The Heart of War

by Lisa Beth Darling

  Ares was looking at his own reflection in the shining marble. “Can you tell if they’re still alive? If they’re not here, maybe they’re still up there, but like the Olympians they’ve taken to hiding.”

  “I can only tell you which of them is dead and the list is very small. When’s the last time either of you came across another one of us?”

  That was an intriguing question. Other than Eros, the Olympians hardly ever ventured off Olympus. While Ares had been in living on the Mortal World for two hundred years, he wasn’t much a part of it. He didn’t get many visitors. “Alena,” Ares said thoughtfully. “She’s the first left from the Old World that I’ve seen in quite a long time.”

  Zeus chimed in. “Cernunnos is up to something. Something more than trying to get his property back.”

  “She’s my property now,” Ares countered. “If he has them, then what is he doing with so many souls? What use are they to him?”

  “What does it matter? You must take him down, Ares,” Zeus asserted.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Father, I am severely short on men these days.” For all Ares knew Cernunnos was already incorporating these souls into himself and growing more powerful by the hour. The God of War stood up. Ares ran his tongue along his dry mouth but it was like rubbing sandpaper over wood. It only left him thirstier while it made that oily taste thick like paste on back of his throat. “I can’t stand this place any longer, I’m going back. You let me know if you find something I can use.” Grabbing the back of the heavy marble chair, Ares picked it up off its hind legs and shoved it toward the table with such force that the chair cracked and a large chip flew out of the table. Head down, Ares began to storm out of the big dining room.

  “What is wrong with him?” Hades demanded of Zeus. Zeus remained silent. The God of Gods had no trouble lying to his Son or to Alena but lying to his Siblings was another story. They knew each other too well to allow for such things. The God of Death leaned across the table as he kept one eye on the fuming God of War. “What have you done, Brother?” Hades whispered. Just as he finished his sentence, Ares passed by the Mirror of Truth and raised his head to catch a glimpse of himself. Ares froze in his tracks. “Don’t stare into it!”

  Turning quickly in the chair, Zeus saw Ares standing in front of the mirror and then saw Hades rush from his seat toward him. “What’s going on?” Zeus demanded as he now stood up.

  In the Mirror Ares saw himself on a field where a great battle raged. He was hacking and slashing his way through the oncoming platoon with skill and delight. Men screamed in agony and in victory as their blood spilled on the burning field, sending thick billows of black smoked into the air. In the middle of the clamor, somewhere faint, maybe even distant, a woman screamed.

  Alena.

  Ares saw his lips curl up into a hideous smile though he did not feel it on his face.

  There she was, behind him on the battlefield, she was stumbling as someone pushed her from behind. Her hands bound in front of her swollen belly, unable to keep her balance, she fell to the ground in front of the battling God of War who reached down with a heavy hand, heaved her to her feet, and pushed her onward. When she stumbled and fell again, Ares watched himself draw his sword. He loomed over her, holding the point of the sword against that precious mound of swollen belly, Alena held up her hands and cried out for mercy.

  Ares saw it.

  There was some…thing. Some nearly invisible, hideous, alien, thing clinging to him. It had one of its ugly hands on the top of his head as it leaned in and whispered in Ares’ ear—telling him what to do, what to think. The other hand was on Ares’ chest, not just on it but in it, it wormed its way past his vest, over his skin, and into his heart.

  Standing in the Black Palace, Ares glanced down at his chest and then his shoulder. He saw nothing. It must be behind him, in one smooth and extremely quick maneuver; Ares drew the sword from its sheath and spun around.

  Hades jumped back as the sight of the weapon; for a moment he was certain Ares was going to charge at him and run straight through with the blade.

  “Did you see it?” Ares demanded as his eyes darted around the room, his heart racing like a wild stallion. The only things Ares saw were Zeus and Hades along with the dining room. With much trepidation and dread, slowly, Ares turned back to the Mirror. Again, there was nothing, only his reflection and that of the room behind him.

  “See what?” Hades asked calmly.

