Aphrodite’s War
by Donna Milward
Copyright 2013 Donna Milward Cover Design: Terra Koster, KMS Design
Edited: Sara Johnson Heather Savage
Staccato Publishing First Edition: September 2013 ISBN: 978-0-9949702-2-0
The characters in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
I would like to dedicate this novel to the following people: Sensei Stephanie Bozzer, Joseph Kim and Dan Gyoba. I will forever cherish the lessons I learned from each of you. Thanks for working so hard with me. You taught me discipline and pride among other things. It was an honor to train with you, and I will remember my time with you for as long as I live.
CHAPTER ONE
“You shall wear a trench in the marble,” Ares said. Aphrodite glared over her shoulder at him in contempt and continued to pace. “I am sick of hearing you say that.” “Then perhaps you should stop doing it. I grow weary of your posturing.” Aphrodite rolled her eyes. It had been decades since they had anything interesting to say to each other. The turn of the century saw them resort to petty bickering, not unlike a mortal married couple too afraid of change to leave a union of misery.
If only it were that easy, Aphrodite thought. If only I could simply walk away.
But it was not an option. This was the only place she called her own. She stared past the vine-wrapped stone pillars of the pantheon to the Earth below. Aphrodite shivered in this fabricated hell she had willingly traded for the eternal beauty of Eden so that she could harness the emotions of humans and become a goddess. What a tragic folly.
Aphrodite cast another glance at the lean and tanned Ares lounging on his throne of bloodstone. He stroked his beard like a conceited cat. She loved him once, left Hephaestus for him.
She came to regret following him, and wandered Olympus like a ghost, forever bored and lonely.
“You are jealous because I have more power than you.” Ares stretched forward, sneering. “I always have. Nothing has changed.”
“That is false,” she said. “Everyone believes in love. No one wishes for conflict.” Ares threw both arms in the air, exasperated. “Yes, I know. All mankind wants world peace.” He held out his hand and one of many nymphs crept to his side with a full goblet. “But this realm has never known true rest,” Ares spoke and considered his wine. He drained most of the cup and waved it around, sloshing leftover wine dregs like splatters of gore. “If you added all the years without war on this planet, it would not amount to a single decade.”
Aphrodite shrugged. “Humans have delicate tempers.” She peered out to the green and blue vista below Mount Olympus, breathed deep the ripe scent of olive trees. “It requires little talent or skill to set them against each other.”
The comment had the desired effect. Out of her peripheral vision she saw Ares stiffen. His rage washed over her with such force she braced herself on a pillar.
Not that she feared him. Causing Ares aggravation pleasured her, one of few satisfying amusements. She suppressed her laughter, but it mattered not at all. He was well aware of her disdain. It was hard to keep feelings to oneself when everyone around her could exchange thoughts.
“Harpy slut,” His lips curled in rage. “You think yourself superior to me?” Aphrodite faced him, almost shocked by the ugliness in his expression. Veins appeared like cracks in his skull and his brown eyes became black pits. Saliva dripped from his cruel mouth.
“Humans do not need you to teach them to fuck.” A crowd gathered. She heard the babble, both spoken and unvoiced. Not this again. Third time this year alone. They never tire of it. Wish they would both be silent.
A new presence arrived. Aphrodite glanced to the skies to see storm clouds building before Zeus appeared between her and her old lover. “Enough, both of you,” His roar filled the room. “You need to cease this constant nattering at each other.” Zeus ran his hand down his rich chestnut beard, stroking the curls.
Aphrodite gauged his temperament. Zeus’ anger simmered. True, she and Ares had been at each other’s throats for a few decades, but the confidence she once admired had become smarmy arrogance. She considered it her duty to remind him of his inadequacies, lest Ares become insufferable.
Zeus pinched the bridge of his nose. “A noble idea, Aphrodite, but it is unpleasant to listen to. Everyone here…” He motioned behind him with a heavily muscled arm. “…is sick to the teeth of the noise.”
Several murmurs of agreement filled the room, rustling the trellised ivy. “She started it,” Ares blushed, seeming to realize how childish he sounded. His gaze dropped to the floor. “She goads me to occupy her time.”
