The Heart of War (42 page)

A large stone fire pit took up the middle of the room.  She didn’t think it was there because Ares cared whether his prisoners were warm, not with those iron pokers and pinchers sitting in the ashes where a fire had once burned.  There were assorted little doo-dads with sharp edges just right for poking and piercing.  Some of these she recognized, one was a Cat’s Paw.  Basically, it was a long stick with several metal claws protruding from it.  Unfortunately for Alena, she recognized another of the objects, this one lying on a rustic wood slab with leather restraints at the head and foot.  She put her hand over mouth to hold back the scream and the vomit threatening to rush forth from her stomach.

Women.  He really did bring women here.

They called it The Pear of Anguish and for very good reason.  This little honey of a pear-shaped torture device was most vile. Made of cast iron and covered with sharp spikes, it had a little key where an ordinary pear would have its stem. A woman would be strapped to the table and the bulbous end of the device forced inside of her. The master torturer would turn the key at the top and the four sides of the pear would slowly open and open and open and open.  Until she screamed from the pain of her delicate insides being pushed apart, soft delicate inner flesh tearing away to shreds until her ability to bring children into this world was forever lost to her or she died shrieking in anguish.

It was easy to see that Ares did not discriminate.  Next to the pear was an equally repulsive object; a very large set of shears shaped like a crocodile.  Her mother had a pair of those, though Maven never used them for their intended purpose, which was cutting off the penises and scrotums of men, along with fingers and toes and tongues, of course.  “Oh Gods.”  It was nothing more than a groan.

This is the man you’ve fallen in love with; what do you think about that?

“What’s wrong, little whore?  Finally realizing you’ve gotten into bed with the Devil?”

“Shut up,” Alena angrily hissed at the Druid.  “Keep walking.  Hurry,” she whispered, skittering past the devices of torture and agony to the three cells lining the far wall.  By the time she got there, her hands were shaking and it took her two tries before she could get the key into the cell lock.  “Get in.”

“Don’t I get any bread and water?”

Alena looked around the room.  “I wouldn’t think so.  Not in this place.  No phone calls to your lawyer either.  Sorry.”  Cerberus used his middle head to boot the Druid in the butt and push him toward the open cell door.  As soon as he was inside Alena shut and locked it.  “However, we do have Man’s Best Friend here to keep you company.”  With the man safely locked away, Cerberus found himself a nice place to lie down and keep guard.  “Good boy,” Alena said and stroked the top of each of the beast’s heads before she turned to leave.

From behind her, the Druid rushed the bars and threw himself against them with enough force to make them rattle.  She turned around to look at him, afraid he’d escaped, but he stood there with his face pressed to the bars and his hands wrapped tightly around them.  “Ares will betray you to your death.”

Looking around the small wicked room, she could not help but think that maybe the captive Druid was right.  “So I should throw myself at Cernunnos’ feet and plead for his mercy?”  Alena asked softly, knowing that she would not receive either of those, she would only receive a good deal of pain, humiliation, and eventually death. “I’ll take my chances with Ares.”

And hope that I’m right.

“You fool!  Look around you!” the Druid shouted, not knowing if he should tell Cernunnos’ little bitch about the Curse Adrian laid on Ares just before he died. Deciding it best to remain silent on the subject, Martin, the captive Druid, only ventured so far as he let his eyes wander over to the object that earlier caused the Fey to shudder; The Pear of Anguish.  “He’s a monster in a model’s body,” Martin quipped. “He will obliterate you. If you’re lucky, before that happens you’ll be able to escape, you’re good at that. You’ll have no choice but to run to Cernunnos and beg his forgiveness before Ares kills you.”

Like he did all those other women.
Ares was very passionate and Alena could easily see how he could lose control of himself in bed. He would never put her down here. Never. “He loves me.”

“Love?” Martin openly scoffed and then laughed. “What does the God of War know about Love? All he knows is destruction and death, you pitiful little woman.”

2

Zeus voiced the same question that was running through the minds of Alena and Ares: “Where did Cernunnos get the Chains?”  he demanded to know as he stood up and looked each of his Family members in the eye.  “One of you better tell me now.”  The last Zeus knew those Chains were locked away in his Dungeon and that was a thousand years ago—probably more, it was not often that he got down to the Dungeon anymore.  “Wife?”  Hera was the one with the easiest access to the Dungeon and so she seemed the logical first choice.

