Chapter 1
Through the torrent of rain and vicious blasts of icy wind, a hooded, cloaked figure hunched miserably over the neck of a weary black stallion. With lightning as the only illumination through the inky darkness, the horse stumbled and slipped over the uncertain footing of the rocky path. Suddenly, a blinding flash and deafening crack of thunder pierced the night. Squealing, the horse shied violently, throwing his rider. For a moment, the rider remained motionless, face down in the mud before rising dejectedly, hooded head shaking in resignation. The horse slowly approached the muddy figure, nickering softly.
"That’s okay Mystic, it wasn’t your fault."
Nickering again, the horse turned and looked down the barely seen path in the forest. The rider turned also, just in time to see, in the next flash of lightning, the barely discernible shape of a building in the distance. With a renewed vitality, horse and rider quickly made their way to the entrance.
The building was of a dark gray marble. Columns supported a shallow roof that over-hung an entranceway that, while tall and wide, had no door. Flashing once more, the lightning revealed enough of the interior for the hooded rider to locate a wall torch near the entrance. Pulling a fire-starting kit from within one of the saddlebags that the horse carried, the rider soon had the torch lit. As the cloaked figure moved further into the building, the horse followed, shod hooves ringing loudly against the marble floor.
The figure moved along, lighting the other torches lining the wall. Their glow revealed that the building was but a single large room. Tall columns supported the ceiling, spaced regularly throughout. In the center, was a large altar placed on a raised, stepped platform. In one corner there was stacked a pile of wood. Near this, a scorched spot marred the floor. Loose leaves, small branches, dirt, and other debris that had been blown in by the wind, heavily littered the floor and altar. Though obviously long abandoned, the structure was dry inside except for one corner, where the roof of the building had suffered a crack through which the rain streamed in a small shower. With a tug on the throat clasp of the cloak and a shrug of the shoulders the rider removed the heavy, rain-saturated cloak.
Jessa was tall for a woman, but not excessively so. She was also well muscled but lithe… and most definitely feminine. It was obvious that the gods were truly generous on the day that they apportioned her figure.
She strode to the corner through which the rain streamed, and catching it in cupped hands, she used it to rinse the mud off of her face. Her emerald green eyes glowed brightly, even in the dim torchlight. Though her normally flowing mane of scarlet, wavy hair was reduced to a dripping, stringy mass, it was still obvious that she was quite beautiful; a beauty that was almost ethereal, on a level that is rarely seen in one who is not a goddess
Dressed entirely in black leather, she wore a sleeveless, very short, open bolero-style vest over a bra-like top. The vest bore a golden, crescent-moon symbol that embraced the shape of a silver star. Encircling her head was a black, rolled leather band around which a thin silver cord spiraled. The silver-corded headband matched the rolls of leather that adorned the armholes of the vest and the top of the gauntlets that she wore upon her forearms. Her boots reached high, covering her knees, and her skin-tight pants rode low around her hips. Over the pants, she wore a wide belt that contained about a dozen, sheathed throwing-knives. A large knife was also strapped to one boot.
In appearance, and attitude, you might say she’s a cross between Jessica Rabbit and Catwoman.
"Well, Mystic," she sighed, "A lot of good this cloak did me in that downpour outside, I’m soaked to the bone."
As if in agreement, the horse gave a snort and shook from nose to tail, spraying droplets of water profusely about. The woman laughed, holding her hands up to shield her face.
"Hey! I think I’ve had enough water for one night, thank you very much!"
As she strolled around the temple, attempting to wring the rainwater out of her hair, her glittering emerald eyes took in the details of the intricate carvings that adorned the columns and altar.
"Hmmm… these seem to be symbols indicating war but this definitely isn’t a temple to Ares, the god of war – he wouldn’t stand for his worshipers allowing one of his temples to get in such disrepair. It must belong to one of the lesser war gods."
Mystic nudged her in the back, with a loud snort.
"Okay, okay! I know the storm has made you miserable too, but you don’t have to use such language!"
With a few deft tugs, Jessa untied the leather straps and pulled the saddle and its attached bags from the horse’s back.
