The Heart of War (16 page)

Then the sounds came to him on the wind: crying, screaming, wailing, moaning. The sounds of despair and desperation, not a single laugh lightened the plaintiff cries for someone to come along and put an end to this misery and suffering. Soon after the sounds invaded his ears, a familiar scent wafted to him. Putrid decay. Everything here was either dead or dying.

Why would she come here? Mistake or not, why would she stay? This was no place for a Fey, not even one with as much spunk as she. Did Alena truly find this place preferable to Cernunnos’ Hall? Had the crime she’d witnessed her God commit been so horrifying that Ceres Agar was more appealing than spending her life as his Queen? Boston, Ares could understand. It wasn’t one of his favorite cities but it was a city, it had people, it had art, it had restaurants and shops and all of the things the Modern World had to offer. That he could see being more palatable than living with Cernunnos, but not this. Not by a country mile. Even he had no desire to tread further.

However, Ares had come to find out more about his new guest and find out he would. As such, he’d dressed properly for the occasion, leaving his normal hardened black leather at home and exchanging it for a pair of rugged blue jeans, a tight fitting black tee, a black hooded sweatshirt and, of course, he kept his favorite steel-toed biker boots on his large feet. The God of War looked like anyone else but he was armed with more than just his magick. Judging by the amount of sun reflecting off metal surfaces down there, in this place it was not a good idea to wander as easy prey. There was a dagger sequestered in each boot, the one at his waist tucked into the belt below the sweatshirt, and a small caliber handgun behind it.

Taking his time walking down the tall dune as his nose adjusted to the stench, he found a strange thing met his eye. There was a distinct prevalence of missing limbs. Everywhere he looked there were people missing hands, entire arms, and legs up to the knee. This affliction did not discriminate; it affected young and old alike. Upon first view, he thought there was a disease claiming these innocent limbs. However, the closer he got, the more he knew better. There was plenty of pestilence and disease in this place, but sharp knives had claimed those limbs by deliberately severing at the joints. In days of old—and, yes, right up to today in certain parts of this world—people often had their hands cut off for stealing. Ares wondered how many thieves were among him and what there was to take other than the odd scrap of food or favor from a woman, and Ares didn’t think anyone cared about the latter.

Striding closer to the clustered tents the smell got worse; it stuck in his throat and made him want to vomit. It had been a long time since Ares smelled something this horrid and it made him long for the tangy salt air of his island. Making his way to the foot of the dune but still half a mile or so away from the nearest tent, a woman ran across his path. She was screaming, her face twisted in terror as she looked behind to see how close her pursuer was to catching her. That little bauble, that twist of the head, was the time the chaser was looking for; he pounced upon her back and tackled her to the ground.

The woman was undernourished to say the least; she was nothing more than a twig with one arm. The man atop of her didn’t look as though he’d missed many meals lately, he had two good arms, and in one hand he had a very large knife. She screamed again and tried to fight him off with her arm. He laughed as he pinned it to the ground and hiked up her ratty dress. As the man freed his cock from his own tattered trousers, a dark shadow fell over them. He had just enough time to watch her eyes widen at something past his shoulder and listen to her fall silent. Then he was flying through the air at great height and speed before he crashed head first into the sand dune. Feeling more shock than danger, the man pulled his dark head out of the sand, shook it off only to have a good amount cling to the sweat on his ebony skin. It was his eyes turn to widen as he took in the sight of Ares standing over him with a very thoughtful expression on his ruggedly handsome face. Machete still in hand, sand-ridden cock still standing out of his pants, the man stumbled to his feet in the deep sand and held the large knife out to defend himself.

