Chapter 2
Strife blinked into existence, once more in his temple – his clothes now clean and dry. Ares was leaning on the altar, watching Jessa as she removed the now-empty feed bag from Mystic’s head.
Without turning to acknowledge Strife’s appearance, Ares began his lecture.
"First, things, first, Strife… you should not have revealed yourself to her before assessing the situation. As usual, you leap before you look."
He approached Jessa, observing her as she walked over to the fire.
"Hmm… a little dirty perhaps, but…" He stopped abruptly.
With a lithesome wiggle, Jessa slipped out of her brief under pants. With a careless gesture, she tossed it onto a log propped up by the fire.
Ares froze, forgetting to breathe.
Jessa then reached up behind her and untied her black, leather bra. That too, was tossed on a log.
Ares released his pent-up lungs with a long shuddering sigh.
"Definitely exceptional!"
"Uncle!" Strife interjected, not liking the direction this whole affair was taking at all.
"You really passed up a golden opportunity with this one Strife!"
"What do you mean, ‘passed up’?" Strife barked angrily, "I’m not through with her Uncle!"
Ares followed Jessa as she crossed over to the corner where the ceiling crack spewed water.
"Sorry Strife," Ares countered, "You blew it… now it’s my turn."
Jessa stepped under the flowing stream of rainwater and began to slide her hands over her body, rinsing away the dirt she had accumulated from both her fall into the mud outside, and in her battle with Strife. Ares’ eyes glowed as he watched.
"What?! No!" Strife shouted as he stalked over to Ares, "I want her! She’s mine! I saw her first!"
Strife went flying across the room, propelled by the backhanded blow Ares had delivered.
Ares looked at him dangerously, from under lowered brows.
"Remember your place, Strife! She was right to name you a godling."
Strife’s face flushed red at the insult, his hands were white-knuckled fists at his sides.
"Don’t call me that!" He warned through clenched teeth.
They locked gazes – Ares’ cold and domineering – Strife’s angry and defiant.
Strife was the first to look away. His face grew even redder.
Ares casually returned his attention to Jessa.
"Besides," Ares offhandedly acquiesced, "You can have her when I’m done."
"I don’t want your Tartarus-be-damned leftovers!" Strife hissed caustically, under his breath.
"What was that nephew?" called Ares from across the room.
"Nothing, Uncle."
Ares returned to his lecture.
"Now this one… hmm… I think this one would be best approached using the ‘hero’ tactic. You see, my dear Nephew, you can apply tactics to the conquests of love just as you do with conquests in war. One could, for instance, use the ‘heavy-handed, full-steam-ahead’ methods that you employ – however, with those methods, you have to deal with the resistance of the prey, which – while it can have its own pleasures – you run the risk of breaking the spirit of the prey. And a prey without spirit – like a wine without its spirit – is flat and dull on the palate.
"Now, in the ‘hero’ tactic, the usual course is to arrange a situation in which the prey is seemingly in danger for her life. Then, in swoops the hero to save the day! The prey, relieved to be safe once again, is so grateful that she would do anything, " Ares smiled a greasy smile, "…and I do mean anything… for her hero. Very simple, very classic, a sure thing."
Ares looked to see if Strife was paying attention.
Strife, with arms crossed, sulked in a corner. He was seething with fury, but he dared not to let too much of it show.
"Oh, is that right?" he jeered, "Somehow I think you might have a rather difficult time coming up with a situation that this chick…" he jerked a thumb at Jessa, "… can’t handle all by her little lonesome!"
Ares laughed. "Exactly! But… believe it or not… this makes it even easier!"
Strife scowled, annoyed. "How!"
"You just put a twist on it! In her case, staging a ‘hero-to-the-rescue’ would require an enormous amount of energy, since the hero would have to be at least her equal in abilities – a woman of her caliber would accept no less. Soooo… if you provide her with a hero, a ready-made hero – one who’s ‘qualifications’ are already established, one who’s reputation is beyond question – then you can even save yourself the trouble of staging a rescue in the first place! Get it? Slick… huh?!"
Ares was very pleased with himself.
"And just how would you do that!"
