Aphrodite's War

by Donna Milward

  “I fail to understand how this will accomplish your objective,” she said, sauntering her way to the computer in a very sloth-like manner. “Despite its power, it is rather puny.”

  Ares smiled, a sight that made her nerves tingle with fear. Have you heard the term ‘dirty bomb’ Strife? This is merely another instrument of jihad.

  “But why here? Extremists do not war against Canada. It is the Americans they hate.” It is time they united with their allies in war. This city is ripe with ethnicity. As we speak, tourists from all over the world are visiting Earth’s largest retail establishment, complete with amusement park and waterslides. Ares winked. Strife’s insides rolled with awful realization. This may as well have been her idea.

  Thank you for the inspiration, even though your water-tampering potions are wearing off. Tonight we attack on a larger scale. This act of aggression will eclipse 9/11. Watch and learn.

  He raised his arms and lightning crackled from his hands. The jagged strings of fire seeped into the plexiglass, leaving melted pock marks as they engulfed the machine inside.

  Strife did not think it possible, but the cylinder rolled even faster and whined at a higher pitch that pained her ears. The noise and vibration rattled her teeth. Metal went from silver to black to sunset orange. The heat warmed her skin like an impending sunburn.

  Strife, monitor the current velocity. Ares dropped his stance and peered warily around the room. We have guests.

  She experienced it as well, the influx of new power. It was the tell-tale sign, an inside hurricane, stealing the breath from her lungs. Papers flew in all directions; staplers, pens, and various office supplies clattered and tumbled to the floor.

  Aphrodite materialized across from Ares. Her magnificence bathed the lab in the color of sunrise. She was not alone. An abnormally tall woman joined her. She radiated moonlight, creating an eerie silver contrast. She wore winter rabbit pelts to match her braids and carried a heavy-looking sword.

  Strife had never met a Norse deity before, but she had no doubts about her identity. That intense, passionate potency could only belong to the lust and fertility goddess, Freya.

  How did that bitch recruit such a valuable ally? “I have been expecting you, my love.” Ares oily grin mocked Aphrodite.

  Her expression held equal condescension. “Your crude theatrics are difficult to ignore.”

  “You are too late. There is nothing you and your comrade can do to stop me.” Strife tore her gaze from the trio to the bellowing cylinder. It revolved faster than her eyes could follow. Neon purple arcs ebbed and flowed over its surface like animated lace. Ozone saturated her nostrils.

  “Perhaps not,” Freya said. “But we will prevent you from gaining superiority from this disaster.”

  Aphrodite’s sorrowful eyes glimmered like faceted jewels in the kaleidoscopic light show. “And I will avenge the death of our son.” Strife noted the distinction. Ares had never been much of a father, and Aphrodite acknowledged him only for spite. Her anger and hatred rippled like a sonic boom. Strife prayed to the Energy that Ares would destroy his nemesis before Aphrodite turned wrath in her direction.

  “He was a boy-loving milksop,” Ares’ mouth curled in distain. “reared to inadequacy by a slut.” Aphrodite’s screech rivaled the racket of the engine as she launched a brilliant bolt of pure rage at Ares. Anticipating it, he blocked with a shield of crimson electricity.

  Freya bellowed a war-cry and pointed her weapon at Ares. A blue beam mingled with Aphrodite’s to create a twisted sapphire and gold chain of the women’s essence.

  Strife squinted and covered her ears. The atmosphere grew unbearably bright and hot. Thunder roared. The Dell already displayed dangerous levels of radiation.

  Three deities fought for control before her in a blaze of prime colors, beautiful and terrifying.

  Alarms whined as the sprinkler system rained rust and dirty water upon them. She snatched her hands from the sparking computer. She barely endured the sights and sounds, but at last Strife understood her role in the chaos. Nothing could prevent the annihilation. Ares did not need her to insure its success.

  As she watched, Ares’ shield wavered. If she remained idle, he might be defeated.

  Leaving her to Aphrodite’s relentless vengeance. Although a lesser god and Ares’ underling, Strife was not without resources. Rarely had she used her meager stores of power. She survived on her talents and cunning alone.

  But with her master in danger she needed to tap into those strengths. She spared another glance at Aphrodite, with her flawless face contorted with insanity. She would rather serve a monster like Ares than deal with her.