Aphrodite opened her mouth to protest, closed it again. She must admit, the endless tedium of her existence caused her moodiness. And Ares provided a convenient target for her frustration. She had come to this dimension because of him, and for that he should suffer.
Zeus’ stormy blue eyes flashed. Lightning blinked over the throng and thunder shook the ground. The smell of ozone wafted to Aphrodite’s nose. “It must stop.”
His shoulders rose then fell with the weight of decision. “One of you will leave Olympus.”
“What?” Ares said, dropping his goblet. “Are you mad?” Aphrodite asked. Her hands became imploring claws. “This is my home.”
Ares sneered at her. “Mine as well.” “Nevertheless, one of you has to go. Our sanctuary must have quiet,” Zeus stepped away from the quarrel to face the assembly. “Ideas, anyone?”
Voices rose in pitch as the other gods, nymphs, and pet mortals weighed in. One opinion rang out over the din of the mob. “A contest!” The voice belonged to Artemis. Aphrodite’s heart sank. Leave it to the huntress to suggest such a concept. “Winner stays on Olympus, loser departs.”
A wicked grin spread over Ares face. He liked to compete. Aphrodite used to find that desirable. Now it was to her disadvantage. “But what kind of contest?” Zeus asked. “I believe that one is obvious.” The slurred statement came from Dionysus as he made his crooked way forward. Judging from the alcohol and vomit stench of his last belch, Dionysus and his worshippers started devotionals early.
“She is the goddess of love.” The god of wine and ecstasy spilled dribbles on his violet robes, the floor, and his entourage as he gestured. “Let her do what she does best. She always goes on about how love is the strongest force on Earth.”
“And he always tells her love leads to hate,” Artemis said, her silver eyes dull with apathy. “That it is easier for humans to fight than to choose friendship, affection, or goodwill.”
Several gods and goddesses nodded and applauded. They all remembered the fights between Ares and Aphrodite over the years. The topic remained the same.
Zeus pursed his lips. Aphrodite noted by the way he fingered the twists in his facial hair that he liked the idea. As did she. Aphrodite never doubted herself, not with love. Ares could do whatever he wanted. She never failed. She could almost taste the sweet victory like honey on her tongue.
“I accept the challenge,” she said. Ares eyebrows lifted high, lending him a comical vulnerability. “I anticipate having something new to do for a change.”
And she would defeat him. She pictured herself roaming the lush gardens of Olympus, dancing between the vine-covered marble monoliths…without the lewd and brash presence of the war god tainting its loveliness.
She studied the sharp angles of his handsome visage before staring Ares in his raven-dark eyes. She wanted to remember this precise moment. Soon he would be gone. She may never have to see him again. “You can do your worst.”
Ares’ grin spread like a scourge across his face. “I will. I also accept.” “Then it is settled.”
Zeus rubbed his hands together. A static charge of blue light shimmered between his fingers. “We need to establish ground rules. Everyone, be seated.”
Ares went back to his throne and Aphrodite reluctantly sat in hers. She appreciated the splendor of the mother-of-pearl and sea shell inlays on her chair, but it was placed next to him. That meant enduring a whiff of his rank musk whenever the breeze blew north.
Sure enough, once settled, Ares exuded the odor of sweat and alcohol. Aphrodite stopped stroking the scallop shells of her armrests and brought her hand to her mouth and nose.
First thing I shall do when he leaves is scour all traces of him from that spot.
Ares put both hands behind his head and smirked. Aphrodite refused to react to the overwhelming smell. Why encourage him? “We need a location.” Zeus waved a hand and a map of Earth appeared in the center of the room, hanging like a translucent tapestry. “The duel will take place in the New World.”
The visual focused on the landscape of North America with lush fields of wheat, corn, and canola. Flat plains gave way to craggy mountains. Occasionally, a city or village interrupted the open spaces.
The New World? That sparse wasteland of technology and materialism? Aphrodite uttered an unfeminine oath. The Mediterranean, or even Europe, would have been preferable. There the humans revered her in art and books. Many still lived by the old ways.
