The God of Battles

by David Menefee

  “Can’t we just do this tomorrow? Simon’s wiped out.” Cassandra looked over at Simon.

  Angela shook her head. “If we wait, he’s going to just get a lot worse.” She stretched then walked over to where Simon was resting and touched his shoulder.

  He started and looked blearily up at her.

  “Hey. We’re going to try something different.”

  “Leave me alone,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry, Simon. That won’t do you any good. Those creatures are coming after you.” She crouched. “I want to come along with you into your dream.”

  His eyes opened wide, and he struggled to sit up straighter. “What? Are you insane?”

  “No. Evidently we can’t do this my way, so we’re going to do it yours. Or at least try to. I’ve never dream-walked this way before, but it’s worth a shot.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. “You don’t know what it’s like. We’re soldiers. You’re a shrink. Those guys’ll take you out.”

  “I’m not going to die there,” Angela said. “And you don’t know everything about me.” Such as the fact that she had learned hand-to-hand fighting and how to use beam weapons while his prehistoric ancestors were still braining each other with chipped stones. “Listen, we don’t have much time. You need your rest, and I have a hunch they’re coming for you tonight. So, Cassie’s going to link up with you first. Then you can just fall asleep, like you’re about to do anyway.”

  He shrugged, evidently too tired to argue. “Whatever. It’s your funeral.”

  He pulled himself into his chair by the couch, waving off Angela’s offer of assistance. She signaled for Cassandra to follow them into Simon’s bedroom. He rolled up to the bed, levered himself onto it, and closed his eyes.

  Cassandra, standing by the bed, touched his shoulder. “Hey, buddy. I’m here.”

  He nodded, not looking up. Cassandra lowered her head for a moment then grunted softly. She looked up at Angela, her gaze unfocused, as she swayed.

  Angela went out to the kitchen and came back with two chairs. They took their seats by Simon’s bedside and waited. Soon, Simon’s breathing slowed and deepened.

  After five minutes or so, Cassandra glanced at Angela again and nodded.

  “I hope this works, Cassie. I think you’ll be able to see everything through your link.” Angela closed her eyes, raised her left hand, and touched the air.

  At first, nothing happened, and her heart sank at the prospect of another failure. But then there was a flash of confusing lights and movement. Like an old-fashioned movie reel, the vision blinked in and out of her mind more rapidly. Then, with no other warning, Angela felt a nauseating dropping sensation far deeper than what she experienced when going to a meadow. She swallowed, breathed deeply, and opened her eyes.

  Shouts and running feet shattered the silence. Angela winced. She looked around her, taking in her surroundings. She saw no sign of Cassandra, but there were more soldiers than she had expected, and she dropped into a crouch behind a stack of sandbags. Most of the soldiers, but not all, were carrying assault rifles. Keeping still to avoid attracting attention, she resisted the urge to scratch at the nape of her neck. The omnipresent sand, as fine as baking powder, trickled down past her T-shirt collar and irritated her skin.

  Then she saw Simon, in desert kit, standing to one side of a makeshift barrier at the checkpoint. Angela remained where she was, grateful to be ignored by the other soldiers. Just as he had described, car headlights flared as the vehicle approached. A megaphone-amplified voice called for it to halt. Flashlights waved, followed by warning shots. The car accelerated with a roar, and she tensed.

  At that moment, Simon put his gun down, and the action froze. Everything was grainy and poorly focused, as if she were in a video that someone had paused. Angela watched carefully, remembering that this was when he said that Iron Star would show up. Seeking a better position, Angela crab walked across the dimly lit pavement to within a few feet of the checkpoint.

  When one of the soldiers jerked into motion, Simon decked him with a roundhouse punch. Another blank-faced soldier reached to grapple him. Rising from her crouch, Angela kicked the soldier hard in the lower back. His rifle fell with a clatter, and she scooped it up, holding it more like a club than a gun.

  She whirled so that Simon and she were back-to-back. The soldiers surrounding them moved slowly as if drugged.

  “Pick up a gun,” Angela gasped.

