Warrior Rising

CHAPTER TWO

"You did what!” Athena sputtered (unattractively, Venus noted) as she stared wide-eyed at the glowing orbs that held the two mortal spirits.
“Well, I couldn’t just let them die!” Venus said defensively, patting the orb that floated closest to her. “It was just too awful and too soon. They’re both so young.”
“Mortals die. Period. You shouldn’t have interfered with what Fate decreed for them,” Athena said.
“Oh, please! These are modern mortals. They don’t believe in Fate.”
Hera rushed into Venus’s oracle chamber. “What has happened? I came as soon as the satyr gave me the emergency message and I—” The goddess broke off as she caught sight of the floating orbs. Her smooth brow wrinkled. “Are those mortal spirits?”
“They are indeed,” Athena said.
“Well, what ever are they doing here? Are they lost?”
“No. They are not lost. They are the spirits of two modern mortal women and Venus brought them here.”
Venus frowned at Athena. “Are you having regular orgasms, Athena? If not, that could be why you’re always so grumpy and judgmental.”
“Venus!” Hera’s voice was sharp, reminding the Goddess of Love that she was in the presence of the Queen of Olympus. “Why are the spirits of modern mortals in this chamber?”
“One of them”—Venus paused, studied the orbs and finally pointed at the one closest to her—“this one, I think, is the spirit of the mortal woman I have chosen to help us out with our Achilles problem. The other is her best friend.”
“Which still doesn’t explain why their souls are here in Olympus instead of in their bodies back in the modern mortal world where they belong,” Hera said.
“They can’t be in their bodies because their bodies are dead,” Athena said. “Actually, burned to nothing but ash.”
“Burned? Dead? But how could you choose a burned-up dead mortal for Achilles?” Hera rubbed her temple with one hand; the other she waved gracefully before her, plucking the goblet of ambrosia out of the air when it appeared and taking a long drink of it.
“It’s all really very easy to explain,” Venus said, sending Athena a dark look.
“Then explain. Please,” Hera said.
“I chose the mortal woman for Achilles when she was alive. Then there was an accident while she and her friend were leaving a party and, well, they were killed. I simply could not stand it. They were so young and happy. And,” she added pointedly, “Kat was so completely perfect for Achilles.”
“So you brought their bodiless spirits here?” Hera paused and sighed. “Venus, I understand how easy it is to get attached to mortals, but you didn’t do these women a favor. They should be on their way to the Afterlife that awaits them. There is nothing we can—” Abruptly Hera’s voice broke off. A look of shock passed over her lovely face and the goblet of ambrosia slid through her hand to shatter on the marble floor.
“Hera! What is it?” Venus cried as she and Athena rushed to her side.
The goddess’s face had gone horribly white. “My priestesses! They are sobbing for me.”
“Here, sit. Breathe deeply and tell us what has happened.” Venus guided Hera over to a soft chaise as Athena conjured a fresh goblet of ambrosia, which she held to Hera’s lips, but the goddess waved the drink away.
“It’s the Greeks. They are sacking my temple that rests just outside the westernmost wall of Troy.” She passed a shaky hand over her eyes as if to wipe the image from her mind. Hera looked up at the two goddesses. “I don’t understand this. My temples do not get sacked. I am Goddess of the Home and Hearth, Goddess of Marriage and Family, Queen of Olympians. There is no reason to defile me.” Hera weaved a little like she was going to faint. “I have to sit down.”
“You are sitting down,” Athena said.
“What do I do?” Sweat broke out over the goddess’s too white face. “My priestesses are beseeching me!”
“I don’t know!” Venus sat heavily on the bench next to Hera, took the ambrosia goblet from Athena and drained it in one gulp. “I’m Goddess of Love. People fornicate in my temples, which I don’t consider defilement. Once in a while a bereft lover—a slightly crazy one at that—will hurl himself on his sword, but that really can’t be helped.”
“I know what to do.”
Venus and Hera looked up to see Athena putting on the war helmet that had just materialized.
