God of War 2

by Robert E. Vardeman

  New threads appeared, ones not of uniform black. The colors defied description. She caught her breath and recoiled.

  How had Kratos done all this without the Sisters of Fate taking a more active notice?

  Atropos’ lips thinned to a knife’s slash of a line. She floated upward to better study the dark thread of fate stretching away. After brushing back her trailing white hair, she settled lower again, her anger mounting. There was no way this could have occurred—unless one of her sisters had permitted it. Clotho had no interest in Kratos, but Lahkesis? Wasn’t she always going on about how dull it was cutting the threads at the precise point Atropos determined? She had taken a fancy to the God of War and, from what Atropos could see, considered him a special project to be nurtured and coaxed into relieving her own perceived boredom. Such arrogance! Lahkesis should not meddle. Spinning, measuring, and cutting the lines of destiny was a moil they should share. Lahkesis should not tend to Kratos alone!

  That must change. And Atropos saw part of the change had to come on Olympus. Zeus arrogantly thought himself above fate. Hubris among mortals made them aspire to godhood. And gods, given the time and overweening confidence in their own small abilities, thought to defy fate. That was the eternal dance she and her two sisters attended, and always the Sisters of Fate were the only ones to continue after the last note died. They controlled fate, not the mortals, not the gods, and especially not the Titans.

  Atropos reached out and caught up a special thread stretched to the breaking point. A tug, another, then a stronger one yet sent the message to the goddess on the other end. Hermes was not the only god privy to the secrets of Olympus. Iris was Goddess of the Rainbow and sometimes served as a messenger. Atropos lounged back, thinking about what might be done to alter the destiny of those dwelling on Olympus without infuriating her sisters because she had not consulted them. Fate was a dangerous process requiring considerable thought and discussion among the three, yet Atropos felt a hint of the excitement Lahkesis must feel as she ventured out on her own in this matter.

  With exquisite care, she ran her talons along the threads, plucking out one here and another there, reweaving them so the length remained the same and yet the content was changed. Atropos tested the tension of a thread where it was tied to a post. She smiled at her achievement of altering the threads without leaving a trace either Lahkesis or Clotho could detect.

  Fate determined by only one and not three. Heady power.

  Before she could follow this logic and pursue it in other ways, she closed her eyes and sent forth her projection. The speed of her journey was infinite, and Atropos appeared in Iris’ chamber, a ghostly image of herself. Atropos looked around the neat, well-appointed bedchamber high atop Olympus and immediately knew she had found the right place.

  A shimmery curtain appeared across the chamber. A rainbow formed. Its misty substance brightened and turned solid, arcing from one side of the chamber to the other. Through this arch strode a smallish, pert goddess, but one well proportioned, wrapped in white clouds that constantly flowed to reveal delightful patches of bare skin and then modestly hide them again as she moved.

  Atropos understood why Iris and Hermes had never become lovers. Each was too consumed in personal beauty and self-aggrandizement. But why hadn’t Iris successfully challenged Hermes as Messenger of the Gods? Using her beauty, Iris could certainly have influenced many of the gods—and possibly some of the goddesses—in the same fashion that Hermes used to cement his position on Olympus.

  Iris stared at her with wide-set eyes in a round face. Her skin was the purest alabaster, causing the violet-colored eyes to seem more piercing than they were.

  “Your rainbow is lovely,” Atropos said.

  “Give me the message you wish delivered, and I will tend to it after a most magnificent storm in Crete that promises me the chance to display my full radiance.”

  “Too busy to be civil? Do you know who I am?” Atropos wasn’t sure if she ought to be outraged or amused. This goddess showed no fear, but it might be due to lack of understanding who had appeared in her chambers.

  “One of them. One of the Sisters of Fate. I guess you are Atropos since I have heard whispers that Clotho is … different.” The goddess smiled sweetly. “Yes, Atropos. You measure duration of life for the mortals. Perhaps you wish me to add color to a life?” Iris held out her hands and produced a rainbow stretching from one palm to the other.

