The God of Battles

  The angel nodded and hurried off. Diamond Angel turned back to the parapet and raised her arms in a gesture of invocation. Far above, the great form of Bald Eagle materialized. Diamond Angel basked in the mighty shout of acclaim from the massed armies.

  The angel returned with a wrapped bundle. She opened it and pulled out a spear and sword, both encrusted with numerous medallions of arcane power. Strapping the sword in a scabbard to her side, she lifted the spear, which was modeled after that said to be carried by the God of Battles himself. With an imperious gesture, she opened a portal and stepped through, emerging beside her war chariot at the head of the armies. She turned and surveyed them.

  She spoke to one of the angels by her side. “Give me the lines of communication.”

  The angel came forward with threads of glistening light, and Diamond Angel took them up. Faces and forms flickered in her mind’s eye as lesser angels shuttled back and forth between her and the armies.

  She climbed up into the chariot and took up the reins. Lifting her spear, she urged the chariot into the air. Leading her armies toward a vast, cloud-rimmed portal ahead, Diamond Angel charged at the massed forces of Silver Scimitar, Shaken Fist, and her other lesser foes.

  In a single, world-shaking movement, the armies of Bald Eagle advanced on the enemy.

  Diamond Angel’s chariot was hurtling toward the enemy when an agonizing, electrifying net of force wrapped her body. She screamed, more in anger than in pain. Hauling on the reins, she came to a halt. Her armies continue their advance. She signaled to each of her lieutenants that they should take over command.

  Wheeling around, she headed back toward her palace, seething with rage. The isolation trap was responsible for the setback, and she was determined to locate the angels that maintained it. She would punish them for remaining loyal to their old master. With an angry gesture, she opened a portal to her palace.

  War on Earth

  “God is on our side in this war. They serve the Evil One, not…”

  —

  “This isn’t about God; it’s about us. I’m speaking…”

  —

  “That’s blasphemy! How dare you? You must…”

  —

  “I’m stayin’ home, man. They can…”

  —

  “They can mind their own…”

  —

  “Just mind your own business.”

  Angela’s Sailboat

  Angela sat bolt upright, a shout ringing in her ears. She looked around the empty cabin, breathing heavily and bathed in sweat. Overly vivid images of the dreamlike fight with Iron Star crowded her mind, and the air crackled with the energy of war.

  She lay awake for what felt like hours as the morning wore on, but weariness finally overcame her adrenaline surge, and her consciousness collapsed back into a fragmentary nightmare.

  Simon’s Apartment

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fenway, but only family members may visit Cassandra Grey on Sundays.”

  Simon moved the phone to his other ear. “Can you at least tell me how she’s doing?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s against the law for us to communicate personal medical information over the phone.”

  “Dammit.” Simon took a calming breath. “When can I come visit?”

  “Our visiting hours for non-family members are from ten in the morning until nine at night, Monday through Saturday.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He hung up. Neither Cassandra nor Angela was returning his calls, and he didn’t know anyone else who could reach them.

  He tried to take his mind off his concerns by working, but after he crashed his client’s website for the fourth time in a row, he gave it up. Frustrated and anxious, he finally got in his car and drove to Ghirardelli Square to brood and, perhaps, lose himself in the crowds.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The Convocation

  Then warring Angel trips a snare

  Which holds her back from battle’s glare

  Then vengeful scheming fills her heart

  That furtive traitors should beware.

  Michael was sleeping off a bender at home, so Andrea offered to take Nadia for an emergency errand. They were on their way to an all-night food mart to pick up some crackers for tea.

  “So I told him to leave her be.” Andrea shook her head. “She already told him no, and that was that, I said.”

  Nadia, in the passenger seat, was only half listening. Something was boiling away in the Otherworld. She should have been seeking a vision instead of going on this foolish errand.

  “Nadia?” Andrea glanced at her. “What do you think?”

  Nadia shook herself. “I’m sorry, I was somewhere else. So Lilya is interested in the Connor boy instead?”