"Easy… I’ll just pretend to be…" Ares struck an exaggerated ‘heroic’ posture, "…the mighty, Hercules!" He relaxed with a disgusted sneer on his face. "You know… this is probably the one time that that half-mortal, goody-two-shoed, half-brother of mine will do me any good!"
Ares crooked a beckoning finger at his nephew, "Follow!" Exiting the temple, he stepped out into the night. Although it was still raining heavily, the lightning and thunder had moved past the region.
Strife stood in the doorway and watched as his Uncle stood in the downpour, letting the water plaster his thick, black locks to his head, and drenching his clothes. Suddenly, Ares leaped into the air and did a belly flop right into the very mud-puddle that Jessa had so unceremoniously tossed Strife into earlier. Grinning from ear to ear, Ares was doing the breaststroke. Dumbfounded, Strife could only stare, mouth agape.
Climbing to his feet, Ares looked himself over and then slapped his chest with both hands in satisfaction.
"Well… That ought to do it!" he said cheerfully.
Ares flashed. Jessa would be able to see him now.
Walking up to Strife, Ares poked him in the chest with one finger. "Now… watch and learn!"
Ares re-entered the temple, as drenched and miserable-looking as Jessa had been when she had first come in. He stopped, staring in amazement, jaw hitting the ground, as he watched Jessa as she showered. Mystic nickered. Jessa, not to be caught flat-footed twice in the same night, snatched up her sword where she had propped it up against the wall beside her. Spinning around, she took up a battle-ready stance.
Ares didn’t move, seemingly frozen in astonishment.
Observing his apparent state of stupor, Jessa relaxed somewhat, lowering the sword and placing the other hand on her hip.
She raised her eyebrows. "Paint a picture," she quipped, dryly, "It’ll last longer."
"Huh? I mean, what? I mean, Oh! I… uh…oh…"
His face red, Ares turned his back to Jessa.
"Sorry, miss," he apologized, "I didn’t mean to stare… it’s just that when I came in I… well… didn’t expect to see… well..." He trailed off into embarrassed silence.
Jessa let him off the hook.
"Okay, okay… take it easy. No harm done. Just stay there until I can get something to put on."
As she padded, dripping, over to the altar, she mumbled under her breath.
"Sheesh! What is it with this place! It’s obviously been abandoned for years, yet suddenly it’s Grand Central Marketplace of Athens!"
Ares, still with his back to Jessa, gave Strife a wicked smile and winked.
Jessa took one of the blankets from the altar and wrapped it about herself, tucking the corners under her arms.
"Okay, you can turn around now."
Ares turned around, a shameful expression on his face.
"Honestly, miss, I am sorry! I just… "
"Okay! okay! We’ve been through this already! Take it easy."
Ares just stood there, barely able to look her in the face.
Jessa rolled her eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh.
"Well, it seems that introductions should be in line right about now," she hinted.
Ares said nothing.
"I mean, I for one, like to know the names of the men who have seen me completely naked! Somehow, it just seems to be the way things should be!"
Ares seemed to finally catch on.
"Oh… of course! Sorry!" He eagerly stepped forward, hand extended, a bright smile on his face. "Hi! My name is Hercules!"
Jessa rolled her eyes again, but took his hand and shook it.
"Yeah, hi. My name is Jessa... and this is Mystic," her sweeping hand indicated the stallion.
Ares glanced, slightly perplexed, at the horse, but then let it go. "Pleased to meet you, Jessa!"
Jessa’s face took on a quizzical expression. "Wait a minute, did you say ‘Hercules’?"
"That’s right."
"You mean the Hercules? As in Hercules… son of Zeus… slayer of monsters… rescuer of fair damsels in distress? You mean that Hercules?"
Ares looked at the floor, grinning modestly. "Yeah, that’s me."
Jessa crossed her arms. "Right… and I’m a snake-haired gorgon!"
Ares looked up in surprise.
"Prove it," Jessa said.
"What?" Ares said, totally nonplussed.
"Prove it," Jessa repeated.
"Uh… how?" Ares asked, completely taken off guard.
"I don’t know," Jessa said, shrugging her shoulders, "Do something… Herculean."
"Uh… okay."
Ares looked about for inspiration. "Okay, I got it," he said.
He approached Mystic and began wrapping his arms around the horse. Mystic stamped a foot and growled a warning. Ares jumped back as the horse’s flashing teeth snapped shut, just missing him.
