God of War

by Matthew Woodring Stover

“Close the gap,” Kratos shouted, engaging a bladed hand before deftly cutting it from the skeletal wrist. “You cannot defend this breach for long.” And wraiths were starting to hack away at the ragged edges of the wall to make a larger hole. If it got much larger, the Athenians couldn’t hold it at all—and Kratos didn’t want to have to guard his own back as he ran for the city.

  “I don’t recognize you,” said a young soldier, coming up behind. “Why aren’t you in armor?”

  “Send for engineers, fool!” Kratos snarled. “If the monsters take this breach, Athens’s belly lies exposed!”

  The young warrior began barking orders, and the other Athenians seemed relieved to have someone tell them what to do. The soldiers nearest forced their way into the breach, making a wall of their shields and their own bodies to keep back the Hades-spawned hordes. Others dragged heavy timbers, rubble, and anything at all they could use as a barricade to pile at the hole, but to Kratos it was clear this was futile. The pressure against a handful of men was too great, and no permanent repair could be made with wraiths and legionnaires constantly hacking to enlarge the gap.

  The last of the Athenians at the breach fell to undead archers. A half dozen burst through, unleashing fire arrows wildly in all directions; each one that struck true exploded in a burst of flame and took an Athenian life. Kratos unleashed the Blades of Chaos once more and took out two of the skeletal creatures before they could create more havoc along the aerial walkways. The rest of the undead archers concentrated their fire on the fresh soldiers racing to plug the hole. They were devastatingly effective. By the time Kratos had killed the archers at the gap, the wraiths beyond had widened the hole enough for another Cyclops to barrel through.

  Kratos plunged forward to meet the monster’s charge. Using his preternatural strength, he lifted the Cyclops from its feet and drove it back through the breach, into the wraiths and undead legionnaires outside. The Cyclops cleared its way with a few swings of its immense club, knocking undead to pieces and sending wraiths flipping through the air, then strode forward to again vie with Kratos. New legionnaires pushed forward to continue chipping away at the wall, widening the breach with each blow.

  Kratos judged his distance, then launched a long thrust with both blades. He slashed the Cyclops’s throat on either side, then pulled back hard, hooking the curves of the blades behind the creature’s neck. As the blades ripped free, the Cyclops’s head flipped from its shoulders, bounced on the ground, and rolled past Kratos’s feet. A fountain of blood shot skyward from the creature’s neck, and Kratos lifted his face to the scarlet shower as though it were cool spring rain. He plucked the unseeing eye out and held it high over his head, then heaved it in defiance at Ares’s advancing minions.

  “More!” he shouted at the horde outside. “Come on! Come and die!”

  One hard kick toppled the swaying bulk of the dead monster across the breach, creating a barricade over which the attacking creatures had to scramble. The archers on the wall above took a terrible toll as feathered shafts pinned legionnaires to the fallen Cyclops and to one another.

  Before, his victory had been cheered. Now there was no time. A pair of Cyclopes moved up to the breach and began tossing aside undead legionnaires from the growing pile, clearing the way for more monsters, while wraiths floated overhead, their ghastly blades carving nearby archers into bloody chunks of meat.

  Kratos again made a grim assessment of the odds. He did not know how Athena hoped he might save her city, but he was reasonably sure she did not intend he should give his life over one small gap more than a mile from the city proper.

  He sheathed the Blades of Chaos and stared at his hands. Power welled up within as he unleashed his anger, and Kratos felt himself become the conduit for godlike power once more. The Rage of Poseidon was with him still.

  Pushing through the struggling fighters, he climbed atop the dead Cyclops and looked at the hundreds and thousands of Ares’s killers readying themselves to pour through the ever-widening hole in the wall. Kratos held out his hands, as if to push them all away. He staggered as the power built within him. Lifting his hands, elbows locked, he closed his eyes and concentrated on what he wanted most.

  Annihilating energy erupted around him, plowing a fifty-foot furrow deeper than a moat in front of him. Kratos spread his hands outward, and the furrow became a crater. He directed the Rage of Poseidon downward, outward, then downward a final time before he sank to his knees in exhaustion from the effort.