  “What kind of a Carnival House mirror is this?” Ares sheathed the sword. “In case I forgot to tell you, Uncle, I hate this place.” Ares stormed out of the room and then out of the Black Palace without looking back.

  “What have you done to him?” It was very unusual to see Ares so far off his game, indeed nearly out of his mind. He may be cold. He may be cruel. But he was not insane.

  “Nothing.” Zeus answered Hades’ charge. “I did nothing.”

  Hades shook his hand and his finger in the air. “Don’t lie to me. Not even if it’s merely splitting words. What are you up to? You’re playing a dangerous game, brother. Do you have any idea what he’s capable of if there’s nothing to stop him?”

  Zeus drew in a deep breath of thick air and let out a long sigh. “I am here to stop him if it comes to that.”

  With much expedience, Zeus made his way back to Olympus and called an emergency meeting in the Great Council Chamber. “You’re all leaving here today,” Zeus announced and listened to the loud murmurs of those around him. “You will go, you will spread out far and wide, you will find those of our kind you once called friend or enemy, you will bring them here to Olympus,” he commanded. “That includes Hephaestus; one of you must know where he is.”

  “Why?” Hera asked softly as she stood up. “What did Hades tell you?”

  Zeus wasn’t looking forward to delivering this bit of nasty news. “If Hades, Ares, and I are correct, then Cernunnos has gone mad. He’s a serial killer.”

  “That’s impossible,” Athena gasped. “Serial killer? Such things are for the Mortals; we’re not cold-blooded killers.”

  “Tell that to Ares,” Aphrodite bitched.

  “Go find your own Husband, woman!” Zeus shouted at her. To him, she looked more annoyed than surprised by the unusual news. “Go quickly all of you. I’m betting you won’t find many of them left but we must gather any who remain.”

  Apollo began to worry; he didn’t like the look on his Father’s face or the seriousness in his voice. It took much to upset Zeus to this level. “If we find none?”

  “Then we are the last of our kind, all of our kind. Instead of us going after Cernunnos it has been him stalking us, setting us up to be killed and trapped in little crystal jars.”

  “Alena?” Aphrodite ventured. “Could she…be a spy? Not an innocent victim of Cernunnos but working with him? After all, if he were to take Ares down first it would leave the rest of us rather defenseless. She does seem to have him pussy whipped.”

  Apollo did not hesitate to jump on the bandwagon. “Perhaps Aphrodite is right; perhaps Ares has been ensnared in Cernunnos’ trap. She is a very lovely piece of bait.”

  Yes, she was but they would have to deal with that later. “Go. Find them. All that you once called Friend or Foe. Bring them here.”

  Day Four

  1

  Time moves differently in the Underworld, what was only an hour or two to Ares was an entire day to Alena. For a long while, she tried to work on the map as Ares asked, but it was floating in the air. A three-dimensional model just revolving in the space between the ceiling and the table. She picked up the pencil and wondered if Zeus had told Ares about the tunnels, she could fill those in for him. They could be of use. Tracing the tip of the pencil on the parchment the floating model changed. A red line appeared next to Adrian’s cottage but it was not on the paper.

  From memory, she drew a straight line from Adrian’s cottage to Cernunnos’ Keep and watched it appear above her head. It was a strange magick and one she di
dn’t know she could enhance or be part of, it puzzled her but she continued. Zeus’ depiction of the inner Keep wasn’t altogether accurate. Cernunnos’ Keep was much more impenetrable than it looked, as it was three walls thick.

  Once it reached the base of the Keep, Alena’s line spiraled and snaked all the way around until it reached the very top where Cernunnos had his bedroom. Upon finishing the line, she drew a second one. This one was a few inches from the first and it spiraled down the Keep from the other side until it reached the bottom where she traced the line straight across the courtyard, under the wall, and past the fortress five hundred yards or so. The two staircases never met as one was sequestered within the second wall and the other in the third, hence the two entrances. The staircase within the second wall led to many interesting places, not just to Adrian’s cottage, but they were all within the walls of the fortress. The staircase within the third, most inner wall was the only one that led beyond the gates and to freedom.

