The God of Battles

by David Menefee

  She paused for a moment, suddenly uncertain of herself, and closed her eyes. Her newly warlike nature still fit her poorly, and it required more energy to maintain her resolve. Finally, she turned her back on them, signaling to her adjutant to take them away.

  War on Earth

  “Who are those people, Mommy? They look like Mexicans.”

  “Shh. They’re gypsies, honey. They’ll…”

  —

  “… steal my jewelry! Stop! Thief! He took…”

  —

  “… my goddam job. Lazy bastards aren’t…”

  —

  “… American! Godless heathens…”

  —

  “… go home!”

  Street in Oakland

  “Gypsy scum! Thieves!”

  The shouts and imprecations landed on his shoulders as Walt led his Roma family back to their car. They had been looking forward to a picnic by Lake Merritt, but now they would be dining at home.

  Construction Site, San Francisco

  Steve Boswell hunched his shoulders as he carried his lunch pail and his other things out of the locker room. Hoots of derision followed him as the guys he had thought were his friends mocked him. He was no slacker! His homophobic boss, the Texan, had fired him under a false pretext, but he knew it was because he had come out in what he thought was the safest city in the world to do so.

  Nadia’s Living Room

  “Andrea, what’s gotten into you?” Nadia cradled the phone against her ear while she stirred the soup.

  “Nadia, it’s what I said. We got punished for violating God’s law.”

  “That’s ridiculous. What we did was our business. We serve our community, so how can that be breaking divine law?” She set the spoon down and reached for her spice rack.

  “Because we are women, and we don’t know our place!” Her friend’s voice fairly crackled with self-righteous indignation.

  “It’s that damn preacher and his nonsense! I knew it!” Nadia nearly dropped the phone in her agitation, and while she fumbled it back to her ear, she could hear Andrea’s squawks of protest. The enemy was, indeed, acting through the gadje. The rumors she had heard through the grapevine were an indication of some kind of attack.

  She placed the phone firmly against her ear and turned down the heat on the soup. “Andrea. Until you get some sense in your head, I do not wish to speak about this further.” With that, she hung up the phone. “Drat it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  In her Meadow

  A voice she hears from lower space

  Does make her doubt her warrior’s place,

  Yet stronger still is her regard

  For warlike master’s warm embrace.

  As Angela crossed the bridge into Alameda, she saw a line of protestors outside the Army recruiting office. Some of them may have been Eric’s friends. Did they know how treacherous he could be? Then something caught her eye, and she looked more closely. One of the signs displayed a slogan, “You Steal Our Dreams and Our Lives.”

  Her meme had mutated as it had spread, but it was still recognizably hers. Something she had created was strong enough to survive in the world of ideas. If there was some kind of creature in the Otherworld that corresponded to her meme, it was probably waging righteous war on the weak.

  As she turned right toward Bayside Marina and home, she saw a commotion on the street corner. Two men were shouting angrily, surrounded by a crowd, and as she drove away, one of them pushed the other to the ground. She smiled grimly. He probably deserved it.

  Angela continued down Clement Avenue. Everywhere she looked, there was conflict. Two people, shouting and gesticulating. Kids pushing each other, one crying and the others laughing. Honking horns and angry gestures. The backdrop of quiet everyday activity against which these incidents occurred was unimportant. After all, peace was simply unexpressed conflict. She could feel something inside her, urging everyone to reveal their true selves.

  She pulled into the marina parking lot and found a slot near her home pier. As she got out of the Prius, the wind whipped her hair. Smelling the tang of ozone that preceded a storm, she glanced at the wild cloudscape above then at the choppy waves of the channel. The spray reminded her of the Otherworldly beach with its warring animals. A momentary burning sensation in her heart made her stop and clutch her chest, and her mental fog lifted. Something was wrong with her.

  Angela jumped as a seagull flew by like a bullet, propelled by the stormy wind. The fog descended once again, quenching her unease.