  Now was the time. All but forgotten in the heat of battle, no one noticed as she outstretched her hand, willing a strand of ozone through the plexiglass. She concentrated, and let the bolt fly.

  Missed.

  Freya dropped to the floor, unconscious. Not Strife’s intended target, but it had the desired effect. Aphrodite faltered. Her brilliant light wobbled and waned, but the deity’s will strengthened. Her determination was palpable.

  Strife sat struck with indecision. Her first strike lacked accuracy. What if her next attempt made the situation worse? Her fingernails dug crescents into her palms.

  “Sarah?” Strife whirled at the sound of her Earth name. Ranjan slumped in the doorway.

  “Ranjan…” Strife recognized sorrow in her own voice. She could not bear the terror etched on his sweet face. “What are you doing here?” “I woke up, and you were gone.” His disheveled hair plastered his head. Sweat and water weighted his shirt and hugged it to his body. The crackle and buzz of battle seemed to fade like television static. Ares and his harpy could go to Tartarus for all she cared. “I knew you were special, Sarah,” Ranjan said. His expression of astonishment morphed to one of affection. “Like a typhoon at sunrise. And now I understand why. You truly are a goddess.” He smiled, and Strife saw herself in his mind’s eye the day they met. He viewed her not as a woman to bed, or a monster, but a delicate flower. She fought hard not to cry.

  “You left me alone in my bed, but I could still feel you. You left a perfumed trail.”

  Her fragrance spell. Damn it. But if her magicks had no effect on him… “How did you find me? “I followed my heart.” He ventured toward her in the sizzling downpour. “This isn’t you, Sarah. The woman I know wouldn’t jeopardize lives. This,” he waved at the havoc behind her as though it were a distasteful scene in a movie, “is beneath you. You are an independent woman, a chemist. Not a servant of evil.”

  “This is what I am,” Strife said. Tears evaporated from her face. “Sarah does not exist.”

  “She does,” Ranjan said. “She is a part of your personality. I’ve fallen hard and I want to love all of you.” Strife bit down nausea and laughter, but not because of Ranjan’s desperation. She could not believe that, in all her hundreds of years, she had finally found the perfect man; one so generous with his heart. He understood her flaws and still wanted her.

  And it was too late. She would never find happiness. The Energy had a disturbing sense of humor. It must delight in her comeuppance. The machine’s insistent thump rose to a crescendo. She risked a glance through the humid fog. Ares appeared to gain momentum. Aphrodite used both hands to hold off his scarlet assault. Sparks bounced and died from her palms.

  The cyclotron glowed volcanic. “Ranjan, you must go.” Strife scurried to grasp his shoulders. She tried to nudge him into the hall. “Get in your car and drive as far and as fast as you can.”

  He shook Strife off and folded her into his arms. His grip crushed her, his thoughts were frantic. “Not without you. I don’t know what you’ve done, but I don’t want you to die.”

  She wrenched herself free and smacked her forehead in frustration. “Do not be a fool.” She gestured at the power struggle and roaring mechanics. “You see what is happening here? You will be killed.”

  “I know what you are,” Ranjan said, tugging her hand. “But I still
want to be with you.” He pleaded with his irresistible brown eyes. “I’m a lawyer. I can find a way out of this for you. All you have to do is run away with me.”

  Stupid human. These were forces he could never comprehend. If he did not leave, he would be vaporized with everyone else unless… Strife stared into that exotic gaze. She longed for the life ‘Sarah’ had set in motion. No more spells or drugs; she could fill her days with school or career, spend her nights with a real family. One of her own.

  It would require all of her godly resources to spirit them away, but it did not matter. She would forsake them for mortality. She would rather live as a human than reclaim her past.

  Strife stood on her toes to kiss him. His mouth still tasted of her lust. “Close your eyes and hold tight,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “We are leaving.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO A spine-jangling screech ruined Strife’s focus. She spun in time to see Aphrodite’s limp body slam into the far wall and slide to the floor. Blood and skin painted the drywall.

  Her chest and face were charred meat scraps, her hands black talons. Strife gaped in astonishment as Aphrodite convulsed and moaned. Ranjan retched.

