home and the true arena where the ceaseless war of the Egregores was fought. The plain was crowded with all manner of fantastical, shifting forms, some resembling earthly animals and others abstract geometric shapes. Joining them all were barely visible threads of light, pulsating as they conveyed the angels of thought between the Egregores.

  The Egregore of the United States of America perched upon his symbolic pyramid in his true form. He bore his battle scars proudly. Though he was young, he had already fought and devoured many other Egregores, incorporating their essence and bolstering his unstable power.

  He was flanked by smaller versions of himself, one with red-tinted feathers and the other colored blue. Those raptors, connected by numerous threads of angelic communication, eyed each other fiercely. They were enemy Egregores, though each was spawned from within him. Their presence was a constant, revolting reminder that he was vulnerable to division and even destruction. Thus, he remained ever vigilant.

  Recently, a new thing had formed near Bald Eagle, an extrusion resembling a woman, created from the substance of the plain. The Egregore had been watching this new development with alarm. While many other such proto-Egregores came and went, making the plain appear sometimes as if it were gently boiling, this one appeared to have an extra spark of power in it. Its stability indicated that it might even be a self-generated, permanent entity, a type of creation that had not been spawned before in Bald Eagle’s living memory.

  Bald Eagle stared at it then leaped off the pyramid to fly at the intruder. The new thing shrank away from him, but then it rallied its strength and stood firmly, rebuffing his threat with an aura of confident power. Bald Eagle returned to his perch, dissatisfied. To his dismay, threads of light now joined Bald Eagle to the new creature, whom Iron Star had dubbed Diamond Angel. He searched himself for clues as to how those connections had been established. There. They ran directly to the Root Hexagon, buried deep within his body.

  A possibility occurred to Bald Eagle: the new creature might catalyze the creation of yet another division within the Egregore. He glanced at the two entities flanking him on their own pyramids, each of whom embodied much of his old vitality, now gone. The prospect of more divisions terrified Bald Eagle. He had always sought to consolidate power and resist the efforts of the separatists—Shaken Fist and the others—thereby emulating the Roman Eagle, upon whom he had based his own shape. Even more dangerous to him, however, were the indications, visible now, that Diamond Angel threatened the existence of all other Egregores.

  Mindful of this possibility, Bald Eagle examined the core of his identity enshrined within the Constitution of the United States. Though it had been shaken recently, it remained solid, and he relaxed.

  A pulse of light blazed forth from Diamond Angel and entered Bald Eagle’s breast. He croaked in alarm. That was no mere angelic invader. The light was a direct attack, using raw power. Calling upon the defenses he had acquired from the Soul Thief, Bald Eagle deflected Diamond Angel’s blaze, but the effort wearied the Egregore.

  He shifted uncomfortably, drawing life force from the underworld, and his thoughts grew red with anger. Diamond Angel would pay for this offense to his dignity. As he sharpened his rapacious gaze, the constant stream of angels from him increased in volume, chipping away at other Egregores in his vicinity. He would need all the vitality he could steal to overcome this new foe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Healer at Bay

  Oh bitter woe! the trap is set

  To bind the new angelic threat,

  And so it is that Light is chained

  Another lien on battle’s debt.

  The next day, Simon arrived at one in the afternoon for his appointment. Angela prepared the treatment room for him while he filled out his new patient paperwork, arranging cushions on the couch after wiping it down with odor-free disinfectant.

  “Simon? Come on in—through that door there.” She held the door open, indicating the treatment room, and he wheeled through the short hallway and entered.

  Angela shut the door after them and went to lean over the desk with his forms. “Let’s see.” She flipped through the pages, scanning quickly. “Simon Fenway. Is that…?”

  “No relation. I’m not even into baseball.” He drummed his fingers on the wheels of his chair.

  “Ah. Says here you moved to Oakland two years ago. Did you come out here to be closer to your family?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I was looking for work and got a lead. Actually I had several, but something told me Oakland was the right choice.”

  “Mm hm.” She finished reading and looked up with a bright smile. “Tell me about yourself. Your goals, your ideals. What makes Simon Fenway get up in the morning?” She picked up a tablet and stylus.

  He told her about his childhood dreams of becoming a warrior for justice, righting wrongs in the world, and displaying a superhero’s courage. He recalled his idols, both fictional and real—Superman, Mandela, Gandhi. He recounted his successes: the time he asked for his first date; the night he faced down a friend’s abusive father, who towered over him but could not confront him; his admission of fault to cover for that friend later. He told her about his failures, too: fistfights when he should have walked away; angry words that cost him friendships; the abandonment of cherished ideals. He skirted the more recent events of his life—his tour of duty in Iraq, the checkpoint, and the bomb. Throughout his recitation, Angela smiled, nodded, probed gently with questions, and took notes. Finally, she lowered the tablet and gestured.

  “Please lie on the couch there.”

  He frowned. “I can’t sit in my chair?”

  “No. You’re probably going to go into deep trance while I’m working. It’s even possible that you’ll come with me to the Otherworld, though not all patients do.”

  He rolled to the couch and began levering himself out of the chair. His expression was troubled. “How in the heck is that supposed to work? I mean, you’re sort of going into my mind, right? So, how can I go there too?”

  Angela shrugged. “I’m actually not sure. There’s a lot of mystery in this. I’ve spent a long time learning to dream-walk, but there’s just no way to make sense of it in modern terms.”

  He finished pulling h
imself onto the couch with his powerful arms.

  “Okay.” Angela pulled up the chair next to the couch and sat. “What I want you to do is just relax and don’t bother trying to control your thoughts. Let them wander. What I’m going to do is sit beside you in my chair and touch your forehead.”

  Simon regarded her, frowning. “That’s it?”

  Angela grinned. “Yep. Usually, I induce a light hypnotic trance first. I don’t want my clients to freak out about the dream-walking, but you already know what I’m going to do, so there’s no point in doing that extra stuff.”

  “Got it.”

  “One more thing,” she said. “Don’t try to touch me. I can touch your head, but that’s it.”

  “Why? Will you burst into flame?” His chuckle sounded forced.

  “No, but you might.” She raised a hand. “Sorry, that was tasteless. It’s just not a good idea to touch me. Okay?”

  “But you touch me, right? What’s the difference?”

  “If I initiate the touch, I can incorporate it into my work. If something stimulates my body while I’m away, it’s like a backlash of some kind occurs.” She glanced at Cassandra, whose face was blank. “Cassie can tell you more about it.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it,” he said.

  She reached over and touched his forehead. The room blurred, and the scene of a meadow overlaid it as Angela transitioned, feeling the familiar dropping sensation in her stomach.

  Angela stood near the center of the clearing and surveyed the scene. The Otherworld sky was overcast, and the trees swayed in the turbulent wind. The meadow itself was rough and weed-choked. Large mounds of grass were scattered all around, and there was brackish water pooled in several places. Simon was nowhere to be seen, though she had not blocked his access to the Otherworld as she customarily did for gadjo clients.