But it was not the Middle East or Asia where constant war and revolution made Ares strong. For that she was grateful. The New World had no use for either her or Ares. They were too busy chasing wealth and power to fall in love or fight. Understanding dawned. “A wise choice, mighty Zeus,” she said with a demure smile.
“No advantages,” Ares said. “I concur.” A small wonder they finally agreed on something, Aphrodite thought. “I give you all of North America to choose,” Zeus said, presenting the image between his massive hands like an offering. “Aphrodite, you select first.”
She felt her lips widening. She knew just the girl. Aphrodite recalled her lineage and her love of cultures new and old.
“Her,” Aphrodite said. She waved away the map and placed in its stead a visual of her chosen champion. “I choose this human.” Before them hovered the image of a young woman in her twenties. She wore her glossy black hair long but bluntly sheared. Streaks of pink and blue burst through her bangs. Her twinkling brown eyes were lined with kohl. Her skin shone a light shade of olive, healthy from within and etched with ink. Mythological creatures merged with tiger lilies, hibiscus, and roses. Silver jewelry decorated her ears and throat. A single diamond perched on her cheek like a teardrop.
“She is a strange beauty.” Zeus stared at the depiction, doubt crinkling his brow. “Hardly the epitome of femininity. Are you certain?” “Your vanity is greater than your will to win.” Ares chuckled, a sickly imitation of merriment. “This mortal wears Aphrodite’s likeness across her back. Not to mention ‘Aphrodite’ is her second name.”
Aphrodite narrowed her gaze at him. “Those are not the sole reasons.” She faced Zeus. “This one has a Greek father. Her parents teach classic literature. They have a deep love of all the legends of our time, as well as each other. Good breeding and intelligence are more attractive than appearances.”
Ares guffawed but Aphrodite ignored him. “More importantly, she is newly single.”
She folded her arms and tilted her chin at Ares. “Your turn.” Sarcasm oozed from her lips. “Lover.”
CHAPTER TWO Poetry heaved her sack of tools across the threshold of her apartment and relaxed. She stretched her aching back as she sauntered into the kitchen, nearly tripping over sneakers, Doc Martens, and stilettos overflowing from the foyer.
“Meow?” Poetry dropped her gaze to the pitch-black cotton ball staring at her from the floor with his innocent cobalt eyes. “Hey, Amir,” she said. The sight of him always made her swoon. She scooped the kitten up, rubbing her nose against his pink one. “How is my baby? Have you been good?”
Amir responded by purring like a lawnmower while licking her nose. “Me loves you too,” she said. She cradled Amir in one hand, searched for kitty treats with the other. Salmon-flavored Whiskas were his favorite. Making her cat happy made her happy.
She grabbed the remote from the kitchen table and pointed it across the room.
The TV blared to life. “-learned that Frank Fleisher of Grey, Alberta has been granted bail. His lawyer is-“
“Poe, is that you?” Jenny’s voice called from her bedroom. “Nope,” Poetry yelled back. “Just the friendly neighborhood burglar come to steal your food.” She found the morsels she’d been searching for in the cupboard over the stove. Amir received one for being adorable, plus two more for waiting so patiently for her to come home, before she put him back on the tile. “And to spoil my cat.”
She opened the fridge door and basked in the cold air wafting from within as well as the smell of savory leftovers.
“Very funny,” Jenny said. She marched into view, eye shadow compact in one hand, Q-tip in the other. “You need a new joke.” “Well, who else would it be?” Poetry asked, eyeing a container of pasta. “Hey, can I have some of this?”
Jen nodded. “Have at ‘er. I put Mom’s canned tomatoes in it.” “Thanks.” Poetry grabbed the bowl of orange and red noodles and loosened the cellophane before popping it in the microwave. She’d had a long day at Vulcan’s Forge, struggling with a pewter ring that just wouldn’t hold its shape. A little comfort food would do the trick. Her stomach growled in agreement.
While her dinner warmed Poetry studied her roommate. Jenny had swept her blonde-streaked hair into a ponytail, emphasizing a long graceful neck and the gold teddy bears on her ears. She wore a new sundress, pale blue with a white floral print. It enhanced her carefully applied cream and coffee tan.
