Slay

by Matthew Laurence

  These are excellent, excellent questions. Questions I’d almost certainly be asking if our roles were reversed. But my head is filled with the glorious drumbeat of battle, drowning out pesky things like logic and self-control. So I brush away Nāmaka’s completely reasonable—and incredibly important—queries with the first thing that pops into my head.

  “She probably came across an account of what happened as part of, like, research she was doing for Ares’s intake evaluation. I’m sure it showed up in a history book somewhere.”

  Yeah, that sounds plausible. Surrrrre.

  “She’s my friend—she would have known how much I want him dead, how much I would appreciate the chance to take revenge.” Makes perfect sense.

  “If you say so,” Nāmaka says, doubtful.

  “So where does that leave us? I mean, we kind of have a lot on our plate already, don’t we?” Nathan asks.

  “There’s only one place it can possibly lead, my priest,” I reply, a solemn tone creeping into my voice. I get up and walk to our computer. I jiggle the mouse so it comes out of sleep mode, head to the Web browser, and type General Theo Ariston into the search engine. The first hit is a Wikipedia entry for the man. I click it, bringing up his page, and feel a dark smile spread across my face as his picture appears on the right-hand side. Cold and dour, yet with a hint of bloodlust visible even now, it can be no one else. This is my nemesis. The reason my power has vanished, my faith has fled, and now … well, now I can feel him becoming something else entirely. My will is bending itself around the idea, all my effort focusing itself on this one glorious thought. The urges of love are a distant cry now. If I were human, I might mourn the plague of hatred that bubbles within me.

  But I’m not.

  “We are going to find him and destroy him.”

  3

  EMBERS OF WAR

  NATHAN

  Here we go.

  With mounting worry, Nathan watches as his goddess loses herself to the siren song of payback.

  “It’s going to be incredible,” she’s saying, eyes glazed with fearsome joy. “I’m going to eat his heart. Like, literally rip it out of his stupid uniform, show it to him, and then eat the damn thing.”

  Nathan looks to the others in the room, hoping to find a bit of support. The Valkyrie in his goddess is clearly taking charge, while love and beauty, laughter and life—the things he adores her for—are being kicked to the curb. Sekhmet, of course, sports a mile-wide grin, those dazzling features of hers bathed in delight at Freya’s dreams of violence. At least the Hawaiian sisters seem to share Nathan’s appalled outlook.

  “Gross,” Hi‘iaka says, scrunching up her broad nose. “So, what, we’re just gonna traipse off to kill this Theo guy because he’s actually some jerk-ass Greek god I’ve never even heard of?”

  Nathan breathes a sigh of relief, thankful for some common sense. The girl is clearly trying to steer the conversation toward less-brutal topics. A goddess of nature like her siblings, she’s a step removed from the passions of humanity, and that seems to include centuries-old vendettas.

  “Really?” Nāmaka says, incredulous. “He’s all over your beloved gadgets. Didn’t you fight him in a video game? And what about that silly show with the warrior princess?”

  “Oh yeaaaah…” Hi‘iaka murmurs.

  “Comics, too,” Nathan says, figuring now was as good a time as any to jump in. “But Hi‘iaka’s on the right track—are we really going to drop everything and go tearing through Finemdi just to get to this guy?”

  Freya turns a cold smile on her auburn-haired high priest.

  “Yes,” she says in the voice of a goddess, all steel and arrogance.

  A crash of thunder wouldn’t be out of place, Nathan thinks.

  “I’ve waited over nine hundred years for this,” she continues. “How many of your lifetimes is that? If you think my vendetta against Finemdi matters in the face of his sins, then you cannot fathom the depths of my hatred.”

  Nathan’s lips twist into a grimace. Since he met Freya at the Inward Care Center several months ago, he’s learned a great deal about the true nature of the world, not to mention a handful of spells—freaking spells—but the sinking feeling in his gut tells him he still doesn’t quite understand how gods work. After all, hadn’t Ares obliterated her when she was near the height of her power? And now she wants to try her luck again, from the bottom of the celestial barrel?