  Andrea nodded. “Yes. He…” Her voice trailed off. The car began to drift into the other lane.

  “Andrea!” Nadia screamed and grabbed for the wheel.

  Andrea slammed on the brakes. Tires screeched from behind, followed by honking. A car pulled around them, the driver making obscene gestures. Andrea sat, shaking and staring out the windshield. After a moment, she resumed driving, turning right into a parking lot. She stopped the car, turned off the engine, and slumped, her face white as a sheet.

  Nadia waited for her own heartbeat to slow then touched Andrea’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? What happened back there? Did you see something?”

  Andrea turned to Nadia, her mouth open, her eyes bugging out. Nadia had only a moment in which to react. Like lightning leaping from one tree to the next, the vision overcame her. All she could see was a roaring flame, though she could feel no heat. The thundering voice of the flame shaped itself into words that shook her.

  “The Angel has defeated War’s minion. The Angel has become the slave of War. Praise War.”

  Suddenly the flame disappeared, replaced by a vision of a fire-crowned, winged angel wielding a red, bloody sword. Though her face shone too brightly to make out the features, Nadia somehow knew it was Angela.

  The vision vanished, and the ordinary world returned. Nadia gasped with the shock of its departure. Her heart was racing, and sweat poured off of her. She matched stares with Andrea.

  “You saw it, too.” Andrea’s voice shook.

  Nadia could only nod. Something terrible had happened to Angela.

  The gathering of chovihanis was an excuse for a party, naturally. No one was taking it too seriously, even though the eight or nine chovihanis in the area had all agreed to meet due to the extraordinary circumstances. After all, nothing was all that solemn with the Romani. Nadia approved. The spirit of the Roma must never bow to darkness. Andrea couldn’t make it, though, as she had fallen ill.

  While the children shrieked and played, while the neighbors’ curtains twitched, and while the rest of the adults played lively music and danced on the other side of the yard, a circle of elderly Roma passed around a bottle of whiskey and talked.

  The woman currently holding the bottle was the youngest chovihani present. Florica was Angela’s childhood friend as well as a cousin and had taken up the discipline of the chovihani after a dream-walk that Angela had done for her. She was dedicated to the art, but sometimes she was braver than she was smart.

  “I say we hex him,” Florica said, shaking the bottle. “Give that spirit a beating. I got strong allies. Nobody hurts Angela if I got any say.”

  There were grunts of approval and nodding heads. She took a swig and passed the bottle to her left. The older woman who took it, a stick-thin Roma named Kishi with skin like worn shoe leather, took a big swig and set it in her lap to gesture with both hands. “And I say find out who called this spirit and hex her! Somebody pissed off the spirits. Somebody called this Tin Man.”

  She picked up the bottle and drank again. It was a liquor talking stick. Kishi passed it to Nadia, who was seated to her left. Nadia took the bottle, examined the level critically, then drank. The liquor burned its way down her throat, and she suppressed a cough with iron determination. She di
dn’t normally touch the stuff, but this was ritual.

  She set the bottle on the table next to her lawn chair and pulled herself upright. She looked around the circle. “The Ancestor told me not to fight Tin Star. I aimed to follow that advice, but it doesn’t matter now. I’ll tell you why in a minute. Make no mistake; I am going to help Angela every way I can. But I learned she got dragged into some kind of fight, and now she’s a slave to war, whatever that means.”

  The fierceness was draining away from a few faces, replaced by puzzled frowns. But Nadia could tell that others were ready to argue the point with her. She decided to play her trump card. “Angela beat Tin Star already anyway. That’s what I learned.”

  The women gasped and muttered.

  She continued. “So all our planning to fight is for nothing. We got to find a way to free Angela now. Nobody can beat war. It’s everywhere. So let’s work an unbinding.”

  She raised the bottle in a salute to the others, who all nodded. A couple of the older women, her longtime compatriots and occasional sparring partners, scowled and gave her sidelong glances, but there was no arguing with the facts. She passed the bottle to her left and schooled her expression. No need to be smug.