"I can’t wait to get out of these wet clothes. Lucky for me someone has used this place before and left their excess kindling. I’m going to need a fire to dry these things."
Jessa reached up, preparing to pull off her vest, but suddenly stopped. With a puzzled look on her face she tipped her head up, nostrils flaring slightly as she sniffed the air. Turning around, her face suddenly twisted in disgust.
"Mystic!" she scolded, "I don’t care if it is raining, you should have done that outside!"
The stallion nickered as if in embarrassment.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In his palace on Mount Olympus, Ares lounged on his throne, sitting sideways with his legs slung over one armrest and his upper body propped up on one elbow on the other armrest, boredom obvious on his face.
Ares was every inch what you would expect the god of war to be, very tall and powerfully built. Jet-black hair and a finely manicured beard and moustache accentuated his ruggedly chiseled features. The deep "V" cut of his black leather vest revealed a well-muscled chest and his tight black leather pants revealed… well… let’s just say they don’t call him a god for nothing. All in all, he was incredibly, dangerously, gorgeous.
A double, low, bell-like tone sounded breaking the total quiet in the room. There was a pause and the tone sounded again… and again… and again…
Ares growled in irritation.
"Strife!" he called out.
The tone continued to sound.
Ares raised his voice, "Strife!"
The tone persisted.
"Strife!" Ares roared.
Finally, a voice answered him dimly from an adjoining room. "Yes, Uncle?"
"It’s for you!" Ares bellowed.
A figure strode into the room, tucking in his shirttail and belting up his pants. Strife, although he was also a god, was neither as tall, nor nearly as powerfully built as Ares – in fact, his build was quite slim. Also, where his uncle sported a healthy tan, Strife’s black hair and clothes only served to accentuate his pasty, pale complexion. To visualize him, think of a punked-out Edward Scissors-Hand with the personality of a demented weasel who is totally vain, frequently delusional, constantly cocky, yet always cowardly.
"Sorry," he snickered, glancing back into the room he had just exited, "I was busy." Several, feminine giggles from the room responded to his comment.
"Well I’m not your Tartarus-be-damned answering service!" Ares snarled. "I created this cursed pool with two different tones so that I wouldn’t have to! One ring for me, two rings for you! Now get that thing before I blast it and you into little, TINY, PIECES!"
"Okay, okay, Unc… chill out!"
Strife approached the pool of liquid that he and Ares used as a window to view the happenings in the world below – the mortal domain over which the gods of Olympus ruled. It also notified them when someone was making an offering to the gods in one of their temples.
Leaning over, Strife gazed into the rippling waters of the pool.
Giving a low whistle of appreciation, Strife uttered, "Check – this – out!"
Through the shimmering liquid of the pool, Jessa could be seen as she removed her vest. After tossing it onto the pile of saddlebags, she then removed the wide belt of knives. Leaning against a pillar for balance, she struggled until she had pulled each boot off her feet. Her fingers then began to work at loosening the laces by which her tight leather pants were held.
"I have got to get a better look at this!" Strife said eagerly.
"What’s that Strife?" said Ares, the boredom now returned to his voice.
"Uh… uh… nothing Uncle…" replied Strife, a touch of trepidation in his voice, "Nothing to concern yourself about!"
Ares’ reply was no more than a disinterested grunt.
With a smirk on his face, Strife vanished from the palace in a godly flash of light.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Standing on the top of the stepped platform and facing the altar, Jessa tugged at the laces that held the waist of her pants closed. She mumbled under her breath with irritation.
"Damn! These laces have swelled from the water and now the knots are tight!" With a final curse and a final tug, Jessa managed to loosen the leather laces. "It’s about time!" She now struggled to pull the wet, clinging leather pants down.
Strife suddenly materialized in the temple, standing just behind Jessa. He reached out until his hands almost, but not quite, touched her. He moved them as if caressing her, sliding them over shoulders, downward over her waist, and finally coming to rest in a double, cupped gesture. His face was a mask of lecherous greed.
With a last grunt of effort, Jessa abruptly bent over – the stubborn, wet leather finally pulled down to her knees, revealing her very brief under garment.