Mystic emitted another growling nicker.
"He doesn’t like you," Jessa informed Ares.
"No kidding. But why? I haven’t done anything to him… or you."
Jessa shrugged her shoulders.
"Sometimes he takes to certain people right off the bat, some he’s indifferent to. Some he just plain doesn’t like."
She looked at Ares pointedly. "I’ve learned that his instincts are usually, pretty good."
Ares looked at Mystic uncertainly. Mystic bared his teeth.
"So how am I supposed to prove who I am if he won’t let me?"
Jessa looked around. "The altar," she said. "That, at least, can’t bite back."
"Good idea," Ares replied.
Striding over to the marble altar, Ares leaned over the top surface, over which Jessa had laid her blankets. Wrapping his arms around it, he slowly raised the marble slab – strain showed on his face, but lift it he did. It must have weighed as much as three horses.
With a loud grunt, he allowed the stone to collapse back onto its supports with a resounding crash that echoed painfully loud in the marble chamber.
He turned to face Jessa, who had stood nearby, observing.
"Well?" Ares questioned.
Jessa’s mouth, which had been pursed critically, suddenly relaxed into a smile. She threw up her arms in defeat.
"Okay! You win! You’re Hercules!"
The smile on Ares’ face mirrored Jessa’s.
"Good! I’m glad that’s settled… but… uh, could you do something about that sword? It’s kind of… well… making me a little nervous."
Jessa glanced with surprise at the sword she still held in her waving hand.
"Oh! That! Sorry… I kinda forgot it was there. Here, how’s that?"
She propped it up by the altar.
"So!" Jessa said gleefully, clapping her now-empty hands, "You’re the famous Hercules! Why don’t you have a seat by the fire and you can regale me with the tales of your many, mighty feats!"
"Well," Ares said, hesitantly, "I thought maybe I could clean up a bit first?" He gestured to his heavily muddied clothes. "I sort of had a slight disagreement with a mud-puddle."
Jessa laughed.
"I know how you feel! Sorry, of course… Why don’t you get out of those wet things? I’ll put them to dry with mine."
Nodding in agreement, Ares pulled off his vest and handed it to Jessa. He then reached to his belt and unbuckled it. Pulling it off, this he also handed to Jessa. His fingers then untied the leather laces that cinched his tight pants. He dug his thumbs under the edges of the waistband, getting a grip, so that he could pull them down. He paused, looking at Jessa.
Lips parted, she stood before him, holding the vest and belt he had given her. Her flashing green eyes wandered appreciatively over the swells and valleys of his well-defined torso. Finally, noticing his hesitation, she looked up into his eyes.
He said nothing – he just returned her gaze.
"Oh… of course…" Jessa said, a small smile on her face. No trace of shame or embarrassment tinted her words. She turned her back.
Ares again shot Strife a wink – letting him see how he was playing her.
After draping the wet pants over Jessa’s outstretched arm. He stepped into the still flowing stream of rainwater.
While he cleaned the mud off, Jessa arranged his things around the fire and, then, went over to where Mystic stood. He gave a complaining grumble as he cast a baleful eye at Ares.
"Oh, come on Mystic," she whispered, "I know you don’t like him, but I think he’s… he’s…" She sneaked a lingering glance at Ares, as he ran his hands over his body, the torchlight glistening off of his wet skin. "… Damn! There’s no other word for it! He’s gorgeous! Besides, he’s Hercules! His reputation is impeccable!"
Mystic grumbled again.
"Hey!" Said Jessa, now a bit cross. "I’m just sharing a fire with him! That’s all! No need to get your tail in a knot!"
She sharply turned away from Mystic and stalked back over to the altar. She was angry at the stallion, but she also felt a little guilty for how she had treated him.
"Uh… excuse me Jessa, " Ares politely asked, interrupting her thoughts, "Could you please hand me something to cover up?"
Jessa took another blanket from the bed she had made on the altar and, carefully averting her eyes, handed it to Ares.
"Okay," he announced, "All decent now!"
Jessa turned around to see that he had folded the blanket and wrapped it around his waist, leaving his still-glistening torso bare.
"Come on," Jessa invited, "Let’s sit by the fire where it’s warm."