“Do I need to remind you that I am Goddess of War?”
Venus and Hera shook their heads in tandem.
“Then let us go. No one defiles one of our temples and gets away with it.” Athena’s hard gray eyes narrowed. “Or you two could stay here. Zeus will probably be angry that I’ve become involved.”
Slowly Hera stood. Her knees were clearly unsteady, but her voice was sharp as flint. “Zeus and his orders to stay out of it be damned! No one who attacks my priestesses will go unpunished.”
Venus and Hera exchanged a glance. “We’re going with you,” said the Goddess of Love. “If Zeus is going to be angry, let him be angry at all of us.”
“So be it,” Athena said. “Stay close to me.”
Before the three goddesses disappeared Venus waved her hand in the direction of her oracle and a shimmering circle appeared around it, holding the two spirit orbs safely within its shell.
They materialized in the aftermath of destruction.
“Oh no!” Hera sobbed. Then she straightened her spine and pressed her lips tightly together. “These are my women. I cannot fail them,” the goddess said grimly before beginning to move toward the first of the crumpled bodies.
“Stay with her. I’ll deal with the butchers who are still here,” Athena told Venus before striding swiftly from the room toward the distant shrieks and muffled cries that were coming from the exterior of the temple.
Feeling sick to her stomach, Venus joined Hera as she bent over a woman’s broken body. As were the rest of the women in this interior room of the temple, the dead mortal was wearing the sky blue linen robes of those who swear to the service of the Queen of Olympus. Venus thought that the fresh scarlet of her blood looked grotesque and a supreme defilement in this temple of Hera’s that was usually filled with the soothing colors of pastels, the lovely scent of sweet incense and the music of women’s laughing voices.
“She was one of my most elderly priestesses.” Hera’s voice was thick with tears. “She tended this temple for more than forty years.” The goddess touched the dead woman’s head. “Let your journey to the Elysian Fields be swift and peaceful,” she murmured, and the air around them stirred with the power of Hera’s prayer. Hera looked at Venus. “We must bless all of them.”
“Of course.” Venus squeezed her friend and queen’s hand, and then the two of them began to make their way from body to body, bestowing on each fallen priestess an eternal blessing for peace and happiness.
It was at the base of Hera’s statue in the innermost sanctum that they found them—two young women who had died with their arms wrapped protectively around each other. The dark-haired woman had a ghastly head wound. The blonde who had joined her in death had been skewered through the chest by a sword.
“Sacrilege! Blasphemy!” Hera hissed the words, her sorrow and horror at last being replaced by righteous anger. “These two aren’t even my priestesses. Clearly they were here beseeching my blessing.” The goddess pointed to the spilled goblet of wine and the broken jar of honey that lay discarded and ruined beside their bodies.
“She looks familiar.” Venus pointed to the dark-haired woman. “Isn’t that lovely purple and gold trim on her stola worn only by those of the royal house of Troy?”
“Hera!” Athena’s shout interrupted them. The gray-eyed goddess burst into the inner room. She was spattered with blood and carrying a young, blue-robed woman in her arms. The woman groaned and, with a strangled cry, Hera rushed to her, helping Athena to lay her gently on the marble floor. The Queen of Olympus used her lap to pillow the fallen woman’s head.
Venus peered down at the woman—and realized she was really only a girl, barely out of puberty. She had a terrible sword slash in her upper arm, which was flooding her and Hera in bright rivulets of fresh blood. Her eyes were closed, but she moaned again, proving she was definitely alive.
“Who did this?” Hera’s voice was cold and hard.
“They were Agamemnon’s men. This girl told me that most of them had already taken the priestesses of their choice and returned to the Greek camp. I made sure that the few who lingered will be camping in the darkened regions of the Underworld tonight,” she said fiercely.
“We must heal her.”
“Heal her?” Athena frowned.
“Yes, the three of us. We must heal her,” the Queen of Olympus repeated, looking beseechingly at her two friends.