  The corpse of the Cyclops was gone, burned so thoroughly there was not even smoke—as were the other Cyclopes, all the nearby wraiths, several hundred undead legionnaires, some few yards of the Long Walls and a number of the Athenian archers.

  Between him and the remainder of Ares’s army gaped a pit a hundred feet deep and almost as wide. To reach the gap now, the horde outside faced a long descent and a perilous scramble up a steep slope slippery with ash, fully exposed to archers above.

  The monsters seemed undeterred; they were already sliding down the far rim of the pit. Even if they had to fill the entire crater with their own bodies, soon these misbegotten creatures would flood through the wall in their thousands upon thousands. Nothing could stop them.

  Kratos drew the Blades of Chaos and settled into himself, grimly waiting at the breach.

  This was going to be a long fight.

  SEVEN

  UNDEAD LEGIONNAIRES TRAMPED ALONG a game trail in the still forest, weapons clanging against their sides with every step. Some carried scythes and others swung spiked clubs as they made their way to support the rear echelons of the force attacking the breach in the Long Wall. The leader slowed and then raised a bony limb to halt his patrol.

  Bushes rustled. The legionnaires turned toward the sound and drew weapons, but from behind them a large gray wolf leaped, snarling at the leader as it knocked the legionnaire to the ground. Strong jaws closed on a bony neck and crushed it, ripping away the undead head. As the wolf turned to do the same to the next, its savage growls called the rest of the pack to come loping out of the forest in their ambush. The creatures from Hades tried to defend themselves, but these wolves fought with a cunning and ferocity that would astonish any huntsman. Some of the skeletal beings could only jerk and twitch as their legs were gnawed off. Others threw knives and axes and even swords at the wolves, but the sleek gray killers slipped aside, then returned to match their jaws against the bony talons of the disarmed undead. Shortly, “disarmed” was no longer a figure of speech.

  Quiet descended on the forest once again as the wolf pack melted away, prowling their territory in search of new victims, and two goddesses materialized at the scene of the slaughter.

  Athena said, “Your creatures fight well.”

  Artemis squinted skyward, measuring the soar of eagles and the slow wheel of vultures. “The birds speak to me of new incursions,” she said. “Our brother is slow to learn.”

  “So let us offer further lessons without delay,” Athena said. “Though all the wolves in the world would not be enough to destroy his army, we can at least keep him from your groves.”

  The huntress favored her with a piercing stare. “We?”

  Before Athena could respond, Artemis vanished. Athena sighed and with a brief gesture followed her to a large glade filling with Ares’s soldiers. The monsters milled about in considerable disarray. The creatures who held the place of officers bellowed and screeched, trying to organize them into something resembling battle order. As they began their march across the glade, Artemis pointed to the tree line not fifty feet from their flank.

  “There.”

  An enormous bull elk broke from the underbrush, lowered its antlers, and charged square into the ranks of the skeletal archers. Its rack speared four of them, and a toss of its head sent fragments of undead flying. The elk bellowed and turned to attack again, but the remaining archers now had arrows to their strings. A dozen bows thrummed as one, and the flaming arrows detonated deep within the chest of the mighty b
east. It staggered, fell to its knees, and died.

  Before it could even hit the ground, wolf packs broke from cover on all sides, striking deep into the archers’ formation as they struggled to draw new shafts. Fangs ripped rotting flesh, and jaws crushed exposed bones. But a monstrous crashing and splintering of trees heralded the arrival of a new threat.

  “Cyclopes—too many of them,” Athena said, a cautionary hand upon her sister’s arm. “They are dangerous even to my Kratos. Your wolves cannot stand against them.”

  “They don’t have to.”

  Some ten of the great Cyclopes came forward, their mighty war clubs shattering whole trees. The largest of them took the lead, thundering toward the wolves—but before it had crossed even half the distance, it stiffened, its eye rolled up, and it pitched suddenly onto its face.

  “Fur and antler are far from my subjects’ deadliest weapons,” Artemis said with dark satisfaction. “Vipers can bring down even the Cyclopes.”