Hera stood up and held a hand to her heart as though a dagger had struck her.  “Me?  Never, my Husband.”  The Goddess of the Gods had a very tumultuous relationship with The God of Gods and they’d bickered and backstabbed each other endlessly in their time together, but Hera wasn’t apt to stab Ares in the back.  After all, he was her favorite Son.  “Why would I want to harm Ares?”

That was a good and logical question; Zeus reasoned there was little answer that would be sufficient.  “Someone here tried to stack the odds in Cernunnos’ favor.”  The question was, how long ago?  Did the saboteur know that Cernunnos was sending his men tonight and so handed over a little gift to help the Great Horned God?  Or had they done so long ago?  In anticipation of Cernunnos coming up against Ares one day?  Say, in relation to the death of Artemis and the vengeance for which it screamed?  If that was the case, then it was possible someone here also helped set up Artemis.  Someone who knew Artemis was seeing Cernunnos, possibly even knew she had fallen in love with him.  “Was it you?”  Zeus pointed at Aphrodite with a strong and accusing finger.

The Goddess of Love had just lost several things: her crown, her dignity, and what had unadmittedly been the love of her life until a few moments ago.  She was in no mood to suffer the accusation of having a hand in this.  She may be vain.  She may be cruel at times. But she was not a traitor.  “The last time I saw those Chains, they were on Ares’ wrists and that was, what, four thousand years ago?  I am just as surprised as anyone to see them again.  I thought you were in charge of them, brother.”  The last sentence was gently but purposefully lobbed to the God of Gods.

“Apollo?” Zeus asked in a booming commanding voice without taking his eyes off Aphrodite.  She was a very skilled liar and he was looking for any minute sign, any little tell, that she was being less than forthright with him.  None came.

“Not me,” Apollo answered quickly.  “I hate him.  I’d pay to see him dead but not at our collective expense.”  Ares was an unabashed asshole but he had his uses just as anyone did.  So long as the old boy stayed on his island then Apollo was not opposed to the idea of letting him live until he was needed.  Apollo always had the inkling that if Ares did not kill Artemis, they would need him again one day to help them take their revenge.  That was something that Apollo wanted more than he enjoyed breathing.  No matter what Ares said—or how right he had been—Apollo did love his twin sister.  Maybe he loved her a little too much and in a fashion that was far from Brotherly, but what was wrong with that?  They were Olympians after all, such banal rules may apply to Mortals but they did not apply to Them.

“Eros?”

The fluffy little God of Love knew what was coming and offered a defense.  “Me?  Clearly this has something to do with Artemis, not with my Wife.”  Eros stopped there but all eyes had turned to him and now were gazing quizzically upon him.  He stood.  “What I mean is that, why would I help Cernunnos?  I loved Artemis as well.  Like everyone else I want to see her killer brought to Justice.”  Holding the flats of his hand against his bare bronze chest, Eros fluttered his wings and gave a little gracious bow.  “Besides, as my Mother said, the Chains were in your possession, Grandfather, and I would never
steal
from you.”

The silence hung thick in the Great Council Chamber and seemed as deep as the crease crossing Zeus’ brow.  The king of the Seas thought he might lighten to mood a bit.  “She was pretty good, huh?  I mean, you know, for a Celt.”

“Good?” Athena asked.  “She was fantastic.”

“Yes,” Hera cooed as she gazed at Aphrodite.  “I can see even more clearly now just why Ares loves her so much.  She is a good match for him.  It took him a very long time but he has chosen well.”

“No one asked you,” Aphrodite said through gritted teeth.  “This won’t last; his little infatuation with her will end…badly.”  She wasn’t sure about that last part but the odds were in her favor.  If worse came to worst, then the ridiculous little Fey would only live the next two hundred years or so.  What was that to an Olympian?  Nothing.  The blink of an eye and then the bothersome little Celt would be gone.  By then Ares would have returned to Olympus and Aphrodite.  As Alena grew older, as she withered and faded, Aphrodite would remain beautiful, vibrant, voluptuous, and she would have Ares again before Alena breathed her last breath.

“When it does end, it had better do so
naturally
,” Hera countered swiftly.