  Alena hatched a plan to escape just before her sixteenth birthday, upon which if she didn’t escape, Cernunnos intended to remove the belt from around her waist and seal their marriage. Alena would rather die than lay in Cernunnos’ bed.

  Sitting there at Ares’ table, she allowed herself to remember her Great Escape. Adrian often took her into the woods to gather herbs, flowers, nuts, roots, and the like. In this regard he taught her much about nature and natural medicine but it was to his downfall. One day out in the woods, wicker baskets and sharp knives in hand, they harvested herbs as autumn’s chill hung in the air. She spied a small healthy patch of hemlock. While Adrian, a mere five yards away from her, gathered up Saint John’s Wort, she dug up one hemlock root, and it was very difficult. The root was deep; at least a foot down and she had to work very quickly before Adrian turned around and caught her. She dug, yanked, tugged, and prayed, until the root gave up its grasp so suddenly she nearly fell on her butt. She tucked it into her pocket and later that night she brewed him a cup of tea. She didn’t want to kill him; she just wanted to incapacitate him. The tea made Adrian so sick that all he could do was lie in his bed, on his side, puking on himself as he groaned and sweat like a pig. She tended him until he was so weak he fell to sleep from exhaustion.

  When it was safe, she crept down to the cellar, went through the door, through the tunnel, across the courtyard, into the doorway to the cellar of the Keep. Scared to death and quiet as a mouse, sixteen-year-old Maggie MacLeod climbed the hidden stone stairway to Cernunnos’ bedroom. With her heart in her throat, she tried to remain calm and in control as the ascent ended and she was presented with a small doorway. Licking her lips and holding her breath, she put her hand on the gold knob and turned it as slowly and quietly as she could. She emerged into Cernunnos’ closet.

  Using both hands in the dark, she felt along the walls looking for the other door. The one that would lead her to the secret tunnel she’d heard whispers of and to freedom. In her haste to find it, she bumped into the heavy armoire, the corner bit into her hip and she had to hold her hand against her lips to keep back the cry of pain. Something or, more likely, some things, jostled around in the armoire. By the sound, it was not clothing but glass tinking against other glass. The door opened slightly and she saw a sliver of light. Opening the door she saw dozens upon dozens of small glowing crystal bottles. They varied in size, color and design and she thought them beautiful, magickal, and an odd thing for Cernunnos to have.

  Maggie couldn’t stop to wonder what they were; she continued her search with hands along the walls of the inner chamber until she found what she was looking for and made good her escape. The moment that she emerged from the tunnel to stand free under the clear night sky was one she would never forget; to this day, it filled her with pride and hope whenever it crossed her mind. Never would she forget that very first taste of freedom.

  Coming out of her melancholy daze and having done all she could with the map, Alena paced around the cave, growing more and more apprehensive with each hour that went by.

  She wished for a way to change things back to the way they had been and her eyes fell on Adrian’s Staff still lying across the table in the throne room. Knowing she was not worthy and that she was hardly even aware of what she was doing, Alena picked it up to feel the weight and the balance of it in her hand. It was a fine weapon. Even without the sharp blade on the tip it was just as fine as any of Ares’ spears. In that manner she could wield it; her father taught her how many years ago. For a while she stood in the throne room practicing with the weapon, she twirled it out in front of her, to the side and even passed it behind her back before looping her right arm over it so that was no longer in her hand but had become a part of her arm. It moved where she moved as though her hand had grown a yard or more beyond its natural reach. Strangely enough, the Staff appeared to feel very natural in her hands, as though it really were part of her even though she was one of the least worthy of people to hold it.

