ExplicitNovels

Can You Segway?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

So exactly who was going to be sympathetic to their plight, who we cared about?

Beyond my fevered dream of making a difference there

was a pinch of reality. See, the Cabindans and the people of Zaire were

both ethnic Bakongo and the Bakongo of Zaire had also once had their

own, independent (until 1914) kingdom which was now part of Angola. The

Bakongo were major factions in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) -

(formerly

for a short time known as the nation of Zaire, from here on out to be

referred to as the DRC and in the running for the most fucked up place

on the planet Earth, more on that later)

- and Congo (the nation)

yet a minority in Angola. Having an independent nation united along

ethnic and linguistic lines made sense and could expect support from

their confederates across international boundaries.

The Liberation Air Force

The

Earth & Sky operated under one constant dilemma ~ when would

Temujin make his return? Since they didn't know and it was their job to

be prepared for the eventuality if it happened tomorrow, or a century

down the line, they 'stockpiled', and 'stockpiled' and 'stockpiled'.

That

was why they maintained large horse herds and preserved the ancient

arts of Asian bowyers, armoring and weapons-craft. That was why they

created secret armories, and sulfur and saltpeter sites when musketry

and cannons became the new ways of warfare. They secured sources of

phosphates and petroleum when they became the new thing, and so on.

All

of this boiled over to me being shown yet again I worked with clever,

creative and under-handed people. The Khanate came up with a plan for a

'Union' Air Force {Union? More on that later} within 24 hours, and it

barely touched any of their existing resources. How did they accomplish

this miracle? They had stockpiled and maintained earlier generation

aircraft because they didn't know when Temujin would make his

re-appearance.

They'd also trained pilots and ground crews for

those aircraft. As you might imagine, those people grew old just as

their equipment did. In time, they went into the Earth & Sky's

Inactive Reserves ~ the rank & file over the age of 45. You never

were 'too old' to serve in some capacity though most combat-support

related work ended at 67.

When Temujin made his return and the

E&S transformed into the Khanate, those people went to work bringing

their lovingly cared for, aging equipment up to combat-alert readiness.

If the frontline units were decimated, they would have to serve,

despite the grim odds of their survival. It was the terrible acceptance

the Chinese would simply possess so much more war-making material than

they did.

Well, the Khanate kicked the PRC's ass in a titanic

ass-whooping no one (else) had seen coming, or would soon forget.

Factory production and replacement of worn machines was in stride to

have the Khanate's Air Force ready for the next round of warfare when

the Cease-fire ended and the Reunification War resumed.

Always a

lower priority, the Khanate military leadership was considering

deactivating dozens of these reserve unit when suddenly the (Mongolian) Ikh khaany khairt akh dáé (me)

had this hare-brained scheme about helping rebels in Africa, West

Africa, along the Gulf of Guinea coast/Atlantic Ocean, far, far away,

and it couldn't look like the Khanate was directly involved.

They barely knew where Angola was. They had to look up Cabinda to figure out precisely where that was.

They brought in some of their 'reservist' air staff to this briefing

and one of them, a woman (roughly a third of the E&S

'fighting'/non-frontline forces were female), knew what was going on.

Why?

She had studied the combat records and performance of the

types of aircraft she'd have to utilize... back in the 1980's and 90's

and Angola had been a war zone rife with Soviet (aka Khanate) material

back then. Since she was both on the ball, bright and knew the score,

the War Council put her in overall command. She knew what was expected

of her and off she went, new staff in hand. She was 64 years old, yet as

ready and willing to serve as any 20 year old believer in the Cause.

Subtlety,

scarcity and audacity were the watchwords of the day. The Khanate

couldn't afford any of their front-line aircraft for this 'expedition'.

They really couldn't afford any of their second-rate stuff either.

Fortunately, they had some updated third-rate war-fighting gear still

capable of putting up an impressive show in combat ~ providing they

weren't going up against a top tier opponents.

For the

'volunteers' of the Union Air Force, this could very likely to be a

one-way trip. They all needed crash courses (not a word any air force

loves, I know) in Portuguese though hastily provided iPhones with 'apps'

to act as translators were deemed to be an adequate stop-gap measure.

Besides, they were advised to avoid getting captured at all cost. The

E&S couldn't afford the exposure. Given the opportunity ~ this

assignment really was going above and beyond ~ not one of these forty-six to sixty-seven year olds backed out.

No,

they rolled out fifty of their antiquated aircraft, designs dating back

to the 1950's through the mid-70's, and prepared them for the over

10,000 km journey to where they were 'needed most'. 118 pilots would go

(72 active plus 46 replacements) along with 400 ground crew and an

equally aged air defense battalion (so their air bases didn't get blown

up). Security would be provided by 'outsiders' ~ allies already on the

ground and whatever rebels could be scrounged up. After the initial

insertion, the Indian Air Force would fly in supplies at night into the

Cabinda City and Soyo Airports.

The composition,

14

Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-21 jet fighters ~ though she entered service in

1959, these planes' electronics were late 20th century and she was a

renowned dogfighter. 12 were the Mig-21-97 modernized variant and the

other two were Mig-21 UM two-seater trainer variants which could double

as reconnaissance fighters if needed.

14 Sukhoi Su-22 jet

fighter-bombers ~ the original design, called the Su-17, came out in

1970, the first 12 were variants with the 22M4 upgrade were an

early-80's package. The other 2 were Su-22U two-seat trainers which,

like their Mig-21 comrades, doubled as reconnaissance fighters. The

Su-22M4's would be doing the majority of the ground attack missions for

the Cabindans, though they could defend themselves in aerial combat if

necessary.

6 Sukhoi Su-24M2 supersonic attack aircraft ~ the

first model rolled off the production lines in the Soviet Union back in

1974. By far the heaviest planes in the Cabindan Air Force, the

Su-24M2's would act as their 'bomber force' as well as anti-ship

deterrence.

8 Mil Mi-24 VM combat helicopters ~ introduced in

1972 was still a lethal combat machine today. Unlike the NATO helicopter

force, the Mi-24's did double duty as both attack helicopter and

assault transports at the same time.

4 Mil Mi-8 utility

helicopters, first produced in 1967. Three would act as troop/cargo

transports (Mi-8 TP) while the fourth was configured as a mobile

hospital (the MI-17 1VA).

4 Antonov An-26 turboprop aircraft, two

to be used as tactical transports to bring in supplies by day and two

specializing in electronic intelligence aka listening to what the enemy

was up to. Though it entered production in 1969, many still remained

flying today.

2 Antonov An-71M AEW&C twin-jet engine

aircraft. These were an old, abandoned Soviet design the Earth & Sky

had continued working on primarily because the current (1970's) Russian

Airborne Early Warning and Control bird had been both huge and rather

ineffective ~ it couldn't easily identify low-flying planes in the

ground clutter so it was mainly only good at sea. Since the E&S

planned to mostly fight over the land,

They kept working on the

An-71 which was basically 1977's popular An-72 with some pertinent

design modifications (placing the engines below the wings instead of

above them as on the -72 being a big one). To solve their radar problem,

they stole some from the Swedish tech firm Ericsson, which hadn't been

foreseen to be a problem before now.

See,

the Russians in the post-Soviet era created a decent AEW&C craft

the E&S gladly stole and copied the shit out of for their front line

units and it was working quite nicely ~ the Beriev A-50, and wow, were

the boys in the Kremlin pissed off about that these days. Whoops, or was

that woot?

Now, the Khanate was shipping two An-71's down to

Cabinda and somewhere along the line someone just might get a 'feel' for

the style of radar and jamming the Cabindans were using aka the Swedish

stuff in those An-71's. The Erieye radar system could pick out

individual planes at 280 miles. The over-all system could track 60

targets and plot out 10 intercepts simultaneously. NATO, they were not,

but in sub-Saharan Africa, there were none better.

Anyway, so why was any of this important?

Why the old folks with their ancient machines? As revealed, since the Earth & Sky had no idea when Temüjin

would return, they were constantly squirreling away equipment. World

War 2 gave them unequaled access to Soviet military technology and

training.

Afterwards, under Josef Stalin's direction, thousands

of Russian and German engineers and scientists were exiled to

Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan who were then

snatched up (reportedly died in the gulags/trying to escape) and the

E&S began building mirror factories modeled on the 'then current'

Soviet production lines.

So, by the early 1950's, the E&S was

building, flying and maintaining Soviet-style Antonov, Beriev,

Ilyushin, Myasishchev, Mikoyan-Gurevich, Sukhoi, Tupolev and Yakovlev

airplanes. First in small numbers because their pool of pilots and

specialists was so small.

The E&S remedied this by creating

both their own 'private' flight academies and technical schools. They

protected their activities with the judicious use of bribes (they were

remarkably successful with their economic endeavors on both side of the

Iron Curtain) and murders (including the use of the Ghost Tigers).

By

1960, the proto-Khanate had an air force. Through the next two decades

they refined and altered their doctrine ~ moving away from the Soviet

doctrine to a more pure combined-arms approach (the Soviets divided

their air power into four separate arms ~ ADD (Long Range Aviation), FA

(Front Aviation), MTA (Military Transport Aviation) and the V-PVO

(Soviet Air Defenses ~ which controlled air interceptors).).

It

wasn't until the collapse of the Soviet Union and the independence of

the various former SSR's that the E&S program really began to hit

its stride. Still, while Russia faltered, China's PLAAF (Peoples'

Liberation Army Air Force) began to take off. Since the Chinese could

produce so much more, the E&S felt it had to keep those older planes

and crews up to combat readiness. The younger field crews and pilots

flew the newer models as they rolled off the secret production lines.

