OF WAR Anthology Novels 1-3

by Lisa Beth Darling

  Plants were a new addition to Ares’ Fortress. It was far too cold to grow anything outside, but that didn’t deter Alena from bringing plants indoors now that there was an abundance of sunlight. Palms, ferns, herbs, and even potted flowers adorned any spot that got the slightest bit of daylight.

  When she seemed to feel that the Fortress had the sufficient touch of a woman, Alena turned her attention to the nursery. Wanting a room that adjoined the bedroom and not having one, she had to settle for the room across the hall from their bedroom. Unable to spend hours on her feet wandering around shops and malls, Alena had Ares bring her stacks of catalogs from companies all over the world. For hours she looked them over as she carefully picked out a crib, changing table, diaper pail, bookcase, old-fashioned wooden rocking horse, walker, jumper, playpen, baby-carrier, two swings, a rocking chair, and an entire Toys R’ Us full of rattles, teething rings, and toys. Each one she picked out, he went down to the mortal world, paid cash, and hauled it back to Olympus, every time reminding her that if she would just be so kind as to ask the Mountain for what she wanted it would come to her. Alena couldn’t get used to that; while she found it fascinating, she also found something dehumanizing in being able to get whatever one wanted just by saying they wanted it. She wanted to paint the room and bring it some color, but Ares drew the line at painting over the gray marble. Instead, she picked out brightly colored fanciful tapestries to hang on the walls and bring the room a little life. Bright images of flowers, the moon & stars, forest, mountains and lakes adorned the walls in Raven’s room.

  When the nursery was complete, Alena was bored for hours on end. Ares wasn’t sure if it was the boredom or the pregnancy, but she was eating like a horse. So much so that Ares found it difficult to keep her favorite foods in stock and was often running down to the Mortal World to fill whatever craving was striking. Alena never took to the idea of him materializing these items without paying for them and, as such, he’d seen more of the inside of a grocery store in the last four months than he had in his whole life. He even brought the refrigerator up from the island and gave Onya the new stove she’d been after for so long.

  To keep her from the agony of sheer and utter boredom of living on Olympus, Ares read to her. They played endless rounds of Chess and he found her a very worthy opponent at his favorite board game. Alena was very sneaky, often making him believe she was coming in for a full-frontal assault on his Queen when, in actuality, she was sending troops around the side to kill off his King.

  One day when Onya came to her and quietly complained that the fur bikinis Lord Ares made them wear were not appropriate for the cold snowy conditions of Olympus, Alena took up their cause, much to Ares’ chagrin. It was two days before he capitulated and said that yes, it was too cold for their current uniforms, even though he did his best to keep the Fortress very warm. He came up with a new uniform; a black and white, lacy little French Maid’s uniform. It was complete with cute little cap, seamed black stockings and black stiletto heels.

  Alena said no as she held back a laugh. Then she suggested the women be allowed to wear whatever they wanted. After all, they knew they were here to serve, so what difference did it make how they dressed?

  Ares said no to that, stating he felt Alena saw the women too much as equals. It was one thing to be friendly with them, to be good to them, care about them, but it was another to think of them as being here for anything other than to serve. A uniform helped to maintain that line.

  After a few more days of negotiations, they finally agreed the women would wear blue jeans, white sneakers and white sweaters. Alena thought they looked like they were in school all of the time, but they warmly greeted the compromise and happily accepted when she presented it to them. This won Alena a lot of favor with the women, but now Ares no longer had the guilty pleasure of gazing upon the bodies that had won his favor so long ago.

  The chess games they enjoyed lasted for a few weeks before he noticed that he was beating her quite easily, and she was making mistakes that only a rank amateur should be guilty of making. It wasn’t long after that Ares began noticing her speech was a bit sluggish. They would be conversing easily and suddenly she was unable to find her train of thought or the exact word she was looking for. It wasn’t uncommon for her to spit out a word like ‘confined’ when she meant ‘confident’. Day-by-day her eyes grew a little glassier and more distant as they stared off to some faraway point that only she could see. She never stopped talking to Raven, whether it was aloud or in quiet little whispers.