Ares went to the woodpile and selected several of the biggest logs. By the fire, he arranged them into the semblance of stools.
With an exaggerated, courtly bow and sweep of the hands, Ares indicated that Jessa take the best of the two seats. Laughing, Jessa gracefully folded her legs and sat.
"So!" Jessa remarked brightly, "Regale me with your latest adventures, Hercules!"
Ares looked down and scratched his head.
"Well, there’s really not too much to tell."
"Oh, come on! You’re just being modest! I’ve heard loads of fascinating stories about you!"
"Well, you know how exaggerated things get as stories are passed from person to person. You can’t believe half of what you hear."
Jessa laughed. "That may be so, but even if only half of what I’ve heard is true, that’s still pretty amazing!" She leaned toward Ares and lowered her voice reverently. "By all accounts, you’re one remarkable man Hercules."
Ares lowered his head and turned it to one side, concealing the anger that broke through onto his face. He wasn’t fond of his half-brother… and that was putting it mildly – very mildly.
Mistaking the reason that he hid his face, Jessa said, "Now, look! I’ve gone and embarrassed you!"
Ares struggled to regain his control.
"Hey!" he chided, "This isn’t fair! You know all about me, and I don’t know anything about you! You have me at quite the disadvantage!"
"Okay, okay!" Jessa held her hands up in defeat. "You win! I’ll go first then."
She settled herself on her log stool, resting her hands in her lap, and paused for a moment while she gathered her thoughts.
"Well, I grew up in the lands far to the east," she began, really getting herself into story-telling mode, "Where the grassy steppes seem to go on forever…"
"Wait a minute…" Ares interrupted, "I know of the people from there… you don’t look anything like them."
"Oh, yes… I’m sorry… I forgot. You see… I remember nothing – well, very little anyway – of the time that I lived before I came to be with the steppe people. I’m told that my birthparents were traders. My adopted people told me the story of how I came to be with them…"
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The caravan had traveled safely on the road to the land of the silk-weavers many times. The caravan had its own armed-guards that traveled with it to protect against thieves. Amongst them was a warrior, a simple hired sword who had joined the caravan to travel to exotic places and to seek adventure. One trip he thought, that would be enough to satisfy him… and then he would seek to settle in his homeland of Greece. He did not, however count on falling in love. A beautiful, high-spirited daughter of one of the merchants caught his eye. Flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes wove their magic upon him and they were soon married. His love for his wife was so deep and so strong, he would often boast that both Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and Cupid, her son, both had a hand in it’s making.
It wasn’t long before they had a child. More beautiful, even, than her mother, and even more high-spirited, the little girl was raised happily amongst the wagons. She spent her days dashing about the rumbling wooden wheels of the caravan, her hair trailing her in a shower of red sparks like the tail of a comet.
On the way, the caravan crossed through the land of the steppe people. They were a peaceful people, content to tend their herds and trade stock between one another to keep their horses’ blood vital and strong. But then, one chieftain became greedy – why trade when you could simply take, he thought?
He armed his men and took to raiding his neighbors’ herds, stealing them away in the night. As his herd grew, so did his power… and his greed. Never satisfied, he grew bolder and took to raiding the camps of his victims as well… forcing the men to serve him or die… stealing away the women for his warriors’ pleasure and slaughtering all others… even the children.
Though they tried, none could oppose him… the herders were unused to fighting… and the warlord was too well armed... his warriors, battle seasoned.
But then, the chief of one of the still-free tribes decided to take up arms against him. He sent out a call-to-arms to all of the tribes yet free, challenging them to do so as well. His messengers summoned them to join forces to oppose the avaricious warlord… and they did.
To oppose the warlord, the chieftain would need many weapons and he made arrangements with the caravan to meet him with a shipment. However, the warlord caught wind of what was happening and sent a troop of his warriors to stop the trade.
The caravan's guards fought hard, but the warlords’ ravening horde sorely outnumbered them.
The sounds of battle and the screams of dying men reached the place where the chieftain and his men stood amongst the wagons, bargaining over the weapons laid out on animal skins before them for display. Snatching up a sword, the chieftain called for his men to arm themselves also. He then charged, with a rebellious scream, to the battle.
