OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3

by Lisa Beth Darling

  “I see she told you.” Ares raised an eyebrow at his Mother. “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing, although she has many questions.” Laying her hands on Ares’ sweaty bare forearm she leaned in toward him. “All secrets are still safe but I don’t know for how long.” Ares didn’t believe in premonitions or visions and the last thing he or Alena needed was another bad omen hanging over their heads.

  “Why can’t he just let it go? It’s not rational to hold on to such hatred for so long.” Ares clenched his jaw and sucked in air over his teeth. “Do you?”

  “Of course not.” Hera ran her hand soothingly along Ares’ forearm. “I know he’s a stubborn old fool who will do anything to get his way but, as I told Alena, it was probably only a very vivid nightmare brought on by your Father’s viciousness.”

  Ares wanted to believe that was all it was, a mere dream, a trick of the mind, but Hera didn’t see Alena’s blank face as she stared into the mirror last night or those stormy eyes gazing so intently into the glass as though she were watching a captivating movie. It was more than a dream but he wasn’t willing to call it a vision. “Morpheus, maybe he’s in on this with Zeus.” That was an unpleasant, but not an unlikely, scenario. The only Olympian who could truly go wherever whenever he pleased was Morpheus the King of Dreams. No place where a soul slept was off limits to him.

  “I will talk to Zeus and find out what he’s up to.”

  “Whatever this is Mother, if it continues, I have to take her away from Olympus.”

  Hera’s peacock eyes flashed daggers as her soothing tone turned into railing. “Ares! You swore an oath! I won’t let you go back on it.”

  Now he turned to her and took her hands. Ares knew Hera was going to be upset by this news and he didn’t relish giving it to her, but he didn’t expect her to be malicious about it. “You would hold me to this promise at the expense of my Wife and my Son? The coming Grandson you claim to cherish so much?”

  “I do love him already.” She did, she couldn’t help it, even though she knew it went against so many eons of Olympian Tradition. Hera’s arms already ached to hold the boy. “I would never stand by and allow Zeus to hurt him. Let me talk to Zeus before you do anything hasty.”

  “What about Alena?” Ares shook his head. “You know the lengths he will go to in order to hurt her. What kind of Husband…what kind of Father am I if I just sit back and let it happen?” He looked down at Hera and sneered, “What kind of Grandmother are you?”

  It was clear that Ares had already made up his mind; one more incident or innuendo and they were leaving Olympus. “Wherever you go, it won’t be far enough,” Hera reminded him. “If he wants to, he will hunt you down like a rabid dog and you know it. At least wait until after she gives birth,” Hera encouraged, trying to sound motherly instead of enraged. “I just examined her and the boy has dropped considerably. You can’t move her now, not even to carry her to the front Gates of Olympus. You know I must be there when she goes into labor, or they will both be lost.”

  Ares picked up a patch of rough sandpaper and began running it across the cradle with the grain of the wood. “Until my Son is born, but after that Mother, all bets are off. It’s too dangerous for Alena here and you knew that when you demanded I bring her here to live.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nowhere To Go

  I

  Six days of peace ensued, or at least Ares thought so, but even Gods can make mistakes.

  With the minutes and hours slowly creeping by in the bedroom, it wasn’t long before Alena was bored out of her mind sitting in the big bed day after day with nothing to do but eat. To take her mind off her temporary detention, Ares brought her a television. Her eyes lit up like a small child on Christmas Day when he brought the 50-inch Sharp into the bedroom. Enchanted with his magick, it would bring her any channel, show or movie she wanted, all she had to do was say so and it would appear on the screen.

  Ares tried to like the big glowing screen, but he never fully understood the nearly addictive appeal it had on Mortals. Alena, on the other hand, loved watching American movies and television. She would sit there in the bed watching shows named “Bones”, “CSI” and “Law & Order SVU” for hours upon hours if he let her.