Then

the Unification War appeared suddenly, the E&S-turned Khanate Air

Force skunked their PLAAF rivals due to two factors, a surprise attack

on a strategic level and the fatal poisoning of their pilots and ground

crews before they even got into the fight. For those Chinese craft not

destroyed on the ground, the effects of Anthrax eroded their fighting

edge. Comparable technology gave the Khanate their critical victory and

Air Supremacy over the most important battlefields.

What did this

meant for those out-of-date air crews and pilots who had been training

to a razor's edge for a month now? Their assignment had been to face

down the Russians if they invaded. They would take their planes up into

the fight even though this most likely would mean their deaths, but they

had to try.

When Operation Fun House put Russia in a position

where she wasn't likely to jump on the Khanate, this mission's

importance faded. The Russian Air Force was far more stretched than the

Khanate's between her agitations in the Baltic and her commitments in

the Manchurian, Ukrainian, Chechen and Georgian theaters.

With

more new planes rolling off the production lines, these reservist units

began dropping down the fuel priority list, which meant lowering their

flight times thus readiness. Only my hare-brained scheme had

short-circuited their timely retirement. Had I realized I was getting

people's grandparents killed, I would have probably made the same call

anyway. We needed them.

The Kanate

The Khanate's #1 air

superiority dogfighter was the Mig-35F. The #2 was the Mig-29. No one

was openly discussing the Khanate's super-stealthy "Su-50", if that was

what it was, because its existence 'might' suggest the Khanate also

stole technology from the Indian defense industry, along with their

laundry list of thefts from South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the PRC, Russia

and half of NATO.

Her top multi-role fighters were the Su-47,

Su-35S and Su-30SM. The Su-30 'Flanker-C/MK2/MKI were their 2nd team

with plenty of 3rd team Su-27M's still flying combat missions as well.

Strike

fighters? There weren't enough Su-34's to go around yet, so the Su-25MS

remained the Khanate's dedicated Close Air Assault model.

Medium transport aircraft? The An-32RE and An-38. They had small, large and gargantuan transports as well.

Bombers?

The rather ancient jet-powered Tu-160M2's and Tu-22M2's as well as the

even older yet still worthwhile turboprops ~ from 1956's ~ the Tu-95M

S16.

Helicopters? While they still flew updated variants of the

Mil Mi-8/17 as military transports, the more optimized Kamov Ka-52 and

Mil Mi-28 had replaced them in the assault role.

Bizarrely, the

Khanate had overrun several Chinese production lines of the aircraft

frames and components ~ enough to complete fairly modern PLAAF (Peoples

Liberation Army Air Force) FC-1 and J-10 (both are small multi-role

fighter remarkably similar to the US F-16 with the FC-1 being the more

advanced model, using shared Chinese-Pakistani technology and was

designed for export,).

They did have nearly two dozen to send,

but they didn't have the pilots and ground crews trained to work with

them, plus the FC-1 cost roughly $32 million which wasn't fundage any

legitimate Cabindan rebels could get their hands on, much less $768

million (and that would just be for the planes, not the weeks' worth of

fuel, parts and munitions necessary for what was forthcoming).

Meanwhile,

except for the An-26, which you could get for under $700,000 and the

An-71, which were only rendered valuable via 'black market tech', none

of the turboprop and jet aircraft the Khanate was sending were what any

sane military would normally want. The helicopters were expensive ~ the

'new' models Mi-24's cost $32 million while the Mi-17's set you back $17

million. The one's heading to Cabinda didn't look 'new'.

The Opposition:

In

contrast, the Angolan Air Force appeared far larger and more modern.

Appearances can be deceptive, and they were. Sure, the models of Russian

and Soviet-made aircraft they had in their inventory had the higher

numbers ~ the Su-25, -27 and -30 ~ plus they had Mig-21bis's, Mig-23's

and Su-22's, but things like training and up-keep didn't appear to be

priorities for the Angolans.

When you took into account the

rampant corruption infecting all levels of Angolan government, the

conscript nature of their military, the weakness of their technical

educational system, the complexity of any modern combat aircraft and the

reality that poor sods forced into being Air Force ground crewmen

hardly made the most inspired technicians, or most diligent care-takers

of their 'valuable' stockpiles (which their officers all too often sold

on the black market anyway), things didn't just look bleak for the

Angolan Air Force, they were a tsunami of cumulative factors heading

them for an epic disaster.

It wasn't only their enemies who

derided their Air Force's lack of readiness. Their allies constantly

scolded them about it too. Instead of trying to fix their current

inventory, the Angolans kept shopping around for new stuff. Since

'new'-new aircraft was beyond what they wanted to spend (aka put too

much of a dent in the money they were siphoning off to their private

off-shore accounts), they bought 'used' gear from former Soviet states ~

Belarus, Russia and Ukraine ~ who sold them stuff they had left

abandoned in revetments (open to the elements to slowly rot) on the

cheap.

To add to the insanity, the Angolans failed to keep up

their maintenance agreements so their newly fixed high-tech machines

often either couldn't fly, or flew without critical systems, like radar,

avionics and even radios. Maybe that wasn't for the worst because after

spending millions on these occasionally-mobile paperweights, the

Angolans bought the least technologically advanced missile, gun and rocket systems they could get to put on these flying misfortunes.

On

the spread sheets, Angola had 18 Su-30K's, 18 Su-27, 12 Su-25's, 14

Su-22's, 22 Mig-23's, 23 Mig-21bis's and 6 Embraer EMB 314 Super Tucano

(a turboprop aircraft tailor-made for counter-insurgency operations),

105 helicopters with some combative ability and 21 planes with some

airlift capacity. That equated to 81 either air superiority, or

multi-role jet fighters versus the 12 Union Air Force (actually the

Bakongo Uni o de Cabinda e Zaire, For as Armadas de Liberta  o, For a Area ~ Liberation Armed Forces, Air Force (BUCZ-FAL-FA) Mig-21-97's.

It

would seem lopsided except for the thousands of hours of flight

experience the 'Unionists' enjoyed over their Angolan rivals. You also

needed to take into account the long training and fanatic dedication of

their ground crews to their pilots and their craft. Then you needed to

take into account every Unionist aircraft, while an older airframe

design, had updated (usually to the year 2000) technology lovingly cared

for, as if the survival of their People demanded it.

A second

and even more critical factor was the element of surprise. At least the

PRC and the PLAAF had contingencies for attacks from their neighbors in

the forefront of their strategic planning. The Angolans? The only

country with ANY air force in the vicinity was the Republic of South

Africa (RSA) and they had ceased being a threat with the end of

Apartheid and the rise of majority Black rule in that country nearly two

decades earlier.

In the pre-dawn hours of 'Union Independence

Day', the FAL-FA was going to smash every Angolan Air base and air

defense facility within 375 miles of Cabinda (the city). Every three

hours after that, they would be hitting another target within their

designated 'Exclusion Zone'. Yes, this 'Exclusion Zone' included a

'tiny' bit of DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) territory. The DRC

didn't have an air force to challenge them though, so,

Inside

this 'Exclusion Zone', anything moving by sea, river, road, rail, or air

without Unionist governmental approval was subject to attack, which

would require neutral parties to acknowledge some semblance of a free

and independent B U C Z. Worse for Angola, this 'Zone' included Angola's

capital and its largest port, Luanda, plus four more of their ten

largest urban centers. This could be an economic, military and

humanitarian catastrophe if mishandled.

The Angolan Army did not

have significant anti-aircraft assets. Why would they? Remember, no one

around them had much of an air force to worry about. The FAL-FA in turn

could hit military convoys with TV-guided munitions 'beyond line of

sight', rendering what they did have useless. It got worse for the Army

after dark. The FAL-FA could and would fly at night whereas the average

Angolan formation had Zip-Zero-Nadda night fighting capacity.

Then

geography added its own mountain of woes. As far as Cabinda was

concerned, there was no direct land line to their border from Angola.

Their coastal road only went as far as the port of Soyo where the Congo

River hit the South Atlantic Ocean. Across that massive gap was the DRC

where the road was not picked back up. Far up the coast was the DRC town

of Muanda (with an airport) and though they did have a road which went

north, it did not continue to the Cabindan border.

Nope. To get

at Cabinda from the south meant a long, torturous travel through

northeastern Angola, into the heart of the DRC then entailed hooking

west to some point 'close' to the Cabindan frontier before finally

hoofing it overland through partially cleared farmland and jungle. Mind

you, the DRC didn't have a native air force capable of protecting the

Angolans in their territory so,

In fact the only 'road' to

Cabinda came from the Republic of Congo (Congo) to the north and even

that was a twisted route along some really bad, swampy terrain. This had

been the pathway of conquest the Angolans took 39 years earlier. The

difference being the tiny bands of pro-independence Cabindan guerillas

back then couldn't hold a candle to the Amazons fighting to free Cabinda

this time around in numbers, zeal, training and up-to-date equipment.

Next

option ~ to come by sea. They would face a few, stiff problems, such as

the FAL-FA having ship-killer missiles, the Angolan Navy not being able

to defend them and the Unionists having no compunction to not strike

Pointe-Noire in the 'not so neutral' Republic of the Congo if they

somehow began unloading Angolan troops. It seemed the Republic of the

Congo didn't have much of an Air Force either.

Before you think

the FAL-FA was biting off more than they could chew, Cabinda, the

province, was shaped somewhat like the US State of Delaware, was half

the size of Connecticut (Cabinda was 2,810 sq. mi. to Conn.'s 5,543 sq.

mi.) and only the western 20% was relatively open countryside where the

Angolan Army's only advantage ~ they possessed armed fighting vehicles

while the 'Unionists' did not (at this stage of planning) ~ could

hopefully come into play.