  He feels sick.

  “Can we … not?” he says, trying to package his extreme dislike into something more palatable than gagging in front of five goddesses. “I mean, really—think about this. You’ve waited so long. What’s the hurry?”

  “It’s not like I have him booked for next weekend,” Freya says, frowning. “I know I need power—and probably a plan. I may be obsessive, but I’m not an idiot.”

  “I know that, but is this what you really want to sink yourself into? Revenge? Hatred? You’re a god of love, not—”

  “I’m more than that,” she replies, soft and dangerous. “More than love, and more than capable of—”

  “Then be more than this, Sara,” Nathan says, wishing he could keep the pleading tone out of his voice. “It makes no sense for you to focus everything on settling this score right now, especially when you’ve got the rest of Finemdi to deal with, too. Remember them?”

  “You don’t—” Freya starts to snap, but then she stops herself, closes her eyes, and inhales sharply. “Nathan,” she begins in a calmer voice. “This is part of who I am.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less of a terrible idea,” he counters. “I mean, Nāmaka’s totally right: If Samantha knew enough to send you this article, she’d have to know you’d want to drop everything to go after Ares. Why would she do that? What does she get out of it?”

  Freya blinks at that, and Nathan entertains a moment of hope that paranoia might win out over a thousand years of deep-rooted divinity. Then Freya shakes her head, saying, “Nothing. She’s trying to do a favor for a friend—that’s all.”

  Nathan stifles a groan. “Even if that’s the case, you know these stories,” he points out. “How often do they ever end well?”

  “Nathan,” Freya says, a blend of frustration and finality in her voice. “This tale is already being written. I’m on the path. Now, I’d really like to walk it with you, but one way or another, I will walk it.”

  Nathan turns to share a worried look with the Hawaiian sisters, but they seem content to stay out of the argument. Nature spirits, he thinks, letting out a small sigh. The sisters were born to neutrality in much the same way Freya was wired for vengeance. It’s a part of what they are, and behind those flashing forget-me-not eyes and pale, flawless Norse features, Nathan has the sneaking suspicion Freya knows this is just as bad an idea as he does.

  And then it hits him. He stiffens, suddenly realizing why all his arguments, all the reason and logic in the world don’t matter: This isn’t about them. It’s all wrapped up with centuries of dogma, a tower of belief rising from the past that leaves little room for Freya to defy the expectations of her followers.

  Gods aren’t born, after all, Nathan remembers—they’re made. Every last one, from his goddess and her allies to the prisoners and collaborators behind Finemdi’s walls has a purpose. Belief doesn’t just empower gods; it defines them, and though Freya’s long absence from the spotlight has granted her a bit of leeway in obeying the calls of her portfolio, it clearly isn’t enough to overcome this.

  She has to hunt Ares as surely as every human heart has to beat.

  And so, even though every part of Nathan wants to object, to charm, beg, and plead his god away from her decision, he instead bows to it and says, “Okay, Sara. I’m with you. Wherever you go, or whatever you’re after, I’m with you.”

  It doesn’t feel great, but slamming his head against that unyielding bedrock of faith is worse.

  His words bring a genuine smile to her lips, which almost—almost—makes the choice feel right. “Th
ank you,” she says. Then an odd look flashes across her face, an out-of-character blend of regret and self-doubt, and though it’s gone in an eyeblink, it’s enough for Nathan to realize he’s seen it on her once before: The night he agreed to help her take down Finemdi.

  She thinks she might be influencing me again.

  It makes sense. She’d been worried his agreement then was a result of her influence, of the pressure all gods exude on the people and places around them. Following Freya (or any god, for that matter) meant risking a little of one’s personality, of surrendering a part of oneself to their power. That kind of thing apparently went double for him: As Freya’s high priest, their connection meant he got more than magic. According to her, he has a much higher chance of experiencing those changes.

  Not that he’s noticed anything yet.

  Then a soft, cold little part of him asks, “Would you?”

