Aphrodite's War (29 page)

She gazed upon the marble pillars and gold statues with distain. The
excessive ornamentation spoke of decadence. Freya snorted indelicately.
Small wonder these Mediterraneans were so weak; they spent too much
of their energies on luxuries. She preferred the bitter haunts of Asgard. It
kept her kin humble and strong.

A deep, fragrant breath stabilized her before entering the hall. Ares’
howls raged from within.

Once inside, Freya ignored the throng of celestial beings to observe
the hideousness contained within. It lifted her heart to witness Ares
tethered like a common mutt, a crimson ribbon tight around his neck.

Despite her confidence in the magick fetter, she drew her sword.
“Its name is Gleipnir,” Freya said, indicating his restraint. “A gift
from my people to yours in recognition of a mutual enemy.”

She admired the handiwork of the impossible thread from a safe
distance. “It is fashioned of commodities that cannot exist. Mountain
roots and bird spittle, a cat’s footfall and the breath of a fish to name but
a few. You cannot escape our sorcery.”

Ares ceased thrashing and glared at her; a smile crawled over his
perspiring face. His unwashed odor and grim visage defied the pleasant
surroundings.

“Ah, but that is not true, is it?” Ares said. He had lost none of his
bravado. “Is this not the same way you bound the Fenris wolf?”
Freya maintained a façade of indifference even as her blood chilled
and last evening’s mead soured in her mouth.

He knew of their legends. And a god of Ares’ power could break the
magick. Freya sent a rare prayer to the Energy for time enough before
Ares escaped.

“I am stronger than some overgrown beast,” His voice clamored to a
shout. “When I am free, I shall take my revenge on all of you.”

“You will not be given the chance.” The booming voice could belong
to none other than Zeus. Every assembled entity shifted as one to view
his manifestation from the clouds.

“Your crimes are many,” he said. “Your judgment is at hand.”

“What crimes?” Ares directed his sneers at the assembly. “I am the
god of war. I have done nothing untoward.” He drew himself tall. “I
destroyed my challenger, therefore I won. I should be rewarded, not
disciplined.”

Freya’s lip curled. She expected this kind of arrogance from Ares, but
his callousness astounded her.

“Sacrilege!” Zeus’ temper manifested as lightening crackled in his
eyes. “You sought to extinguish thousands of human lives to create a war
not of their making. You murdered mortals.” His voice softened with
sadness. The wind silenced. No one stirred. “You killed Strife. You
brought about the deaths of Hermes and Aphrodite, your wife and son.”

Ares appeared unmoved. He slouched with crossed arms. Freya
sensed his apathy, and she was not alone. Though no soul spoke, the air
thickened with their combined wrath.

“You cannot continue,” Zeus said. “Your existence endangers us all.”

“You intend to eradicate me?” Ares laughed until he struggled to
stand. The crowd muttered amongst themselves. Others circled the
demented titan.

“That amuses me.” Ares wiped a tear of mirth from his filthy cheek.
“There is a dictum on Earth that applies here.” He set his hands on his
hips and puffed out his chest. “You and what army?”

Zeus frowned and thunder bellowed. “You challenge me for the last
time.” He raised two fingers. “Summon the others.”
At his signal, Freya conveyed Zeus’ will to her kin.
The great room filled with newcomers; many Freya identified only by
regional clothing or reputation.
Asian gods appeared in silken embroidered finery, their kimonos
swishing with each movement. Razor sharp fans flicked and fluttered.

Bejeweled Indian deities proudly displayed their luminescent blue
skin, an accepted mark of their station. Many boasted additional
appendages or eyes.

The Egyptians emerged in gold and lapis, their animal faces resolute.
Her brothers arrived at her side; Thor with his hammer and scarlet
braids, one-eyed Odin, one-handed Tyr, and even the infamous Loki.
The intense concentration of power raised the hair on Freya’s arms.
Her confidence returned.
One by one they merged around Ares. His eyes darted with an
expression Freya had never seen him wear; concern.
Zeus elevated his fist. Pale lightning raced over his forearm and
through his clenched fingers.
“On my command,” he said.
The sound of broadswords, spears, bows, axes and hammers coming
to bear clattered throughout the cramped space.

Freya raised her weapon, savoring the vibration of narrowly contained
strength. For the first time in history, Mount Olympus would erupt.
Justice would taste sweet.

