“No, not paintings. Similar in a sense, but not the same. If I may.” Jessica slowly approached the throne and showed the preview screen on her DSLR to the god where she flipped through all the pictures she had taken thus far. “These would be made as big as one can print, if you so desire.”
“Show me.”
To that request, she did. Jessica had Persephone drape her arms around Hades’ neck and lean into him, her forehead resting against his, and with a little extra direction, she struck the perfect balance between longing and loving in her eyes. Then, Jessica only had to spend a few extra moments setting her ISO and shutter speed to account for the gloom before snapping off a dozen shots from three different angles.
“I’m not that impressed,” Hades said. “They are decent depictions of us, but nothing special. Certainly not worthy of having an army raised over.”
“I’ll need to do the processing at home. When I’m done, the colors will be more vibrant, the mood and framing perfect,” she said. “I could easily take a hundred more of your lovely wife throughout your kingdom while you help Alex. I swear to you, what you see now are only shadows of what could be.”
“You expect me to believe you’ll work elsewhere and come back on your own, especially when your friend gets what he wants up front?”
Jessica shook her head and looked as helpless as Alex felt. “I have to have my computer. These pictures are raw. They aren’t near finished.”
“Tempting, but no,” Hades said.
“Please, though I’ll do whatever it takes to see Euryale back to me, I’d prefer having your assistance,” Alex said. “All I can offer in addition to Jessica’s service is my gratitude and service at some other time. Being the son-in-law of Phorcys must count for something.”
“It along with Aphrodite’s involvement with your friend is barely enough for me not to keep her here forever. I do not like the living coming and going from my realm as they see fit. Now go.”
“Wait,” Persephone said, grabbing her husband by the shoulder. “For my sake, help him.”
Hades looked up to her and shrugged. “I see no reason,” he said. “I’m tired enough as it is.”
But Persephone did not relent in her request. She bent down and kissed him on his forehead. “Take Jessica’s offering and help Alex. Should he succeed, I’ll stay with you another fourteen days on my own accord.”
Hades remained silent for a few moments, and Alex waited anxiously, fidgeting as he did. Finally, the god nodded. “Only if you swear by the River Styx,” he said.
At which point, Persephone quickly interjected, “I so swear!”
“And, you, Alex,” Hades continued. “You must win. For if I help you, and you fail and my wife does not stay, you’ll bear a fury like no other. Before I’m finished peeling away your sanity, you’ll beg to be made mortal again and let your body give up the ghost.”
Despite the grim warning, Alex smiled broadly. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you. I won’t rest until she’s in my arms again.”
“Then take my scepter and go,” Hades said, offering it to Alex with one hand. “Raise your army and rescue your bride, but be sure your heart is in the work, lest the quality of men you raise suffers.”
* * *
In a large clearing, some five or ten miles south of Termessos, Alex, covered in grime, blood, and gore, looked at the countless sets of bones and half-formed corpses and wondered what he was doing wrong. Everything, probably. Hades had given no real instruction on the use of his scepter, and thus far, Alex had tried a variety of grips on its shaft, all the while trying to “will” an army to raise from the ground. Whatever the hell that meant. But since his previous attempts had ended in the most magnificent of corpse explosions, Alex decided he needed to reevaluate his plan. Perhaps his heart really wasn’t in it after all, or simply not enough.
Alex’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall every little detail he could when he had watched Hades work. The god had made it look so easy, Alex thought, but then quickly reminded himself that that was the mark of a true master, to make the complicated, the impossible, look simple. But even a master was a novice at one point. Even a master had to start with his first creation or performance, no matter how long ago that was. Everyone started at the beginning. Everyone. Still, he was up for suggestions.
“Any ideas?” he said to Jessica.
“Yeah, conjure up a hazmat suit for each of us,” she said, shaking a bit of gore off her boot. “And then some new clothes to change into as well.”
“I meant in making an army.”
