War of the World Makers

by Reilly Michaels

  "As the world turns, ladies, the three of us will shortly be on ancient Mars."

  "Mars? Three?" Mandukhai asked.

  "Mars?" Angelina Jolie asked.

  Edison pointed at Angelina Jolie and said with good cheer, "No more games. You are unmasked." Upon his last word, she shivered into her true appearance, that of Eréndira Marquez: dark Moorish skin, lustrous black night of hair, big hoops of golden jewelry and a body strong enough to wreck an armada.

  The Mongol Queen stood without hesitation to face The Empress of Byzantium. The two of them glared viciously at each other, their breath coming quick, their hands clenching to wicked claws. Neither spoke. The Wizard Goddesses had hated each other with a blood mad fury for centuries and fought several times to a draw. Mandukhai once bit off Eréndira's head and Eréndira once ripped off one of Mandukhai's legs and beat her with it. Another time the two of them battled on the island of Malta in 1685 and wiped out an entire seaside village in the process. Their growls and battle thunder had been heard as far away as Palermo. Human corpses washed up on the Sicilian shore for days.

  "Be seated, both of you," Edison commanded.

  The two obeyed, despite their tempers.

  "Another time, Mandukhai," Eréndira said.

  "Eat maggots of goat," Mandukhai replied.

  In truth though, Edison felt warmly towards both Goddesses. He loved them often, and in the most romantic of places. Once he loved Mandukhai for hours on Titan, on a dark shore of that moon beside a quiet methane lake as the rings of Saturn and the planet's thunder bands rose on the horizon. Another time he loved Eréndira within the bosom of a stellar nursery, in a nebula off the shore of the Milky Way, the two of them several miles tall at the time, though invisible beside the sheer enormity of the birthing suns.

  Both of his loves would now help him foil an assassination attempt.

  "Who told you of the whore's attempt to slay you?" Eréndira asked.

  "Your Lord of Saravastra, the fellow with the violin," Edison said. "Apparently, he falsely believes he will somehow gain by my continued existence."

  They all laughed. Edison raised his pinot in a toast.

  Business as usual in the war for all time.

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

  * Оверман *

  AS SHE LAY IN THE MUD OF THE SOMME BATTLEFIELD, Catherine looked up to see the half-moon in the eastern sky, at most a few seconds higher than before the Dio Soldati assault. She sat up, feeling chilled and soaked by the air and wet earth, and gazed around her. She was alone, somewhere on the eerie moaning field of No Man's Land. And her younger self? Dead before she left Mars—not unlike the hundreds of British corpses now surrounding her. At the moment, the worst thing was the memory of her own resurrection so many years ago in the black forest of Anhalt. It now became clear. She did not witness the deaths of the serf families or the horrible soul ceremony of Temujin Gur, never wished to see it through the eyes of her lover Zolo Bold, just knew at the moment, here on this muddy field, she would not be alive without their sacrifice. A twinge of guilt owned her.

  Carrying the guilt is the very least I can do if I am to honor their deaths.

  But how was she betrayed on Mars?

  Who set in motion the events that led to her death, and those of the serfs? Black Agnes perhaps? Regardless, the battle on Mars to kill Godfellow had been a disaster from the onset. Upon slaying dozens of Dio Soldati and crippling dozens more, she and Freddie used their aria to reach through time, via the chrono-defense satellites, and bring Godfellow to the Somme before thrusting him backwards to ancient Mars. She felt and saw herself, above the towers of Dubai, soaring down to a floating sky island and into a small space, the invisible hands of her mind reaching out to grip the World Maker and yank him to where she stood in time-space on French soil as the Nexus Zone battle raged in the background. She recalled a glimpse of Eréndira and Mandukhai. A bit of surprise at their presence, a fleeting moment of panic, then the tug on Godfellow and his arrival like a contained explosion. But she never let go of him, and within a millisecond upon his emergence into that Nexus moment of July in the year 1916, she locked his throat from behind and wrenched up with enough force to rip the Parthenon at Athens from its base. He howled in pain while a flash of brilliant aria, a moment later, transported the three of them to Mars, wrapped in a cocoon of Tao.