Centered at their capital, Cabinda

(City), jets could reach any point along their border within eight

minutes. Helicopters could make it in fifteen. To be safe, some of the

FAL-FA would base at the town of Belize which was in the northern

upcountry and much tougher to get at with the added advantage the

Angolans wouldn't be expecting the FAL-FA to be using the abandoned

airfield there, at least initially.

Where they afraid attacking

Angolan troops in the DRC would invite war with the DRC? Sure, but

letting the Angolans reach the border unscathed was worse. Besides, the

DRC was in such a mess it needed 23,000 UN Peacekeepers within her

borders just to keep the country from falling apart. Barring outside,

read European, intervention, did "Democratically-elected since 2001"

President (for Life) Joseph Kabila want the FAL-FA to start dropping

bombs on his capital, Kinshasa, which was well within reach of all their

aircraft?

Congo (the country), to the north, wasn't being

propped up by the UN, or anything else except ill intentions. In

reality, it hardly had much of a military at all. Its officer corps was

chosen for political reliability, not merit, or capability. Their

technology was old Cold War stuff with little effort to update anything

and, if you suspected corruption might be a problem across all spectrums

of life, you would 'probably' be right about that too.

If you

suspected the current President had been in charge for a while, you

would be correct again (1979-1992 then 2001- and the 'whoops' was when

he accidently let his country experiment with democracy which led to two

civil wars). If you suspected he was a life-long Communist (along with

the Presidents of the DRC and Angola), you'd be right about that as

well. Somehow their shared Marxist-Leninist-Communist ideology hadn't

quite translated over to alleviating the grinding poverty in any of

those countries despite their vast mineral wealth,

At this point

in the region's history, little Cabinda had everything to gain by

striving for independence and the vast majority of 'warriors' who could

possibly be sent against her had terribly little to gain fighting and

dying trying to stop them from achieving her goal. After all, their

lives weren't going to get any better and with the Amazons ability ~ nay

willingness ~ to commit battlefield atrocities, those leaders were

going to find it hard going to keep sending their men off to die.

And then, it got even worse.

See,

what I had pointed out was there were two oil refineries in Angola, and

neither was in Cabinda. Cabinda would need a refinery to start making

good on their oil wealth ~ aka economically bribe off the Western

economies already shaken over the Khanate's first round of aggressions.

But wait! There was an oil refinery just across

the Congo River from Cabinda ~ which meant it was attached to mainland

Angola. That had to be a passel of impossible news, right?

Nope.

As I said earlier, it seemed the people of northern Angola were the same

racial group as the Cabindans AND majority Catholic while the ruling

clique wasn't part of their ethnic confederacy plus the farther south

and east into Angola you went, the less Catholic it became.

But

it got better. This province was historically its own little independent

kingdom (called the Kingdom of Kongo) to boot! It had been abolished by

Portugal back in 1914.

The 'good' news didn't end there. Now, it

wasn't as if the leadership of Angola was spreading the wealth around

to the People much anyway, but these northerners had been particularly

left out of this Marxist version of 'Trickle Down' economics.

How

bad was this? This northwestern province ~ called Zaire ~ didn't have

any railroads, or paved roads, linking it to the rest of the freaking

country. The 'coastal road' entered the province, but about a third of

the way up ran into this river, which they'd failed to bridge (you had

to use a single track bridge farther to the northeast, if you can

believe it). It wasn't even a big river. It was still an obstacle

though.

How did the Angolan government and military planned to

get around? Why by air and sea, of course. Well, actually by air. Angola

didn't have much of a merchant marine, or Navy, to make sealift a

serious consideration. Within hours of the 'Union Declaration of

Independence' anything flying anywhere north of the Luanda, the capital

of Angola, would essentially be asking to be blown out of the sky.

Along

the border between Zaire province and the rest of Angola were precisely

two chokepoints. By 'chokepoints', I meant places where a squad (10

trained, modernly-equipped troopers) could either see everything for

miles & miles over pretty much empty space along a river valley and

the only bridge separating Zaire province from the south, or overlook a

ravine which the only road had to pass through because of otherwise

bad-ass, broken terrain.

Two.

Zaire Province had roughly

the same population as Cabinda ~ 600,000. Unlike Cabinda, which

consisted of Cabinda City plus a few tiny towns and rugged jungles,

Zaire had two cities ~ Soyo, with her seventy thousand souls plus the

refinery at the mouth of the Congo River, and M'banza-Kongo, the

historical capital of the Kingdom of Kongo, spiritual center of the

Bakongo People (who included the Cabindans) and set up in the highlands

strategically very reminiscent of Điện Biàn Phủ.

Of

Zaire's provincial towns, the only other strategic one was N'Zeto with

her crappy Atlantic port facility and 2,230 meter grass airport. The

town was the northern terminus of the National Road 100 ~ the Coastal

Road. It terminated because of the Mebridege River. There wasn't a

bridge at N'Zeto though there was a small one several miles upstream.

N'Zeto was also where the road from provinces east of Zaire ended up, so

you had to have N'Zeto ~ and that tiny bridge ~ to move troops overland

anywhere else in Zaire Province.

So you would think it would be

easy for the Angolan Army to defend then, except of how the Amazons

planned to operate. They would infiltrate the area first then 'rise up

in rebellion'. Their problem was the scope of the operation had

magnified in risk of exposure, duration and forces necessary for

success.

The

serious issue before Saint Marie and the Host in Africa were the first

two. They could actually move Amazons from Brazil and North America to

bolster their numbers for the upcoming offensive. Even in the

short-short term, equipment wouldn't be a serious problem. What the

Amazons dreaded was being left in a protracted slugfest with the Angolan

Army which the Condottieri could jump in on. The Amazons exceedingly

preferred to strike first then vanish.

There was reason to

believe a tiny number could have stayed behind in Cabinda to help the

locals prepare their military until they could defend themselves. They

would need more than a hundred Amazons if Cabinda wanted to incorporate

Zaire. The answer was to call back their newfound buddy, the Great Khan.

While he didn't have much else he could spare (the Khanate was ramping

up for their invasion of the Middle East after all, the Kurds needed the

help), he had other allies he could call on.

India couldn't help

initially since they were supposed to supply the 'Peace-keepers' once a

cease-fire had been arranged. That left Temujin with his solid ally,

Vietnam, and his far shakier allies, the Republic of China and Japan.

First

off ~ Japan could not help, which meant they couldn't supply troops who

might very well end up dead, or far worse, captured.. What they did

have was a surplus of older equipment the ROC troops were familiar with,

so while the ROC was gearing up for their own invasion of mainland

China in February, they were willing to help the Chinese kill Angolans,

off the books, of course.

The ROC was sending fifteen hundred

troops the Khanate's way to help in this West African adventure with the

understanding they'd be coming home by year's end. With Vietnam adding

over eight hundred of her own Special Forces, the Amazons had the tiny

'allied' army they could leave shielding Cabinda/Zaire once the first

round of blood-letting was over.

To be 'fair', the Republic of

China and Vietnam asked for 'volunteers'. It wasn't like either country

was going to declare war on Angola directly. Nearly a thousand members

of Vietnam's elite 126th Regiment of the 5th Brigade (Đặc cáng

bộ) took early retirement then misplaced their equipment as they went

to update their visas and inoculations before heading out for the DRC

(some would be slipping over the DRC/Cabindan border).

On Taiwan,

it was the men and women of the 602nd Air Cavalry Brigade, 871st

Special Operations Group and 101st Amphibious Reconnaissance Battalion

who felt the sudden desire to 'seek enlightenment elsewhere, preferably on another continent'.

They

too were off to the Democratic Republic of Congo, man that country was a

mess and their border security wasn't worth writing home about, that's

for damn sure, via multiple Southeast Asian nations. Besides, they were

being issued fraudulently visas which showed them to be from the

People's Republic of China, not the ROC/Taiwan. If they were captured,

they were to pretend to "be working for a Communist Revolution inside Angola and thus to be setting all of Africa on fire!" aka be Mainland Chinese.

There,

in the DRC, these Chinese stumbled across, some Japanese. These folks

hadn't retired. No. They were on an extended assignment for the UN's

mission in, the DRC. OH! And look! They'd brought tons of surplus,

outdated Japanese Self Defense Forces' equipment with them, and there

just so happened to be some Taiwanese who had experience in using such

equipment (both used US-style gear).

And here was Colonel

Yoshihiro Isami of the Chūō Sokuō Shūdan (Japan's Central Readiness

Force) wondering why he and his hastily assembled team had just

unloaded,

18 Fuji/Bell AH-1S Cobra Attack helicopters,

6 Kawasaki OH-6D Loach Scout helicopters,

12 Fuji-Bell 204-B-2 Hiyodori Utility helicopters,

6 Kawasaki/Boeing CH-47JA Chinook Transport helicopters and

4 Mitsubishi M U-2L-1 Photo Reconnaissance Aircraft.

Yep! 46 more aircraft for the FAL-FA!

Oh,

and if this wasn't 'bad enough', the Chinese hadn't come alone. They'd

brought some old aircraft from their homes to aid in the upcoming

struggle. Once more, these things were relics of the Cold War yet both

capable fighting machines and, given the sorry state of the opposition,

definitely quite deadly. A dozen F-5E Tiger 2000 configured primarily

for air superiority plus two RF-5E Tigergazer for reconnaissance, pilots

plus ground crews, of course.

Thus, on the eve of battle, the

FAL-FA had become a true threat. Sure, all of its planes (and half of

its pilots) were pretty old, but they were combat-tested and in numbers

and experience no other Sub-Saharan African nation could match.

The Liberation Ground Forces:

But

wait, there was still the niggling little problem of what all those

fellas were going to fight with once they were on the ground.

Assault/Battle rifles, carbines, rifles, pistols, PDW, SMGs as bullets,

grenades and RPG's were all terrifyingly easy to obtain. The coast of

West Africa was hardly the Port of London as far as customs security

went. They were going to need some bigger toys and their host nations

were going to need all their native hardware for their upcoming battles

at home.