  The Sister of Fate appreciated this outspoken goddess’ skills more by the moment. She would be most useful in shaking the foundations of Olympus, but in a good way.

  “I come seeking a boon,” Atropos said.

  “I hope nothing as grand as the Steeds of Time gifted to you by Cronos,” Iris said. “I am not so great and powerful to bestow such on you, but do not think that I will not give you all that I can.”

  Again Atropos caught the hint of wariness in the goddess and perhaps a touch of sarcasm. She looked for advantage. And why not? A favor to one of the Sisters of Fate might give her significant benefit on Olympus. And for what Atropos had in mind, it would.

  “You are ignored by the others because of Hermes,” Atropos said carefully.

  “As is your will,” Iris said, equally as carefully. Both circled verbally, one dog sniffing out the other to find purpose and perhaps gain advantage.

  “I merely determine the result. How a mortal—or a god—reaches it is often quite a revelation. But they never fail to meet their fate. Ever.” Even as she spoke she wondered about Kratos. Lahkesis had aided him more than she let on. Zeus had helped Kratos escape the Underworld before, but had Lahkesis toyed with the god’s fate? The unrest rampant on Olympus after Kratos became God of War was certainly nothing Zeus could have wanted. The second sending to Hades’ outstretched arms proved that.

  She quivered a little at the remembrance of the Blade of Olympus driving through Kratos’ midsection. She had had her fingers on his thread at that moment and had felt his life force ebb and then vanish as the Hands pulled him downward. But Lahkesis must have intervened to free Kratos from Hades’ clutches. The Pegasus awaiting him there had been something of a puzzlement, also. Because it would have amused her, Lahkesis would have forced Kratos to crawl on his belly afterward, not fly off as if he were still God of War.

  “Then why have you come to me?” Iris asked.

  “You have more important duties?”

  The goddess immediately saw the trap in those words. A tiny smile lifted one corner of her perfectly formed bow-shaped lips.

  “My concerns are but dust compared with your slightest whim, Atropos,” the goddess said.

  Atropos nodded brusquely. Her mind raced as the plan formed. She needed to give Iris precise instructions to humble Hermes in the eyes of Zeus and yet do so without her sisters knowing. Lahkesis, particularly, favored Hermes with considerable attention. A bit of destiny changing might be done unobserved, but Atropos was unsure she could meddle with the thread attached to the Messenger of the Gods without notice. Yet having Hermes beholden to her would give great leverage on Olympus.

  She spoke for some time, Iris absorbing the details. By the time she stepped back under her rainbow to deliver the message, the goddess beamed from ear to ear. Atropos nodded in approval at the goddess’ willingness to obey. With a bright flash, Atropos spun into the rarefied air, the black mists of her lower body gathering for the journey back, then left Olympus and returned to the Island of Creation. With luck, Lahkesis would never know she had directed her attentions elsewhere. This was going to be fun, playing Lahkesis’ game and her never knowing.

  THE POWERFUL WINGS sped them forward, but Kratos’ sharp eyes caught sight of the approaching danger. He was not the kind to evade his path when it lay straight ahead, even if he had been stripped of his godly powers. Gaia had told him he had to find the Sisters of Fate and go back in time. That seemed unlikely. No one changed his fate. Yet a Titan dared the wrath of Olympus and the Sisters of Fate to aid him. He could show no less courage,
even if trusting Gaia did not come easily to one who had learned to distrust all but the strength of his own sword arm and the prowess of the Spartan army.

  If he failed, the gods and Fates could do no worse to him than he had already endured—than he did endure in his nightmares. If he succeeded …

  The Pegasus’ wings began beating faster, sending flaming feathers backward in a cometary tail. For a moment Kratos thought the burst of speed would take them past the approaching fliers, but it quickly became apparent there were too many to avoid.

  He reached back, drew the Blades of Athena, and prepared for the fight—and was almost unseated when a griffin swooped down, attacking him from the rear. He glanced at the ferocious beast and caught the eye in its eagle’s head. He saw no remorse, no mercy, no quarter to be given in that hot glare. That suited Kratos because he expected none—and gave none.