Eyes popping out of his head, drool dripping off of his words, Strife groaned hungrily, "Ohhh… this I have got to have!"
Without warning, Jessa swung about, slamming her elbow into Strife’s abdomen and throwing him violently across the room. Hitting the wall, Strife’s body seemingly hung there for a split second, like a squashed bug, before sliding down to the debris-strewn floor.
With a quick movement, Jessa kicked the pants off, freeing her legs. She leaped toward the place where her weapons lay. Too far to reach in a single leap, she hit the ground, rolled, and leaped yet again. Snatching up the belt of knives, she drew one. Facing Strife where he sat in the filth of the floor, gasping, she then casually slung the belt over one shoulder.
With a quick flick of the wrist, Jessa sent the knife in her hand twirling straight up into the air. It glittered as it spun, reached its apex, and then began to fall. Deftly, Jessa snatched it, midair.
"Now that’s not very nice," she admonished, "Sneaking up on a lady while she’s wearing nothing but her bare essentials."
Strife struggled to his feet. He was holding his hand to his abdomen, but when he looked at Jessa, he had a gleefully wicked smile on his face.
"Not bad! Not bad at all! This might be even more fun than I thought!"
Jessa arched an eyebrow. "That depends on what you mean by ‘fun’ – if you mean you like having your butt kicked from here to Egypt and back, then, yes, you’re gonna have a great time!"
Strife giggled lewdly. "Oh, yeah… just the way I like ‘em. Gorgeous and spicy!"
Waving the knife, Jessa replied, "Dream on, ferret-face. You stand a better chance with Hestia’s virgin priestesses!"
Holding his hands out in placation, palms out, a look of appeasement on his face, Strife said, "Hey, cool your jets! I’m not looking for a fight."
"Then just what are you looking for?"
"The question is what are you looking for."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"Well, it was you who called me here wasn’t it?"
"Sorry, but I don’t recall asking anyone to meet me here."
"Ah! But you did! By placing an offering on the altar, you requested my attention. Now, granted, I don’t usually make personal appearances for just any Tomulus, Dictys, or Hylas that prays to me for help, but in your case I decided to make a personal appearance. You should be honored… not everybody gets such a privilege."
"Be still my beating heart." Jessa mumbled dryly.
"What?"
"I said, I didn’t make an ‘offering’ to anybody, let alone you."
Strife turned toward the temple’s altar. "Of course you did, else I wouldn’t have heard…" Suddenly he stopped, shock on his face.
"Manure!" he screeched.
"Oh, you mean that? Actually I had nothing to do with that, but if you want it, you can have it."
Mystic snickered.
"And what’s that horse doing in here anyway! This is a temple, not a stable!"
"You’re right," Jessa said glancing around, "Stables are usually much cleaner."
"How dare you have the audacity to affront a god in such a manner!"
Jessa looked at him in disbelief. "You? A god? Ha! You expect me to believe that? I mean, look at you! Skinny, anemic…"
"I am the god Strife! Son of the goddess Discord! Right-hand man of Ares, god of war!"
Both Mystic and Jessa snorted.
"Right… and I’m a snake-haired gorgon!"
Strife’s face turned red, then purple. Emotions rippled across his face… disbelief… indignity… outrage. His mouth gapped open and closed but only strangled noises came out.
Jessa leaned forward, squinting at him critically. "Maybe you just made a mistake. Now if you had said you were Poseidon, god of the sea, I might have bought it. I’m sure only he could do such a good fish imitation."
Strife exploded.
"That’s it! I’ll show you who’s a god!"
Strife threw his arm back. A spinning sphere of fire appeared in his hand. With an indignant roar, he hurled the fireball vehemently at Jessa’s head. Jessa flung herself to the side, off the raised platform, ducking out of the path of the flames. Hurtling on, the ball smashed into the ceiling of the temple, blasting a hole with a blazing explosion. Chunks of marble showered down onto the floor behind the altar. Mystic snorted and dodged the flying rocks.
Picking herself up from the filthy floor, Jessa vainly attempted to brush herself off.