  “No,” he grunted.

  One of the enemy, a young, husky woman, lunged for Angela. Using the stolen gun like a quarterstaff, Angela dealt a powerful blow to the robotic soldier’s head. As she fell, the soldier shouted, “Shock and awe!”

  Angela glanced back as Simon fended off another attack, but he moved slowly as if he were dazed or mildly paralyzed. More soldiers approached, faces blank and hands outstretched. Soon Angela was busy fending off the zombie-like soldiers attacking her and could spare Simon no more attention. She smacked hands and jabbed at faces. Like the first woman, the soldiers shouted slogans as she struck.

  “There’s no I in team!”

  “Iraqi freedom!”

  “Mission accomplished!”

  “Shut up!” Angela kicked her nearest assailant in the abdomen, doubling him over. She swung the rifle sharply upward and was rewarded with a solid crack. He went down silently.

  She felt her throat close spasmodically as memories of the long-ago War fought by her people overlaid the fighting here. Instead of blank-faced soldiers, she saw the bodies of her own people, possessed by her Enemy. She hesitated more than once before striking, but the attackers’ reflexes were not much faster than Simon’s. Had they been professional soldiers, not nightmarish automatons, they would have long since overcome her.

  “Lady!” Simon’s agonized shout made her whip around. The soldiers were forcing his rifle back in his hand. Then she was once again defending herself from her attackers. A gigantic shadow heralded the arrival of Iron Star.

  “When two or more are gathered, there I am,” he grated in a repulsive voice. Apparently, that was a command. Two of the soldiers facing her linked arms and, in a nightmarish blur, merged into a single, larger man. Two more did this, and she found herself facing eight-foot-tall, powerfully built soldiers.

  For a moment she panicked. The monsters would crush her. But then she remembered that this was like any other lucid dream. She could control it. Angela concentrated, and the rifle in her hands lengthened, becoming her walking staff. As she hefted it, preparing to strike, all of her memories as a dream-walking chovihani returned in a rush. She had never used the staff to fight, only to heal and to explore. She lowered it for a moment. Why was she at war with these dream creatures? She should have been healing Simon instead.

  The gigantic soldiers crouched and prepared to rush her. She panicked. From deep within her ancestral instincts, she pulled up a word of power. “Sakhu!” she shouted.

  The word echoed in rumbling thunder against the now-overcast sky, and with two sweeps of the staff, she knocked the two large men aside.

  Her hands glowed faintly with a white aura. Iron Star approached, wearing red armor rather than the general’s uniform he had worn in Simon’s dream before. He idly swung a gigantic axe in one gauntleted hand as he glared at her with white-hot eyes. Angela backed away warily and saw that the two of them were surrounded by a ring of men. To one side, several soldiers were holding Simon by the arms, forcing him to watch the impromptu death match.

  “We are the few,” Iron Star rumbled. “The proud. The separatists who use strife to conquer us must be defeated. Tell me, Lady. Who the hell are you?”

  Angela remained silent, refusing to give away any information that would help this creature.

  He looked her over once more then, in a sudden movement, lifted the axe aloft. She raised her staff to deflect the blow. Iron Star swung the axe in a vicious arc to bury its head in the ground. A gigantic crack in the earth opened, knocking her off her feet.
She rolled and rose in a crouch, bringing her staff up, but the expected follow-up blow never fell. She spun as she heard the roar of the automobile along with the tearing-cloth sound of automatic weapon fire and a scream of anguish.

  The world around her faded as Iron Star turned and walked into misty darkness along with all of the soldiers. Simon huddled nearby, groaning and sobbing, his still-smoking rifle discarded at his feet. She walked over to him, and he lifted his tear-streaked face to her.

  “Just leave me alone. You can’t do anything for me.”

  For a moment, Angela stared angrily at the sky, willing that the enemy return so she could exact vengeance for Simon’s pain. Then the rest of the scenery whirled and disintegrated as she awakened, slumped in her chair.