  The thought gives him pause, because it’s painfully, terrifyingly true. After all, Freya herself had told him it might happen, had seemed worried sick about the possibility. How subtle was it? Could his choice of religion have influenced him already?

  How much of any of this is my own free will? And if it’s not me … how will I ever know?

  “And don’t worry,” Freya adds, pulling him out of his head with a touch on the shoulder. “We’re going to be smart about this. I won’t drag my friends into a battle I can’t win.”

  He gives a tired laugh. “I know. It just seems … fast, that’s all.”

  “She’s waited long enough, I think,” Sekhmet says, flashing him an enormous smile. “As have I.”

  Nathan blushes at the attention. He’s still unsure if he finds Sekhmet appealing or petrifying, but when a beautiful lady beams at you, it’s hard not to feel something. He settles for returning a grin.

  Freya nods at her words, then seems to fidget for a moment before returning her attention to “General Theo’s” Wikipedia article. She looks embarrassed, though by what, Nathan can’t quite tell. She’s just won the argument, after all—shouldn’t that make her happy? Are there other reasons she’s leapt on this opportunity beyond a bitter past? He knows she’s been having trouble with her goal of destroying Finemdi … perhaps Ares is a way of ignoring those difficulties.

  A few weeks ago, when he agreed to help her and the other goddesses wipe the company from the face of the earth, what they’d all failed to realize at the time was just how large global conspiracies could be. Even worse, they had no idea who Finemdi’s true leader—some mysterious “chairman”—actually was, so it wasn’t like there was a figurehead all lined up to assassinate.

  Would’ve been nice, Nathan thinks, not liking the hint of irritation he can feel trickling out of his god.

  He doesn’t like it, but he does understand, at least a little. For a creature like Freya, defined in part by passion, confrontation, and war, being unable to act on any of those things must have been frustrating beyond imagination. With Finemdi, not only did she not know where to begin, but she didn’t have the power to do something about it even if she did.

  His god had been resigned to gathering belief, waiting until she was strong enough to divine the future and cheat her way into a plan, but now … now Ares represents the perfect outlet for her rage: a simple, tangible foe upon which to focus all her attention. He’s even working with their enemies! How perfect is that?

  But it means Freya can’t see—or convince herself—that Finemdi as a whole is the greater threat, and focusing on a single employee of theirs isn’t exactly the best use of time.

  Just goes to show how well gods listen to voices of reason, Nathan thinks. Especially their own.

  Pele leans in to read the webpage over Freya’s shoulder. “Handsome fellow,” she says after a moment. “Little cold for my liking, though.”

  “Figures,” Hi‘iaka says with a snort.

  Pele sighs. “Like you want to date him.”

  “He has a father?” Freya says, still reading the article. She clicks a link titled “David Ariston,” and Nathan leans closer to see what comes up. The picture on the following page is much older, but clearly of the exact same person.

  “Decorated World War Two officer and descendant of famed Civil War leader Alfred Ariston,” he reads.

  Freya clicks the new name. The picture is faded and grainy this time, but still unmistakably Ares in a period uniform. Nāmaka shakes her head. “He’s masquerading as an entire family? How do mortals miss this? Doesn’t anyone suspect?”

  “Of course not,” Freya says. “Why would they? Why would any of them go looking for magic when they know the world would laugh at them for it? Isn’t ‘family resemblance’ all the excuse they need?”

  Hi‘iaka nudges Nathan. “You people need to work on your imaginations.”

  “I’ll make sure to bring it up in our next newsletter,” Nathan says with a half smile.

  “You have a—Ooh, sarcasm. Hilarious,” Hi‘iaka says, hair snapping in a sudden, irritated gust. Nathan snorts a little at that. He enjoys messing with the nature spirits, and Hi‘iaka’s naiveté makes her a fun target.

  “He’s been a part of every American conflict since they started keeping records,” Freya says, still skimming the articles.

  “Must love fighting,” Pele remarks.

  “Well, he is the Lord of War,” Freya says in a mocking tone. Then her eyes widen. “Oh, son of a—” She pushes away from the computer and spins to face her friends. “I know exactly what the bastard’s doing. You know how we’ve been working for Disney the past few weeks, right? Lapping up belief?”