The corners of Ares’ lips turned upward ever so slightly but his eyes lit up like the sun, in the last few seconds of his life, the man could swear he actually saw fire burning in those dark pits. Held in place not only by the sand but also by the sudden bolt of terror running through him, the man decided he would not go down without a fight and he lashed out with the knife. Ares took a step back just out of the reach of the sharp blade but not out of reach of his large hand. As the knife made its swing away from him, Ares grabbed the man’s wrist and turned the machete inward. “Coward,” he sneered. “Thug. Bully.” With a very purposeful move, Ares thrust the blade forward into the man’s stomach. “P-unk,” he spat as he pushed the blade further in and then out the man’s back before drawing the blade through the man’s innards. His guts spilled onto the sand in a great rush of blood, turning the dry dusty area crimson and congealing it into a large pool. Behind him, the woman let out a rush of air and began excitedly talking to him in a tribal langue Ares could barely understand. Slowly he turned to her. “Go home!” Ares shouted and then gestured toward the tents with the bloody blade. “Whichever one of these wretched hovels is yours….go there now!” Wiping the blade clean with his hand as he looked down at the corpse at his feet, Ares let out a heavy sigh as the woman ran away.

So much for being discreet.

Ares had intended to walk the distance between here and the buildings Alena helped erect, but by the time he got halfway through the camp, he thought word about him and the dead man would have spread like wildfire. While the God of War was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, he’d rather not frighten off the clergy he’d come to speak with or spend precious time watching his back. As such, he simply transported himself from where he stood to the doors of the orphanage in the blink of an eye.

The double doors were ragged but still heavy and good. Ares grabbed hold of the large metal knocker and pounded it against the plate below it. Loud echoes rang out, they almost sounded like gunshots among the not too distant murmurs of despair. The third time he brought the hammer down as hard as he could and the door opened. Before him stood a woman well into her sixties; she was withered, and white. She wore a long blue skirt and a white blouse with a high collar. At first, she went to speak but then she took in the sight of him and her old eyes widened as she took a step back and clasped a hand to the gold cross between her flat bosom. “Sister Augustine?”

“What? How do you know my name?” the Good sister asked, still staring up at the stranger taking up the whole of the doorway. “Who are you?”

“I thought you were bound for Rome.” She looked damn good for an old woman who’d survived a battle with pirates only to be sloshed about in the ocean and then returned here. “Forgive me,” he said with a smile, “my name is…Ares. Sister Maggie sends her regards.”

The good sister’s eyes widened even further as she reached out with a withered hand and grasped him by the forearm. “Maggie? Where is she? Is she all right?”

“Allow me inside and we will talk.”

2

Ares’ Island

With Ares away Alena thought it best to make herself as scarce as possible. She thought about staying in her room behind the locked door but if Kat wanted to stir up trouble for her she’d probably camp right outside it or pound on it until Alena could no longer stand to listen. The day was chilly but sunny, and Alena slipped out of the cave and down to the beach. Sitting on the sand, her bare toes buried deep in its warmth, she stared out at the island across the way. She daydreamed of making a raft and sailing over there. It wouldn’t take too much, just a few trees and some vines. If Ares was gone more than a day and she worked very hard then maybe…

If she had a week, that would be better. However, he had alluded to the idea that he might be gone as long as two days. Two days were better than one and she doubted it would take very long to sail over there. If she went deep into the wooded area of the island today and cut down four or five trees, stripped them of their branches, then tomorrow she could lash them together and by tomorrow night, under the cover of darkness, she could slip away. Once over there, she’d haul the raft ashore and hide it in the brush. When she was ready, she’d use it to sail to the next island and then the next.

Of course, venturing that deeply into the wooded areas of the island meant going to the south end. Cerberus might not be happy to see her; neither would the Hind for that matter. Without Ares here and no one knowing where she was and what she was up to, that could be a bad scene. A really bad scene. However, it was the only place where she could cut down such trees without the swings of the axe being noticed.

There were plenty of axes in the cave. Ares had a plethora of them and a special collection that he used just for the purposes of chopping wood. They were sharp; they would go through a tree stump a foot in diameter like a hot knife through butter. They’d make damn short work of those trees. If she had one of those in her hands then, if Cerberus should happen to bother her, she could chop off at least one of its heads.