  Hurtling out of the sky towards the Martian surface like titanic bodies of blinding cosmic force, they hit the planet with enough impact to shudder it from pole to pole and slow its rotation. Earth astronomers would see the crater many millions of years later and name it the Hellas Crater. And the dying glow above that red world, swirling in the towers of hot steam erupting into the atmosphere from a Martian sea vaporized upon impact, they proceeded to skewer Godfellow like a wild game animal. The energy cocoon and the multi-megaton concussion on Mars had not fizzled him down to base atoms, so she and her younger self reacted in tenths of a second by driving power-spiked yarrow swords, seven feet long, into his body. The very force of their impaling thrusts launched them into the Martian air, high above the roaring heat and flames of the impact crater. Her own yarrow sword drove so terrifically into Godfellow's body that it skewered him from tailbone to head, the tip of the blade protruding a full foot from the top of his skull, the blood of his brain bubbling on the steel.

  Writhing in a death struggle like mighty gods, their World Maker aria sang and flowed into the blades, and Edison J. B. Godfellow struggled and shrieked in the Martian blue sky like a dying tyrannosaur, enough voltage filling his body to light every city on Earth for a week. Still, death did not come as the huge clouds of boiling steam hid the small sun and giant earthquakes shook the planet below. It seemed Mars itself would die before that jackal Godfellow, for his sheathing of protective spells diverted or negated much of the stupendous aria force brought to bear on him. In consequence, frustration and anxiety began to nip at the Czarina and Princess von Anhalt, and as if his refusal to die wasn't bad enough, the sun itself began to fight on his behalf. It became the enraged and glowing face of Eréndira Marquez, plummeting towards them at a speed of thousands of miles per hour.

  Catherine had no time to slow time before impact. Her younger self was struck behind by Eréndira with such force that it drove the two of them down to the Martian surface, though at such a slant that they shot beyond the flaming Hellas Crater.

  Now, beneath the quiet moon of the Somme, Catherine remembered the fight, two billion years ago. Her mouth opened to scream as Eréndira's black mandibles snapped deep into her head, the wizard woman's crushing legs locked around her waist while both hands drove growling and thirsty yarrow blades into lungs and heart. Stones on the Martian surface, big as Berlin carriages, smacked her in the face, flying apart to rubble as she and Eréndira dug a small canyon. Then a final pounding boom into a mountain. The Empress of Byzantium, her muscles rippling like a female Samson, wrestled Freddie’s body with a death grip. The two of them thrashed over the sand, but no escape. The Princess von Anhalt could not unloosen or shake the snarling Wizard Goddess who had fastened on her like a huge predatory insect, repeatedly screaming "DIE CZARINA WHORE!"

  And with mandibles locked, blades driven, muscles heaving with enough exertion to snap a skyscraper, Eréndira broke Freddie’s spine.

  All went black.

  Recalling it now, death had been welcome.

  As her younger self died on the Martian surface, her own hands were full with fighting Mandukhai. The Mongol Queen, streaking across the sky like Eréndira, had impacted less than half a second later. The strike and momentum carried them both miles away from the impaled and screaming Godfellow. No time for weapons, they punched and wrestled in mid-air, turning end over end. She hit Mandukhai over a hundred times in three seconds, and the Mongol wizard goddess returned the blows. Beams of steel-melting heat flowed from Mandukhai's eyes to sweep Catherine's body. Catherine spit diamond-corroding acid into Mandukhai's face. One powerful, ring-heavy hand of the Mongol
grabbed Catherine by the hair, savagely yanking her head back to break her neck while the other hand dug sharp nails of terrible white voltage into her breasts, and all the while her mouth shouting violent spells with her heavy, man-like voice. One made Catherine's fingers shrivel for a moment while another boiled her eyes. Catherine fired back with words of vicious aria that shivered Mandukhai, and as the combat surged, the two of them grew larger, to groaning, roaring giants a hundred feet tall or more, each attempting to bite and swallow the other. The Czarina's mind was lost to berserker rage, and knowing all the pain and murder the female Mongol stooge of Godfellow had visited upon so many, her desire to slay Mandukhai became psychotic with intensity.