  “So I see.”

  As the other great brutes hesitated, unsure of their path now that their leader lay dead, the sky filled with an eagle’s angry screech. Dropping like arrows from the heavens, the great golden raptors plunged toward Cyclopean eyes, slashing with extended talons. A few tosses of the beak ripped away gobbets of bloody flesh from the surrounding faces; then the birds took wing again.

  “Now we drive them,” Artemis said. She pointed to the spot in the forest where a trio of huge bears lumbered forth. As the wolves kept away the legionnaires and other undead, the bears attacked the remaining Cyclopes with gore-caked claws.

  Ares’s army began to dissolve as fear seized the creatures. Packs of wolves, charging bucks, the bears and eagles and snakes all combined to herd the monsters toward the Long Walls.

  “Artemis, my sister,” said Athena, “you are as good as your word. My Athenians should now be able to—”

  “Shhh.” Artemis tensed. With a gesture she summoned her bow; another gesture produced a golden shaft, nocked and ready to draw. “Hide.”

  Athena frowned. “Hide from what?”

  Within an instant, the heavens were ripped asunder and Ares stepped through, so huge the flames of his hair might set the clouds afire.

  Athena reflected that her sister’s instincts were as accurate as her arrows and decided to take Artemis’s advice. A graceful swipe of her hand drew mist around her … and when the mist evaporated, she was nowhere to be seen.

  Ares didn’t even notice. He scowled down upon the panicking mob his army had become. “What is wrong with you?”

  The god’s voice shook the very earth. He reached down and, in one titanic hand, swept up bears and elk and wolves alike. “Animals? Mere animals drive you like cattle? Let me show you how to deal with animals!”

  His fist closed and began to clench.

  Artemis said, “Don’t.”

  Ares flinched as if he’d been stung, but only for an instant. Then his natural belligerence flared once more. “Who dares give orders to the God of War?”

  Artemis stepped out of the tree cover, still only human size, her bow bent and her bowstring against her cheek as she sighted along her arrow. “Very gently, my brother. Very gently return my creatures to the ground.”

  Ares snorted down from a dozen times her height. “Why should I?”

  “My grip is not as sure as it once was,” Artemis said calmly. “I would hate to have to explain to our father how my fingers slipped when my arrow was aimed in the direction of your face.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. The Word of Zeus forbids—”

  “Killing,” Artemis finished for him. “From this angle, an arrow in your eye would do little more than inconvenience you. I shouldn’t imagine you’ll be half blind for more than a decade or two.”

  “You would aid that treacherous bitch Athena against me?”

  “I would,” Artemis said, without the faintest flicker of an eyelid, “defend my realm and its creatures. Set those down, and be on your way.”

  “You won’t attack me. You can’t. Not while I threaten only mortals.” His fist tightened until gore ran from between his fingers. “I can crush every one of these woodland beasts, and you can’t give me so much as an itch.”

  “You turn your hand against my creatures.” Artemis lowered the aim of her bow. “Witness how I turn my hand against yours.”

  She released her arrow, which shot from her bow more swiftly than lightning—and before it could strike, another arrow appeared and was released. So many arrows flew so swiftly that the glade seemed filled with a golden haze that buzzed and snarled like a nest of angry hornets.

  After that single instant, Artemis lowered her bow and looked up at Ares. “So?”

  The God of War looked down upon his army. Every once-living creature of his in that glade lay dead; every undead creature was mutilated beyond recognition. The wolves and bears and elk stood untouched. For a long moment, the only sound was the mocking cry of a distant eagle.

  At length, Ares said, “Perhaps I have been hasty.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And if my legions and I leave your woodlands in peace?”

  “Then my creatures and I have no reason to attack yours.”

  “Done, then.”

  “Yes,” said the Huntress of the Gods. “Done.”