  While Ares was accustomed to the gruesomeness of the battlefield, even his stomach turned as he watched the pretty but detached woman called ‘Bones’ rummage around in what could only be described as human soup. “They let their children watch this?” Ares said to her one night as she lay in the crook of his arm and ‘Bones’ poked around in the melted remains of some man with blood streaming down his throat and whose truck had just blown to smithereens for no seeming reason.

  “Humm?” Alena said, peeling her eyes away from the screen. “Oh, yes, I suppose they do.”

  “They said Rome was bloody,” he admonished with a shudder.

  Even more disturbing to him was her love of the “Law & Order” show. It was hideous, disgusting; all they ever had on that show was rape. Hour by hour some woman was raped and beaten while a squad of detectives tried to solve the case. It got to the point where Ares wouldn’t sit there and watch it with her. After all she’d been through, how could she even conceive of watching it?

  Other then the disgusting shows she called Crime Dramas, Alena often watched the news. She liked to keep up with whatever was happening back in the States and particularly in Boston. Ares had little desire to know what was going on in the Mortal World other than the prices of milk, chocolate, and pizza—Alena’s favorite craving foods, for which he was back to making frequent trips to the stores in the Mortal World. Ares cared only for what was happening here in his own home and his own bed.

  It was early summer in the Mortal World back in New England and the Red Sox had taken to the field for the season. For a reason known only to her, Alena only watched home games—those played at Fenway Park, where they spent the first afternoon of their honeymoon. Other games she did not watch but turned back to often to catch the score. When he asked her why she had this odd custom, Alena told him it was just a silly superstition; she felt that if she didn’t watch away-games that the Red Sox stood a better chance of winning them.

  Ares puzzled over that non-logic for days and came up empty.

  He didn’t like the way she stared at it with the same blank expression with which she’d stared into the mirror, as though she didn’t see the television at all but something deep inside it that was invisible to him. Within four days, he put a stop to it and made her take breaks from the endless unblinking staring.

  To shake her out of that daze, a few times a day Ares helped her out of the bed. With her center of gravity so severely out of kilter, she would wrap her arm around his waist as she clutched him tightly. He would hold her up while they walked around the bedroom and stretched her legs a little. The first time they did this, Alena made it three times around the bedroom. Yesterday she could only do half that. With her inability to concentrate on chess, they began playing Scrabble. This was a game he knew well and one that she liked and was still good at, even if the words did verbally fail her more often than before. When he asked her why, Alena took her time in explaining that she could see the words she wanted to say in her mind, they were spelled out, she knew what they meant, but she just couldn’t make the connection from thought to throat. She told him about video games and said he would love something called an X-box, he should get one, they would play very graphic and real-looking war games that the Mortal men loved and couldn’t get enough of playing.

  “War is not a game,” he’d said that night as he formed the word ‘snake’ across the Scrabble board. “If it has become so trivial to them that they let their children play such games and watch such things on television, they are truly lost.”

  Alena sighed and seemed to consider his words as well as the tiles before her as she used the ‘e’ in his ‘snake’ to form the word ‘venom’ going down the board. “Still got the b-boys of suh-mmer.”

 
; Ares snorted as he formed the word ‘stave’ going down from the ‘s’ in snake. “How are the boys doing this season?” He watched the baseball games with her and understood the premise of the game, but failed to grasp her enthusiasm.

  “Shhhhh,” Alena admonished with a cheery smile.

  “More superstition,” he groaned and watched her form ‘strike’ using the ‘k’ in ‘snake’. She never answered that question if he should ask; she’d only tell him ‘they were still in it’, whatever that meant. It seemed a curse if she said they were winning.

  The game ended there with Alena saying her back hurt and she needed to lie down for a while. The boy inside her never seemed to stop moving anymore. Alena was unable to find a comfortable position for more than fifteen minutes at a time; she was always shifting from her side to her back to the other side and then back again. She sat up, she lay down, and nothing helped. Sleep was rapidly becoming a thing of the past, a luxury fondly remembered but no longer attainable.