  Last week, Alena made Ares take her around the Fortress, room by room, and tell her about each and every weapon and piece of armor—its name, its use, its age, its strengths and its weaknesses. During this little tour that he might have otherwise enjoyed, Ares realized that each and every weapon and bit of armor that was displayed in his home was still exactly where he put it. For all of the redecorating she’d done, she hadn’t touched a single weapon of war. That wasn’t his idea of how an expectant mother should baby-proof her house. Unless, of course, she had no fear of her toddler Son slicing his leg off with one of the swords hanging near ground level.

  As they went from one room to the next and he described the items, Ares got the distinct impression that it wasn’t Alena who wanted to know the answers. Standing at his side with wide vacant eyes and a distant voice it seemed to him that she wasn’t there at all. Feeling uncomfortable, he tried to call a halt to their little tour, but Alena turned to him and insisted that the best items were in the basement.

  Alena had full run of the Fortress; of course she did, it was her home. The basement wasn’t an area that she seemed to spend much time, and she never said anything about redecorating it. Still, she was right. His most prized possessions were in the basement of the Fortress. His curiosity now engaged, Ares humored her and took her down the long winding stairs to the basement and to his inner armory, the door of which was still padlocked from the last time he’d opened it, just over two hundred years ago.

  Upstairs and spread throughout the Fortress were his trophies from battles won and lost since, roughly just after the Dawn of Christianity. Down here was everything else. Everything from all of the battles for which History still remembered Ares God of War. The air in the large cold room was stale from having been closed off so long; it was dark and musky. With his powers, Ares lit the hearth for light and warmth. The room was engulfed in a strange orange glow as the old weapons from times long forgotten sprung to life once more around her. Bronze, gold, copper, iron. Helmets, swords, shields, daggers, spears, gauntlets, breastplates—not a single inch within view was clear of a weapon of destruction.

  With all around her to choose from, including thirteen full sets of armor standing around the room, Alena walked straight up to just one of them. By the hearth it stood on a crossed pole; a full-metal breastplate hammered to fit him down to the last rippled muscular detail. It was trimmed in gold, over the front two wolves, fangs showing, standing ready to pounce upon the attacker. Under the plate the strapped front, the sword still tucked into the belt. Under the uniform, heavy leather boots over which lay more gold and more wolves. Above the armor was a matching helmet with full red plume. Beside it, next to the sword was a heavy shield, behind the whole thing stood a spear taller than Ares.

  “Don’t touch it,” Ares warned as he watched her hand reach out for the material. “Touch any of the others but not that one.”

  Alena wanted to touch the Ancient Greek Armor; she almost needed to touch it, and Ares saw the conflict within her on her face and in those hazy eyes as they turned toward him asking him their silent question.

  “It’s magick,” Ares explain quietly, “I wore it at Troy.” Standing next to the massive armor, Alena looked like a little girl contemplating playing Dress-Up in her daddy’s clothes. “It can give the wearer unlimited strength.” Staring at the almost forgotten but still-shining armor, Ares was struck by a moment of melancholy. “Too bad Achilles wasn’t wearing the boots. I miss
him; he was a fine warrior.”

  Alena turned back toward the armor and seemed to consider it for a while before she turned just her eyes back to him. “You wore this…this…rather pretty dress?”

  Pulled out of his little daze of reliving his Glory Days, Ares let out a snort of disgust. “It’s not a dress.”

  Curious eyes lolled back to the armor and then back to him, and looked him up and down. “Skirt? The pleats must look very nice on you. You certainly have the legs for them.”

  “Skir—no, it’s not—those are not pleats—” he asserted, growing insulted even as the realization that she was only teasing him dawned. “It’s a cuirass. All of the metal was forged by my Brother, Hephaestus, the leatherwork, including the belt, was created by Minerva.”

  Alena seemed drawn to the armor, she reached out again to touch it, and Ares pushed her hand away before shutting down the burning hearth and taking her out of the room, padlocking it behind them.

