War of the Immortals

by Noëlie Frix

  She paced around the room, boiling with anger. She tried to cool her nerves, to calm down. Warrior did not yet trust her voice. If she spoke now, she felt she would scream at the others who had no fault in her rivalry with her mother. She was mad with her even more because Zyla had had the gall, the audacity to drag Storm into the conversation.

  Heka had never, ever gotten along with her mother. From the time she’d been able to hold up a knife, she’d wanted to plunge it deep into her heart—knowing it would do no real good—as their personalities, ideals and values clashed on every level. But not Electra. Warrior’s younger sister had loved her mother dearly—it had been one of the reasons why the sisters had not gotten along—but as Storm had found out, her love and trust had been misplaced and betrayed. Winter was treacherous.

  Trélig and Jason would not dare break the silence. Surprisingly, it was Storm who spoke first.

  “Would you like me to face her?” she asked quietly.

  “No, I would not,” she managed to keep her voice level for that reply. “How could she?! The nerve!” Heka burst, losing whatever composure she had managed to maintain, almost screaming. “I hate, hate, hate that woman!”

  Shadow moved cautiously toward her. She turned to him abruptly. He took her hands in his and pulled her close. “I don’t know what happened between you,” he whispered soothingly. “I don’t need to know. But, please, calm down. If she has this much impact over you, then she is already victorious.” Though his words were not easy to hear, Heka knew he was right. “You don’t need her. Blood means nothing to us,” he reminded her. “You are free to choose your own family,” Jason gestured to the others and pulled her in with his deep, dark eyes. “We’re here for you. We’ll always be here for you,” he breathed. And finally, she returned his hug, holding him fiercely.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Heka smiled and pulled away from him, walking to her sister’s side. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” she drew a shaky breath. “And your boyfriend’s right. If we let her get to us, then she’s already won,” she forced a crisp smile unto her lips, though her eyes betrayed the turmoil inside her. “Do you think she really believed she had a chance at convincing us?”

  “Maybe,” she shrugged. “She is arrogant. And her arrogance makes her stupid, just as it does her brother. Perhaps her only purpose in coming here was to destabilize us.”

  “Or,” Trélig pondered, “do you think maybe she was here just as some sort of a distraction?”

  “What do you mean?” Electra asked. But Heka knew. And the implications were dire. She ran out and headed for the war room, closely followed by the other three. It was guarded all the time, but she had to check. Warrior remembered seeing Thief’s name on the list of Immortals allied with her uncle. Marcus would have known she would have been too preoccupied with Zyla to notice any other unwanted presence.

  She saw the human guard at the hallway’s entrance collapsed on the ground.

  “What happened?” she asked bluntly. “Who did this to you?”

  “W, whi, whi…white woman,” the guard whimpered. Then Heka realized it was not so much pain or fear that made him shiver—he was truly cold, freezing, in fact. She let her cloak fall onto him and ran down the hall. A wall of ice barred the door, but she used her swords, putting incredible strength into her strike, and tore the ice which fell around her in prickly shards. She stepped in, afraid of what she might find.

  Aquae had been on guard duty—the room was wet. The first step she took inside soaked her up to the knee. A wave of water came to meet her and stopped inches from her face.

  “Oh, it’s you!” Aquae said and the water came crashing down, splashing Warrior a bit more. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Then she noticed Heka’s horrified face at the drenched documents. She pulled the water out of them and reassured her, “They’re still readable.”

  “I am more worried about how much of it is still here.”

  “All of it. They didn’t get anything.”

  “Good, thanks. As soon as I saw you, I thought that would be the case, but still…”

  “I did not notice Thief, though I would have before he got away. But he was never even able to put his hands on any of the documents. Winter came and was much less discreet,” Water sneered. “She was imbecilic enough to come at me directly. You did not think she stood a chance against me, did you?”

  “No. Zyla is a fool. Had she learned anything from me, she would have waited. Her part was done.”

  “She is a fool, indeed. What happened?”

  Warrior told her of her mother’s visit and Trélig’s supposition that it might have been a false pretext.

  “The plan reeks of War.”

  Heka snickered, “And he is going to be so mad at her. I wish I could see that. Do you think maybe you could get rid of all the water here before someone else comes and has a heart attack?” Warrior remembered how she felt when she first thought all the documents were ruined.

  “Of course. You look tired, child. Maybe you should rest.” Heka agreed with her. The truth was that she really was tired—still from her stay with Chaos, from her mother’s encounter, her general lack of sleep and stress.

  “Thank you. I will go. Do you need anything from me, first?”

  “No. Go and feel better,” her voice was calming, soothing like cool water over a wound, and Warrior took her advice. Heka went back to the salon where she expected to find the others, who had left when they realized nothing serious had happened.

  “Jason left moments ago,” Electra told her.

  “Thanks. Good night,” as she headed out, Warrior saw Trélig reach for her sister’s hand—and Electra grab it. She grinned—of course her sister would fall for someone whom, until recently, she had hated.

  Heka entered her rooms wearily. She took off her boots, undid her hair and started undressing.