  II

  That was two nights ago; since then Alena had done nothing but stare at the television. Nothing he did coaxed her out of the bed. When he went so far as to shut it off, she shocked him by turning it back on with a blink of her stormy eyes. He turned it off again. Alena turned it on and then she proceeded to change channels by blinking and turn the volume up or down by raising or lowering her finger. It seemed that ‘Bones’ and the crew from ‘SVU’ had her undivided attention, along with the ever-present tray of food next to her.

  Every morning, Hera continued her ritual of coming by the Fortress to check on Alena. It was only during these visits that Ares felt comfortable enough to leave Alena’s side and take a break or take care of other things—trips to the Mortal World for milk or finishing the cradle before Raven made his grand entrance.

  Usually Alena greatly enjoyed her visits with Hera. When she was a bit more lucid than she was today they had long conversations, mostly embarrassing stories concerning the God of War and his childhood antics that Hera told with pride.

  Today Alena sat still and listened far more than she tried to talk to Hera. When Hera said something that would normally make her laugh she seemed not to notice, instead she stared fixedly at the television. Even Hera turned it off only to have her power rebuffed and the television pop back on.

  The whole time Hera sat there holding Alena’s hand, Raven moved. Her belly never stopped rippling with the force of his foot or his hand. “I promise it won’t be long now, my Child. I know this is very hard on you and you have borne this burden with much grace,” Hera soothed as she eased her hand across Alena’s furrowed brow, not liking the look of her sunken eyes. “Soon, I promise. Only another week or so, maybe even less.”

  After bestowing a kiss on Alena’s forehead, Hera took her leave. Finding her Son in his woodshop, she tried to reassure him that all was well, but had a bit of advice to offer. “A change of scenery might be nice for her, don’t you think? It might help to brighten her spirits a little; she’s been stuck up there for almost a week.” Looking down at the cradle to see it was finished she added, “Don’t you think it’s time you gave them to her? I’ll be back tomorrow, I’m going to visit with Poseidon for the day. It’s his birthday.”

  Yes, he did think it was time that Alena had a change of scenery even if it was only for an hour or two. Sitting up there day in and day out seemed to be taking its toll on her mind. It was one thing to mix up your words but Alena had become so silent and distant, as though she was hardly there at all. “Did she say anything to you?”

  “Not much. She’s very tired, Ares, though I notice her powers seem to be making themselves known. She’s very good with that television.”

  “Raven never lets her rest,” he complained as he gazed down at the cradle he’d made, heedless of the fact that he’d invoked the unborn boy’s name or his Mother’s coiling response to it. “He never stops moving and she never takes her hands from him anymore.” Last night he’d surprised her with one her favorite dishes, chocolate fondue. As he’d so earnestly hoped, Alena’s eyes lit up as she licked her lips, and he settled into the bed next to her with a huge copper tray filled with fresh strawberries, chunks of pineapple and banana, slices of apples and oranges surrounding a large copper pot of hot dark chocolate. She turned away from the television and toward him with a smile. Although she seemed to come back to life a little more and be more there with him as she dipped the pieces of fruit into the melted chocolate with a long slender fork, one hand stayed on her belly at all times. When chocolate dripped down her chin, she put the fork down to wipe it away before picking it up again for another dip.

  “She’s just anxious to hold him; this is her first baby, Ares, and she has waited a very long time.” With another reassuring smile, she patted his arm. “Soon she will sleep so deeply you’ll hardly be able to wake her and you’ll worry about that, but it’s all part of the natural process, I promise.” Hera’s heart was elated to see her Son so worried and concerned for someone other than himself. “Until tomorrow, all right?”

  With a groan, Ares leaned down and kissed Hera’s cheek. “Tomorrow, Mother.”

  III

  Twice a week the women changed the sheets on the bed. Earlier in the week, they moved Alena from the bed to one of the soft chairs by the fire so they could put clean sheets on the bed with a fair amount ease. Today, however, getting Alena up was no easy task; it seemed all of the strength had fled from her body. Ares had to pick her up to remove her from the bed. Instead of putting her by the fire, he decided to take his Mother’s advice.

  He carried her down to the first level of the Fortress so that she could gaze out the windows in the Throne Room. Even though the bedroom was on the second floor, Ares didn’t allow windows in his bedroom, as he believed they made it too easy for an opponent to spy upon him and to enter as he slept.