Sometimes Jenny’s vanity seemed over the top, but Poetry kept her comments to herself. Just because Jenny obsessed over her appearance didn’t make her a bad person. Poetry could relate, what with her body issues.
The microwave beeped. “Love the dress,” she said. “It matches your eyes.” “Thanks.” Jenny smoothed the fabric down slender hips. “I got it on sale. I figured, ‘what the hell?’ It’s just the kind of thing to wear to The Rosemount.”
Poetry was enjoying the creamy sweetness of dairy and tomato when she remembered her promise. She swallowed without enjoyment. “You forgot.” Jenny’s tone exuded disappointment. “No, no,” Poetry said. “I just, well…okay, I forgot.” Jenny’s lips tightened and Poetry noted the exasperation in her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I won’t go,” she said. “Just give me a few minutes.” Jenny brightened instantly. “Great,” She went back to brushing lavender on her eyelids in the mirror of the compact. “It’ll do you good to meet new people.”
Oh, for the love of God. Poetry tried not to let her irritation show as she stabbed at dinner.
She’d broken up with Kevin two weeks ago and Jenny had been trying to drag her back to the singles scene ever since. So she’d only been with the guy for four months. That didn’t mean it hurt any less. She wasn’t ready to date, and she definitely didn’t want to go out with anybody Jenny picked for her.
“And The Rosemount is just the place to meet a good quality man,” Jenny said. “You know, guys with jobs.”
“You mean like that line cook you tried to set me up with?” Poetry couldn’t resist, especially when Jenny had the grace to look sheepish. “Okay, that wasn’t a good idea,” Jenny said. “You think?” Poetry asked. “He followed me around the dish pit like a trained monkey for a week, asking me to do lines in his car.” Jenny winced. “Sorry. We’ll do better next time.” Right. Jenny went for suits. She pushed everybody else in Poetry’s direction.
“Whatever.” Poetry grinned at her, taking the sting from the sarcasm. “I’ll be a few minutes, okay? I need a shower.” She stopped by her room long enough to pick out a dress, a basic black tank that hugged her curves. She loved the way it made her silhouette a bombshell, not fat
and short-waisted. It worked for nearly every occasion. She’d worn it so much she’d already had to re-dye it.
She hung it on the door of the bathroom, with its stacks of teal colored towels and rows of girly products, and shut herself in while scooting the cat out.
Poetry stripped quickly, shedding the odor of hot clay kilns and ovens with her t-shirt and sweats. Sooty streaks covered her arms and darkened the cracks in her hands. She’d have to scrub hard to get that out, couldn’t go out wearing the grime of her passions. She adjusted the water and ducked under the showerhead.
Only then did she let the tears flow. Poetry rinsed them from her face, struggling to swallow the loud sobs she didn’t want heard. Jenny wouldn’t understand. Jenny never liked Kevin. Poetry thought she’d judged him by his appearance. Granted bald metal musicians weren’t for everybody, and Jenny preferred white collar.
But she could never see past the rock star image to the sweet creative soul beneath. Not like Poetry could. With Kevin she’d found a kindred spirit, a soulmate to share ideas and inspiration with. Him with his music, her with crafting jewelry.
It bothered her how Jenny commented on his tattoos and piercings. Poetry had just as many, if not more. Did Jenny secretly sneer at her looks?
She longed for the smell of Kevin’s musk mixed with leather. She remembered his nicotine-stained smile, big as the sun. But then he started getting weird. Poetry sighed as a pang of regret squeezed her heart. She’d chalked it up to stress; from the band, from losing yet another job. Either of those would’ve been enough.
Toward the end she’d seen less and less of that smile as he’d become more possessive and his appetites grew strange. He’d changed right before her eyes.
Jenny didn’t believe it. “He’s finally showing his true colors,” she’d said. Poetry couldn’t tell Jenny, but a punch to the gut after too many beers had been the last straw. Now matter how much she loved him, she couldn’t stay with an abuser. No smart woman would.
The water cooled, bringing Poetry back to the present. She checked her arms and hands for ash and metal shavings. Puddles from her hair ran clear instead of purplish. Almost done, she had to get the crud out from under her fingernails and then she’d be finished.
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