  “Well! I never thought I’d manage this,” a voice came out of the darkness. “I made you jump!” Jason said with a triumphant expression on his face.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she mumbled. “You’re taking advantage of the situation!”

  “Like you always do,” he pointed out. “Now that my goal is complete, I can die peacefully.”

  “I’d rather you not, actually,” Heka replied. “And that’s kind of a pathetic goal.”

  “Are you kidding? It only took me about five centuries to manage it!”

  “You haven’t been trying to surprise me for that long,” she countered.

  “I have, in fact. I used to loathe you because you were impervious to surprises.”

  She chuckled at that. Only when she found his eyes did she remember she was half-naked. He drew closer to her.

  “I guess I could think of a new goal.”

  “Yeah?”

  He drew even closer, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his body against hers.

  “What’s yours?” he asked.

  “Mmh…having a ‘Church of Heka’ with thousands of followers,” she declared.

  “What?” Jason pulled back, surprised.

  “Yes, it would be great. Their sole purpose in life would be to serve me! Imagine. I could use them in a war like this. I’d only have to sit back, relax, and enjoy the view.”

  “Fine, if you won’t tell me yours,” he whispered into her ear, embracing her once more, “then I’ll give you mine.” She waited, listening to the sound of his breathing, his slow, steady heartbeat that seemed at odds with her racing heart. She felt his cold hands pressed on her bare back, her own body quivering with thrill at his soft, gentle touch. “A life with you,” Jason declared, his lips finding hers.

  “Now that sounds like a good goal,” she beamed, drawing him to her, slipping under the covers. Then she prayed that Désirée wasn’t watching and let the rest of the world fade away, until it was just her and him. Jason and Heka. Shadow and Warrior.

  Chapter 30: Enemy Plans

  “I knew I sho
uld not have sent you, sister. You are too weak!” Marcus fumed.

  “Then what? Where would your distraction have been? Who else could better throw doubt into the heart of Electra at least, if not both her and Heka?” Winter asked. “No one could have stood against Water! You should have warned me an Elemental would be guarding the plans!”

  “I did not think you such a fool!” came War’s scathing retort. “You were supposed to keep them distracted, not barge in on Thief like you did, throwing the entire operation to ruin!”

  Her face drawn tight, Zyla threw Marcus a withering glare, “She threatened to cut off my tongue.”

  “So what? It would have grown back,” he scorned.

  Winter scoffed indignantly. “It is your fault! Not mine. I followed your instructions, brother. Maybe you are not as good as you think. I would expect War could better inform and lead others, especially his own sister. Next time, you try it and see if you have better results.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “I am simply pointing out that you have not proven you could succeed.”

  “And I could not, for she would be waiting for me. As soon as Heka sensed me, she would come find me. Do not let your failure mislead you. I am good at what I do. I know what I’m doing. In our family, you are the weak one. Not your daughters, not me!” he spat.

  “My husband is weak! I am not!” she yelled, frozen tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She threw a wall of ice and snow at his face, giving him a dozen pinprick scratches—and though it would normally have blown off anyone, only Marcus’ hair and beard suffered from the freezing wind. Winter turned around and started leaving when she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. Marcus turned her around ferociously. His unyielding grip on her, a fierce light in his eyes, he pulled her close to his menacing face. Zyla trembled beneath his hard fingers, as much from fear as from the pain in her shoulder where his hand dug deep, bruising it. For a second she thought he might hit her, instead, he let her shoulder go and held her face up, forcing his sister to look into his eyes. Marcus was pleased to see fear painted all over her face.

  “Do not, ever, attempt to attack me again,” he warned, his voice dangerously low. “If you dare raise just a finger, just one…” he let the threat hang in the air.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus,” Zyla whimpered.

  “I know you are,” he let his hand fall from her face, a cruel smile coming to dance on his lips. “Now go. You obviously need more practice. First sleep, then train. And keep training until you think I’ll be satisfied. And only once I am satisfied will you be able to rest.”

  “Marcus…” she started.

  “It’s not solely a punishment,” War countered her argument before she even made it. “It’s for your own protection. This upcoming battle won’t be an easy win. And though it might not end the war, it will turn the tide. Imagine if you came to face either one of your own daughters. Or Water again. You need to be ready.”

  “I understand. Just, don’t be angry with me,” she pleaded.

  “It’s fine,” he reassured his little sister, tenderness creeping into his voice for the first time. “I care for you, Zyla. Now leave, sleep, and tomorrow get back to practice,” Marcus ordered.

  Winter debated giving her brother a kiss, but decided against it, instead smiling sheepishly and turning around. “Good night,” she said, though dawn’s first lights were sneaking thin, pink tendrils into the dark night sky, chasing the moon and stars away.

  Marcus sat back down, looking at the map of Augoro’s fortress. He called a page in, “Go summon Julius, Atos and Sciana. I would have them all here in an hour,” he ordered. Julius’ island was well situated, but Marcus was not happy at all with the navy. For god’s sake! His favorite human lived on an island, and he had never managed a decent navy—that frustrated him, for he knew King Damien used to have a strong maritime presence which would flourish under Storm, Water, and Wind’s influences. He had strong troops, had rallied many powerful Immortals to his cause, but none would be of match to lead a naval assault. So War had focused on the ground troops. Julius had remained his faithful, useful, talented servant—he’d summoned a great army and they could definitely match Damien’s. The question lay therefore in whether or not they could outmatch it.