“Maybe you’re trying to take on too much,” she said. “Start simple.”
Alex eyed the scepter as he thought about her remark. Maybe she was right. With that thought, he outstretched his arms, held the scepter horizontal, and began to envision a single, solitary soldier—not the vast army he originally had been trying for. The man he envisioned would be from World War II, only because Alex had read and seen enough documentaries about the period that he felt confident in knowing every detail in how he’d look. Besides, Alex couldn’t very well raise a Spartan and thrust a gun into his hand, now could he?
The image in his mind took shape: the man would be six feet even, short hair, brown, cleanly shaven. A muscular build, but not brutish. A grin that said the man kept his humor, but a thousand-yard stare that said he’d seen combat, and plenty of it. His uniform would be a form-fitting M-42 jumpsuit over a wool shirt, green of course. He’d need rank, as well. Sergeant stripes would do. In his hands would be an M-1 Garand, and atop his head would be the iconic helmet that all the US soldiers wore. As Alex thought about all of this—the more he pictured the way the man moved, spoke, even smelled—a tingly sensation ran through his arm.
Soon Alex realized his hands were moving rhythmically through the air. He continued to concentrate on what he wanted, and at the same time, he tried to relax and let the energy flow through him unimpeded. The ground several yards away rumbled and slowly peeled back. A second later, a bare hand shot forth, perfectly formed.
“Keep it up!” Jessica said energetically. “You’ve got it!”
Alex watched, amazed, as the hand groped both air and dirt as it sought some unknown thing. But as quick as it came, it stiffened and sank back into the ground. The energy that had flowed freely through his body only moments ago dwindled to almost nothing.
“No! Get back to whatever you were doing!” Jessica said.
Alex shut his eyes, knowing his spell was on the verge of collapse, but frustration kept him from progressing further. He sighed heavily. “I’m too tense.”
Jessica slipped behind him and massaged his neck and shoulders. “You can do this. I’ve never seen you not be able to do anything you’ve wanted to do.”
Alex nodded as he let his body enjoy a bit of pampering. As she continued to work on his muscles, the tension melted away, and his mind relaxed. He soon found himself replaying one of his favorite orchestra pieces in his head, In the Halls of the Mountain King.
The simple theme started low and quiet with cellos and bassoons. While they tip-toed through the notes, Alex tip-toed through the picture of what he wanted to the tune of the melody.
I need one who’s tall and lean,
Just as mean,
Dressed in green,
If I’m to save Euryale from Ares’ evil things
He must have a rifle too,
Aim it true,
Hair cut crew,
He must have an attitude that always says can-do
In his boot’s a fighting knife,
To take life,
For my wife,
He will charge right into strife, day or night too.
Shovel will be on his back,
With a pack,
Ammo sack,
On his feet are boots of black, good, not cracked too.
He’ll be fearless at my side,
As we hide,
And decide,
The very best way that we can go and save my bride.
At that point in the song, when the tempo of his mental recital picked up, Alex became acutely aware of two things. First, the energy he’d so earnestly sought now coursed through his body. And second, someone had just given a throat-clearing cough. Someone who was neither Jessica nor feminine.
Alex opened his eyes. There, standing a few feet away, bewildered but otherwise looking fine, was the soldier Alex had envisioned, right down to the frayed nametag and weathered combat boots.
“Sorry to interrupt, but where the hell am I?” the man asked.
“Termessos,” Alex replied with a growing smile.
“We still at war?”
Alex nodded. “We’re at war, but not the one you’re thinking of.”
The man looked about and adjusted the sights on his M1 Garand. “Is it just us?”
“No,” Alex said, shaking his head. He sucked in a deep breath, stretched out his arms, and shut his eyes once more. “More are coming. Many, many more.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alex, standing in his chariot and dressed in an M-42 jumpsuit, raised his hand to shield his eyes from the midmorning sun. A hundred yards ahead of him stood a gargantuan fortress, the likes of which Alex had never dreamt about.