  The next day she told him she was going to the kitchen. When she didn’t come back within a half hour he went looking for her. Ares found her in the basement armory staring at a suit of armor and mumbling to herself in a singsong tone: no, no, no. When he asked her what she was doing down there, how she got into the room without the key and why she wasn’t in the kitchen, she just gazed at him with that fifty-yard stare. Then she brushed past him as though he wasn’t even there, slowly toddled her way up the stairs, tightly holding onto the marble handrail, made herself a sandwich, and then settled down on the floor by the fire in the Throne Room. Ten minutes later she was talking to him as though nothing happened. Ares used more than the key to lock the door; he sealed it with his magick to keep her out of the room.

  He needn’t worry about her getting into trouble too much, or so he thought. Lately, as Raven grew bigger, it was becoming much more difficult for her to get around with the added weight and her vastly off-kilter center of gravity. Alena’s slender hips, so accustomed to confinement by the golden chastity belt, never spread as the boy grew within her. This kept his space confined. Alena’s belly not only bulged outward but heavily to the sides as well. Her skin stretched so tightly that it was nearly paper-thin. Alena would weep at the slightest touch; even the blankets keeping her warm were a double-edged sword.

  Now as she neared time to give birth, the baby was unable to drop properly into place for the event. Ares fretted nearly to the point of obsession over what was going to happen when she went into labor. If she couldn’t expel the boy from her body, he might just well tear his way out, leaving his Mother’s bloody corpse behind him.

  Hera was also concerned, and she’d taken to coming by every morning to check on Alena. She promised that wouldn’t happen and that when Alena went into labor she would be here. She would do what was necessary to ensure the lives of Mother and Son—Ares would not lose them. All he had to do was call upon her the moment Alena went into labor and all would be well.

  The positioning of the baby and her uncooperative hips made it hard for Alena to put one foot in front of the other; as a result, that endearing Daffy Duck waddle became less assured. Lately she’d begun reaching out for heavy objects around her, table, chair or mantle to keep her upright and steady along her path. That healthy vibrant glow in her skin was fading. It was becoming pale, almost ashen, and there were dark circles under her pretty but stormy eyes. Her joints always ached and he had little doubt that the cold of Olympus had a role to play in that. She was always rubbing her knees as she tried not to tell him that they hurt. Late at night, when they were alone in their bedroom and the whole house was quiet, Ares would massage her, starting with her aching feet and swelling ankles, making his way up her shins to those tired knees. From there he made his way up to the small of her back where he stopped and paid particular attention before winding his way up to her shoulders. By that time, she was usually fast asleep.

  Not last night—last night she couldn’t find a comfortable position for love nor money. Alena tossed and turned. She got up, walked around, stretched her back, came back to bed, tossed, turned, got up, sat in the chair for a while, and came back to bed only to do it all over again. Raven wouldn’t give her any peace as he did his own tossing and turning, trying to make the most of the limited space. Ares watched in amazement as her bulging belly undulated with his unborn Son’s movements. Looking down at his own flat well-toned stomach, Ares tried to imagine what that must feel like to Alena and could not. Then Raven let go with a kick so hard that Alena cried out and doubled over in agony. Ares saw a little unborn foot as it pressed against her insides, stretching upward to her lungs; he could count the toes through her stretched skin, as they wormed under her ribs. His awe was only broken when she started gasping for air. The little foot was pressing against her lung and had begun to collapse it. As she started to turn red and then blue, Ares began to panic. Not knowing what else to do, he laid his hands on her stomach and firmly coaxed his unborn son’s leg downward with a gentle hand. It seemed to take forever but the leg did move and Alena drew in a great rush of air to their mutual relief. He held her a little closer last night, kissed her a little softer, and tried to push away the dark thoughts threatening to take over his mind. It was no use. Every day Ares watched his Son grew bigger and stronger. Every day Ares watched his Wife grow a little weaker. Cernunnos’s warning that the boy she was carrying would bring Ares glory, but he would bring her nothing but pain and suffering even before he was born, whispered in the back of his mind.