And it wasn't like you could advertise for used IFV

(Infantry Fighting Vehicles), APCs (armored personnel carriers) and

tanks on e-Bay, Amazon.com, or Twitter. If something modern US, or NATO,

was captured rolling around the beautiful Angolan countryside, shooting

up hostile Angolans, all kinds of head would roll in all kinds of

countries, unless the country,

A) had an Executive Branch and Judiciary who wouldn't ask (or be answering) too many uncomfortable questions,

B) wasn't all that vulnerable to international pressure,

C) really needed the money and,

D)

didn't give a fuck their toys would soon be seen on BBC/CNN/Al Jazeera

blowing the ever-living crap out of a ton of Africans aka doing what

they were advertised to do and doing it very well in the hands of

capable professionals.

And politics was kind enough to hand the freedom-loving people of Cabinda & Zaire a winner, and it wasn't even from strangers,

or at least people all that strange to their part of the Globe. If you

would have no idea who to look for, you wouldn't be alone.

That

was the magic of the choice. See, the last three decades had seen the

entire Globe take a colossal dump on them as a Nation and a People. They

were highly unpopular for all sorts of things, such as Crimes Against

Humanity and 'no', we were not talking about the Khanate.

We would be talking about Република Србија / Republika Srbija aka

Serbia aka the former Yugoslavia who had watched all their satellite

minions (Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Montenegro, Kosovo

and Macedonia) slip away. Despite being reduced to a tiny fraction of

their former selves thus fighting two incredibly brutal and bloody World

Wars for nothing, Serbia insisted on maintaining a robust armaments industry.

Mind

you, they didn't make the very best stuff on the planet. That didn't

stop them from trying though. Of equal importance was their geographic

location and the above mentioned desire for some hard currency without

asking too many questions. The geography was simple, you could move even

heavy gear unnoticed from central Serbia to the Montenegrin port of Bar

by rail and load them up on freighters and off to the Congo you went.

The

Serbians produced an APC called the BVP M-80A's which weren't blowing

anyone's minds away when they started rolling off the production lines

back in 1982, plus some over-eager types on the Serbian Army's payroll

sweetened the deal by offering 'the rebels' some BVP M-80 KC's and a KB

as well.

Then they slathered on the sugary-sweet Maple syrup by

upgrading a few of the M-80A's to BVP M-98A's. Why would they be so

generous? The KC's and KB were the Command & Control variants, so

that made sense (C = company & B = battalion commander). The -98A

had never been tested in the field before and they were kind of curious

how the new turrets (which was the major difference) would behave. 'Our'

procurement agents didn't quibble. We needed the gear.

Besides,

these Slavic entrepreneurs gave them an inside track on some

'disarmed/mothballed' Czech (introduced in 1963) armored mobile

ambulances and Polish BWP-1 (first rolled out in 1966) APC's which were

either in, or could be quickly configured into, the support variants

those ground-fighters would need. The 'disarmed' part was 'fixable',

thanks to both the Serbians and Finland. The 'missing' basic weaponry

was something the Serbians could replace with virtually identical

equipment.

It just kept getting better. Unknown to me at the time, the Finnish firm, Patria Hágglunds, had sold twenty-two of their 'most excellent' AMOS

turrets ~ they are a twin 120 mm mortar system ~ then the deal fell

through. Whoops! Should have guarded that warehouse better. Those

bitches were on a cargo plane bound for Albania inside of six hours.

The

ammunition for them was rather unique. Thankfully, it was uniquely sold

by the Swiss, who had no trouble selling it to Serbia, thank you very

much! Twenty-two BWP-1's became mobile artillery for the Unionist

freedom fighters, though I understood the ship ride with the Serbian and

Chinese technicians was loads of fun as they struggled to figured out

how to attach those state-of-the-art death-dealing turrets to those

ancient contraptions.

To compensate, the Serbians added (aka as

long as our money was good) two Nora B-52 155 mm 52-calibre mobile

artillery pieces and one battery of Orkan CER MLRS (Multiple Launch

Rocket System) for long-range artillery, two batteries of their Oganj

2000 ER MRLS for medium range carnage and six batteries of their M-94

MRLS for 'close support' as well. More field-testing new gear for the

"freedom fighters" We also managed to 'purchase' ten M-84AS Main Battle

tanks plus an M-84A1 armor recovery vehicle. It should have been twelve

tanks, but two had 'loading issues'.

Not to be deterred, our busy

little procurement-beavers discovered four tanks no one was using, in

neighboring Croatia. Why wasn't anyone immediately keen on their

placement? They were two sets of prototypes, Croatia's improvements on

the M-84; the M-95 Degman which was a 'failed redesign' and the M-84D,

which was a vast up-grade for the M-84 line which had been sidelined by

the 2008 Global economic collapse, after which the project stagnated.

It

seemed they were all in working order because late one night 'my

people' exited a Croatian Army base with them, never to be seen again,

until two weeks later when an intrepid news crew caught the distinctive

form of the M-95 sending some sweet 125 mm loving the Angolan Army's

way. Whoops yet again! At least they hit what they were aiming at and

destroyed what they hit, right?

By then, millions of other people

would be going 'what the fuck?' right along with them as Cabinda's

camouflage- and mask-wearing rebel army was laying the smack-down on the

Angolans. That was okay; over a million 'free Cabindan Unionists' were

in the same boat. Over a thousand Asians with their mostly-female

militant translators were right there to prop up their 'Unionist

Allies', but then they were the ones with the tanks, armored vehicles,

planes and guns, so they were less worried than most.

To pilot

these tanks, APC, IFV and man this artillery, they had to go back to the

Khanate. Sure enough, they had some old tankers used to crewing the

T-72 from which the M-84's and -95 Degman were derived. They'd also need

drivers for those BVP M-80A's and Polish BWP-1's and OT-64 SKOT's...

who were, again, derived from old Soviet tech (just much better). The

Serbian artillery was similar enough to Soviet stuff, but with enough

new tech to make it 'more fun' for the reservists to 'figure out' how to

use.

More volunteers for the Liberation Armed Forces! More Apple

sales, great apps and voice modulation software so that the vehicle

commanders would be heard communicating in Portuguese if someone was

eavesdropping. As a final offering the Turkish Navy spontaneously

developed some plans to test their long range capabilities by going to,

the South Atlantic.

On the final leg they would have six frigates

and two submarines, enough to give any navy in the region, which wasn't

Brazil, something to think about. This was a show of force, not an

actual threat though. If anyone called their bluff, the Khanate-Turkish

forces would have to pull back. These were not assets my Brother, the

Great Khan, could afford to gamble and lose.

If someone didn't

call that bluff, he was also sending two smaller, older corvettes and

three even smaller, but newer, fast attack boats, a "gift" to the

Unionists ASAP. The frigates would then race home, they had 'other'

issues to deal with while the submarines would hang around for a bit.

The naval gift was necessitated by the reality the Unionists would have

to press their claim to their off-shore riches and that required a naval

force Angola couldn't hope to counter.

As things were

developing, it was reckoned since a build-up of such momentous land and

air power couldn't be disguised, it had to happen in a matter of days ~

four was decided to be the minimum amount of time. More than that and

the government of the Democratic Republic might start asking far too

many questions our hefty bribes and dubious paperwork couldn't cover.

Less than that would leave the task forces launching operations with too

little a chance of success.

Our biggest advantage was audacity.

The buildup would happen 100 km up the Congo River from Soyo, the

primary target of the Southern Invasion, in the DRC's second largest

port city, Boma. Though across the river was Angolan territory, there

was nothing there. The city of roughly 160,000 would provide adequate

cover for the initial stage of the invasion.

There they grouped

their vehicles & Khanate drivers with Amazon and Vietnamese combat

teams. The Japanese were doing the same for their 'Chinese' counterparts

for their helicopter-borne forces. Getting all their equipment in

working order in the short time left was critical as was creating some

level of unit dynamic. Things were chaotic. No one was happy. They were

all going in anyway.

What had gone wrong?

While

most children her age were texting their schoolmates, or tackling their

homework, Aya Ruger ~ the alias of Nasusara Assiyaiá hamai

~ was getting briefings of her global, secret empire worth hundreds of

billions and those of her equally nefarious compatriots. She received a

very abbreviated version of what the Regents received, delivered by a

member of Shawnee Arinniti's staff.

When Aya hopped off her chair

unexpectedly, everyone tensed. Her bodyguards' hands went to their

sidearms and Lorraine (her sister by blood), also in the room on this

occasion, stood and prepared to tackle her 'former' sibling to the

ground if the situation escalated into an assassination attempt. No such

attack was generated, so the security ratcheted down and the attendant

returned her focus to her Queen. Aya paced four steps, turned and

retraced her way then repeated the action three more times.

"How many people live in the combined areas?" she asked.

"The combined areas? Of Cabinda and Zaire?"

"Yes."

"I," the woman referenced her material, "roughly 1.1 million."

"What is the yearly value of the offshore oil and natural gas production?"

"Forty-nine billion, eighty hundred and sixty-seven million by our best estimates at this time,"

"How many live in Soyo City proper?"

"Roughly 70,000."

"We

take Soyo," she spoke in a small yet deliberate voice. "We take and

hold Soyo as an independent city-state within the Cabindan-Zaire Union.

From the maps it appears Soyo is a series of islands. It has a port and

airport. It has an open border to an ocean with weaker neighbors all

around."

"What of the, Zairians?"

"Bakongo. As a people

they are called the Bakongo," Aya looked up at the briefer. "We relocate

those who need to work in Soyo into a new city, built at our expense,

beyond the southernmost water barrier. The rest we pay to relocate

elsewhere in Zaire, or Cabinda."