  War picked at some eggs and bread for his breakfast. He was just pouring himself a cup of spiced wine when his three closest acolytes walked in.

  “My Lord,” Julius bowed deeply before Marcus. The other two just gave curt nods as greetings.

  “Sit down, sit down,” he gestured to the chairs around the table. “How are you doing, Atos?” he addressed Death, truly concerned, if not for the latter’s health, at least for his victory—which Death was well aware of.

  “I am well enough to hold up my end of the bargain,” he snapped. “Do not pretend to care for my well-being, Marcus. I can feel the Spirits working with the powers of Death, but they do not have an easy time at it, I guarantee you. And I have much more strength left than they will expect.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I am a master of poisons, of death and murder. Because I am older than you by centuries. Because I know what kind of power was unleashed unto the Sun and Moon Spirits—my power. Believe me, since you won’t ever trust me, they will have a hard time mastering it, and I still have much residual power. Much more than you may think.” Though not as much as I would like, he thought bitterly.

  “That is all well, Death, but the Spirits have more than just your power. And they are older even than you. You will not want to engage them unless you have to. So who will you face?” War inquired, though he thought he knew.

  “Shadow,” he declared without the slightest hesitation. “I will make that traitorous bastard pay.”

  “Do you believe it is a wise match?” Disease wondered. “Or is it only hatred that guides your decision?”

  “I will not have you question me!” Atos said coldly.

  “It is a wise choice, I think,” Marcus said, hoping to avoid a fight between his own allies. “Sciana, are you prepared to fight both Nature and Drugs? I have a strong feeling they will team up against you as it worked so well before. Too well.”

  “Do not forget your place, Marcus! I am ready to fight them. And their cure may have worked, but the disease has not yet been eradicated completely. Not to mention I’ve also unleashed many minor viruses and bacteria. My work is going well. Whereas you have been completely incapable of dealing with your niece,” she said pointedly. Her eyes were small, dark blue, her face drawn and pointed, with high cheekbones, a tall forehead brushed by short black hair. She looked like a dark, enticing, and strangely pretty witch.

  “My Lords,” Julius interrupted, noticing the danger, the precarious truce between those three Immortals—though he had not understood everything they had just said, he knew enough. “I mean no disrespect, but ought we not to focus on the threat posed by King Damien’s navy? I am certain that all three of you are more than capable of dealing with the Immortals you each plan to face. Should we not focus on finding a way to solidify our weakest link?”

  Marcus grinned. He had always been fond of the cunning, proud, power-hungry lord. And once more, Julius had shown he knew how to maneuver out of unnecessary problems in order to face real issues.

  “The navy is better. Since Confusion has joined us, that will also serve to strengthen our attack. Their men will not distinguish friend from enemy, right from left, or even water from ship. What we do lack is manpower. To back up the troops, I suggest you stack the ships with seafarers and traders and put them through training.”

  “While those merchants may be fit to maneuver small trading schooners, they will not be able to sail with warships. Furthermore, they are not soldiers. Even if they could use such ships, they would never be able to fight,” Julius sighed with frustration.

  “Your own sailors must know how to fight—your nation is one that has always been at war. They must have gone through their compuls
ory military service,” Marcus pointed out.

  “Some of them, maybe, but there are few of my own sailors here, and a great part of them have avoided compulsory service—indeed some who do not wish to be part of the military take that career path as an escape. Since this island is a center for trade, sailing is the only option that allows for a few to avoid military service.”

  “That is disappointing,” Marcus shook his head. “The sailors can and will be taught to fight. We can pull some of the men out of the ground team and onto the ships.”

  “That would be a suicide mission. The sailors are likely to die and to make easy targets. Not to mention the soldiers we pull out will not be used to fighting on water. Our forces would be torn down,” Julius countered.

  “He knows that,” Death pointed out. “But Marcus is right; it would buy time and deplete some of our opponents’ forces. Even if only a little. I would even draft any seafarer currently in your ports or ashore, not just your men.”

  “While that may give us numbers, we must be careful when forcing outsiders into our war,” Julius warned. “Some who trade with my nation are not fond of us, the only reason they come is profit. Mutiny is not too uncommon.”

  “Believe me, no one will even consider mutiny. Their fear of us will be greater than anything. Those who seem too rebellious and those from nations at odds with yours will serve as examples if they refuse to come to your aid,” Marcus declared definitely. “Atos, you wouldn’t happen to know of any dissuading way to execute men, would you?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, I might just know of a few such ways,” he said slyly, sneering.

  “Sciana, do you think a waterborne virus could help deter their forces?”

  “Possibly, but I do not think it would do much good to try. They would probably notice it before it’d do much harm. What I could do is send a quick acting airborne virus their way. It wouldn’t kill many, though it’d lead to some nasty sickness. With Despair, it would be a better and much deadlier combination.

  “I trust your judgment on such matters,” Marcus decreed.