  Simon was curled up in fetal position on the bed. Cassandra had a hand on his shoulder, awkwardly patting him, but he reached up and pushed her away. Her shoulders slumped.

  Seeing Angela awake, Cassandra came and stood by her chair. “I’m sorry, Angela. I couldn’t follow you. It was like I was too heavy or something. Anyway, you just sat there for a few minutes, then he screamed and woke up. It didn’t work, did it?”

  “No.” Angela passed a hand over her face. “This Iron Star is something else. We couldn’t beat him.”

  “Go away.” Simon’s voice was muffled.

  “Simon…” Cassandra reached out a hand.

  He lifted his head. “Get out of my house!”

  Angela and Cassandra were still sitting on the couch in Simon’s living room. Angela could not bring herself to leave yet, and Cassandra seemed to want to stay as well. Ignoring them, Simon had remained in his bedroom, the door locked.

  Angela could almost feel the powdery sand still trickling down her neck. What she needed was a shower and a four-hour nap. What she got instead was a quiet conference with Cassandra.

  “There’s more to this creature than I expected,” Angela said. “A repressed complex could not do what he did.” She hunched over, fighting the urge to scratch her neck. “Iron Star. I wonder why Simon named him that.”

  Cassandra’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Simon’s locked bedroom door. “The nightmare’s gonna kill him, Angela. He can’t keep losing sleep like this. I know. I’ve been there.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s got something they want, and making him relive this nightmare seems to give it to them. They’re going to milk him as long as they can.” Angela sat straighter. “What’s weird is that these soldiers and this Iron Star kept shouting slogans when I hit them. It was like they were advertising something. Or like they were robots, repeating programmed messages.”

  She felt her jaw clench and forced her mouth to relax. The mystery had deepened unexpectedly, and they were no closer to solving it than when they had started. Angela wanted to go back and shake some answers out of Iron Star.

  Somewhere outside, a siren yowled. An anonymous thump resounded in the apartment building. Cassandra sighed and cracked her knuckles.

  Something in Angela snapped. Feeling an urgent need to do something useful, she got to her feet and picked up her backpack. “Let’s go.”

  Cassandra stopped staring at Simon’s door and frowned at Angela. “So we’re just gonna give up?”

  “No, but he threw us out, and I have to respect his wishes.” She lifted an eyebrow and studied her girlfriend. “You have feelings for him.”

  Cassandra levered herself off of the couch and stood, jamming her hands into her pockets. “Well. Sorta. I mean, he’s like… he reminds me of my brother.”

  That was unexpected, though Angela suspected it wasn’t the whole story. She put a sympathetic hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Cassandra tilted her head to touch the back of Angela’s hand with her cheek. “I miss the little jerk, you know.” She heaved another sigh. “Okay. Let’s get outta here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  War in Heaven: Renewed Strength

  Root Hexagon, Bald Eagle

  Iron Star and his remaining troops were arrayed around the crater, staring down into the Root Hexagon. It glowed with renewed vigor and had successfully withstood another attack from within the keystone. There had been a hint of Diamond Angel’s presence, but the isolation trap had done its work well, and her aura had quickly dissipated.

  “Full power is restored for now.” Iron Star almost smiled. “Our retaliation against Dark Eyes, though unsuccessful, will deter them for a while. I’m not as worried about them as I am about Diamond Angel.”

  He turned to one of the spy angels whom he had originally sent into the flux. “Do you have any further intel on the enemy?”

  The angel held out a recording stone from which sparks crackled and snapped. “Yes, sir. As we have surmised, it appears to be a revenant Egregore from the old world of the Progenitors.” The nameless angel saluted Iron Star with its free hand. “Here’s more on the most recent conflict within the Root Hexagon, sir. Your image escalated its resistance, as it was programmed to do, but was only able to extract a small amount of information during combat.”

  It handed Iron Star the device. He grasped the stone, and the information it contained spooled across his sensorium. He scanned the data with growing unease.

  “So.” Iron Star paused for a moment. “We appear to share a common origin, she and I.” He fell silent, reflecting on the new information. He was not aware of their paths having ever crossed, but perhaps Diamond Angel had simply avoided him.