By the looks of those around her, Aya realized she needed to further explain her decisions.

"This

is more than some concrete home base for our People," she began

patiently. "In the same way it gives our enemies a clearly delineated

target to attack us, it is a statement to our allies we won't cut and

run if things go truly bad."

"In the same way it will provide us

with diplomatic recognition beyond what tenuous handouts we are getting

from Cáel Wakko Ishara's efforts through JIKIT. Also, it is a reminder

we are not like the other Secret Societies in one fundamental way, we

are not a business concern, or a religion. We are a People and people

deserve some sort of homeland. We have gone for so long without."

"But Soyo?" the aide protested. "We have no ties to it, and it backs up to, nothing."

"Northern

Turkey and southern Slovakia mean nothing to us now as well," Aya

debated. "No place on Earth is any more precious than another. As for

backing up to nothing, no. You are incorrect. It backs into a promise

from our allies in the Earth & Sky that if we need support, they

know where to park their planes and ships."

Aya was surrounded with unhappy, disbelieving looks.

"The Great Khan is my mamētu meáeda," she reminded them, "and I have every reason to believe he completely grasps the concept's benefits and obligations."

The looks confirmed 'but he's a man' to the tiny Queen.

"Aya, are you sure about this?" Lorraine was the first to break decorum.

"Absolutely. Do you know what he sent me when he was informed of my, ascension to the Queendom?"

"No," Lorraine admitted.

"We must go horse-riding sometime soon, Daughter of Cáel, Queen of the Amazons."

More uncertain and unconvinced looks.

"He

didn't congratulate me, or send any gifts. He could have and you would

think he would have, but he didn't. He knew the hearts of me & my

Atta and we weren't in the celebratory mood. No. The Great Khan sent one

sentence which offered solace and quiet, atop a horse on a windswept

bit of steppe."

Nothing.

Sigh. "I know this sounds

Cáel-ish," Aya admitted, "but I strongly believe this is what we should

do. We are giving the Cabindans and Bakongo in Zaire independence and

the promise of a much better life than what they now face. We will be

putting thousands of our sisters' lives on the line to accomplish this

feat and well over two hundred million dollars."

"What about governance of the city ~ Soyo?" the aide forged ahead.

"Amazon

law," Aya didn't hesitate. "We will make allowances for the security

forces of visiting dignitaries and specific allied personnel, but

otherwise it will be one massive Amazon urban freehold."

"I cannot imagine the Golden Mare, or the Regents, will be pleased," the attendant bowed her head.

"It

is a matter of interconnectivity," Aya walked up and touched the

woman's cheek with the back of her small hand. "We could liberate then

abandon Cabinda with the hope a small band could help them keep their

independence. Except we need the refinery at Soyo so the people of

Cabinda can truly support that liberty."

"So, we must keep Soyo

and to keep Soyo, we must keep Zaire province. There is no other lesser

border which makes strategic sense ~ a river, highlands, a massive

river, an ocean ~ those are sustainable frontiers. You can't simply keep

Soyo and not expect the enemy to strike and destroy that refinery, thus

we must take Zaire province."

"But the Bakongo of Zaire cannot

defend themselves and will not be able to do so for at least a year, if

not longer. That means we must do so, and for doing so, they will give

us Soyo and we will be honest stewards of their oil wealth. We cannot

expect any other power to defend this new Union and if we don't have a

land stake we will be portrayed as mercenaries and expelled by hostile

international forces."

"So,

for this project to have any chance of success, we must stay, fight and

have an acknowledged presence, and if you can think of an alternative,

please let me know," she exhaled.

"What if the Cabindans and Bakongo resist?"

"It

is 'us', or the Angolans and they know how horrible the Angolans can

be. Didn't you say the average person their lives on just $2 a day?"

"Yes."

"We can do better than that," Aya insisted.

"How?" the aide persisted. "I mean, 'how in a way which will be quickly evident and meaningful?'"

"Oh," Aya's tiny brow furrowed. Her nose twitched as she rummaged through the vast storehouse of her brain.

"Get

me in touch with William A. Miller, Director of the U.S. Diplomatic

Security Service. He should be able to help me navigate the pathways

toward getting aid and advisors into those two provinces ASAP."

"I'll let Katrina know," the attendant made the notation on her pad.

"No.

Contact him directly," Aya intervened. "We established a, rapport when

we met. I think he might responded positively to a chance to mentor me

in foreign relations."

"Really?" Lorraine's brows arched.

"Yes," Aya chirped.

"Are

you sure, Nasusara?" the attendant stared. She used 'Nasusara' whenever

she thought Aya had a 'horrible' idea instead of a merely a 'bad' one.

"Yes. He owes me. Last time we met I didn't shoot him."

"Didn't?" the woman twitched.

"Yes.

I drew down on him with my captured Chinese QSW-06. I didn't want to

kill him, but I felt I was about to have to kill Deputy National

Security Advisor Blinken and he was the only other person in the room

both armed and capable of stopping me."

"Why is he still alive?"

"Cáel Ishara saw through my distraction and then took my gun from me, asked for it actually," she shyly confessed.

"Would you have shot him?" the aide inquired.

"What do you think?" Aya smiled.

And Then:

So,

given the extended scope of the operation by both a second province and

the Queen's demands, which necessitated the increased time table by an

extra two weeks, the Amazons, Coils of the Serpent and Cult of the

Jaguar were forced to bring in extra people. For the Amazons, the

primary additions were Security Detail from North and South America and

every available runner and House Amazons they could risk removing from

Brazil.

For the Coils, it was the advantage of sending three Cult

'cells' after their hardest targets, the two Provincial Governors and

the Head of the Northern Military Region (aka Cabinda) plus their

staffs. The Coils spent their resources subverting a few MPLA (the

ruling party of Angola) members into enticing other key members to

gather as the coup d'etat

was going down so they could all be swept up quickly. Such was the

arrogance of the ruling elite that a roundup was possible.

They

were also able to recruit non-aligned yet sympathetic

Portuguese-speakers, so once the takeover was successful they would be

able to translate the transition over to the actual Cabindan

revolutionaries, who weren't being informed because they weren't really

trusted.

Finally, the Coils also made use of the extra time to

plot out their own desperate inter-clan operation which they would hope

give them some 'personal leverage' which would turn their temporary

battlefield successes into a cease-fire which, in turn, would result in

the lasting peace the Angolan government wasn't expecting. Indeed,

theirs was a different battlefield all together.

And now, back to Cáel

{12:30 am central time, Tuesday, September 9th ~ Three days before the Great Hunt}

I

doubted my home would ever look the same. A firefight had happened here

and no amount of cleaning and patching up of the bullet holes would

change that. The police had taken away the heavy floor lamp Dad had used

in those last minutes of his life to strike at those trying to kidnap

him, even if he had battled on the correct side by accident.

There

was also the damage caused by the two grenades used on the property,

one outside at the southeastern corner and the other inside. Grenades. I

couldn't imagine any house built to withstand such blasts, though I'm

sure the Amazons built them, somewhere, for some contingency. Bless

their paranoid little hearts.

I began crying again. A delayed

soliloquy for my departed patriarch. I had so much else to do in my life

since his death, no, his murder, that I hadn't really had a good cry in

a while to mourn him with the sympathy he deserved. I wondered how he'd

feel finally realizing Mom was still alive, out there and reunited with

her Son.

Knowing Dad it would be something like, "Don't blame

her, Cáel. She had to go and you and I had to stay, so we picked up the

pieces of our lives and carried on. Now that she's back, embrace the

time you do have."

I never saw him stay angry with my Mom about anything, such was his love for her. Now he was gone and I had her back.

Most

kids couldn't imagine how lucky I was to have two parents so dedicated

to their offspring they would surrender their own happiness for that

child's life. In that moment I realized I was indeed a lucky man. I had a

titan of a Father who cared for me deeply and allowed me to be the best

me I could be. And I had a Mother, who was a genetically engineered

super-spy. What was not to love?

"Ishara," Juanita called out

softly. I thought she was respecting my sorrow. "Ishara, a car has

pulled up in front of the domicile." Or, maybe not.

I walked over

to take a look out the front window to see who it might be. One sports

sedan wasn't what I thought a hit squad would come in. The driver got

out and looked my way. It was Cameron Sanders.

"I know her," I

related. "We went to High School together," was added because I knew a

whole host of scurrilous women who could kill me if the mood took them.

A

second woman got out, this time from the passenger side. It took me a

moment through the darkness to make her out under the light of the

street lamp. It was Cameron's BFF in High School, Tiffany Christiansen.

While not as volcanically hot as Cameron, she was definitely stroke

worthy.

I had to wonder why they were here, not really. The last

time I'd seen Cameron, she had this wistful smile on her face and a

freshly-fucked glow ~ smile and glow courtesy of yours truly. I had then

gone off to get my ass kicked by some 9 Clans hotties, one of whom was

now carrying two of my offspring, Miyako. Those two local girls were

walking up the walkway toward my front door.

I noticed Juanita had her Glock drawn.

"I

think they are here to offer their condolences, not kill me," I

reminded Juanita. Well, maybe they planned to kill me with sex, but they

clearly had no clue who they were dealing with if that was the case.

"The death of your father was months ago," my bodyguard countered.

"Yes,

but not everyone I went to high school with has had the chance to

express their condolences over his passing," I volleyed. I also stepped

up and opened the door before they could ring the bell.

"Cameron and Tiffany, long time, no see," I greeted them.

"Cáel, you look as good as ever," Cameron responded.

"I'm

surprised you remember who I am," Tiffany smiled. "Cameron tells me you

have so many women around you these days." She wasn't too surprised.