  Angela dreamed. She was a disembodied viewpoint, flying between the trees of the Otherworld. She burst into an ordinary meadow with some tangled underbrush at the edge, shrubberies dotting its open area, and clumps of untidy grass. But as she passed through it, it seemed as if invisible builders were at work raising fortifications. A rustic but dangerous-looking wall of spikes at the perimeter rose up out of the ground, scattering clods of soil. Pitfalls appeared all over the meadow and then were immediately camouflaged. Brief fires flared here and there, burning vegetation and filling the meadow with smoke.

  She exited the meadow, passing into the dark forest once again. She heard faint voices and glimpsed momentary flickering scenes as she flew.

  A man and a woman are arguing in the kitchen. Suddenly, the woman’s face is suffused with a new rage. Her husband sees this and freezes, but it’s too late. With a snarl, she picks up a steak knife and goes after him. The knife flashes, and there is a spray of blood. The light fades.

  Her disembodied viewpoint entered another meadow. This one looked as though it had been manicured. There were even orderly plantings forming a delicate labyrinth in its center. But as she passed through, ugly barbed-wire fencing thrust up through the soul, destroying the carefully laid-out garden. Crossed, sharpened logs also rose, forming a deadly grid. A rattle of gunfire punctured the air, and a deer, unseen until that moment, collapsed at the verge of the forest.

  A monk in the chapel is curled into a fetal position on the floor. Next to him, another monk, with bruises all over his face, is unconscious. Shouts from elsewhere and running feet. The one observing all of this can only hear his own rasping breath. The new arrivals skid to a stop and look at him in confusion.

  “Father Dominic? What happened?”

  He replies. “These young men lack discipline. Their prayers were hasty and meaningless. It was time they learned better.”

  The monks back up now, evidently frightened. They should be. Sinners all.

  The viewpoint settled in another meadow, which was already fortified. In it stood a small, tidy cabin whose roof was spiked in preparation to repel invaders. Angela heard a whistling sound, and a nearby explosion rocked the air as the earth fountained up. Then another bomb struck, and another.

  With a shout, Angela awoke in the Otherworld. She stood in her meadow, her head spinning, and took her bearings. The sky, as on earth, was overcast with churning clouds that had the characteristic glow of a thunderstorm.

  The tidy cabin, the heart of her power, had been altered. Sharp, vertical spikes on the roofline glistened in the wan sunlight. Two poles with American flags flanked the doorway. Circling the meadow, near the eave of the forest, was a log barricade with strategically placed gates. Beyond the barricade, the forest was dark and tangled, as if all the benefits of years of self-work had vanished. Scattered all over the open ground were craters, some still smoking and contributing to a pall hanging over the clearing. The smell of cordite overrode all other aromas.

  “War here, too?” Angela’s mental fog lifted completely. She had wronged Eric. Reparations would have to wait, though. Something had happened to her in that odd Otherworld place, and it had bled into her environment—how else could she explain the violence that had broken out everywhere? Whatever it was, it had to have been left behind by Iron Star. She fought down a surge of rage. Her emotions were volatile and needed a close watch.

  She spent a few minutes examining the changes in her meadow. Whe
n she entered the cabin, in place of her dream-walker’s staff behind the door, she found a spear. It was carved with the same designs as her staff but bound with an iron point. She reflected on the fact that she had used her staff in combat. That may have made her vulnerable to the disaster she was now surveying.

  Emerging from the cabin, she located the tall pine at the edge of the meadow. Its tip was crowned with brown needles. If it had been an earthly tree, she would have sworn that it was being attacked by bark beetles. Defocusing her eyes and staring up at the tree, she waited for a vision of the dream-like place, which she had decided to call the Overworld, to appear. Nothing happened.

  After several fruitless minutes, she gave up. Angela needed Cassandra and Simon’s help to travel to the Overworld again. The answers to this puzzle would be found there.