  What he did know was that Diamond Angel harkened from the world that gave birth to him, the same world on which the God whom he served also arose to power. Furthermore, she had a strong connection with the God’s opponent who had been working tirelessly to undermine His plan.

  What Iron Star did not understand was how anyone, no matter how powerful, could have penetrated so deeply into the Root Hexagon, bypassing all the safeguards surrounding it. There was a mystery there, and Iron Star hated mysteries.

  Coming out of his reverie, he nodded approval. “Very well. You are relieved. Return to your home and await further orders.”

  The angel gave a salute and vanished. Iron Star faced the Root Hexagon again, pondering his next move.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Delegation

  There was a knock at Nadia’s door. She awakened from an impromptu post-dinner nap with a start. “Michael! Someone’s at the door. I don’t know who it is.” Then memory returned with an ache. Michael was gone. Grumbling, she pushed herself out of her chair, grabbed her cane, and hobbled to the door, her knees clicking painfully.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “It’s me, Nadia. Andrei.”

  She pulled the door open with her free hand. Her second cousin once removed, a middle-aged man with a long, flowing mustache and thick wavy hair, stood there. A grin flickered on his face then vanished.

  “Come in, come in.” She stood aside as he entered, then shut the door.

  He went over to the couch and plunked down in it. “Nadia, you’re looking younger than ever.”

  Nadia shook her head. “No, I’m not, and you know it, cousin.” She hobbled over to her chair and suppressed a grunt as she sat. “There’s tea fixings in the kitchen. Be a dear and make some for yourself and for an old woman, won’t you? Here’s my cup.”

  Andrei hopped up, took her cup and saucer, and went into the kitchen. “Nadia, I’ve got trouble, and I need your help.” Dishes clattered, water filled the kettle. Bags went into teacups.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “It’s Joanna. My daughter. Do you remember her?” The kettle clanked on the stove.

  Nadia nodded. She knew everyone in the family. “Your youngest. Yes. She’s eighteen now, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. And unmarried. She has turned away every boy she’s met.”

  Oh no—don’t let her be like Cassandra. But Nadia kept her thoughts to herself.

  “It isn’t that she doesn’t like men,” Andrei continued, as if reading he
r mind. “She is a lusty gal. Drives me and the missus crazy. But she’s been having nightmares.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “Yes. She wakes up screaming. Scares the crap out of us, too. Last night she told me she’d had a nightmare about her latest crush. Stefan, I think his name is. She said in the dream he was a soldier, and he came after her with a gun.” The kettle started whistling. Andrei took it off the heat and poured the tea.

  “Sounds like a typical teenage girl’s dream to me. Like Angela would say, sometimes a gun is not just a gun.”

  Andrei did not reply immediately. He didn’t laugh, either. Usually Andrei was ready with a nasty joke or two. He came back in with the teacups and placed one on her side table before returning to the couch to sit.

  “It’s not always a gun. Sometimes the boys are killing each other too. But it’s always war.” He looked at her, a haunted expression on his face. “I think she’s got the Sight. My wife tells me that Joanna gets premonitions. Sees ghosts. Is there anything we can do?”

  “Of course.” Nadia nodded firmly. For some reason, the Ancestor’s words about the Eagle’s iron claws came to mind. “Bring her here tomorrow afternoon.”

  His expression became even more miserable. “Nadia, please don’t get mad. Joanna is scared of you. I told her to come to you herself, but then she started hollering about how you were going to kill her.”

  Nadia sat back in her chair. “Well, that’s just ridiculous. Who put that in her head?”

  “Not me.” He sat back, his hand to his chest. “And not her mother. We know the good you do for us all.”

  She thought for a moment. This could be a good way to steer Angela back to the family. “Okay. I think I will call Angela and ask her to help.”

  He exhaled and smiled, his eyes tired. “I was hoping you’d say that. We’ve heard about Angela’s dream-walking. If anyone can help, it’s her. Joanna idolizes her.”