"Well what do you know – I guess maybe you are a god. Huh! Go figure!"
Jessa strode back over to the altar and examined the gaping opening in the ceiling several feet behind it.
"By the way… thanks. I needed a smoke hole for the fire I’ll have to build to dry off my clothes."
With an incensed howl, Strife flung himself at Jessa.
She nimbly stepped to one side and Strife smashed headfirst into the altar.
"Sorry about the misunderstanding, but, you are my first you know… god I mean."
Strife sat up, shaking his head to clear it.
Jessa went on. "And it’s just… well… somehow I expected a god to be more… I don’t know… more impressive I guess. I do have to say, I am rather disappointed."
Snarling, Strife again launched himself at her.
Jessa ducked behind one of the pillars. Strife sailed on past, landing with a grunt, facedown on the hard, marble floor.
Jessa shrugged her shoulders. "But… well… what can you expect. You are, of course, only one of the lesser gods."
Strife climbed to his feet. Filth from the floor covered his clothes and face.
"Lesser god!" he shouted after spitting the moss out of his mouth, "What do you mean ‘lesser god’!"
"Well you so much as said it yourself… ’Stripe, right-hand man of Ares’. As if you don’t even have an identity of your own! I mean when people say ‘Ares’, they immediately think ‘Oh, yeah! Ares, the god of war! Now there’s a god to be reckoned with! ’ But what do they think when your name is mentioned? (And believe me, that’s pretty infrequently, if at all!) They think ‘Strut? Strut who? Oh, you mean that ferret-faced, mealy-mouthed little guy that hangs onto his Uncle Ares’ shirttails?’ I mean, really Strep… you don’t even have your own palace on Mt. Olympus!"
Jessa gestured with her arms outstretched, indicating the interior of the temple. "And look at this place, Stench… it’s a pig sty!"
Strife’s face had settled into an expression of smoldering wrath. Through clenched teeth he grated, "The… name… is… STRIFE!"
He stretched out a white-knuckled hand and pointed at Jessa, his finger shaking with fury.
"And I’m going to give you a few lessons of just what the powers of a god… even a lesser god… means to a mere mortal like you!"
"Lesson one" he seethed, "Gods can blast a mortal out of existence!"
Once again he lifted his hand and the roiling of fire took form on his palm. He advanced toward Jessa in slow deliberate steps, his eyes piercing hers with determination.
Jessa waggled her dagger at him. "Ah, ah, ah! Remember what happened last time!"
Eyes never leaving hers, Strife said nothing… he just continued to advance.
Cautious now, Jessa began to retreat, her glance casting about for a strategic position.
"Granted a window two would do wonders for the place, but I have my doubts as to whether the structural integrity of the walls can bear the remodeling."
Strife brought his arm back into throwing position. Immediately, Jessa’s arm snapped forward – her knife deeply embedded itself into Strife’s chest. He bent over, clutching the knife with his free hand.
Then, slowly, he stood back up, eyes still penetrating hers. With measured deliberation, Strife slid the knife out from between his ribs. Stretching out his arm, he held it out on the palm of his hand as if offering it to her… then he tipped his hand and the dagger slid off, clattering to the floor. The wound in his chest sealed closed before Jessa’s eyes.
"Lesson two," Strife said coolly, "Gods cannot be permanently harmed with ordinary weapons."
He resumed his relentless approach.
Jessa realized that he was backing her to the wall – when Strife struck, even if he missed her, the rubble could simply bury her. Her only hope was to squeeze into the narrow crevice between one of the columns and the wall. If she were lucky, the column would prevent the ceiling from crashing down on her and protect her also from most of the debris from the blasted wall.
Swiftly, she darted along the wall to the nearest column and squeezed into the gap. Glancing now back to Strife, she saw her error. Strife had simply allowed the fireball to expire in his hand, unused. Instead, he was rushing at her, full speed. Quickly, Jessa snatched another knife from the belt still slung over her shoulder. Squeezed into the crevice as she was, she did not have the room to throw but she held the knife before her so that, as Strife slammed his shoulder into her, the knife impaled itself to the hilt in his side.