  He ducked and let the griffin flash past. Its powerful eagle’s wings propelled it with a speed equal to that of his Pegasus, but the lion’s body afforded it better mobility. Kratos banked to the right and crossed the griffin’s spiral an instant too soon. The creature’s claws caught at his bare shoulder, raked along and drew blood. Only a powerful shrug and an upward thrust with his right blade fended off the lion-eagle. It screeched and beat its wings at him, only to have him slice off the end of a wing. The griffin spiraled away—and then Kratos faced half a dozen more of the savage aerial killers.

  The Pegasus shipped air and went into such an unexpected tight spiral that Kratos lost his seat and flew through the air. With a powerful surge, he stretched out full-length and grabbed. His fingers closed around a lion’s paw. The griffin, suddenly heavier by Kratos’ weight, began to fall. With a deft spin, he came up and around, getting between its wings. Kratos placed one foot against the back of the eagle neck to prevent it from turning halfway around and snapping at him with its serrated beak. Gripping the side of its head with one hand and its beak in the other, he reared back, put the immense strength in his arms and legs to the test, and felt the neck snap. For a moment, he held the head, still attached to the body.

  Then it tore off, spewing blood out into the air.

  Kratos looked up and saw the Pegasus begin a dive past him. As the dead griffin fell away under him, Kratos reached out, caught the winged horse’s mane, and pulled himself back up. The Pegasus smoothly leveled off and tried to get through the curtain of snapping beaks and clawing talons.

  Kratos settled down, took his seat, and began swinging his blades with deadly efficacy. One caught a griffin’s throat, hot blood gushing out and over Kratos. For an instant he was blinded, but he fought on through instinct. His left sword sank deeply into a griffin’s breast, killing it instantly.

  He was almost unseated as the Pegasus wheeled about and dived. With a savage swipe across his eyes, he cleared away the blinding blood and saw the problem. A griffin, far larger than the others, thought to attack from below. Pegasus and the griffin were on a collision course. Choosing his moment through long experience fighting, Kratos launched himself into the air. The Pegasus wheeled in the other direction, away, its pinions snapping with strain and a blinding curtain of lost, fiery feathers floating upward.

  The feathers momentarily confused the griffin, giving Kratos the chance he needed. He arrowed downward, twisted aside, and caught at the lion-bird’s wing. Again he used his weight to his advantage and threw the griffin into a dive more like a falling leaf. The griffin snapped and tried to claw even as it struggled to right itself.

  All Kratos did was concentrate on what he did so well: killing.

  One hand kept purchase on the wing, preventing it from aiding the griffin in remaining aloft. His other pummeled the beast with brutal blows to the breast and back.

  The griffin gave up all attempts to fly and simply fought. Its nimble neck swiveled about and a beak closed on Kratos’ massive biceps. He knew the method of attack and risked all by simply releasing his hold on the creature. It tossed its head in an attempt to rip away muscle but only succeeded in flinging him about. He proved too heavy for the griffin to hold, and the pair arrowed downward ever faster.

  The griffin released its hold on his arm, but Kratos had already drawn his blade and used it as a hook to catch onto the hindquarters. Instead of falling headfirst the griffin now plunged hindquarters-first.

  Kratos used his other sword to pull himself up until he caught the lion tail flailing about like a slave master’s whip. He grabbed it, got onto the griffin’s back, reached up, and delivered a killing punch to the back of the monster’s head. His hand sank into the braincase and came out dripping gore.

  Then he was tumbling away from the slain creature.

  Kratos resigned himself to the death fall. And again the Pegasus coordinated its flight to save him. He heard the wings, looked up, and saw a sky filled with flaming feathers. Before he knew it, the winged horse had swooped under him and then fought valiantly to keep from smashing into the sea below. So close did they come to ending up in the water, mist rose as the Pegasus’ wings sent up clouds of steam from every touch on the surface.

  “You will not claim me this day, either, Poseidon,” Kratos growled. They had avoided the Lord of the Ocean’s domain and once more flew high into the air. He bent forward and stroked the Pegasus’ head, causing small sparks to fly.