  Finally, after nearly a minute of extreme fighting, as the two colossal women clashed like biting hyenas high above a Martian mountain range—the clouds of the Hellas Crater becoming a drifting white plume in the background while massive earthquakes still rocked the planet surface—Catherine recovered enough sense to shout an aria phrase that changed the course of battle.

  She imagined it first, and sang, very simply:

  Garra os seus ollos, Mandukhai de Mongolia! (Claw out your own eyes, Mandukhai of Mongolia!)

  Whereupon, the wizard goddess did just that. Her hands gouged at her own eyes and she shrieked and did not stop shrieking, not even when the face of Edison Godfellow blotted out the entire sky west of their position. An enraged and murderous Czarina glanced up to see the face smile at her, and all went black.

  * Оверман *

  IN THE DARK SHELL CRATER, THE SMELLS OF BLOOD and mud filled Catherine’s nostrils once more. As she considered this, one of the British corpses only a few feet away, suddenly reared upright, rigor mortis having lifted him before her eyes. The helmet fell from the head, and she saw he was a handsome man. He dangled a white cigarette in one hand, his face casual. Such a strange sight in this twisted field of shocked and dismal corpses. Though Catherine had witnessed many bizarre things as a World Maker, this particular sight she found eerie and disturbing.

  She tried to ignore it and consider how she got there.

  Mars was lost. Godfellow lived. But again, how did he know? And now, what difference did it make? The conflict point of battle against the Dio Soldati and Mandukhai had been lost also. This must be the case. All about her on the torn French field had returned to that dead quiet night after the July 1 assault. No German forces turned the British right flank. No creeping barrage.

  For all my plans and power, what have I produced except for a new hole on Mars?

  As she attempted to trace possible lines from Black Agnes to Godfellow, the cigarette held in the death grip of the nearby corpse began to smolder and smoke. It made her take notice. The hand holding it moved. It lifted the cigarette to its lips and inhaled the smoke and blew it out. The corpse said, "Ahhhhhh, such is fate." It then turned its head to stare at her. The handsome face smiled. The body of the corpse relaxed all stiffness. It continued to smoke the cigarette. In a Welsh accent, it said:

  "Bloody bad business, this war."

  Catherine said nothing, just stared and waited.

  "All wars, bloody bad business, eh?" it spoke again, and blew a few smoke rings. "I would rather do without them. My family were sheep farmers, and I hated sheep. That's why I joined the British army. But sheep don't look so bad now, eh?" It chuckled and smoked.

  She tried to read the mind of the thing, but she was blocked. No surprise really. She said to it with a flat voice, "Private Zarathustra of Wales, I presume?"

  It chuckled again. "So you don't waste time, eh? Alright, fine bird, I am who you believe I am. Adfyd a ddwg wybodaeth, a gwybodaeth ddoethineb."

  "Adversity brings knowledge, and knowledge, wisdom. A fine Welsh saying."

  "You always impress me, darlin', but you have to learn to properly scheme, eh?"

  "Who betrayed me?"

  The eyes of it gazed at her body through the cigarette smoke. Catherine noticed for the first time that she was naked and filthy with French mud. Hard to keep clothes on when gouging out craters and catfighting over Mars. The eyes fixed on her breasts and moved lower. The Welsh corpse said with a slow and deep voice, "You would be surprised. But you will learn, in time ... it was all for the best."

  "Stop staring at me, creature."

  "You will never win, Czarina."

  She rolled her eyes and in that moment, the soldier corpse lunged at her. He threw his body atop hers and pinned her to the ground. The cold mud oozed up to her cheeks. His humorless face of cigarette breath blotted out the moon. She attempted to force him off and her body bucked, but the Welsh corpse could not be shaken. She became afraid. After shelling and death and all manner of supernatural insanity, she now feared a British army corpse intent on rape most of all.

  "I want you," it said, "I have wanted you for years, and that is why the others hate you because they know my true desire."

  "Remove yourself, or I will—"

  "Or you will love me, like nobody has loved me, come rain or come Somme."