  Ares lay in his bed with his Wife in his arms, his hand resting lightly on her burgeoning belly and feeling nothing but a strong boy within. He searched for signs of madness and disease but came up empty. Still, it was hard to deny that his Son was killing his Wife, just in his effort to make it into this world. The boy was taking everything he could from his Mother and demanding more. “You won’t take my Wife from me, Boy,” Ares swore in the dark as though the baby growing within her could hear him. “No man will ever do that. Not even you.”

  To his Father’s words, Raven gave out a mighty kick that caused Ares’ hand to fly away from her as Alena cried out and tried to sit up. “It hurts,” she whimpered, holding her hands to her big belly. “Why doesn’t he ever …wake? I’m so tired.”

  Wake. She meant sleep. This time she didn’t catch the mistake and that worried him. “I know. It won’t be long now,” Ares soothed as he ran his hand over the top of her head. “This part will be over and you’ll be suckling our Son, holding him safe and warm in your arms.”

  Or so he hoped.

  Now, lounging across the Throne of Bones, a loud insistent grumble from his flat stomach shook Ares out of his daze. As he raised his head to shout for his meal, something outside the window barely caught his eye. “How did she get out there?” Ares mumbled as he stood up swiftly, watching Alena out in the cold and the snow. Between the blinding snow reflecting a bed of diamonds off the noonday sun, the white robe she was wearing, her alabaster skin and her silver hair, Alena was in nearly perfect camouflage. If she hadn’t been moving, he might well have missed her out there in the snow. “Where the hell is her coat?” Still in a bit of shock at the sight of her wandering around out there, he watched Alena pick up the hem of her robe as she climbed upon the rocks. “Where the hell are your shoes?!” Turning swiftly on his booted heels, Ares slammed straight into Onya and his lunch went flying across the Throne Room. “Get out of my way, woman,” he hissed as he shoved the small woman aside to storm through the Fortress.

  Once outside the door, Ares followed her drunken path of footprints in the snow from the outer wall of the Fortress to where he saw her standing, a walk of at least one hundred fifty yards. The three wide spots in the snow where she’d fallen did not escape his attention. Neither did the fact that Alena was standing on the penultimate tip of Olympus nonchalantly gazing out at the world below. He was suddenly mortified by the tiny distance he saw between her bare toes and the edge of the rocky precipice upon which she was standing. The only hi
gher spot on Olympus was Zeus’ Palace, which was directly behind them. Unless he missed his guess, the weight Ares felt bearing down upon his broad shoulders was the Old Man’s stare. Her soft voice came to him on the wind as she spoke to Raven.

  “Yes, it is very big,” Alena said dreamily as she looked out from nearly the pinnacle of Olympus on the world below. Although it was cold, the day was clear and bright; from here she could see for hundreds, if not thousands of miles. Caressing her belly, she let out a sigh. “It’s magnificent. You’ll see when you get here. Everything, I promise, your Father and I will show you everything.” Looking down at her stomach, she paused as though she were listening to Raven. Then she spoke again. “No, not at all, it’s not small, it just looks that way because we’re up so very high.”

  Growing concerned by the vacant gaze in her eyes and the distance in her voice, Ares took a look back to see if Zeus was really standing there. If he was, then he was hidden from view. With the stealth of a sniper, Ares walked toward her. Silently coming up from behind Alena, Ares slyly slipped one arm in front of her, under her field of view, as he reached out with the other to grab hold of her should she jump, and fall, when he addressed her. “Extremely high,” Ares agreed in a soft voice as he prepared to catch her if she was startled and lurched forward. To his unhappy surprise, Alena didn’t even acknowledge that he’d spoken or even that he was standing there. Instead, she took another half step toward the edge, until that big belly of hers was nearly nestled in the palm of a hand she didn’t even see. Another half step and the risk that she would slip and fall would be far too great. Before he spoke again, Ares put his arm around her shivering shoulders. Bringing up the arm in front of her, the one she still didn’t see, Ares encircled her and brought her in close as he quietly backed her away from the icy jagged edge of Mount Olympus. “What are you doing out here?”