  Athena, lurking invisibly just within the tree line, shook her head with a disappointed sigh. She hated it when her family members forged a peace, even if Ares and Artemis would violate it at the merest provocation. Still, her mission to Artemis was far from a total loss. This forest skirmish should have taken enough pressure off the Long Wall that Kratos could move on into the city. Slaying monsters was all well and good—not to mention moderately entertaining—but it didn’t actually get him anywhere.

  Athena took a deep breath, savoring the pine and earth scents. She closed her eyes and let herself go into a light trance, enabling her foresight to fill her mind with glimpses of the future. She gasped and her eyes flew open at what she foresaw. Coldness settled, and she realized that even had Artemis and the powerful Lord of the Ocean, Poseidon, joined her in opposing the God of War, they would have failed.

  Ares had become too powerful—and increasingly insane. The very pillars of Olympus would be turned to rubble by his actions. And there was nothing she could do, because Zeus would never rescind his decree against one god killing another. She saw that while she and the rest of Olympus, including the Skyfather himself, were so bound, Ares would not obey.

  Ambition and insanity made for a deadly mixture. If she could not kill Ares, Kratos must. But how? How could any mortal kill a god? Kratos had to reach the Oracle. It was the only way the answer would be revealed, for the Oracle’s power was such that she could give Kratos knowledge hidden even from the gods themselves. Athena hoped that this would be enough—it had to be.

  This accomplished, she turned about and with a breath of will sent herself once more to Olympus, passing through her own chambers to step forth into the Hall of Eternity. It was necessary that Kratos receive another gift of power if he was to get to the Oracle.

  Mere paces along the hall brought her to an archway hung with scented diaphanous veils. She pushed through into a sybarite’s delight of erotic architecture and seductive decoration. No matter the direction, mirrors of bronze, brass, and silver reflected images even more flattering than her favorite mirror in her own chamber. A pool of lilac-scented water extending along a low bed provided a different degree of reflection.

  “Welcome, Athena,” came the soft, sensual greeting, as gentle and inviting as a lover’s caress.

  “Lady Aphrodite.” Athena bowed deeply in the direction of the tapestry to her right, which depicted humans and gods copulating in half a hundred ways; this was the best bet for where the Goddess of Love might be hiding. They had a tense relationship, the Goddess of Sex and the virgin warrior, complicated by the somewhat uncertain nature of their familial connection.

  Aphrodite had been born from the
genitals of Ouranos, when his son Cronos—Zeus’s father—had ripped them from the elder god’s crotch and thrown them in the Mediterranean. The drops of blood had become the Furies—which to Athena had always made considerable sense—and the organ itself had been reborn as the infinitely desirable goddess. Being born from the sea foam, Aphrodite in one sense could be considered not to be part of the family at all, except by marriage—as she was wed to Athena’s brother Hephaestus. The goddess might be considered only Athena’s sister-in-law.

  However, she had also been born as the result of an act by Cronos, which in a sense made her a sister of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. Which meant that she would be due considerably greater deference.

  Finally, she had actually been incarnated from the penis of Ouranos, Zeus’s grandfather, which made her Zeus’s aunt.

  Aphrodite herself refused to clarify the complicated genealogy. For her part, Athena avoided the lust goddess whenever possible. Athena’s guile was markedly different from Aphrodite’s.

  The Tapestry of Infinite Coitus stirred and Aphrodite emerged from behind it, warming the room with her beauty. Indeed, all Olympus took on a softer, more sultry glow. “From your tone,” said Aphrodite, “I sense this is not a casual call, nor do you visit on business of my particular realm.”

  Athena nodded. “I bring sad news.”

  “Does this please you so that you cannot send Hermes?” Aphrodite lowered herself onto the seductively padded couch and lay along it languidly. “Hermes was … recently here … and he mentioned nothing.”

  “Perhaps other concerns distracted him,” Athena said, knowing full well what Aphrodite and the Messenger of the Gods had been up to. The Messenger of the Gods was a frequent visitor to Aphrodite’s chambers, and it was known he brought the goddess more than news.

  “Are you suggesting that mere pleasures of the flesh might distract him from his duties?”

  “I suggest nothing,” Athena said innocently. “This young couple, whom you have lately had so much pleasure instructing—”