"Come in. Come in," I stepped aside. "The woman with me tonight is my bodyguard, Juanita Leya Antonio Garza."

"Oh," Tiffany's mouth gaped and her breath caught. "You need a bodyguard now?"

"Yes. I'm reckless. I need to be protected from myself, most often."

"Ain't that the truth," Juanita muttered.

"Juanita,

this is Cameron Sanders and Tiffany Christiansen," I made the

introductions. "So ladies, what brings you two to darken my doorway

tonight?"

"I, I'm embarrassed to say," Cameron blushed. "I paid

one of your neighbors to give me a call when you stopped by, and she

did, so here we are."

"We?"

"Yes. Tiffany and I were on a

girl's night out when the call came and she recalled me talking about

our last encounter and wanted to see you, too," Cameron explained.

"I'm just surprised you are already the director of a Fortune 500 company," Tiffany added.

"Dad

was full of surprises," I sighed. "I inherited the position from his

family tree. My Mother's family came with other gifts."

"Like your Irish diplomatic position, or was that your Khanate patent of nobility?" Tiffany guessed.

"Actually,

I earned my position in the Khanate, I did a friend a favor, but you

are right about the Irish side being my Mother's doing," I allowed.

"So Tiffany, what have you been up to?" I tacked on.

"I'm a loan officer at Wells Fargo.

"So, you are a bastion of the Establishment," I teased.

"Yes, yes, I am. I'm crushing the hopes and dreams of the Work Class on a daily basis," she snickered. "What about you?"

"I'm nobody," I snorted.

"A

director of a fortune 500 Company is hardly a 'nobody'," she countered.

"Besides, aren't you engaged to a billionaire heiress?"

"That's all just window-dressing for my otherwise dull life," I insisted.

"Weren't you kidnapped several weeks ago only to be rescued by some US Marines in the middle of the Pacific?" Cameron piled on.

"I also don't remember you being this fun in High School," Tiffany added.

"We

ran in different crowds, which is to say you ran with the Elite Clique

while I ran in a circle of one. Even my D and D buddies didn't want to

be seen with me during school hours," I joked.

"That's harsh. Well, you are definitely somebody now. In fact you may be our most distinguished alum," Tiffany pointed out.

"You aren't ashamed to be seen with us now, are you?" Cameron moved close to a cuddling contact.

"No, but let me take care of something," I disengaged and hot footed it over to Juanita.

"Just

so you know, I will leave your ass here until I come back from the

Great Hunt," I whispered to her, "if you so much as make one crass, or

uncalled for comment. Before you decide to test me, that will mean you

will have to explain to Buffy why I drove myself half way through

Chicago alone. Clear?"

"As Crystal, Ishara," she grumbled.

"Thank you," I patted her on the shoulder.

"Gurr," she growled. I turned and rejoined the two ladies who were here for 'me', Mr. Sexy Stud-muffin, not 'me', Wakko Ishara.

"Care to take a tour of my home away from home?" I suggested.

"Yes."

"Sure."

"How about we start upstairs and work our way down?" I offered.

"Great," Cameron exhaled very erotically.

"I'm all for that," Tiffany agreed and off we went.

Since

I knew the layout, I went last. That this gave me a view of their

shapely legs and perfect asses never entered my mind, yeah, right.

Cameron was in the lead so I had to give her directions. We went to my

Father's room first, I had to get this emotional hurdle out of the way. I

could almost hear him say, "You had company upstairs? Was your room

clean?"

'Why, yes it was, Dad' I answered his phantasm.

The bathroom came next and was quickly brushed over. My room, the amalgam of two much smaller bedrooms, came last of all.

"This is a nice space," Cameron glowed as she moved over to my bed and flounced down upon it, facing us at the door.

"Are those for real?" Tiffany pointed at my weight set, a Christmas gift from my Dad from four, almost five, years gone by.

"Very."

Tiffany tried to lift my arm curl weights with little success.

"Here, let me help," I told her.

I then walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her from behind then lifted the forty-two and a half pound weight.

"You're strong," she noted. She also pushed her tushy into my much neglected hard-on.

"My roommate in New York is even stronger," I murmured into her ear.

"Is he currently seeing somebody?"

"No, but I'm not sure you are his type," I challenged her.

"Why don't you let me decide that," she looked over her shoulder. Now our faces were only inches apart.

"He's gay," I grinned.

"Oh, damn it," she punished me with her ass grinding against my crotch.

"What are you two talking about?" Cameron was feeling neglected.

"My

roommate in New York City," I looked Cameron's way. "He's a famous

tattoo artist, and gay. He and my best gal-pal are currently seeing to

it I get a more palatial pad once I return from this excursion."

"What's your current place like?" Tiffany wasn't willing to allow Cameron to steal my attention away from her quite yet.

"It is the same place I inhabited when I was a mere intern. Nice and cozy with the external feel of a low-intensity war zone."

"In N Y C?" Cameron appeared worried. "I thought it had been cleaned up, of crime and stuff."

"Some

of the local wildlife didn't get the message," I shrugged then put the

weights down. I also wrapped Tiffany up in my arms on the rebound.

"You are very, muscly," she noted.

"I live a demanding life," I told her. She turned around in my arms. We made meaningful eye contact, and then began kissing.

"Wow, you are easy," Tiffany panted once we came up for air.

I

noted Cameron coming off the bed, coming my way and snuggling up behind

me. She wanted some attention too. I have been told I get sex

effortlessly. I found that ridiculous. I lifted weights religiously,

cycled like my life dependent on it, and ate the right kinds of food so I

could put forward a most pleasing physique and facade which girls found attractive.

That

and a persona which was equal parts masculine and playful put women

around me at ease. All it took then was a bit of initiative and there

you have it. I was also lucky to run across women who were looking for

sex, which I admit. Being lucky enough into run across a Cameron and

Tiffany two-way, okay, that happens to me way too often to be anything

except exceptional lucky, but I would be remiss in ignoring them, now

wouldn't I?

I shifted so I had hands around both Tiffany and Cameron's waists. Kissing Cameron came next.

"I've missed you," Cameron sighed happily. "I was a little hurt to learn you ran off and became engaged to that other woman."

"It

is an arranged marriage, Cameron," I half-lied. "It helps me with my

contacts in the Khanate plus I was able to repay a debt to her family by

doing so."

"I figured it was something like that," she wiggled against my hip.

"Did you really think I could forget our night together, Cameron? That shower?" I taunted her.

"No, not really," she looked away while smiling wistfully.

"Well, I haven't," I assured her.

"I'm

sure you haven't been, lonely," she teased right back. She was also

implying I was a bit of a man-whore, which was the truth.

"Cameron,

you and I shared something special. Yes, there have been other women,

but none of them shared our common history, or expressed our desires

with such symmetry." Yes, I was bull-shitting like a champ.

Sex

with Cameron had been special for many reasons, even those beyond her

being my personal demon. Not only was she Brooke-hot, our sex had

actually been quite pleasant, say Odette on a good night (but not a

great night).

"We did, didn't we?" Cameron was happy to assert her position as the dominant woman tonight, if not in my life as a whole.

"What about me?" Tiffany wasn't willing to concede the race to the top spot quite yet.

"I don't know you as well right now," I allowed. Even as I said those words, I pulled Cameron to me tighter.

"Here, let me become more familiar," Tiffany purred, and she did.

Fast

forward two minutes and we had most of our clothes off and were on my

double bed, real cozy. Cameron was on her back, head on my pillow and

legs spread wide. Tiffany was above her, standing, with her beige

stocking-clad legs spread even wider so that she was barely on the bed.

Her black garters made a nice contrast with her pale flesh. Her palms

were against my wall above my headboard.

Me? I was behind Tiffany

and between Cameron's legs. I had my right hand hovering beside her

love box, penetrating it with two fingers while rubbing circles around

her clitoris with my thumb. Higher up, my left hand was alternating

between petting Tiffany's kitty and sphincter. I was also performing

anilingus on her because it turned out she really loved anal play.

Tiffany

was clearly getting into the attention I was giving her, but I felt I

needed to take care of Cameron first. After all, she had been nice

enough to bring Tiffany along plus she was still my personal demon.

"Don't go anywhere," I told Tiffany after playfully nipping at her ass. She looked back at me with feverish eyes.

"Have I been neglecting you, Cameron," I looked down at the sweaty babe.

"Just a little," she hiccupped. I had been really riling her up with my fingers, that was for sure.

"How

about I take care of you right now?" I gave her a fierce look. She

nodded. While I was kissing her on the back of her knees, I palmed two

condoms from my sneakily placed wallet.

I still had to be

somewhat worried Pamela had sabotaged them, if Dot Ishara was sabotaging

my prophylactic efforts I was plainly screwed, but I'd been keeping an

eye on my wallet when she was around, which wasn't terribly comforting

anyway. On one went as my kisses and licks trailed down toward her twat.

"Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

Hey,

who was I to ignore a woman asking me to do what I wanted to do? I

serpentined beneath Tiffany and worked my way up Cameron's body rapidly

so that my penetration caught Cameron somewhat off-guard. I was inside

her with barely a 'yip'. After the initial penetration, I began rocking

us back and forth, up and down, incrementally allowing me to delve

deeper.

At the entrance to her uterus, I slowed down and turned

this into a slow, romantic screw. Our eyes met and our gazes locked.

Cameron's and my worlds collapsed down to just the two of us, allowing

Cameron to ignore her jealous Bestie staring down at us from just a foot

away. At the point Cameron surrendered her resistance to her orgasm, I

began to turn her over to the doggy style position.

This pressed

my head against Tiffany's bosom. Yeah, I had boobs on either side of my

ears. More importantly, my rocking motion as I slammed into Cameron's

posh posterior were being transmitted through my body into Tiffany's. I

didn't have to look up to tell she was getting into it, me fucking her

friend with her getting all the pushback she could ever want.