  “With a hundred such as you, my armies would ride to victory every time!”

  This brought a snort of fire from the winged horse’s nostrils and renewed effort to soar. Kratos alertly scanned the horizon and thought he saw a dark-robed figure riding a purple-and-green griffin, but the rider turned to a dot and quickly vanished in the distance.

  “Is this our destination?” Then Kratos realized the question was meaningless. They flew there because the Pegasus weakened. The fierce journey had taken its toll on the horse’s energy. Kratos felt the increasingly irregular rhythm and knew they had to land, no matter if this was the Island of Creation.

  He shifted his weight and used his knees to steer the Pegasus toward a gaping cavern mouth. Whatever awaited them there, he would meet it and then continue on his way.

  To the Sisters of Fate and Zeus’ death.

  LAHKESIS FROWNED as she stroked along the thread of fate connected to Kratos’ destiny. It vibrated strangely, as if he had somehow come free for an instant. This was not possible. To break the thread of fate was … unthinkable. She applied a small amount of pressure to the thread and finally smiled when she saw that her clever manipulation had brought about a near disaster, which was now repaired.

  “Let him struggle,” she said softly. It pleased her to think that she had not lost her touch. A different tug on the thread could end Kratos’ life instantly, but he had robbed Hades of his soul twice. Doing what she could to discomfit Hades amused her. The entire pantheon of gods had done nothing to deserve her good services. Although she did not begrudge them their victory over the Titans in the Great War, as they so comically called it, they had done nothing to give her entertainment recently. If they thought the Titanomachy had been the Great War, she could quickly dissuade them. Ideas about intertwined fates and disasters of unimaginable scale raced through her mind and brought an even larger smile to her lips.

  She controlled their fate. They were only pawns to be moved about as she saw fit.

  Lahkesis frowned again when the ravens she sent against Kratos were thwarted. That should not have happened. He ought to have been sorely wounded in the first attack. New tugs and strokes on the strand caused her a moment of panic. The strand normally felt like fine wool but now had turned into a silken cord. The slickness presented her with a question she had never faced before. Her skills were never to be questioned, so why did the texture change without her urging?

  “Atropos?” She softly spoke her sister’s name, wondering if playing it safe had finally bored the usually diligent weaver of others’ fates. Lahkesis shook her head. This was possible, but she doubted Atropos would bother. She was a stickler for order and
produced only straightforward destinies. Hadn’t she discounted the importance of Kratos, even when he had ascended the throne and had become God of War? “A mere mortal with pretensions,” Atropos had sniffed.

  Lahkesis had noted Kratos long before his entry to Olympus, even prior to his outrageous pact with Ares to be the war god’s cat’s-paw. From his birth she had noted him. And why not? His birth had been exceptional. Keeping this tidbit secret had made her feel superior to her sisters as she plotted and planned. It was as if Kratos were her own special project, though that was not really possible since the Sisters of Fate collaborated on the biggest events dealing with mortals and gods.

  Sometimes they had a contest to see which could come up with the smallest change that would give the greatest result. Lahkesis occasionally let her sisters win, though she always took note of their techniques and adapted the best to her own private intrusions.

  “But are you the one, Atropos, who is trying to manipulate my Kratos by enforcing order when I seek diversion through a touch of chaos?” Lahkesis shrugged off the possibility. Her sister was a neophyte in comparison when it came to determination of ultimate fates.

  Lahkesis studied the problem and nodded when she saw that Kratos had somehow found a Pegasus to bring him closer to the Island of Creation and eventually the Temple of the Sisters. The attacks while he had been airborne had driven him to Typhon’s Lair, but from her careful study of the threads weaving about, she knew how that would turn out. Her eyes did widen when she saw one detail of Kratos’ excursion into the lair.

  “This might be serious,” she said thoughtfully. “It is time to seal Kratos’ fate.” She clapped her hands and one of her Priests of Fate entered. He bowed his cowled head and held the posture, awaiting her orders.