  Telling her to close her eyes, he carried her into the Throne Room—which Alena had turned into a parlor complete with soft pillows scattered upon the floor for sitting, eating and lounging by the blue marble hearth. Now, with his Wife in his arms, “Open,” Ares commanded softly.

  Alena opened her eyes as she rested her head on his brawny shoulder. At first she wasn’t sure of what she was seeing sitting next to the Throne of Bones that Ares brought up from the island some time ago. “Is that?”

  “My Queen must have a proper place to sit,” Ares said as he presented her with the Throne he’d been carving for her.

  She’d never seen anything like it. Nearly as tall as Ares’ throne, it was carved from rose wood and had the most intricate filigree; birds perched in trees and even in mid-flight, roses, some buds and others in full bloom, and bushes of honeysuckle adorned the back and sides. A cushion of deep purple velvet covered the seat and it looked to be six inches thick. The arms and legs scrolled outward elegantly, while at the very top of the back sat a crown upon which were two wolves nuzzling beneath a raven in flight. “Ho-wh?”

  “I made it,” Ares said almost sheepishly, fearing that Alena had enough of homemade items. One thing he learned on his honeymoon was that his new Wife loved to shop. She had a penchant for designer clothes, especially heeled boots, well-fitting blue jeans, and long draping shawls. “Here, sit, try it out.” Carefully he settled her down on her throne for the very first time.

  The seat was softer than a cloud and the whole thing, big as it was, seemed to embrace her body like a glove. Rubbing the arms, she looked up at him with tearful eyes. Wanting to get these words right she spoke very slowly, “S-so…beau-ti-ful.”

  “Not more so than you, hummm?” Ares smiled at her as she beamed at him. He was happy to see a flush of color in her cheeks. “I’ve got something else, it’s not for you but I think you might like it.” In his empty arms appeared the cradle he had been working on.

  Alena gasped at the sight of it and covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes welled up with tears. “I love them. Thank you.” She couldn’t wait to see Raven nestled snug and warm in th
e waiting bed his Father made. When Ares covered her legs with a handmade quilt they picked up in Amish Country in a town called Blue Balls, Pennsylvania, she kissed his cheek. “I love you.” Past his thick shoulder she saw the windows and beyond them the snow, and let out a long sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Ares asked. Sitting upon his Throne of Bones using his powers, Ares stoked the woodless fire and brought it up to an inferno.

  Alena wished for the green hills and pastures of her homeland. Barring that she’d like to see the blue of Boston Harbor when she looked out her window, anything other than cold white frozen snow. Spain had been beautiful, they had the most wonderfully warm beaches and blazing sunsets. How could her son grow up here never knowing the joy of running out the door to play with his friends? Of riding his bike down to the park for a game of baseball or to the beach to soak up the warm summer sun? It seemed so unfair to keep him trapped here. “I miss,” she seemed to think for a moment as her brow furrowed but then she found the word she was looking for and her pretty face brightened, “color.” She looked over at the hearth and let out a sigh. Olympus was nothing like what History told her it would be, and she was fast coming to dislike her new home.

  “Me too. Hungry?” Ares asked, hoping to take her mind off the blues she was suffering.

  Very slowly, she turned her head toward him and then made a sour face as she began to shake her head. She wanted to tell him something so badly, something urgent, something he needed to know now but suddenly words abandoned her—all she had was an unvocal image. That was nothing new, not really. However, lately the thoughts in her head seemed somehow amplified by the new television. At first she thought she was going mad, or worse yet that Zeus was right and she was a Dark Fae having a premonition as she watched strangely vivid images fly across the screen: Fire streaking across the night sky in hundreds and hundreds of comets or meteors. Large groups of Fey—dirty, cold and hungry as they huddled together. A huge Willow Tree guarded by an even larger patch of thorns, it glistened and gleamed against a backdrop of pitch black. For a reason she couldn’t fathom, those images felt like the past, long, long ago and very far away.