Strife ignored it.
Jessa struggled but Strife had her wedged so tightly into the crevice that she could barely move.
With a sudden, squealing roar, Mystic rushed toward them from across the room.
A ball of fire arced through the air, targeting the horse.
"No!" Jessa screamed.
Attempting to dodge it, Mystic lost his footing on the slick marble, metal shod hooves striking sparks as they skidded. As he fell to his knees, the flames hissed past him so closely that some of the hair from his mane sizzled and withered. A pillar behind him shattered to rubble from the fireball.
Mystic struggled to regain his footing. His red-rimmed eyes speared Strife with clear intent. Another blazing sphere sprang to life in Strife’s palm.
"No!" Jessa cried. "No, Mystic!"
She struggled so frantically now that Strife had to extinguish his weapon to hold onto her.
"Get out of here Mystic!"
The stallion had now recovered his feet. He bugled defiantly at Jessa as he prepared to launch himself in another attack.
"Mystic, no! He’ll kill you! Please! Go!"
Mystic stood his ground, blowing and pawing the marble floor like and enraged bull.
"Go!" Jessa commanded.
Squealing in frustration the stallion hurled himself out of the temple, into the stormy night.
Jessa struggled to reach the knife belt still slung over her shoulder, but Strife snatched it and threw it aside. He grabbed her upper arms in an iron grip. His breath was hot and loud in her ear.
"Did you think I would simply kill you and let you off so easily?" he hissed, "Oh, no. I have much bigger plans for you!"
Strife glanced over his shoulder. With a flash of light, the mess on the altar disappeared, leaving its polished surface clean. With that, he jerked Jessa from her failed sanctuary, throwing her off balance. She was unable to gain her footing as Strife dragged her struggling form to the altar. Once there, he flung her full upon it, on her back.
"Lesson three," he growled, "Gods are stronger than mortals!"
Still holding her by the arms, he laid his body over hers, his weight pinning her to the cold marble of the altar.
"Let me go you bastard godling!" cried Jessa. "Let me go or I’ll have your gizzard for breakfast!"
Strife only giggled maniacally.
"Ah, yes… just the way I like them… spicy!" He brought his face close until his lips hovered, almost touching hers. "Let’s see what flavor your spice has…" he breathed.
His mouth covered hers. As he hungrily devoured her, any protest that Jessa may have uttered was totally smothered. Finally, he pulled back, eyes closed, neck arched back.
"Ohhh… even sweeter than I had imagined," he sighed.
Opening his eyes, he looked down into Jessa’s flaming eyes. Strife’s face distorted into a leering grin.
"Lesson four," he crooned oily, "A god can take whatever he wants!"
He leaned in for another stolen kiss. Jessa redoubled her struggles, but to no avail – his kiss greedily consumed her.
Pulling back again, Strife looked into her face.
Coyly he said, "Oh, my sweet, is that a touch of fear I see in your emerald eyes?"
Jessa said nothing, but her hurried breathing gave her away.
"Do not be distressed, sweet one, this is a gift I give you… a gift from a god. I’ll wager no other altar – even those of the greater gods – have ever had such a delicious offering laid upon it, as the one I now take!"
Again he kissed her, deeply and long. By the time he stopped Jessa was panting, struggling for breath.
"Ah… see now how I am affecting you? The body of a mortal woman cannot resist that of a god…"
Jessa’s eyes flickered.
He kissed her yet again. She continued struggling, but soon, she ceased resisting. Slowly, she began to respond to him. Her mouth eagerly reached for his, her back arched in passion, her body writhed against his.
Excited by her obvious desire, Strife whispered eagerly against her cheek.
"Lesson five: To be pleasured by a god, is the greatest gift a god can give a mortal!"
His hands released their grip on her arms and now moved fervently upon her body, caressing her curves, pulling her tightly against him. His mouth roamed hungrily along her long neck. Jessa moaned and lifted her hands, burying them in the thick black mane of his hair.