Even with his men added to that of the caravan’s guards, they were out-numbered. Fearing for their lives, some of the caravan traders also took to arms… others fled or hid themselves in their wagons. The simple warrior had much more to lose than his life – unsheathing a sword, he flung himself into the battle.
The green-eyed woman hid their little daughter in a wagon and then stood before it, sword raised, determined to defend her to her dying breath.
Although they fought bravely, the battle was not going well for the caravan defenders… the mounted raiders had the advantage over those on foot.
Suddenly, the chieftain raised his fingers to his lips and whistled a piercing shrill tone, strangely reminiscent of the angry squeal of an enraged stallion. From the herd of horses the chieftain and his men had used to travel to the caravan, he was answered with a matching squeal. A black stallion reared from within the herd, calling loudly. He began attacking the mares in his herd with flashing teeth, sending them into a frantic state. They bolted, in panic.
The chief then called to his men to retreat. They did so, with all the speed they could muster, dodging any and all who might try to engage them in battle.
The warlord’s men hooted and whistled in derision, mocking them as cowards.
Then the frenzied herd of mares hit them, at full gallop.
All was total chaos as the impetus of the stampeding herd was shattered by the impact with the mounted riders. The wild-eyed mares slammed into the mounted warriors, unable to dodge them at their frantic speed. Horses fell crashing to the ground squealing and roaring in pain – their riders screamed as they were pitched to the ground and trampled by the many flying hooves.
When it was over, only the injured and dying lay on the ground, both man and horse. Not one raider remained on horseback. Those horses that could, galloped on, out onto the open plains. The black stallion followed.
The chief’s remaining forces then turned their attention to those raiders that had already penetrated to fight among the wagons… now the raiders were the ones outnumbered.
When the fighting was done, the chief’s people walked through the bloody carnage, putting swift end to the pain of the severely injured horses… and men. They left not even one raider alive… let the disappearance of his raiding-party carry the chief’s message to the warlord. The chief then lent his attentions to helping those of the caravan that had survived.
That was when he found the little girl. She held a large knife in her hands which, at just three years old, was like a sword to her. Defiantly, she held it before her, guarding the fallen body of her mother, her stance that of a warrior… just as she had seen her father take many times. The wind whipped her hair about… the setting sunlight igniting it into a fiery aura. Green eyes shot sparks as she glared fearlessly into the chieftain’s black eyes.
He stepped closer to the miniature warrior he saw before him. She charged… a high-pitched version of her father’s war cry pealing forth from her lips.
The chief could only yelp in pain as the tiny sword buried itself in his thigh. Quickly she pulled it loose and stabbed again, but the chief caught her this time. Gently, he twisted the knife from her tiny fists. Still mad with battle frenzy, she screamed and struggled to get loose of his grasp… tiny fists and booted feet pummeled him. His arms remained holding her firmly but gently until she collapsed, exhausted and crying. When the tears turned from those of a frustrated warrior back to those of a frightened little girl, his hold shifted and he picked her up in his arms… she buried her tear-streaked face in the fur of his tunic.
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Jessa’s stare left the flames of the fire to meet the eyes of Ares.
"That was how I became the daughter of the greatest chieftain of the steppe people."
Ares looked at her, respect in his eyes. For once, his expression wasn’t feigned.
"He raised you to be a warrior."
Jessa nodded. "Yes… I was the only woman in all of the steppe tribes that was permitted to take-up arms. He raised me… training me beside his own sons… as an equal. From the moment he took me for his own daughter, I was always with my father, the chieftain… always amongst the warriors."
"And the warlord?" Ares asked.
"The battles raged on. I came-of-age and joined the battles. Where before there had been only the herds of horses grazing peacefully on the grassy plains, there was now only bones and rotting corpses."
Ares’ eyes gleamed – this is what being the god of war was all about. He looked at her with added excitement, his attraction to her advancing another notch as he imagined what she must have looked like in battle… blood covering her graceful limbs, war cries on her sensual lips as she wielding her sword, eviscerating her foes.
Hastily, he subdued the expression on his face as Jessa glanced his way… he had almost forgotten who he was supposed to be.
"How did you come to be here, so far from that place?"
Jessa lowered her head… her gaze staring blankly at the small twig that her fingers worried at in her lap.