  The next woman, Lucretia, took a long drink. Somebody muttered, “Save some for us,” but no one had a serious complaint. She was respected for her deep Sight, and she had many friends amongst the wood elves.

  “My allies done told me that we are already a-fighting.” Lucretia’s voice rose. “Them spirits from the gadjes already come against us once. I felt it. We all felt it. But now we gotta back off. I don’t like it. Not one bit. But…” She nodded tipsily at Nadia. “Nadia here talks to the Ancestor better’n the rest of us. And so I say we follow along. I can unbind just about anything. Remember Jaelle’s young ‘un?”

  They all nodded wearily. This was an old story that she never got tired of retelling.

  “He was asleep in that coma, and we all thought he was a goner.” She waved a finger dramatically. “I went to his bedside, and I shook him good and hard. I told his soul get back in him right this minute. And you know what? He did. I unbound him from his wandering. I did.”

  She nodded decisively and passed the nearly empty bottle somewhat reluctantly to her left. When the liquor ran out, the discussion would be over. Sure enough, the next one in line took a look, tossed off the last of the whiskey, and upended the bottle.

  “Good,” Nadia said. “Let’s do it. Who wants to make the poppet?”

  Kishi and Florica both raised their hands. Florica deferred to the older woman. Kishi bent to retrieve her bag from beside her chair, rummaged in it, and pulled out a candle and some string. She got out a knife and carved a name on the candle then wrapped it up with the string. The others watched, talking quietly to each other.

  “Nadia,” Lucretia said. “Got another bottle of that there whiskey? I’m powerful thirsty.”

  “I got one in the house.” Nadia turned to yell at the men. “Michael! Fetch me that bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard, will you?”

  Michael looked back at her and beamed. “My pleasure.”

  Nadia turned back as Michael shuffled toward the house. Kishi flourished the candle, now tied with so much string it was barely visible. Nadia noted that a red ribbon was wound in the string. Kishi knew her stuff.

  “Okay,” Nadia said. “Pass it around and fill it with your thoughts of our Angela.”

  The poppet was passed from hand to hand. They muttered, gestured, and grimaced dramatically. When it was Nadia’s turn, she closed her eyes and remembered happy times with Angela, particularly the most recent ones. She put her irritation and impatience out of her mind, concentrating on the good and the power of her great-niece. Then an inspiration struck her, and she silently thanked the Ancestor.

  Nadia held one hand over the poppet and muttered the Romani charm to turn away gadje poison. “Turn, turn, turn away. I will never go astray.”

  Satisfied, she passed the poppet to her left. Lucretia stared at it, her expression sober and dignified. The poppet eventually returned to Kishi.

  “Now, who’ll do the cutting?” Nadia asked.

  This time only one hand was raised. “I’ll do it.”

  Nadia smiled. “Florica, thank you.”

  Kishi gave the poppet to the young chovihani, and Florica pulled out a small knife from her bag. She tested the edge then sat at attention and waited.

  “We know what to do.” Nadia looked around the circle. “Let’s free our Angela.”

  The women closed their eyes, all except for Nadia, and soon a muttering chant arose from everyone in the circle. The incantation rose in volume, and soon they swayed in their chairs. Someone pulled out a small drum and began tapping on it, lending rhythm to the chant.

  Nadia closed her eyes and visualized Angela, bound by red cords, seeing her as the sword-bearing angel. The vision became stronger and then leaped into brilliant, flaring color. Her eyes flew open.

  “Ekh… duj… trin!” Nadia shouted.

  The women all shrieked the last word. Florica cut the string with one swipe. There was silence, heavy, expectant.

  A wind howled suddenly, whipping around the circle. Florica fell backward with a gurgling scream. The poppet flew to one side.

  An electric jolt convulsed Nadia, and her vision flashed red. A clamp seemed to squeeze her heart. She thought, This is it. I’m going to die. But after what seemed an eternity, the pressure eased, and she could gasp for breath.