Two sets of walls, thirty and sixty feet high respectively, formed the bulk of the defenses, and those were protected by a ditch that looked at least ten feet deep. At regular intervals along the walls were at least a dozen watch towers, each with a catapult on its top. If Alex squinted, he could make out the movements of troops inside. How many there were, he didn’t know, nor did he care. The only thing Alex wondered at the time was what Ares was about to do, for the God of War was waiting for him at the iron gates.
“Mortal!” the god cried out as he trotted over to Alex. Sunlight sparkled off the Ares’ sweat-drenched skin, at least, what portions weren’t coated in mud and dirt. “Do you like my fortress?” he asked eagerly. “I built it last night for this very day!”
Alex’s ponies snorted and shook their heads with flattened ears. Alex pulled their reins in a preemptive move to keep them from bolting. “I’ve come for my wife,” he said once the ornery creatures settled down. “I hoped we might settle this without bloodshed.”
“You make demands of me without a fight?” Ares erupted in laughter so deep that the ground shook. The god turned scarlet, and he gripped his side, the humor he found apparently getting the best of him. Finally, Ares regained his composure. “What, little mortal, makes you think you have any such standing?”
“I’m serious,” Alex said. He held out Hades’ scepter for Ares to see and tried to sound as strong and confident as he could. “I wield power over the dead and this scepter obeys my commands.”
“That scepter can only strip the immortality of one who is not a god.”
Alex steeled himself, feeling his courage falter at the lack of Ares’ fear. “I also have an army the likes of which you’ve never seen.”
To Alex’s dismay, Ares stepped forward with a glint of bloodlust in his eye. “Yes, Alex. I know you have an army,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He pulled an ivory horn from behind his back and raised it up. “I have an army as well. When the day is done, we shall see who is able to make demands from whom.”
Ares put the horn to his lips, and from it came a low, mournful blast. The gates behind him swung open, and from inside, double file, came countless men on horseback. In their arms they carried shield and spear, and on their backs flowed bright red capes. On their heads sat helms of brass, and to the sun they showed their bared chests.
Despite Ares’ unexpected cavalry, and despite their still unending numbers, Alex vowed to win the day. “So be it,” Alex said, turning the chariot around. A snap of the reins set his ponies into a trot, back to the tree line some six hundred yards away, back to where his troops lay hidden.
“Go Alex,” Ares called. “Go to your men and lead the charge. I shall welcome you on the field of battle.”
Alex waited until he was half way across the field before taking out the hand-held radio he had tucked away. “Yeah, I’ll welcome you too,” he muttered, punching the radio’s buttons, “right into modern combat.”
The call he placed was quickly answered. “Alpha company here,” a radioman said in Alex’s handset. “Bravo and Delta are in position.”
Alex shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath to prepare himself. Sadly, it didn’t work. His hands picked up a tremor as he thought about what was soon to take place. Not because he was leading five hundred gun-toting soldiers against god-knows how many on horseback. That battle would be a slaughter, especially with the few tanks he had managed to bring up, courtesy of Hades’ scepter once more. No, Alex was worried because amongst that cavalry was a god, and truth be told, even with artillery and tanks, Alex had no idea whether his men could actually take Ares down. And that scared the crap out of him.
The radio sprung to life and snapped Alex out of his thoughts. “Orders, sir?”
Alex thought about his wife and pushed aside his fear. “Fire at will,” he said. “Arty first. Everyone else open up once those shells hit. Don’t stop until they’re all dead.”
* * *
Thunder sounded in the distance, and Ares, mid speech, paused in his troop address and turned his head. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky, nor could he see his father, Zeus, lurking about. Before Ares could discern its origins, a new sound filled the air. A whistling sound. One that drew nearer with each passing moment.
And then the world exploded.