More bickering, this little row was apt to turn into an all-out catfight at any moment.  Hera hated Aphrodite and Aphrodite felt the same about Hera.  The Goddess of Gods felt Aphrodite never lived up to her title of the Goddess of Love, in fact she thought a more appropriate title for Aphrodite was The Goddess of Whores.  It only made sense; Aphrodite was the only one among them who, in the Old Days, had Temples erected in her honor where the attending whores—er, priestesses—would, for a price, screw whatever walked through the door.  That wasn’t love.  It was lust.  It was prostitution and Hera, The Goddess of Women, looked down on such unsavory things as they debased women to the lowest possible level.  It relegated them to being nothing more than receptacles for a man’s seed when he could not get a woman of his own because females with pride and self-esteem considered him unworthy.

For many thousands of years, Hera taunted Aphrodite with that phrase, The Goddess of Whores.  Aphrodite seethed and not necessarily in silence.  Aphrodite often returned the favor by calling Hera the Goddess of Frigidity.  An old prude who wouldn’t know good hot sex if it walked up and bit her on her bony ass.  When Aphrodite took up with Ares, Hera was fit to be tied.  He was her Favorite Son and she could not stand the mere thought of him anywhere near that slut.  

Zeus saw as well as felt the storm coming and he did not have enough patience left to deal with it.  “Poseidon, why don’t you clean up that mess on the beach?” Zeus suggested.  “Wife, let us go down and see how our Son—and his woman—are doing.”  Zeus was not about to welcome Alena—a Celt—into the bosom of the Olympians with open arms, but she had stayed at Ares’ side and she had fought valiantly.  She would be useful to them in obtaining their goal.  When that was met, Zeus could dispose of Alena himself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time the God of Gods took it upon himself to end a relationship.

  “Are you sure about this, my Husband?” Hera asked softly as she reached out and took his arm.  “You so rarely visit the Mortal World anymore.  I can’t remember the last time you left Olympus.”  Hera rarely visited the Mortal World any longer either, as with the rest of the Olympians she had become secure in her smaller space.  Her Comfort Zone.  The Mortal World no longer needed them or even wanted them, and sadly the feeling had become mutual over the years.

“I’m sure.  The rest of you, try not to kill each other while we’re gone, hmm?  I know it’s difficult, but just try.”

3

After leaving the horrid prison and torture chamber with a heavy heart and heaving stomach, Alena intended to go back up to the bedroom but realized she couldn’t face Ares just yet.  There were bandages down here and the hot spring.  The way she felt right now, physically as well as mentally, she could use at least a short soak in a very hot tub. She’d just keep her back to the weight set glaring at her from the corner. With the Druid safe in his prison guarded by Cerberus, she stopped at the hot spring and disrobed, glad to take off the ripped bloodstained clothing.  She gathered bandages hoping, when he felt better, Ares would be able to reset her shoulder still hanging limp at her side.  Leaning heavily on the Staff, she slowly walked down the steps into the water.  Sitting in the water, thinking of the things she had seen and how much her heart demanded that she love him, love all of him.

She couldn’t. How could she love a man—a God—who would take great pleasure in doing such horrible things?  And he did, she was sure of it.  Ares did not just find these things necessary to gain information, he took great delight in them.

A man—or a God—like that could not possibly have a heart with which to love.

Alena began to weep.

4

“What’s your next move?”

“Good grief Father, you don’t mind if I get a little rest and something to eat, do you?  After all I’m only a God,” Ares returned.  The God of War had been shocked to see his Parents walk into his bedroom.  Zeus and Hera had been equally shocked by the site of the Golden Hind stretched out by the fire in Ares’ throne room and they took great pains to avoid her.  Hera hadn’t visited Ares’ island since well before his exile and Ares could not recall Zeus gracing the island with his divine presence.  “This battle wasn’t good enough?  I didn’t do enough?”

“You and your little band did very well,” Zeus encouraged.  “Where is our star warrior?”  He looked around the room.  He had been dismayed not to see Alena at Ares’ side but instead several of his women were tending him.

“She’ll be back; she took the Druid down to the prison.”

Hera shooed the women away from him when she entered the room.  It had been a very long time since she had the opportunity to mother anyone and she didn’t want to let this one slip by.  She sat next to him on his bed and swabbed his brow with the cold cloth.  “Do you think that’s wise?”  Alena was brave, she was strong of heart and fierce in battle, but Ares’ prison was another story.  Hera didn’t think Alena much cared for War once the battle was over. Ares had to know that.