  Throughout her entire existence on Earth Strife hated Aphrodite. The love-goddess’ death throes should have pleased her immensely, but compassion struck Strife like a hammer to the chest.

  The man that Aphrodite had loved did this. He left her broken, hideous, and straining to breath.

  Destroyed. I am no better. I killed her child in his name. I am just as guilty. A new sentiment pervaded Strife’s heart. This must be shame.

  She wanted to go to Aphrodite, comfort her. But someone else’s sense of urgency prevented her.

  “Uh…Sarah?” Strife peered through grief at Ranjan, whose trembling hand motioned to Ares.

  All thoughts of mourning evaporated as she beheld that terrifying visage. Ares seethed through clenched teeth, his ruby eyes beamed like a demon’s. The ammonia scent of urine, hers or Ranjan’s, she could not be certain, drifted past her nose.

  “There will be no escape, Strife,” Ares said. She barely heard him over the pandemonium, but she understood the malice in those words. “You belong to me.”

  He raised a handful of raw current, a compressed ball of hate, pink as watered blood. It writhed like neon snakes in a mating frenzy, hissing and spitting in the sprinklers. At once Strife knew his thoughts.

  No! Not him. Strife beseeched with her eyes, forgetting to correct her speech and conceal her thoughts, but Ares took no notice. He directed his anger at Ranjan. I’ll do anything. Please, Master, don’t kill him.

  Catching movement from the corner of her eye, Strife peered through heat waves and steam. Aphrodite? No. Freya had regained consciousness. If Ares knew, he demonstrated no concern.

  What should she do? Think. Freya hobbled to her feet, zeroing in on Ares’ flank with her sword raised. Strife’s own energy swelled within. Did she have a moment to steal Ranjan?

  Ares drew back to throw the sphere of death. Strife lacked options. She could not bear the outcome. Her lover would be incinerated. She would be Ares’ unwilling minion once more, doomed to enact atrocities and suffer his deviant sexual whims. She would be left to fantasize and lament for the love that slipped through her fingers for the rest of her endless immortality.

  She couldn’t allow that. Her master launched the globe, and Strife stepped into its path.

  Her nerves blistered. Her screams ceased as her larynx burned. Strife’s eardrums and eyeballs burst. The odor of cooked flesh assaulted her nostrils, briefly, as the last of her faculties withered. Yet it still hurt to hit the floor.

  Ranjan’s life force pulsed several meters away. She prayed to the Energy that he’d flown clear. She felt a sting of shock from Ares. What happened? Without tactile sensations Strife relied on telepathy, but the emotions were vague and brief. He’d been…she couldn’t tell. Stabbed? His presence dissolved before she learned the answer.

  Did Freya best him? She strained for a sign. Did she manage to catch Ares by surprise and kill him? I am afraid not, Strife. Freya’s voice came to her mind. Strife no longer heard the cacophony of alarms or the droning thud of the overheated cyclotron. Nothing but Freya’s words broke the profound silence. He is a coward. Only the Energy knows where he went.

  Strife gnashed her shattered teeth. Typical of him to leave her to die in agony while he skulks away to live another day. But she didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in bitterness.

  Where is Ranjan? Strife asked. He is shaken, bones broken but he lives.

  Had she any lips, Strife would have smiled. Ranjan, injured but whole. She wished to mend him, but had no power to spare. You must take him with you. He is an innocent. Freya didn’t reply, but Strife felt her conflicting emotions. She weighed Strife’s final request with her instincts for secrecy. Strife began to despair that the goddess would deny her. Ranjan had seen too much.

  Take the human, Freya. Aphrodite said. You live? Strife shared Freya’s amazement. She also believed the deity to be more or less deceased, her soul not more than a blink in Strife’s conscience.

  Help me stand. She pictured Freya peeling Aphrodite’s seeping carcass from the wall. Not a pleasant visual.

  Bring me to the cyclotron, then remove the mortal. Strife heard her Earth name in Ranjan’s panicked thoughts. He’d discovered her. She longed to hear him call to her, to see his noble brown face. Perhaps it was just as well. She didn’t need to witness his torment as he gazed upon her ruin, or hear his sobs of disbelief.