With a savage jerk and a ruthless twist, Jessa snapped Strife’s head back in a move that would have broken any mortal man’s neck. Strife screamed. With a cry of disgust, Jessa thrust her shoulder against him, sending his body rolling to the floor. Jumping off of the altar, she sped to where her knife belt lay and snatched it up. Facing Strife, she leisurely buckled it around her hips.
With measured strides, she approached Strife where he knelt on the floor, clutching his neck. Strife turned his head to face her. Burning rage broiled turgidly in his eyes and he opened his snarling mouth to speak.
He never got the chance.
Jessa pirouetted gracefully, her heel smashing into his jaw. Strife flew through the air until he crashed down again onto the floor, sliding for a moment before coming to a stop. He struggled to his feet, but, in quick succession, three knives slammed into him; eye – jugular – heart. Strife reeled back from the force of the impacts.
Jessa spun again, this time with a high kick to the head. Strife flew in a high arc, through the entranceway, and out of the temple. With a tremendous splash, he landed in a deep mud-puddle.
This time, when his mud-covered form finally staggered upright, he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
Strife glared with his one good eye at Jessa, where she stood in the doorway, feet apart, hands on hips.
"Lesson six," Jessa stated dispassionately, "Gods may be immortal, but they are not invulnerable".
Growling, Strife took a step toward Jessa. Instantly, her hands snapped up, daggers poised.
"There’s plenty more," she warned.
Strife hesitated, eyeing the belt around her hips.
A deep bellowing neigh sounded and Mystic was suddenly at Jessa’s side. Rearing, his metal-shod hooves pawed the air in threat.
Strife ground his teeth in frustration. "This isn’t finished yet, woman!" he shouted, "Next time, let’s see how you deal with Ares!"
"Oh, sure, little godling!" Jessa jeered, "Go crying home to Uncle Ares!"
With a last infuriated howl and a brilliant flash, Strife was gone.
Snorting in disgust, Jessa turned to reenter the temple. Suddenly she stopped, a look of dismay on her face.
"Damn!" Jessa cursed, "There go four of my best throwing knives!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With a flare of light, Strife returned to Ares’ temple.
Still draped across his throne, Ares casually glanced in Strife’s direction – and then, did a double-take.
"What in Tartarus happened to you!" he exclaimed.
Incensed beyond words, Strife just pulled each dagger, one by one, from his body and flung them violently across the room – one of the knives just barely missed Ares.
"Hey! Watch it!" Ares barked, ducking.
Strife stomped furiously around the room. With clenched fists, he flailed his arms about – mud sprayed everywhere. Nothing but half-incomprehensible curses exploded from his mouth.
Ares leaped to his feet.
"What is your problem!? Who did this to you! ?"
Strife held his hands stiffly, fingers clawed, tendons strained – as if they encircled a neck.
"That… that… woman!" he shrieked.
"Who? Xena?"
"No… no!"
Strife stared, as if at an object only he could see. His hands flailed at his head "The one… with the wet…"
He slapped his hands to his hips. "… She had the most gorgeous…"
Now he held cupped hands in front of him. "…And the big… ooh…!"
He turned, finally focusing on Ares.
"… But she… " His closed hand made stabbing gestures.
"… and then she…" He attempted a high kick, but fell, landing hard on his rump.
"… and there I was…!"
He abandoned trying to talk completely now, settling instead for strangled noises of infuriated frustration while he sat there – feet and fists pounding rapidly on the polished marble floor, like a child having a tantrum.
"Strife!"
He did not respond.
"STRIFE!" Ares bellowed.
Finally settling down, Strife just sat there on the floor in the growing puddle his sopping-wet clothes were making – legs outstretched, clenched fists resting on his thighs. Breathing heavily through clenched teeth, he turned his muddy face and glared at his Uncle.
Ares crossed his arms, coolly arched an eyebrow, and quietly inquired, "Are you telling me that a woman did this to you? A mortal woman?"
Strife’s anger began draining away, rapidly being replaced by chagrin, "Well… uh… yeah… but…"
Ares threw back his head, and burst out laughing. The great, roaring peals shook the air. Vases, bowls, and cups shook and walked across their vigorously vibrating tables. The liquid in the viewing pool generated miniature tsunamis.