  A wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she staggered. She scanned the ground and found patches of quilted cloth from her bed that marked her homeward path.

  Briefly returning to wakefulness, she turned over and drifted into a deeper sleep, a sleep still troubled by visions of war in the Otherworld.

  Cassandra had been in a drugged sleep off and on all day. She had been unable to force another out-of-body excursion since the disastrous encounter with Iron Star. But now her eyes opened, and she saw her body below her, limned in spectral light. Immediately she drifted in a gentle arc, feet-first, to land at the foot of her hospital bed.

  Her thoughts felt sluggish as if she were still dreaming. If she tried to force herself to become more awake, she might fall back into her body, so she waited for whatever had drawn her out. Then she heard a faint voice.

  —Cassandra? Cassandra?—

  She looked around the otherwise empty room but saw no one there.

  “Who’s that?” Her voice again sounded boxy in her ears.

  —Cassandra, this… diamond…—

  The voice was distorted, and at first Cassandra could not make out the words. It had sounded familiar, though. She thought of Angela’s great-aunt.

  “Nadia?”

  —Something terrible has happened to Angela.—

  The world tilted, and she felt a sudden tug in her solar plexus, drawing her toward her sleeping body. “Oh God. Is she…”

  —Her body is not hurt.—

  Cassandra’s mind blurred with relief, and the tugging eased.

  —Her soul is in danger. Something has taken ahold of her mind.—

  “It must’ve happened after I jumped Iron Star. I passed out.” An elusive memory nagged at her. Her back rippled with the sensation of being watched, and though bodiless, she shivered. She drifted to the window and looked out on a misty landscape that in no way resembled what was actually outside the hospital. “What can I do to help?”

  —Keep an eye on Angela. Ask her what happened. I cannot see her. Please tell me what you learn.—

  “I will.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then a feeling of warmth unexpectedly kindled in Cassandra’s heart.

  —Thank you. She loves you and trusts you above all. I know that now.—

  The sense of Nadia’s presence vanished. Cassandra stood quietly, savoring the freedom that being out of her body gave her. Her thoughts turned to Angela. She would go see what Nadia was talking about.

  Immediately, she was hovering in the sailboat master cabin over Angela’s sleeping body. As was the case in her hospital room, everything was edged with a pale glow as if backlit by the moon. She drifted closer, trying to see past Angela’s body to her soul, whatever that was. Then, remembering her telepathic talent, she concentrated, “listening” intently.

  —Why do you question my will?—

  The voice was like and unlike Angela’s. It was the aloof voice of an alien intelligence, and Cassandra sensed malevolence lurking beneath it. Was this what Nadia referred to?

  Cassandra concentrated. —Angela! It’s me, Cassie! Wake up.—

  Her own voice echoed in her head. It felt as if Angela’s mind were somehow reflecting Cassandra’s voice back at her. She called Angela’s name again, more urgently. Then something reached into her head and shoved, hard. The world spun around her and went dark. A heavy weight settled on Cassandra’s chest, and she gasped for air. The sound of her wheezing breath came loudly to her ears, and her limbs tingled painfully. Cassandra’s eyes opened stickily, and the dark hospital room swam into view.

  “Angela…?” She drifted back into dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  War in Heaven: Angel and Goddess

  Diamond Angel’s Palace, Bald Eagle

  Diamond Angel knew she must return to the battlefield, but a nagging sense of something left undone gave her reason to pause and meditate in the throne room. Faces appeared before her mind’s inwardly turned eye, faces of the long-ago people from her ancient culture, reborn in the underworld.

  One of the faces became more vivid. It was that of Angela, and she recognized the source of her disquiet. Angela’s face was hard-edged, and her aura flashed red and black. Upon seeing Angela, Diamond Angel’s breath hissed between her teeth. “You finally reach out to me, now, after I have helped you destroy your enemy. You show such poor gratitude.”