"My father, the chieftain, was killed in battle. By tradition, the leadership was to go to the chieftain’s eldest. Even through I was the eldest, I was not acceptable – I was a woman. I had no problem with that – although I cut my teeth sitting on my father’s knee at battle conferences – I knew all along that that position would be denied me. Besides… I was a warrior… battle was all I knew... all I wanted… all I needed.
"My father had three sons. The eldest, he had the makings of a great chief in him…" her voice was strong with pride. "The best of all the warriors, he was also intelligent and patient. His heart was brave as the fiercest lion and as big as Mt. Olympus…"
Her tone was quiet again. "We were very close.
"My other two brothers were twins. They had always kept their love only between the two of them, never sharing it, not even with their father.
"They plotted against their older brother and they killed him…"
Her voice grew hoarse. "They could have sent a party of men loyal to them to kill him! Given him a warriors’ death… an honorable death! The cowards! They used poison!"
Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands.
Ares placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Honor… this was something the god of war could understand – even if it was something that he himself practiced only when it suited him.
"So… now remind me… who’s playing who here?" Forgotten, Strife’s mocking voice echoed in the marble chamber.
Ares shot him a warning glance, but pulled back his hand from Jessa’s shoulder.
Jessa pulled herself together. Her hands were back in her lap but they shook… just a little. Her eyes locked with Ares’… cold and hard. "So I decided to kill the bastards."
Her gaze returned to the depths of the fire. "They knew I would be coming for them. Once again proving their cowardice, they sent an assassin to murder me in my sleep.
"An assassin!" She snorted disdainfully.
"I woke them by squeezing the blood from the heart of the assassin onto their sleeping faces.
"I allowed them more honor than they had our brother – I let them gain their feet to arm themselves. But the cowards instead ran! Squealing for their guards they attempted to hide themselves behind each other! Each was pushing the other to the front. It made me sick… I was ashamed for the first time in my life to share the same father as theirs.
"The first one was dead before the guards could react. I caught his severed head before it could hit the ground and held it by the hair before the eyes of its twin. ‘This is you…’ I said, ‘Only you don’t know it yet... ’
Jessa gave a strange, gargled laugh.
"You should have seen his face! I thought for sure that he would die from fright right then and there, saving me the bother!
"By that time, his guards had entered the hut and I had to contend with them before I could finish my business."
She shook her head. "I don’t remember how many of them there were… all I knew was, I had to take care of them before I could finish my business with the other twin… I just kept slashing and stabbing… one after another fell dead at my feet until there wasn’t any more room for the others to enter the doorway… the bodies blocked it completely.
"Now I could complete my task. I turned to where the last of my brothers had been cowering, only to discover that he had escaped through the wall of the hut… it was made of bark… he had clawed at it with his fingers until he could squeeze through the hole. There was blood all over the bark, even a few fingernails, here and there.
"Turning around, I began to pull at the bodies littering the floor, trying to reach the door… the guards were doing the same from the outside. When I emerged from the hut I stood up and waited, sword ready, waiting for the next attack.
"The entire camp was turned out by this time, all the commotion had awakened them. My brother was hiding behind the last few of the guards that were faithful to him, screaming at them to stop me. One of them handed him his sword. My brother just looked at him in confusion for a moment.
"Suddenly he comprehended the gesture and threw the sword down as if it was still red-hot from the forge. He screamed again at the guards, refusing to pick up the sword, telling them to kill me.
"I started advancing toward him. Shrieking, his mouth foaming in his frenzy of fear, he dashed once more behind the guards.
"I continued on. As I neared them their ranks broke and they parted, leaving me a clear path to my brother. Another guard offered him his sword. Again he refused it, brushing it aside violently.
"For the third and last time he was offered a sword.
"Dropping to his knees my br… that thing groveled, pleading to be protected from me… promises, threats, he tried everything that he could think of to gain their protection from me.
"Finally, he received a reaction from the guards – they formed a circle around him, and, as one, raised their swords. The last twin was blubbering with relief now. He stood back up and faced me, triumph on his face, assured that he would be protected.
"He realized, too late, from whom he now needed protection.
"The guards descended on him… plunging their blades into him, time after time, until, at long last, he was no more than an unidentifiable pile of red meat."
Her tale finished, Jessa remained motionless, eyes downcast.