“Did you want us to turn her into a graceful tree or perhaps an ever-flowing fountain to symbolize your weeping?” Athena asked.
“No, I want you to help me heal her. She stays as she is.”
“Very unusual,” Athena said. “We usually save mortals by changing them into something else.”
Venus rolled her eyes. “You really need to loosen up.” Resolutely she grasped Hera’s hand, then held her other hand out for Athena. “Yes, healing the child is exactly what we will do,” Venus said.
The Goddess of War frowned and muttered, “This isn’t usually how it’s done,” but took the goddess’s offered hand in hers, and then completed the divine circle by holding Hera’s hand, too.
Venus was just composing a lovely healing rhyme in her mind when Hera’s angry voice shot out.
“Hear me, Fate. With the power of this goddess circle I do erase this mortal child’s wound and command that she survive this brutal attack!”
Venus and Athena gasped as they felt the immediate electric drain of divine power course through their palms and slam into the girl priestess who still lay with her eyes closed in Hera’s lap. The girl’s back bowed as her body glowed, and then, just as suddenly as it had happened, the light and power were gone, and with a small cry, the girl sat up. Automatically her hand lifted to feel the ugly wound on her arm—then her eyes widened as she found nothing but healthy, newly healed skin there. Her gaze went immediately to Hera.
“My Goddess!” she cried in a soft, musical voice. “It is you. I thought I was being granted a beautiful dream before my death.”
Hera smiled and touched the girl’s cheek. “You shall not die today, child. What is your name?”
“Eleithyia,” she said, bowing her head down so that it touched the floor beside Hera. “Forgive me for not protecting your temple, Great Goddess!”
“Sweet daughter Eleithyia, this desecration is not your fault. I do not expect my priestesses to battle warriors! Arise, child, and have no fear that you have displeased me. I only wish I had known about this defilement sooner so that I could have saved the other priestesses.”
Slowly, the girl raised her head to stare with wide, adoring eyes at Hera. “We had no warning. For all these years the Greeks have left the temples outside the city walls in peace. There was no reason to believe that they would attack so suddenly.” Eleithyia bit her lip to keep from crying.
“Eleithyia, you said Agamemnon’s men stole Hera’s priestesses?” Athena said.
The girl bowed her head respectfully to Athena before answering. “That is what they said, Athena. First they came pretending to be nonviolent. Their leader, Talthybios, said that Agamemnon was angry. His war bride, Khryseis, had been returned to her father, and Achilles refused to part with his own war bride, Briseis, so they were looking for a fair young maiden to take her place and appease their king.”
Athena nodded her head. “I heard Artemis speaking of this. Khryseis is daughter to one of Apollo’s favorite priests. Artemis was so angered by this that she rained darkness and death over the Greek camp until they returned the girl.”
“Artemis and Apollo do get very upset when either has been insulted,” Venus said. “It’s that whole twin mentality.”
“Yes, we all know how touchy the two of them can be,” Hera said impatiently. “But did you note that the trouble always harkens back to Achilles?” The other two goddesses nodded, in complete agreement once again with their queen. “Go on, Eleithyia. You were saying that the Greeks came to the temple after Khryseis had been returned to her father,” Hera prompted.
Eleithyia ran a shaky hand over her brow. “Yes, they were so charming and handsome that, at first, we thought they only jested about coming to take us away, and we laughed with them. Of course we explained to them that those of us sworn to the service of the Great Goddess could not become war-prize brides. They seemed to understand. Then they saw Leis.” She paused. Shuddering she drew a deep breath before she could continue. “Leis is a great beauty and only recently sworn to your service, Goddess.”
Hera nodded. “I do, indeed, remember the fair Leis taking her vows.” A shadow crossed the goddess’s lovely face. “But I do not remember seeing her body amongst the dead. Is she here?”