  One of the women leaped to her feet, her chair falling in her haste. She rushed over to where Florica lay, groaning. Several others rose to assist.

  Nadia put a hand to her chest and waited for her heart to stop pounding. Looking around, she didn’t notice anyone else in trouble.

  “I’m… I’m all right. Help me up.” Florica got to her feet, stumbling a bit. Someone righted her chair, and she took her seat unsteadily.

  “Te feril ame o Del!” Nadia exclaimed.

  The women all looked at her, a circle of white faces. Nadia focused on Florica. “What happened?”

  “I saw her,” Florica said, her voice trembling. “I saw Angela. And I saw something else. It was a really big eagle. It ate her right up, and then it flew at me. Oh, Nadia!”

  Everyone started talking at once. Nadia glanced toward where the non-chovihani Roma were clustered, talking excitedly about something or other. None of them appeared to have noticed what happened. She raised her voice to get their attention. “Roma! Hear me! Hear me.”

  The babbling both in the circle and outside of it died down. Nadia waited until she had gotten their full attention.

  “We couldn’t do it.” She threw up her hands. “Something has our Angela, and it’s bigger than we are.”

  The chovihanis nodded, muttering in agreement, while the others remained silent, clinging to each other or frowning.

  She continued, looking at everyone in turn. “We need to watch. Ask our spirit allies for help. Find a way.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “You all go home now. I don’t know about my sisters, but this thing nearly killed me. We got to use our Romani cunning and wit to find a way. I will ask the Ancestor for help.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  War in Heaven: Communion

  Root Hexagon, Bald Eagle

  Unable to fight on the battle front, hampered by the isolation trap, Diamond Angel decided to commune with the Root Hexagon while she waited for her angels to apprehend the traitors. She opened a portal from within her throne room and stepped through. Standing in the crater near the crystalline artifact, she stared into its depths. A familiar face appeared.

  “Old friend, what secrets do you yield to my new enemies? What hell world do you haunt now?” asked Diamond Angel.

  She reached out a hand toward it then jerked back, suddenly conscious of her peril. Touching the Root Hexagon would be agonizing and might even trigger her dissolution. However, she was able to observe the images playing within it that offer
ed fleeting glimpses of the Underworld. In nearly every scene, there was an aged woman with fierce, dark eyes. This was the Wise Old Woman, an oversoul and servant of Dark Eyes.

  An alarm suddenly blared. Diamond Angel climbed out of the crater to see a skirmish nearby. Two groups of angels, one from Serpent Lion and one from Dark Eyes, were attacking. Their shouts and those of Bald Eagle’s defenders rang out along with the sound of weapons and the anguished screams of the fallen. On the heels of her vision, it appeared that this was a coordinated action between the Wise Woman and Dark Eyes, which Serpent Lion appeared to be using to its own advantage.

  “I must enter this battle.” Diamond Angel, War Leader and scion of primal wisdom, pointed both hands at the ground and dissolved into it.

  Region near Root Hexagon, Bald Eagle

  A group of spearmen from Serpent Lion, accompanied by sword-wielding, dark-eyed angels, charged Bald Eagle’s battalion. They clashed, and several shield-bearers went down, dissolving as they died. The spearmen dropped their weapons and drew short swords, likely borrowed from Dark Eyes. They hacked and slashed with deadly effectiveness.

  The ground shuddered, and everyone staggered. A brilliant light emanated from newly formed cracks at their feet. Several enemy angels burst into flame, screaming as a dancing wall of coruscating light formed, rooted in the cracks. A grating sound arose, causing the others to drop weapons and grasp their heads. The defenders stepped forward quickly and dispatched their foes.

  Diamond Angel materialized. She gestured distastefully at the piles of decaying debris that were all that was left of her enemies. “Clean this up and report back to your commanders for debriefing. Our enemies are crafty and may have infected you.”

  The sergeant of the battalion saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”