  The other goddesses nod, looks of gratitude popping onto their faces as they do. Not long before their recent showdown with Finemdi, Freya started a job at the local theme parks as a princess—a choice that amused Nathan to no end. There, she’d discovered some of her youngest visitors believed so earnestly in her as a fictional character that she was charged ever so slightly by the strength of that conviction. She’d said it was like gaining a fraction of a worshipper every time, all without them even knowing her true name. When Sekhmet and the Hawaiian sisters joined up, she’d let them in on her little secret and helped them get similar jobs.

  At Finemdi, Freya and Nathan had learned that gods need concentrated worship to form, but after that, just about any form of belief directed at them was fair game—particularly if it was catalyzed by something related to their specialty. Dionysus was a good example of how powerful a god could get that way, and Nathan frowns at the memory. A jackass god of merriment and madness they’d met at the parks, he drew his strength from revelry and entertainment. They weren’t sure where he’d gone in the aftermath of Impulse Station, but considering how much strength he’d drawn through his position at Disney, it was a safe bet he made it out just fine.

  “We all have our areas of expertise,” Freya continues. “Ares … well, he’s figured out the perfect way to empower himself from his.”

  Sekhmet’s mouth drops open. “You mean to imply—”

  “War is his answer to humanity’s cynicism,” Freya says, nodding grimly. “They may not believe in him anymore, but he knows the call of battle will never fade.” She looks at Nathan as she finishes, prompting him to put two and two together.

  It doesn’t take long. “Wh-wait, you mean he’s the reason we’re still blasting craters out of the Middle East?” Nathan says, shocked by the implications.

  Freya gives him an approving smile, and Nathan feels a surge of pride for making the leap. “I think he’s the reason for more than that. Look at this,” she says, gesturing at the monitor. “I’m sure it goes back centuries. All these stalemates and endless wars, prolonged conflicts and global tensions. He’s been wallowing in warfare like a pig in mud, using his military connections to keep the planet in peril.”

  “Then why join Finemdi? What more can they offer him?” Nathan asks, feeling dismayed by the idea of a god with that kind of obsession anywhere near the conspiracy. The lives Ares had destroyed over t
he centuries, all to fuel the fires of conflict … it staggers him to imagine the scope of the suffering that could be placed at that monster’s feet, and for the first time since Freya laid out her hateful plans, he feels they might actually be a good idea.

  Sekhmet lets out a humorless laugh. “A challenge,” she says.

  The room turns to her, curious.

  “Look at what has become of war,” she says. “Commanders no longer lead the charge—they sit in meetings and observe the results of orders from half a world away through spy satellites and drones. That is not what a creature like Ares craves. He will miss battle, the chance to test himself in combat. Finemdi can provide all this and more, can promise he will face gods firsthand, not men and their toys from behind a desk.”

  Nathan notices Freya nodding at that, but as much as he hates being the voice of dissent with this group, something doesn’t feel right about that line of thinking. “So he’d give up on the military for that?” he says. “I mean, he’s got access to nukes—why wouldn’t he just stay with the government and try to kick-start World War Three?”

  “I am aware of your ghastly atomic weapons,” Sekhmet says, shaking her head. “Enough to know that Ares does not desire a nuclear exchange. He needs humanity alive and fighting, not slaughtered in a radioactive flash.”

  Pele makes a little gasp of understanding, drawing the connection at last. “So he can feed on them. But a world of conflict? For centuries?” She turns back to Freya. “How strong is he, Sara? We were born in all our glory through the worship of thousands. Now you’re telling us Ares has managed to draw on the strength of billions?”

  “Merciful Ra,” Sekhmet breathes, brow crinkling as she does the divine math. “Of what feats could such an abomination be capable?”

  “Sky’s the limit,” Hi‘iaka says. “And this is our monster of the week? Come on, Sara. Be the better god and let it go. We’ve already got a global conspiracy to kill. Gotta go big picture on this one.”