Strife scowled at him, now thoroughly embarrassed.
"But she… she was… not just any woman!"
Ares continued laughing helplessly, slapping his knees in delight, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Stop laughing at me!" Strife shrieked, leaping to his feet.
Ares attempted to rein in his laughter, but could not completely subdue his amusement. An occasional snicker snorted forth from behind the hand he was unsuccessfully using to hide his smiling mouth. And there was no hiding the twinkling of his eyes.
"I said, she wasn’t just any woman!" Strife grated out between clenched teeth.
"Oh… I see… I mean, obviously," Ares allowed magnanimously, "Otherwise how could she…" he gestured at Strife’s muddy clothes. "And how could she…" he now gestured at the wounds Strife had, in his distracted state, forgotten to heal.
Another giggling snort escaped Ares’ mouth.
Strife bristled defensively. "Well she wasn’t!"
"Really?" Ares’ interest was finally developing past amusement. "How so?"
"Well, she wasn’t just any peasant girl… she was a warrior!"
Now Ares really was interested. "A warrior? Really? Anyone I know?" Ares was familiar with just about any warrior, male or female, within his realm – at least those worthy of the notice of the god of war.
"No, I don’t think so. Tall, redhead, green eyes, not one of the amazons…"
Ares shook his head thoughtfully, "Doesn’t ring a gong. Where is she?"
"One of my temples."
Ares raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You have temples?"
"Funny." Strife glowered. "Look for yourself," he said gesturing at the vision pool. "Uppity bitch called me a godling!" Strife grumbled with resentment.
Ares approached the pool and leaned over it. Strife passed his hand over it and the image of Jessa at the temple appeared within the rippling liquid.
She was tending to the fire she had built using the twigs she had collected from the scattered debris as tinder and the wood that had been stacked in the corner. The altar, the only clean spot in the whole temple, was now laid out with blankets to serve as her bed. Using stacked logs to keep them off of the dirty floor, Jessa had arranged her wet clothes around the fire to dry. Mystic had returned to the temple and was quietly standing in one corner munching at the oats that Jessa had given him in the feed bag strapped to his head.
"Well, now…" Ares crooned, his fingers caressing his beard and mustache, "I can see that she is, indeed, not just another woman."
Strife looked at him sharply, noting the changed tone in his voice.
Jessa stood up from tending the fire. She stretched, arms extended back, over her head, back arched, lithe as a panther.
Ares made a noise of appreciation. Strife was beginning to regret his decision to bring her to his Uncle’s attention.
"So, how did you handle this one, Strife?" Ares asked dryly, his gaze never leaving the pool, "Your usual, grab’em and grope’em?"
"Well… yeah… but…"
"And then I suppose you used your ‘… greatest gift a god can give…’ line."
"Well…I…"
"Strife," Ares interrupted, sighing heavily, his head shaking in disappointment, "You have no imagination."
"This…" he said, gesturing at the image of Jessa, "This… is obviously an exceptional mortal woman, one well worth a little time and trouble in the conquest."
Ares now turned to face Strife.
"You have no idea of the exceptional pleasure such a woman can impart when she freely gives herself to you. The… the…" his hands gestured in the air as if groping for something. His eyes lit up as the proper words finally sprang to mind.
"The… excruciating, delectable, ecstasy a suitably motivated woman can bestow!"
Ares nearly swooned at his own description.
Strife snickered obscenely, "Uncle, I’ve had plenty of ‘properly motivated’ women!"
"Holding a knife to their throat doesn’t count, you twisted idiot! Those women didn’t give themselves to you, they just submitted to you!"
"What’s the difference?" Strife shrugged obtusely.
"What’s the difference!" Ares exclaimed, outraged, "What’s the difference! I’ll show you the difference, you insipid, unimaginative, punk!"
In a brilliant blaze of light, Ares disappeared.
Almost instantaneously, he reappeared.
"And for Gaea’s sake, Strife… clean yourself up!"
He was gone again.
Distractedly, Strife glanced down at his filthy clothes and wounds. Then he too disappeared in a flash.
Email: fanficbeth@aol.com