Ares was breathing quickly. The images that Jessa had painted in his mind had aroused the part in him that was what made him the god of war. But he was also aroused in a way that only a woman such as Jessa could do… a woman who’s fierce nature and deep passions could nearly match his own. He wanted her – desperately.
"I’m… I’m sorry," Jessa said quietly, not looking up, "I didn’t mean to go on like that."
She glanced at Ares. His face was an inscrutable mask.
She looked away again. There passed a very long, very awkward moment.
"Uh… hey! Hey… how ‘bout I show you a trick?" Jessa said with false levity, breaking the silence.
Leaping to her feet, she reached for her knife belt and buckled it around her hips over the blanket she wore.
"Watch this!" she said.
Drawing three of the knives from her belt, she began juggling them, the twirling blades sparkled like shooting stars as they arched through the air.
Ares applauded, laughing.
"Oh, that’s nothing! Keep watching!"
Suddenly there were four… then five… then six knives in the air! A veritable constellation of shooting stars!
Then the pattern changed – and kept changing… now she caught some behind her back… then she did a complete pirouette without missing a beat… then she juggled the knives so that a knife seemed to hover in mid air before each cast. Finally she collected each of the knives and slapped them, one by one, home into their sheaths before executing a bow to her audience.
Ares was laughing and applauding enthusiastically.
"Hey! That looks like fun! Show me how to do that!" He stood up and reached for the belt as Jessa was removing it, but Jessa snatched it from his grasp, hiding it behind her back.
"Oh, no!" she admonished, "that’s a good way to get your fingers laying on the floor in little, tiny pieces!"
Going over to the pile of rubble left by Strife’s blast, she selected three similar sized chunks of marble.
"Basics first! Watch!"
She began juggling the stones, as slowly as possible.
"You need to watch two things – the rhythm of the hands, and the timing of the releases and catches."
She kept going for a few more minutes.
"Okay, okay!" Ares said confidently, "I think I’ve got it!"
Smiling wryly, Jessa handed him the rocks.
"Oh do you now!"
"Sure I do! Watch me!"
Ares flexed his arms with exaggeration, as if limbering up.
"Here goes!"
Ares tossed first one, and then another of the three rocks. Panicking, he realized he had thrown the wrong one first, he hurriedly tossed the third and lunged after the first that was already half way to the ground. The second stone cracked him resoundingly on the head.
"OW!"
Jessa broke into uncontrolled laughter.
"Hey," Ares grumbled, rubbing his head, "It’s not that funny."
"Sorry," Jessa said, smothering her humor, "Here, watch me again."
She faced Ares and started to juggle again.
"Watch the hands, toss… toss… toss… toss… toss… toss… toss… see it?"
"Yeah, I think I do." He imitated the pattern with empty hands.
"Good!" Jessa encouraged. "Now try it with the rocks."
Ares took them. By the time he had released the third stone, he was once again, hopelessly out of control but he managed to duck the flying stones this time.
Jessa could not help laughing. "Okay! I think I see where you’re going wrong! You’re releasing the rock from the wrong hand first!"
Retrieving the stones from where they had rolled on the floor, Ares complained, "I just did it the way you showed me!"
"But you were facing me! You have to do the opposite of what I’m doing!"
"Oh, great! You mean I have to do what you do, only backwards?!"
"Hmm… I see your point. How about if we try it this way?"
Taking the rocks from Ares’ hands she turned her back to him.
"Watch me over my shoulder!"
"Oh! I get it!" Ares stepped up close to Jessa where he could get a good view.
"Okay, now! Toss… toss… toss… toss… toss… toss… toss… toss… toss…"
Jessa went on juggling the stones.
Finally Ares said, "Okay, my turn!"
This time he got in a few rounds before he once more lost control.
"Not bad!" Jessa praised, "You’re a fast learner! But you’re still having problems with the rhythm. Try it again."
"Wait a minute, I have a better idea."
Handing the rocks to Jessa he moved behind her again. Reaching around her with his arms, he placed his hands covering hers.
His breath was warm on her neck as he said, "Now, juggle without the stones so that I can feel the rhythm."
Jessa paused for a brief moment, and then began to move her arms.
She kept up the steady pace until she could feel that, instead of allowing her hands to lead him, Ares was beginning to take over control.