  Catherine bucked again, helpless, and could not feel the aria in her, and she began to panic. How could he diminish her, and so easily? The corpse did not grin or change expression, except in the eyes. The eyes warmed with love, then the corpse buried its face in her neck and bit her.

  She screamed.

  The other corpses nearby failed to notice.

  Оверман

  12

  Freddie Loses So Much - Virgin Mary Agony - Necropolis of The Khan

  FREDDIE FOUND HERSELF LYING FACE UP ON HER BED in Bärenthoren Castle. All quiet. Before she opened her eyes she recalled the final snap of pain as Eréndira broke her back on Mars. Upon opening her eyes, she glanced down to see Zolo's cloak covering her body, and up to see him sitting on the bed beside her, staring down at her with warm and soulful eyes. He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek. "How do you feel?" he said softly. She replied that she felt a little tired, otherwise fine.

  "How did I come here?" she asked.

  "I found you outside the walls, laying on the ground, unconscious."

  "Just like that?"

  "Yes."

  "You are a poor liar, Mister Bold."

  "I—"

  "I see by your face, you are lying or leaving something out, thus creating the effect of a lie."

  "I cannot say, I cannot. You must trust me in this."

  "How is my father?" Zolo did not answer. Freddie sat up in the bed, her back against the headboard. "I asked you—"

  "He is ... no more."

  Though she knew it must happen, the shock of it still affected her. She lifted her hands to her face and sobbed. Zolo moved to comfort her and held her shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "I am so so sorry," he said. "There was nothing I—"

  "He was in your care," she said, her voice muffled by her hands and sobs. "He was in your care. I trusted you to watch over him."

  "I was unable. It became impossible."

  "You are a spellcrafter. You are strong. How could it have been impossible?" she said, removing hands from her teary face to stare at him.

  "Temujin Gur took me prisoner. It happened during that time."

  "How did it happen? Was my monstrous mother involved?"

  Zolo told her that upon his return to the castle, he heard talk of Prince Christian's death. Shot by a pistol in the head, in his study last evening. The kitchen staff and butlers say a bitter musketeer killed him over an issue of back pay. The man was crazy. He’d been seen talking to himself and picking fights. Princess Johanna ordered him seized and thrown from the Bärenthoren walls. A funeral forthcoming and Princess Johanna in official mourning, seen by no one but her closest maidservants, and Empress Elizabeth who is comforting her.

  "She is probably lying ..." Freddie sobbed a bit more and struggled to regain her wits. "But why did Temujin Gur hold you prisoner? Where did he hold you?"

  "In the forest, near where I found your body."

  "Why?"r />
  "I do not know. His beetle, his face beetle lay atop me. There was a fire. I heard screams. I could not see ... then he let me go."

  "What are you hiding? Do you wish me to trust you?"

  She could see this question hurt Zolo deeply. His face looked surprised and sorrowful. "Please, princess, you must trust me. I have not betrayed you."

  "Fill in the holes in this story and I will trust you."

  "Alright then ... You will know sooner or later," he said, staring into her eyes, resigning himself to tell as much truth as he could. "Gur's magic lifted me from the castle and took me deep in the forest last night. He wanted me present when he brought you back to life. He wanted me to tell you what he did, what happened."

  "I was dead then? Really dead?"

  "Yes, you ... your corpse appeared in Bärenthoren Castle first. No one recognized it as you. You looked like a wild animal had ripped off your skin and chewed you in parts."

  "I am not surprised, given events," Freddie said, recalling the breaking of her spine.

  "He restored you to life with a ceremony that used the living forms of others ... The serfs, the serfs from Baron Eichmann. He killed them, used their souls to resurrect you. I was held down and forced to watch."

  "How did they die?"

  Zolo hesitated, his face grim. "Do not make me tell you. You know what you need to know."

  "Are they all dead then, all of them?"

  "Yes, every one, as far as I know."

  "I delivered them to a horrible fate," she said, the serfs rising up in her head to plead their lives be restored. "I solve nothing," she said in a low voice, her expression one of sorrow and dejection.