Cameron

coughed up her climax in a series of shuddering gasps. I reached down,

found her clit and strummed it to create an extra level of carnal

violation to the orgasmic explosion going off in her brain. When she

collapsed forward, I knew I'd stunned her for the next few minutes. That

would be all the time I needed to jump onto Tiffany.

And that is what I did. I removed one condom and put another one on as I slithered off Cameron then stood up behind Tiffany.

"You've been very good, Tiffany, but," I began.

"But?" she looked back at me with her hair draped over her eyes.

"But I'm going to own this ass right now."

"Oh,

I like the sound of that," she rocked that ass back and forth, taunting

me. Fortunately for me and my time table, I had already loosened her up

for the upcoming assault. Still, I worked two fingers into her prepped

bunghole, getting it covered in her elixirs. No sense being cruel and I

didn't have any lotion handy.

"Huh, huh, huh, huh," she gasped as

I began driving up her. Her sphincter gave way immediately thanks to my

earlier efforts. In I went. God, she was tight and could really work

those muscles to make this a pleasurable ride into the darkness. Like my

early adventure with Cameron, I wasn't out to slam my meat deep within

her. I took it nice and slow.

This allowed Tiffany to show me what a naughty slut she was. She could really work her anal muscles.

"Do this much?" I leaned down onto her back and whispered into her ear.

"Oh yes," she hissed. "My first, first boyfriend, in college, showed me how much, fun this could, be."

"Thank him for me," I grunted.

"No way," she giggled. "He was a, real asshole and, cheated on me, with my roommate." Oh, the 'me' of boyfriends.

"Let me guess," I nibbled the top of that ear, "You find it difficult to ask, other guys to do this for you."

"Yes," she gasped. "How did, you know?"

"I'm a bit of a bastard of a boyfriend. A girl who forgave me told me the same thing."

"You," she huffed. She was really sweating it now, "bad, bad boy."

"I'm never going to forget this ass," I pledged.

"Why

don't, you, move to, Chicago?" she panted. By the feel of those tremors

working their way through her thighs, she was on the cusp.

"Work has me constantly moving around, but I could try to make Chicago a constant layover," I proposed.

"Works, for me!" she squealed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Her

orgasm shook through her like a tidal wave of lust. She trembled there

for several seconds before she began to slide down. I was able to

surround her waist with my arms as we collapsed back. As I began to hit

my own climax, my legs started to give way as well. We collapsed back

with my hard rod shooting off deep within her ass, deeper than I had

ever gone before. Thankfully the condom held because I came a

bucket-full.

"You two okay?" Cameron sat up on her elbows,

causing her bare breasts to bounce suggestively. My cock was gearing up

for round two alright.

"Just fine," I responded. Tiffany was

still coming down from Cloud Nine. "How about we grab something to drink

then start on round two?"

"Oh, my ass," Tiffany moaned.

"Okay,

umm, I'm up for another round," Cameron smiled both over her own

freedom to get more sex from me as well as her friend's discomfort, no

doubt.

"Sorry, Mr. Nyilas," Juanita knocked on the open door and

looked in, "but you have to get ready for your flight out of town, like

right now."

"No!" I howled up at the ceiling.

"Well, can't you rescheduled your flight?" Cameron asked hopefully.

Since my itinerary had been set by Krasimira, no it couldn't.

"I'm

terribly sorry ladies, but this trip, I can't put off any longer. How

about we exchange numbers so we can get together the next time I come

through?"

"Okay," from Cameron.

Wiggle, wiggle and then another wiggle, from Tiffany. "Are you sure?"

"Believe

me both of you, I don't want to leave, but I gave my word I'd be at

this meeting and a good friend will be in a world of hate if I'm late,

or don't show up," I explained and lied. Felix wasn't a good friend

after all.

We exchanged numbers then got dressed (under Juanita's

watchful gaze) with the occasional bodies rubbing against one another

and wistful glances. After I bundled the girls out, with the resulting

French kisses, I locked up and go into the car with Juanita.

"You did better this time," I congratulated her.

"What do you mean?" she eyed me suspiciously.

"This was much better done than your tsunami lie back with Rhada."

"Oh, well don't think I'm not going to make sure Buffy Ishara knows about this bizarre liaison," she threatened.

"Oh, come on," I pleaded. "No lives were in danger."

"Hmm, I think your life was in danger," she griped.

"From you?"

"Yes."

"Well, we are improving our relationship," I acknowledged.

"How so?"

"A week ago you wouldn't have confessed to me you wanted to hurt me for stepping out on House Ishara."

"Oh, you have got a point there. I need to be more duplicitous," she decided.

"You don't need to. You could simply lie to Buffy."

"Not

happening. I like to dream about all the pain she is going to put you

through once you two are alone. Then my job will be complete."

Great,

my bodyguard was getting perverse pleasure knowing the First of my

House was going to scar me like her personal scratching post. Honestly, I

couldn't wait to get back up with Rachel and out in the field where

only the opposing side wanted to cause me personal harm. Then I could

fight back with a good conscience. As it was, I was off to the Great

Hunt, which would require me to arrive 24 hours to get to, according to

Krasimira.

Preview of the Great Hunt

{10:15 pm, Wednesday, September 10th ~ Two days before the Great Hunt}

We

were at the Send-Off dinner. It was festive. Felix and I were

introduced to the thirty Amazons who would be hunting us down. In

reality, it was the first chance for the thirty to meet one another,

Felix and I were window dressing, their prizes. That was their set up

anyway. I had other plans and had already laid the groundwork. Step one

was easy. All I had to do was get Felix to trust me, implicitly.

"Excuse

me," I called out from the 'head' of the table. It was a symbolic

placement. They might as well placed glazed apples in the men's mouths

for all our situation meant. A few quieted. I tapped my water glass with

my fork. "Excuse me." I had maybe twelve of their attention. "Sisters! Shut your yaps!" I shouted. That got most of them. The few holds out were being purposely rude. No problem.

"Felix,"

I motioned for him to stand. When he did so, I drew my 'honor blade'

and handed it to him. "Felix, I am trusting you with the honor of all

Isharans, Brother to Brother. I know you will not let me down." His

artfully crafted right eyebrow arched slightly then he took it.

"I won't let you down, Cáel," he clasped my other hand palm to palm and gave it two good shakes.

I

hadn't told him what I planned to do because, being a smart guy, he

might have figured out what I had planned, decided I was insane and

refused to participate. Mainly because what I was about to ask him to do

was insane.

"Sisters, all of you have blades. Will none of you

offer me your honor to make this a fair contest of arms? We all know

each of you have more experience than both of us," I motioned to Felix

and I, "combined many times over. Who can I count on?"

No one did

anything though I saw Rachel and Elsa eye me suspiciously. What I was

asking for was both out of the ordinary and I 'knew better'.

"Oh, come on now," I faux-pleaded. "With all your advantages, none wish to give me a fair chance?"

"You

gave your blade up," Tamarin of House Farānak noted with a sneer. "If

you really thought you would need one, you shouldn't have been so hasty.

I heard you were smarter than this."

I nodded then gave the assembly one last scan then sat back down.

"I

am," I grinned. "I was giving the thirty of you a chance to make this a

fair contest and none of you chose to do so. Now I'm going to beat you

like little bitches. See, I have three Goddess on call, a series of

other supernatural allies and the ability to access my ancestors. I was

offering to not do any of that and all of you declined," I kept smiling.

"You would cheat?" Torm, of House Maeve darkened. That would be Katrina's #1 assassin.

"Cheat?

I am doing nothing more than what you consider the value of an Honor

Blade, which all of you possess. I, as your prey, was under no

obligation to explain myself. You thirty, with every other advantage,

chose to allow me to use these abilities."

"So, you can talk with your ancestors," Parul of House Nammu shrugged. "Big deal."

"By

all means, tell that to Ajax and his War band," Elsa's words dripped

with sarcasm. "Oh. You are not an augur, so you can't. Ajax the

Unconquered, who no Amazon, or Trojan, could touch, traded blows with

Wakko Ishara and now his few survivors will be burying him among his

kinsmen on Salamis."

Later that night:

"What they

would not allow by ego, you permit by reason," Felix verbally

congratulated me. What he meant was I had ensured the Amazons would come

at me first. My worry was Felix wouldn't get a chance to shine with the

added concern I could recover far faster than him so encouraging the

Amazons to strike at me first increased our mutual chance of survival.

"If you think it is bad now, wait until I start praying," I told him.

"And you are sure you want me to knock you out for this to work?" Felix was perplexed.

"It is how this has to work. I wish it wasn't, trust me," I confirmed.

Together we walked out of the Hapantali Freehold's main building and looked up at the Moon.

We

were in the southern half of Argentina, closer to Patagonia than I ever

thought I'd get though not so far south I actually got to see any

penguins. No, we were in the Southern Hemisphere's version of the

Northern Hemisphere's Great Plains, though at the southern extreme of

said feature. It was bone-numbing cold this far south that was for sure.

It wasn't spring here yet on this side of the globe.

"Is your stamina going to be up for this cold?" Felix inquired.

"It had better be. I know we are only getting a light coat and light sleeping bag for our journey."

"And

this is all going to be on horseback," Felix frowned. He had only

gotten two weeks training with the Epona on horsemanship having no

previous lore.

"It wouldn't be Amazon if they weren't stacking

the odds in their favor," I bumped him. "That is something you have to

get used to around here. They play to win."

"Thus them inside choosing up sides," he scoffed.

"They

are not just choosing up sides to capture us, but to fend off the

others should they be the first to capture us," I reminded him.