"That’s it! Great! Now here come the rocks!"
She began the release of the stones into the air.
Releasing full control of her arms to Ares, she concentrated only on the catching and releasing of the rocks.
"You’ve got it!" she shouted with excitement, "Keep it going!"
The rocks were arching through the air now in perfect motion.
Jessa could not restrain her delight at the team-juggling she and Ares were executing, and began giggling.
The pattern of flying rocks began to waver unsteadily, and then broke. The stones went skittering off loudly across the marble floor.
Both she and Ares were now totally lost in laughter.
Gradually they regained composure and became still. Ares had not moved away from her… his arms still reached around her… his hands, cupped and embraced her own. For a moment, neither one of them moved, neither one of them breathed.
Gently, Ares guided her arms with his own until they crossed in front of her. They tightened gently, until she was pressed back against him.
She felt the warmth of his lips as they pressed against her neck.
As he kissed her, she remained motionless, barely even breathing.
She felt him hesitate, his lips withdrew to her ear as he whispered, "Do you want me to stop?"
She parted her lips, but no sound emerged from them.
He softened his embrace, preparing to disengage.
Jessa pulled his arms back around her.
"No," she whispered back, "Don’t go."
His encircling arms cradled her once more, and his lips explored again along the long neck that she bared for him. She lost herself in the sensation of his soft kisses as they traveled over her nape and up to her ear.
"I want you…" he whispered.
Jessa’s breath caught at the sensation that simple statement caused… an almost electric charge raced through her body.
Releasing one hand, Ares slowly spun her around with the other until they were facing each other. He took her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. Then he kissed her.
Jessa slipped her arms up to encircle his neck as he slid his down to her waist. He pulled her body against his. She could feel the growing hardness of his desire pushing against her body. She pressed her hips harder to his, moaning. Their kisses deepened, eagerly.
"Eeeeehh!! Score one for Uncle Ares!"
Strife’s jeering voice shattered the atmosphere – but only for Ares. His body jerked at the intrusion. He had, again, forgotten about Strife. Jessa pulled back.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," he assured her, smiling. He reached up and smoothed the burnished fiery coils of her hair. "Nothing that can’t be fixed anyway."
She looked at him, puzzled.
He simply smiled and embraced her. The gaze he then shot at Strife over Jessa’s shoulder should have incinerated the now-unwanted observer where he stood. He showed Strife a fist, and then jerked his thumb at him… a definite ‘get lost’ signal.
But Strife was not to be put off so easily this time.
"You’ve made your point! You can knock off the act now!"
Ares, white-lipped with anger now, jerked his thumb again.
"No!" Strife cried adamantly, "She should be mine! I want her!"
Ares opened his fist. A fervently broiling ball blazed there, much bigger than any of the ones Strife had managed against Jessa.
A flicker of fear appeared in Strife’s eyes but he was angry, "Damn it all to Tartarus, Ares! She should have been mine!"
There was a crack of sound that shook the temple walls and the blaze of light into which Strife disappeared illuminated the temple for an instant, bright as day.
Startled, Jessa pulled back from Ares’ arms.
"What was that!"
"Nothing," Ares reassured her, "Just the storm."
"But it’s not raining any more."
Ares just pulled her back against himself once more and hungrily reached for her lips. She melted into him.
Two blankets, fluttering, fell unheeded to the floor.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The rippling waters of the pool of vision revealed Jessa and Ares as he swept her up into his strong arms and carried her to the altar. Placing her on it, he then carefully lowered his own massive body, covering her.
"DAMN HIM! IN MY TEMPLE! ON MY ALTAR!"
The streak of a miniature sun roared into the pool, shattering the vision. The pool’s container smashed into pieces. The liquid, boiling off, rose in a column of steam until it reached the high ceiling, where it spread out into a mushroom cloud.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jessa was snuggled up to Ares, head on his shoulder. One arm lay on his chest, and one bent leg covered his thigh possessively. She kissed his chest.
Ares buried his hand in her hair and pulled her mouth to his for one last, lingering kiss.
Her hand softly caressed his face, and she gazed deeply into his eyes, sighing.
"Oh, Hercules…"
As she laid her head back onto his chest, Jessa did not see the shadow that clouded his face.
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