Zeus dropped his arm.
“Fire.”
EPILOGUE II
This must be Tartarus, Aphrodite thought. Hades for disposable gods.
It was the horror she always imagined it would be. No light, no sound,
no salvation. The endless night stretched beyond fathoming.

She screamed in terror and despair, only to realize she had no voice.
She clenched her fists in impotent rage to discover she had no fingers, no
body at all.

And no pain. This should have soothed her. Her last moments were
excruciating. She had embraced death willingly. But the thought of
floating forever without sensations unnerved Aphrodite to the edge of
madness. She would drift as an everlasting bubble. No one would ever
see her. No one would hear her cries. No one would know she existed in
this cocoon of misery.

How did it come to this?

Millennia ago she was a new soul, a servant to the Energy. Her
discontent festered. She coveted the worship of the human race and the
gift of childbirth.

Aphrodite abandoned Eden to live as a god.
And died like a mortal.

What would become of her son? Would the world ever learn of her
desire to save them? Would they remember her?
Aphrodite.
Her plunge into dementia had begun. She grieved for her future,
wishing the voice were not a figment of her already failing mind.
Aphrodite.
Her own psyche taunted her. She longed to cover non-existent ears.

Leave me alone.
Aphrodite. Listen to me.
Dread.
Please, no. What new torture is this?

A speck of light twinkled in the distance. Aphrodite prepared for
punishment. Her child was lost and she endured cremation at the hands
of a man she once adored. She could withstand whatever came.

The mists swelled in size and brightness, but Aphrodite felt no malice,
only a benevolence she recognized. The Energy.

Had she any tears, Aphrodite would have wept in elation.
My Lord, is it truly You?
Long are the years since you graced my presence, Aphrodite.

When she departed Eden, she never believed she would see the
Energy again. She did not care then. But she welcomed It now.

She had no knees to fall to, no form to prostrate. It mattered not. The
Energy’s calming demeanor enveloped her. Darkness fled from
shimmering love incarnate.

Aphrodite shed her anger and remorse. Here in the embrace of the
Energy she found peace.
Could she be forgiven after centuries away? After meddling in human
lives for power?

You are not like Ares and Strife, the Energy said. You did not seek to
hurt mankind. You gave your existence for them without concern for
your own fate.

A tingling sensation washed over Aphrodite, the feeling so odd she
laughed.
Laughter. She heard her own euphoria. Her hands took shape before
her. She turned them over in disbelief, pressed them to her wet cheeks.

A quiver from behind caught her attention. She spun to greet the
sound, abruptly realizing the source. An experimental touch revealed soft
feathers and strong sinew. The Energy had gifted her with long-lost
wings. For the first time in centuries, Aphrodite took flight. She soared
through the emptiness, screaming her ecstasy.

The Energy blessed her. Her Lord had returned her ability to fly.
Eternity would be bearable after all.
Aphrodite.
She halted, hovering, prepared to comply. For this boon she would do
whatever the Energy requested. Anything to earn the favor of her creator.
You belong in Eden.

Clouds parted to reveal skies the color of ripe peaches. Burbling
waterfalls covered in lush greenery framed vast gardens of sweet scented
orchids and tulips.

One angel strolled amongst the lake of blooms, a single pink rose held
between long graceful fingers. His blonde curls haloed his bent head.
Hermes raised his perfect face, his mouth forming the word that
shattered her.
Mom.
Aphrodite placed a hand over her lips, but a sob rasped, exposing her
heartache.
If she could just touch him…
Go, Aphrodite. Your son awaits. Welcome home.
Acknowledgements

I would first like to thank the Edmonton Kendo and Naginata Club, as
well as the Edmonton Japanese Community Association. Special mention
to Sensei Dustin Bjorkquist, Tully Pinkerton, Steve Hladky and Keiko
Marumo. Thank you for making me feel welcome from Day One, and for
your mentorship. These great memories will last me a lifetime. I learned
so much from
everyone
.

Thank you to my beta readers, Rebecca Bartlett-Reid, Karen Maquire,
and Cathy Rogers.
Thanks to the blogging community for all your support.

Thank you to my publisher Heather Savage, my editor Sara PetersonJohnson, and my cover designer Terra Weston-Koster. Your stellar work
is much appreciated.

And thank you to my readers! I love you all!
And last, but sometimes the most important, thanks to my Dan, who
assures me I’m brilliant no matter how bad the Idiot Mode feels.