Deciding she would at least try, Alena rose up from the sand, brushed it from her hands and looked out of over the water, wondering if Ares told her the truth or not. It was possible he lied when he said there was no one over there. “Best get going,” she muttered to herself and turned to walk down the beach, only to see a man walking toward her. He wasn’t like the others here. He was tall, like Ares, and, like Ares, he had a very sculpted frame but not as muscular as Ares. He looked more like a runner than a weight lifter. He had sun-blonde hair that hung well past his shoulders and deeply tanned skin. While everyone on this island had the best tans in the world, almost everyone here had dark hair. Except Kat who was blonde and Onya who was a red head. Blonde-haired people were out of the ordinary. Unlike the guards, the man coming toward her appeared unarmed. He was dressed all in white, his shirt open most of the way billowed in the sea breeze as his tanned bare feet below the linen trousers made their way through the sand.

The closer he came to her, the stranger Alena began to feel. Lightheaded at first and then a bit confused. When he came to with ten feet of her he stopped his approach and held up his hand to her. “Greetings,” the tan man said in a very lyrical voice.

“Hello,” Alena stammered in a rush of air. Other than Ares, the man standing in front of her had to be the most gorgeous creature she’d ever seen. His eyes captivated her, as they were as gold as the sun and nearly as bright. He had to be an Olympian, he had to be….

“How rude of me,” the man chided himself, “I am Apollo.” He held his hand to her.

Standing there in front of him, her toes curled deeply into the sand in an attempt to keep her body upright as her knees grew weak. “That’s what I thought,” she whispered without much thought to her words or even to the fact that she was speaking. His hand was extended and he was smiling at her, her feet shuffled through the sand until her hand slipped into his. Apollo did not shake her hand; he brought it to his lips and then brushed them across, making the skin there suddenly but gently warm. The sensation made her feel as giddy as a schoolgirl. The light breeze brought her his scent, masculine but sweet. A scent almost reminiscent of sawdust. Alena found it very hard to stand still and remain composed, her legs wanted to start bouncing as her knees wanted to give way and her heart beat double time, making her stomach fill with butterflies.

History had recorded that Ares was a very dashing God and that was certainly true. However, it seemed to her all of the stories of Apollo and his Romance Novel Cover looks didn’t do him justice. Whereas Ares was ruggedly handsome, Apollo was genuinely beautiful. That wasn’t a word Alena would ordinary use to describe any man. Yet he was beautiful standing there on the shore with his winning grin and those incredibly strange eyes, gleaming from the top of his golden head to the bottoms of his tanned feet. Ares and Apollo were literally Night and Day.

Yet, there was something about the cheeks or the jaw that testified to their familial relationship. Why shouldn’t it? After all, they were half-brothers. Apollo and his twin sister Artemis were the offspring of Zeus and Leto, his sister. Ares was the only Son of Zeus and Hera--who was also Zeus’ sister. Olympians and other Gods didn’t seem to have any qualms about incest. They seemed very big on brother/sister pairings and offspring of these unions were highly prized. Ares’ own Son, Eros, was born of Aphrodite, Ares’ Aunt.

History also stated that, of all the Olympian brothers, Apollo was the best of them and Ares the worst. However, History also taught that Apollo—like Ares—often had ulterior motives. Like Ares, Apollo was a bit bratty and bit spoiled, known for being quick to anger, to seek revenge, and reign down disaster on any who crossed him. She should be wary of him.

“Magdalena, Maggie.” Hoping she wasn’t drooling or otherwise making a fool of herself, Alena looked back toward the cliff and the mountain. “Ares isn’t here.”

“Oh, I know, Maggie.” The slight smile on his face turned to a full winning grin. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if he were.”

Unable to turn away from those golden eyes, confusion set in deeper. “Th-that’s right,” she mumbled, “you two hate each other.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Apollo agreed, still holding her hand. “I came to see you, my dear.” The strength in her arm faded away but he kept hold of that warm little hand. With his free hand, Apollo reached up and put his fingers under her chin to tilt her head to look at him and those gold eyes. “I am here at my Father’s bidding. Zeus wishes to have the pleasure of your company on Mount Olympus.”