  Alena was standing in the middle of the throne room practicing with the Staff when Ares burst through the entrance to the cave. He brushed right past her and plopped himself down on his throne of Bones. Angrily he turned toward the hearth and caused the fire to spring so high that it shot out into the throne room, threatening to catch it ablaze. Ares paid no attention to the threatening flames as he grabbed up the waiting pitcher of Nectar and drank straight from it in an effort to clear his throat of the horrid oily slag. Nectar spilled down his chin where droplets clung to his beard while others ran down his chest and over the vest as he drank the pitcher dry. “Bring me another!” The God of War threw the heavy gold pitcher at her. “Food! Bring me food! I’m starving!”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Not you, you stupid Celt!” Ares shouted at Alena. “Onya! Aryanna!” he bellowed. The women scampered down the stairs as fast as they could. Onya grabbed up the empty pitcher from Alena’s hands while Aryanna ran off to the kitchen.

  Ares’ head lolled on his shoulders until it rolled in Alena’s direction and he gazed at her with eyes that would have frozen lava in its tracks. “What are you doing with that thing?”

  “Trying to make it work,” she mumbled with a heavy sigh. “I’m ok at this part.” Alena showed him a few of her moves with the weapon but couldn’t tell what he thought as his expression didn’t change. “But I can’t conjure the magick out of it.”

  “That’s because there’s no magick in the Staff, the magick is in the User. The Staff is just a focal mechanism, a way to direct the magick, but it’s powerless on its own,” Ares sneered. “You have to summon the magick within yourself, not rely on that stupid rod to do it for you.”

  Onya and Aryanna returned from the kitchen with Nectar and a silver tray heavily laden with meats, cheeses, breads, olives, figs, and grapes. Standing in front of him as she handed him the new pitcher of Nectar Onya spoke to him. “Do you require anything else, my Lord?”

  Again, not bothering with a chalice, Ares held the pitcher to his full lips while keeping his eye on Onya and drinking deeply. Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he stared at her with open lust. “In a little while, I’ll come see you. Be ready for me. Go now.”

  Even though she should be glad for his words, Alena felt her heart sink. She hadn’t expected anything less from Ares but she had hoped for it. Ares had certain needs and no single woman could fill them for him. Not even her it seemed. Her hands folded around her lower abdomen as she tried not to think of Ares in bed with Onya. With a strange, nearly apologetic look on her face, Onya passed Alena by without a word. “Did I displease you so much last night, my Lord?”

  “I’ve told you, I prefer a more experienced woman in my bed. I am not in a mood to teach tonight. My patience is thin.”

  “So I see,” Alena said boldly. “Perhaps I should seek experience in another man’s bed before I return to yours?”

  “Perhaps in Eros’ bed, hmmm?” Those cold eyes bore straight through her. “Why do you stand so far away from me? Is it be
cause his scent still lingers on you? Is that why you’re still wearing the dress he gave you, to cover his tracks?”

  “No,” Alena whispered, trying to hold his icy stare. She’d had other things on her mind since Ares sealed the entrance to the cave and her wardrobe just hadn’t been on the list. “I told you nothing happened.”

  “Then where is my warm welcome home?” Ares held his hand out to her.

  “You don’t appear to want one, not from me anyway,” Alena mumbled.

  Ares let out a long heavy sigh. “I know, it has been a long few days, hmm? I have not been myself, I have been distracted. My trip to the Underworld has left me even more so than before. I have been unkind to you, which I deeply regret. It has…left a scar upon my heart.” The flat of his big palm landed on his broad chest for emphasis. Hands down, Ares was one of the world’s best bullshit artists. This was no exception. “I have been a brute and a fool; I know you would never betray me. Come to me, my dear Alena, ease my heart and my soul with your touch and let me beg for your forgiveness.”

  Alena spent the day confused and frightened, wanting only to be close to the man she loved. To be in his arms, in his bed, wrapped up safe and warm below him without pain or fear, that was where she wanted to spend her life. “I’m sorry this has been difficult on you. I’ve brought so much trouble into your life.” Alena stumbled her way over to him where she took his hand. Ares raised it to his lips, gave her a smile as he kissed it, and then yanked her in close to him. Startled she let out a little cry and tried to keep her balance but Alena crashed into his lap, suddenly caught between his strong thighs.