  A voice echoed in her head. It was indistinct, weak. —I need your help…— The unconscious depths of Angela’s mind conveyed pain and loneliness along with the message.

  “You must stop resisting me. Then I will help.” Pain stabbed momentarily in Diamond Angel’s chest.

  —I am no warrior. I seek peace. Why do I bring conflict?— The voice was stronger and inwardly focused.

  Diamond Angel touched her chest where it had hurt. “I am sworn to defend and uphold our master, Bald Eagle. Why do you question my will?”

  —I love my friends, my people. How can I stop this thing within me from alienating them?—

  Diamond Angel rose to her feet, driven by the urgency within Angela. But the pain intensified, and Diamond Angel staggered, putting out a hand. One of her attendant angels, who had been standing well away from her, approached and offered support. She gathered her will and, with a convulsive effort, thrust the source of pain far from her.

  “Thank you.” She nodded gratefully and resumed her seat. “Go to my commanders and tell them to convene here. I must oversee the war with Silver Scimitar and Shaken Fist, but I cannot go to the battlefield in person. One whom I am expecting shall arrive in Bald Eagle, and I must be ready for her.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Questions

  While spies are sent to reinforce

  The will of Angel’s earthly horse

  And deeper drive the growing wedge

  That fortifies rebellion’s source

  Angela sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair and pretended to read, though in fact the magazine in her hand was a blur of meaningless shapes and colors. It was better than staring at the bustling nurses in the hallway adjacent to the waiting room. In an attempt to distract herself, she checked her phone for messages, but the screen remained dark.

  “Dammit.” She smacked the phone, cursing the dead battery.

  A passing nurse glanced at her and frowned. Angela put the phone back in her backpack. She heard a tremendous, jangling crash in the hallway, and she jumped.

  “Watch where you’re going!” An orderly gestured angrily at the nurse who had passed Angela.

  “I did watch where I was going. I’m not the clumsy one,” the nurse replied.

  Angela saw Cassandra being wheeled out into the hallway by a nurse. The bandage on her head had been replaced by a smaller piece of gauze. Her broken leg stuck straight out in a cast, but she was smiling and looked relaxed. Angela rose to her feet, hiding her anxiety with a smile.

  As Cassandra took over the wheelchair and approached, the welcoming smile on her face faded. Angela took a step toward Cassandra but hesitated, feeling a chill.

  “Angela?” Cassandra’s voice was strained.

  “Cassie!” Angela reached toward Cassa
ndra, but the younger woman shrank away.

  It was like a punch in the gut. Angela’s arms dropped. “Cassie? What’s wrong?”

  Cassandra looked away. “I don’t know. I’m feeling sick all of a sudden.”

  The nurse regarded Cassandra with concern. “Miss Grey? You suffered a concussion. Let me take you back to your room.”

  Cassandra waved her away. “No!”

  “Cassie?” Angela reached a hand toward her then lowered it. She thought about her fight with Eric and about the angry crowds she had seen everywhere she looked. “Not you, too.”

  Cassandra stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  Angela backed away a step, and the tightness around Cassandra’s eyes relaxed as she sat up straighter in her chair.

  “Something’s wrong with me.” Angela eyed the nurse, who was following this exchange with a frown. “Can we have a moment?”

  The nurse seemed about to speak, but she nodded sharply and left.

  “That strange place did something to me,” Angela said. “Ever since I got back, it seems as if everyone around me is fighting.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “I had a huge argument with Eric. I think I lost him.” A jagged pain in her chest felt as if it had burst, and tears blurred her vision as she began to hiccup with quiet sobs.

  She felt a light touch and looked up.

  Cassandra yelped and jerked her hand back as if scalded. “Ow!”

  “What?” Angela’s heart skipped. “Are you okay?”

  “What do you mean?” Cassandra snapped. “Do I look okay—” She stopped talking and passed a hand over her face. “God. It’s like I just want to bite your head off. Like I hate everybody and want to fight.”