Eleithyia shook her head, tears leaking down her cheeks. “No. The Greeks took her. We tried to stop them, and the men became outraged that we would reject them. They cut down any of us who got in their way.” The girl’s shoulders shook but she forced herself to talk through her sobs. “They even defiled your innermost sanctuary, Great Goddess. They found the princess there, and murdered her at the base of your statue.”
“That’s why she looked familiar to me. They’ve killed King Priam’s youngest daughter, Polyxena!” Venus said.
Eleithyia nodded. “The princess’s handmaiden, Melia, comes here often to pray for your aid in ending the war so that her mistress’s marriage with the young king of Sardis can finally take place. Today Polyxena accompanied Melia to pour libations and burn incense.” Tears flooding her face, Eleithyia looked up at her goddess. “The Greeks struck the princess with less remorse than they would have cut down one of their horses.”
“What a terrible waste,” Hera said. “She was so young—had so much of her life yet to live. It couldn’t have been Fate’s plan to have her leave the mortal realm so soon.”
Venus’s sudden gasp had Hera looking questioningly up at her.
“That’s it! That’s our answer.”
“What ever are you babbling about?” Athena snapped.
“It’s perfect, really.” Venus pointed to the inner sanctum. “There are two bodies right in there. Two lovely, young, soulless bodies. And in my temple I just happen to be the proud possessor of two bodiless souls.”
“You’re not implying we should—”
“Of course I’m not implying,” Venus interrupted Athena. “I’m saying outright. We just fixed up Eleithyia’s body with no problem. The three of us can certainly do the same to Polyxena and Melia. Then I retrieve the modern mortal souls, place them in the new bodies, and Polyxena becomes Achilles’ new war bride.”
“But, Goddess, Achilles already has Briseis for a war-prize bride,” Eleithyia said in her sweet, shy voice.
Venus smiled down at her. “Not after your goddess pays a little visit to Agamemnon, he won’t.”
“Me?” Hera said.
“Certainly. You’re Goddess of Marriage. You’ll simply appear to Agamemnon and tell him that his worries would be so much less if he had his war bride replaced, and you happen to know that Briseis would make the perfect little bride for him.”
“I don’t even know the girl. And I certainly cannot stand that wretched Agamemnon and his overbearing arrogance,” Hera said.
“It may just work,” Athena said.
“Of course it will work.” Venus smiled approval at Athena. “While Hera is appearing to Agamemnon you’ll be paying the lovely Thetis a visit. Have her tell her son that she wants him to withdraw from the battle because of the disrespect Agamemnon has shown him in stealing his bride. Then mention as a little aside that she has arranged for a new war bride for him—a royal maiden who meets with her approval because she’s not like the typical silly women he’s used to. That should intrigue him.”
Athena narrowed her shrewd gray eyes at the Goddess of Love. “In the meantime you will be readying our Polyxena for the role she will play in this.”
“Exactly. She needs to keep Achilles busy—too busy to consider rejoining the battle. She can also work on that nasty temper of his and perhaps love, or an earthy, lusty version of love, can reach the man inside the beast.” Venus grinned mischievously. “Let’s face it, Zeus prophesized Achilles’ early end years ago, then he probably forgot all about it. You know how busy the King of Olympus is. If Achilles himself were to turn from his fated future, Zeus would, more than likely, allow his destiny to change.” Venus grinned at Hera. “Especially if Zeus’s wife were to exert some of her influence”—the Goddess of Love purred the word—“on her husband.”
Hera sighed. “Your plan sounds convoluted, complex and open to errors.”
“Exactly why it is so perfect, darling,” Venus said. “Love is never simplistic, and Love is running this show.”
“May all the gods and goddesses help us,” Athena muttered.
Venus ignored her. “So, do we fix up those bodies for the two souls, or do we just stand here looking beautiful?”
“Let’s get to work. I’ve had more than enough of the Trojan War,” Hera said.
“At least that is something with which all three of us agree,” Athena said.
“Absolutely,” Venus said.
The three goddesses strode into Hera’s inner sanctum with the utterly confused Eleithyia trailing after them.