  But just once more she longed to feel his tender caress, one more sniff of his cologne, one last kiss to take her to an unknown fate the Energy reserved for fallen angels. Perhaps her creator would have mercy.

  She did not fear her next incarnation. Strife would never know a crueler Hell than she experienced now. To truly understand everything she would leave behind, with nothing but regret and memories.

  Was the Earth quaking? So hard to discern in this empty nothingness. The device must be ready to detonate.

  Ranjan. She could think of nothing else but him. Freya, you must save Ranjan.

  I will prevent the discharge, Aphrodite said to her thoughts. Do as she asks and withdraw with her man. If Ranjan’s startled bafflement were any indication, Freya wasted no time. Strife hesitated to be hopeful that Freya decided to respect her wishes.

  Ares will be brought to justice, I promise. Strife found comfort in Freya’s oath. Your sacrifices will not be in vain. Their departure brought emptiness. Strife would never know Ranjan’s love again. Disturbing as it was, she accepted it. She’d guaranteed his survival.

  She wanted to help thwart Ares, but Strife was spent. She must trust that Aphrodite would avenge her losses. Aphrodite. Could her nemesis hear her? Would she heed her words? May the Energy forgive me for everything I have done. I deserve my fate. It is an honor to die beside you.

  Strife took a shallow, tortuous breath and surrendered to her grave.

  # # # Aphrodite wobbled blindly toward the intense heat. Stopping Ares’ war machine would be the last thing she would ever do, but she must persevere long enough to complete the task.

  Every exposed nerve throbbed miserably, causing her pain the likes she had never endured before. Only single-minded purpose kept her from collapse.

  Tears and fluids dripped from her aching eye sockets, stinging her damaged tissues. The man-made rain offered relief to her burns. She considered herself fortunate; at least she would have revenge. Strife had no such pleasure.

  Aphrodite heard her pleas for absolution before she expired, something Aphrodite had not expected. Or wanted. It was of little consequence now. The Energy knew what kind of restitution Strife must make, whatever became of dead gods.

  Aphrodite would find out soon enough, but not before she terminated this abomination. Agony gave way to numb indifference. She had become deaf to the warning system, but still felt the thrum of the cyclotron. She found it mostly by instinct. Courage was a
ll she had left.

  She fumbled for it, using the last of her might to rip it from the melted fasteners. It keened, a high-pitched wail like a swarm of angry bees. Aphrodite dropped to her knees, cradling it, shielding Ares’ mutated child from the world as it thrashed against her battered torso.

  She prepared to absorb the weapon. Her final thoughts were of Hermes, gone forever. As Ares’ instrument of chaos burst, Aphrodite remembered the love of her son, how all her hopes and dreams came to fruition because of him.

  Aphrodite endured the dissolution of her body with bravery and pride. She had defeated Ares, once and for all. She saw herself as gold sparks in the night sky over the Institute as her essence faded into the ether. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Adrian unlocked the door to his condo and Poetry let her nerves unwind. A healthy stretch caused several joints to crackle in her arms and shoulders. Every bone in her body ached from endless hours in the damp cave, not to mention the white-knuckled flight home. The shackles still chafed, but at least she wasn’t burdened with chains anymore. Though no longer dehydrated, her stomach roared protest.

  Adrian stroked her hair before dialing his voicemail. Subtle beeps chimed in the empty hall.

  “Inbox is full,” he said. “Most of the messages are from Gary and Jenny. I’d better call them. They’re worried about you.” “Really? That doesn’t sound like Jenny.” Well, she could be protective… sometimes. Adrian smirked, but didn’t look up. He pried the helmet from his sweaty head and trudged inside. Poetry smiled at the way his damp hair stood up in tufts.

  “Jenny’s the one who told me you were missing. She called me in a panic because you hadn’t shown up for work. I hate to tell you this, but I found two dead bodies when I got to your place.”

  “Dead bodies?” She groped for a seat before her knees gave way. “Who are they? Why didn’t you tell me?” The journey home had been quiet. Even the streets of Edmonton were serene: no fires, screams, or explosions. Things must have settled down. Poetry hadn’t had the energy to talk, and she’d used her adrenaline to hold on for dear life. She’d assumed Adrian needed to focus on controlling the shoes; she didn’t dare disturb him.