Chapter 6
Ares sat on the edge of his new viewing pool. Visions of battle shimmered through the liquid.
Away in the farthest reaches of the palace room, something darted – from shadow to shadow.
The silent battle scenes continued to rage on in the pool – swords flashed, blood spilled, men died – it went on and on.
There was a quick movement, again in the shadows.
"I know you’re there Strife," Ares said. His eyes never shifted from the carnage before him. "I can smell your moldering corpse!"
"Uh – hi Uncle Ares." Strife hesitantly crept out of his shadow. He held his clenched hands in front of his chest, his shoulders were hunched and his knees bent, in an unconscious effort to be less threatening – as if he could ever be such a thing as threatening when it came to Ares.
He giggled nervously. "How’s business?"
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t squash you – right now – like the bug you are." Ares still didn’t deign to look at his nephew. His voice was cold – his lip curled with disdain.
"Uh… I know I got a little… carried away back there… but you see... it’s just that…"
Ares flashed to his feet – faster than the eye could see, he was across the room and Strife was hanging by his collar from Ares’ hand. "You were MORE than a ‘little’ carried away!" he hissed in Strife’s face, "You blatantly defied me!" He shook Strife, like a dog worries a rat – you could hear Strife’s vertebrae rattle. "ME!" Ares roared.
Strife paled – part of Ares noticed the phenomenon with fascination – he didn’t think it was possible for flesh to achieve such a colorless tone.
"Uncle," Strife squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Uncle," his pitch had lowered but his voice quivered, "I… I… know what I did was wrong, but you see…"
With a roar, Ares pitched Strife with such force that he flew clear across the room and blasted through the far wall. There were now no longer shadows there for Strife to hide in – the sun brightened that side of the room through the new window.
Ares strode calmly over to that side of the room and studied the hole critically. He raised his eyebrows. "Not bad," he said aloud to himself, "I should have thought of it sooner. This should increase the cross-ventilation quite nicely."
Strife appeared through the hole – at least the portion from his eyes up. "Uh, glad I could be of assistance, Unc." He giggled nervously again. "Feel better now?"
"For now," Ares granted.
"Oh! Good! Good! Ha!" Strife crawled back into the room and nervously trailed his Uncle, at what he hoped was a safe distance, as Ares returned to his post at the viewing pool.
"Any good wars going on now?" He giggled ingratiatingly.
"As a matter of fact, I’m not watching current affairs right now," Ares drolled calmly, "I’ve been doing a little historical research." There was no trace of anger in his voice now – but Strife knew that could change in an instant. He kept his distance.
Trying to see what Ares was looking at without coming any closer, he attempted to stand on his toes and cower at the same time – somehow he managed it. "Really? Going back to the good old classic wars for a little inspiration, huh? Can’t go wrong there!"
"No," Ares said, "I’m following the career of one, single person."
"Ah! One of the late, greats, then! Who is it? A great warlord? A king? Maybe an emperor?"
"No… Jessa."
Strife’s gulp echoed loudly in the room – he had been hoping to avoid that subject altogether in his Uncle’s presence – possibly for the rest of his life – which, for a god, meant forever – if you could avoid pissing-off your relatives that is.
"Yes… Jessa…" When Ares said her name, everything he thought… and felt… about her, was spoken in that same instant.
"She’s amazing Strife – there was so much more about her that she didn’t tell me, there was no time – but she didn’t have to – I felt it in her! I was right about her! We’ll make the world tremble at her name!
"I’ve sat here for the past several days – watching her life’s history unfold before me and I still can’t believe it – she’s the perfect woman to be my Warrior Queen!"
"What about Xena?" Strife had spoken without thinking – he nearly fainted with dread as his Uncle spun around and pierced him with his intense gaze.
"Xena? Xena? She had her chance! She had more than her chance – I offered her the world – and she refused me – over and over she denied me!" Ares had Strife by the collar again and there was great anger that he shot into his nephew’s eyes – but it was not aimed at Strife. "She had her chance! She blew it! It’s time to move on." He released his nephew.
"Perhaps it’s all for the best this way – I’ve seen Jessa fight – in battle after battle – and she’s magnificent!" He flicked a wicked sneer Strife’s way, "I dare say, she might even give Xena a run for her dinars." His eyes closed. "Ohhhh… what a delicious site that would be!" he moaned ecstatically.
Ares opened his eyes and returned to the present. "I won’t make the same mistakes with Jessa that I did with Xena – I’ll keep her close to me, always. She won’t deny me as Xena did! She’s mine! I’ve got her – body and soul!"
"Um, Unc," Strife hovered, poised on the sharp edge between staying and fleeing – not sure which direction his next statement might require him to go. "I’m not sure about her soul… that, that, that is, I mean, I’m sure you’re right about having that! But… but… well… last time I saw her body, well, it was kinda, well… boogying away from you at a pretty fast clip!" He cringed, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the explosion.
It never came. Ares just looked at Strife calmly from under arched brows, his hands clasped behind his back. "That’s not a problem. I realized she needed her… space. She needed time to make the mental adjustment to the fact that – not only was she now going to be moving amongst the circle of the gods – but, she was also to be raised to the highly exalted position of consort to the mighty god of war! She is only a mortal woman after all – there’s only so much they can absorb at once."
Emboldened by the fact that Ares had suffered him to live after his last statement, Strife approached his Uncle from behind and spoke to him over his shoulder. "Oh! Right! Very smart! Very smart! I’d never have thought of that!"
Ares’ arm, swiveling at the elbow, snapped up and his fist smacked Strife right in the face. The hapless god went flying into a table laden with food delicacies. "Of course you wouldn’t have, you sniveling miscreant!" Ares snapped, "That’s why I am the god of war – not you!"
Ares’ demeanor returned to calm once more. "Now – I calculate that I have given her sufficient time for her system to make the adjustment – and it is time for her to return to me. That, is where you come in."
Strife picked himself up from amongst the fruits and pâtés. "Right Uncle, right!" He slipped on some jellied peacock tongues and nearly fell again. "Whatever you need – I’m your man! Ask me to do anything – go ahead – anything! I’ll get it done, toot-sweet!" He tried to brush the venison off of his jacket, but he only succeeded in smearing Béarnaise sauce all over himself.
"I don’t ask you to do anything!" Ares corrected him sternly, "I order you!"
"Oh! Right! Sorry! Bad choice of words!"
"Now," Ares ordered, "I want you to go and find Jessa, and bring her back here – to me."
Strife stopped digging in his ear with his little finger where some wayward sesame seeds had lodged themselves. "Sure thing, Unc!" He turned, preparing to leave, but then hesitated, and turned back to face his Uncle. "Uh… you want me to fetch Jessa?" He nervously crumbled the cinnamon stick that he had just picked out of his hair. "Far be it for me to allude that your prodigious memory might be in any slightest way deficient, but, well… if you recall... I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to dealing with her." He winced in embarrassment. "But I’ll give it a try."
"Damn it Strife! You better do more than try! You’re a god, damn it! Show some pride!"
Strife snapped to attention – back straight, heels clicked together, hand poised sharply at his brow.
"That’s the spirit! Now go out there and do me proud, soldier!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Strife executed a perfect soldierly one-eighty.
"Strife…"
Strife looked back at his uncle.
Ares grinned, "Welcome back!"
Strife’s face lit up like a kid on Winter Solstice morning. He turned to go.
"And Strife…"
Strife looked back again.
Ares was no longer smiling. "This time – don’t forget your place… godling."
Strife blanched. In a flash, he was gone.
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