Rock and debris flew in every direction. Large, dust-filled craters appeared where rows of men had been an instant ago. The tree line erupted in white flashes and loud cracks. Bullets tore into Ares and his warriors. The bullets were not nearly as large as the ones used in slings, but they proved deadly nonetheless. Some left colorful trails in the air, while others zipped by almost unseen. All, however, felled horse and soldier alike. Despite the carnage and Alex’s clever ambush, neither Ares nor his men faltered.
Ares raised his spear high overhead and charged. “Come men!” he cried. “Come and claim your glory!”
The sound of a thousand charging horses filled the air. Ares glanced over his shoulder and savored the image of his men surging forward in a mass of horse and spear. As he turned his attention back to the tree line, he spied Alex on his chariot, still out in the open.
“Now, Alex, you’ll see a true warrior in battle,” Ares said, slowing his stride and shifting the grip on his spear. A second later, he gave it a heave.
* * *
A hundred yards to the tree line, Alex’s shoulder exploded in pain and he toppled over the side of his chariot. Down he went, tumbling to the ground and striking his head at least three times over. When he finally rolled to a stop, he lay flat on his back, out of breath and disoriented. In the back of his mind, the sounds of gunfire and hoof beats registered.
Before he could stand, let alone think of something to do, a large hand grabbed him by the jacket and hoisted him into the air. He then found himself staring face to face with Ares.
“Brave, Alex,” the god said. “A reckless, stupid ambush, but brave.”
“Let me go,” Alex said, trying to bat Ares away. The attempt was feeble, however, for the strength in his left arm had all but gone and his right hung limply at his side, nearly severed at the shoulder.
Ares ignored the request and instead turned Alex around so he could see the field of battle. Bodies littered the field, and the ground was stained in untold amounts of blood. All the dead that Alex could see were Ares’ men, and as far as Alex could tell, not a single one had reached the tree line. “Your soldiers are deadly, Alex,” Ares said sounding impressed. “I will enjoy killing each one of them.”
Alex smirked. “Yeah, that’s what you think.” With that, Alex reached down with his left hand and pulled his 1911 pistol from his belt. It was
an awkward grab, and the weapon felt clumsy in his hands, but at point blank range, he couldn’t miss.
Ares looked down right as Alex pressed the .45 caliber pistol against the god’s muscular chest and pulled the trigger.
The gun kicked in Alex’s hand, and again and again as he continued to fire. Though Alex emptied the magazine in under three seconds, all eight rounds hitting home, Ares stood tall and proud as ever. Maybe slightly annoyed. But certainly not dead. Or even mortally wounded. It was definitely not what Alex had been hoping for.
“Not today, Alex,” Ares said, dropping him to the ground. “Not today.”
Alex shut his eyes and clenched his fists as another wave of pain washed over him. He tried not to whimper as he waited for it to subside. He wouldn’t give Ares that satisfaction. When the fiery throbs went from excruciating to merely god-awful, Alex opened his eyes and found himself alone.
* * *
Ares sprinted through the woodland terrain and darted behind a boulder. Dirt, rock, and bits of plant debris kicked up on all sides as bullets whizzed by and tore into the landscape. Individually, Ares regarded them as mere nuisance. But the heavy incoming fire that nipped his skin threatened to sap his strength should it go on for another hour or two. And the last thing Ares wanted to do was take a small break to catch his wind. Not when there were still a good three or four dozen men to kill.
“You fight like babies,” he called out, wiping his bloody spear on the ground. “What will you do now, cowards, since your rifles cannot save you?”
The distinct sound of a turbine engine drew Ares’ attention. He turned around as one of Alex’s steel beasts came crashing through the foliage. Ares thought he overheard someone call it a tank, or a Patton. Regardless of what its name was, Ares had now faced a half dozen such monsters, and he was not impressed with them in the least.
“Bring it on, little mortal,” Ares whispered, crouching as the tank leveled its 105mm cannon at his position.
The Gorgon Bride Page 15