"I'm

already trying to figure out where to hide your nifty little knife so

they don't take it off me when I get bound," Felix surprised me, by

insinuating he could be captured.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I figure I'll get captured trying to rescue your ass, Nyilas, then have to save both of us."

"Asshole," I snorted.

"Realist," he replied.

"Let's go to sleep. It is going to be a tough three days."

"That's the damn truth," Felix conceded. "Come on." And off we went.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

The last days before the Great Hunt.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

“Can the scorpion ever stop being a scorpion? “

"Do we get our legally permitted weaponry back?" The bishop still held my hand.

"Sure. If it makes you feel better."

"I would like to meet your people then," he gave my paw one last shake then released me. "Shall we go?"

"I

will have someone take you to your car. I want to briefly meet with the

President, of Havenstone, then I'll join you in the garage. We'll drive

over to JIKIT and I'll make the introductions. Good enough?"

"That is acceptable," he nodded.

"What

about you two?" I regarded the nun and the Swiss Super-soldier. The nun

remained vigilant, and silent. The Swiss' eyes flickered to his boss

before settling back on me.

"It is what I volunteered for," he stated firmly.

"Okay. Please never say I didn't give you a chance to take the sane way out. Also, Bishop Nicolö, circumstances have conspired to up my prospective wedding date to January 1st."

"That will be more difficult. Why the change?" he remained grim.

"We are having twins. By March, this will be very visible."

"That is, unfortunate," he shook his head.

"You have no idea," and then a brainstorm. "And I am curious about resurrecting the Order of the Dragon, the Societas Draconistarum." Technically that meant 'Society of the Dragonists' which was more appropriate than the literal Ordo Draconis.

"Precisely

how do you plan to recreate a crusading Christian Order which was the

purview of the Hungarian monarchs?" he didn't sound the least skeptical,

just curious.

"I have billions of euros to fund such a thing," I

winked. "Of far greater critical importance, I know where I can find

the supernatural guidance and spiritual imperative for such an

organization."

"You are going to produce a dragon?" his eyes grew

larger even as he fought down his fear. Good man. He was adaptive. He'd

need to be.

"I never said such a thing. That would make me sound

crazy," I smiled broadly. "Besides, when I say 'dragon', you think

'devil' and that's way too pedestrian for where we are going."

"I am not a moral relativist."

"Neither

am I. I'm out to save lives and nurture the drive in the human spirit

to reach for freedom, love and liberty. As you might imagine, I'm pretty

freaking outnumbered."

"I think you are crazy," he re-evaluated things.

"I

just might be. In all honesty, you should back out now. Take your two

compadres back to 25 East 39th Street (the Holy See's Permanent Observer

Offices to the UN in NYC) and report 'Mission Failure'. You'll most

likely live longer," I reasoned.

"I am not afraid to die," Sister Rafaela Sophia finally voiced an opinion.

"That's idiotic," I scoffed before the bishop could reprimand her for opening her mouth. "You should be."

"My soul is in God's hands," she set her jaw.

"Does he talk to you?" I countered.

"His message is clear."

"Not

what I asked. I asked if he specifically directed you to toss your life

fruitlessly away as an object lesson for the reckless, or careless?"

"This is uncalled for," Nicolö intervened.

"Nope.

I bet you a phone call to my Brother to physically restore your

bishopric that there are four people in this room who have murdered in

cold blood," I kept eye contact with the nun, "and she's the odd one

out. Right Juanita?"

"Yes, Ishara," Juanita slipped up. Her spycraft, like mine, needed work.

"You were in the military?" the bishop asked my bodyguard.

"Was? I am. Right now," she related. "I will be until I die."

That earned me looks from the three Catholics.

"She is loyal," Nicolö nodded slightly toward her, referring to Juanita's declaration.

"Huh?

To me? Nope. She's loyal to my office, which we shan't get into right

now. Back to you, Sister Rafaela Sophia. Are you out to be a martyr, or

has some saint, or angel, given you a directive the other two seem to be

unaware of which causes you to devalue your life?"

"I am devoted

to the One True God, Christ, our Savior," and Juanita snorted, "and the

Virgin Mary," the nun stated firmly. "I don't hear voices in my head."

"Juanita, that was rude. Apologize to our guest," I kept looking forward.

"No." Well, fuck you too.

"Gun," I commanded. I held out my left hand.

"What? No. I will not give you one of my guns," she resisted.

"Juanita,

give me your primary weapon, or I will ask Pamela to beat you up the

moment I depart for the Great Hunt. After yesterday's stunt, you know

she will," I threatened. Fair, I was not. She drew a Glock-20 and handed

it to me. I went through the routine, dropped the magazine then ejected

the round before opening the door.

Oh

look, there were four SD chicks outside, ready to escort my visitors

downstairs. I didn't even need to waste a phone call. It wasn't like the

conference room wasn't being monitored.

"Excuse me," I took a half step out the door then hurled all three items down the hall. Looking back at Juanita. "Go fetch."

"Fuck you," she snapped.

"And

insulting her faith was as degrading to both her faith and her as me

doing this to you is degrading to you right now," I lectured her. "It is

important to her, therefore it is important to me because she is my

guest in the same way it is important to me that I let my

bodyguard do her job without being a total asshole all the time. Now go

get your God-damn weapon," I barked. Off she went. I left the door open.

"Now

Sister Rafaela Sophia, the point of all this is: I don't give a crap if

you are willing to die for God. In fact, that makes you less than

worthless to me and the team. I want to know if you are willing to put

other motherfuckers in the ground so that Bishop Nicolá, or Mathias,

might get to keep doing their jobs."

"Murder is a sin," she declared.

"Go home," I sighed while shaking my head.

"She answers to me, the Church and God, not you, Mr. Nyilas," the bishop stepped forward.

"Then

you can go home too," I shrugged. "I'm not asking for remorseless

killers. I'm asking for people willing to kill to get the hard work done

and best of all, for people who know the difference."

"Everyone on JIKIT is a professional soldier, or killer?" he asked.

"No, but the ones who aren't don't carry guns and know to get down when things get funky," I bantered.

"I vouch for her," he insisted. Juanita came running back into the room.

"Cool beans. I don't know you either."

"You apparently know my service history," he volleyed.

"Yeah.

Ten years a foreigner in the service of France, then you went straight

into a university which turns out Jesuits," I riposted.

"What

turned your life around?" he evaded. That was okay. I'd gotten what I

wanted. I was willing to bet he had read every bit of public information

about me and it was rumored the heavy Catholic membership in the FBI

had its benefits to the Church as well. Not so much as to give them

insight into JIKIT, but,

"Someone risked their life for me. It's

been pretty much downhill from there," I confessed. It was the truth.

After Katrina gave me the life line on Day Two, it had all spiraled to

the revelation of my heritage, Dad's death, Summer Camp, the Hamptons,

Romania and Aya's kidnapping.

"A person, a soldier, died saving

my life," the bishop empathized. "Her story is similar. She seeks

redemption. She is not suicidal. I am staking both our lives on it."

Did

he mean him and Mathias, or him and me? I wasn't certain. Still, it was

good enough for now. I'd gotten a look at their emotional make up, even

the relatively quiet Swiss.

"Very well," I agreed. "I have to go

see the President about my new job description. I'll catch up with you

at your car." To the SD team leader, "Take them to the garage. I will

join the group of you very soon."

"Yes Ishara," she nodded. I

exited the room, Juanita in tow. Two SD entered. I was gone before the

Papal team left. Upstairs we went, with one last chore to discharge. I

had to check on Ms. French to be absolutely freaking sure it was

Shawnee, because anyone else would spell disaster.

{8:30 am, Monday, September 8th. Last day}

A Room full of asistants:

Well,

there it was, the office of the Executive Director to the President,

and not 'Executive Assistant', because this was Katrina's final 'fuck

you, no, just her final 'fuck you' before the Great Hunt got underway. I

shouldn't assume things, dang it!

Anyway, according to the

gray-haired matron running gatekeeper to the Office of the President,

this was where I was supposed to show up. I shot Juanita a worried look.

She glanced my way and shrugged, momentarily willing to not give me

shit about the past 24 hours because where I was situated would

determine how easily she could do her job.

In we went. In the

suite were three desks, the 'big' desk situated at the far end of the

office space and two far more modest ones on either side of the

entryway. The room expanded beyond the chokepoint formed by the two

closest desks into a cluttered area. The walls were cluttered with inset

bookshelves and portraits of women. Facing one another were a loveseat

on my left with bookend plush chairs in an 'L' facing and a full sofa on

the right. There were end tables at the ends of the sofa and the

corners between the loveseat and each chair.

As the door opened, I

hadn't knock as this was my office, or so it seemed, the occupants, who

had all been sitting in quiet conversation in the central section,

began reacting. Oh look ~ Constanza! I nearly had a heart attack before I

realized there were three other Amazons also in the room. Sadly, none

were behind the 'big desk', so I couldn't tell who was in charge. Two of

the other three choices weren't too much better. First off,

"Ishara,"

Marilynn Saint John stood to greet me. I'd last seen her when I'd

dedicated her grandmother's (Hayden's) spirit to the halls of my

ancestors, not hers, after forcing the political crisis leading to

Hayden's suicide ~ her taking herself to the cliffs and in doing so,

destroying the Amazon Cult of Blood Purity. Marilynne was clearly still

bitter with me. Umm, I could still incite passion in women I hadn't

slept with, yet, woot?

"Cáel," the senior-most and only friendly

face in the room spoke next. Thank goodness it was Beyoncé Vincennes,

Head of House Hanwasuit and House Ishara ally.

"Cáel Ishara," the

third individual was deferential which I wasn't sure how to take as the

last time I'd encountered her, yeah, things hadn't gone well either.

"Beyoncé,"

I started off with a smile. From there, I had to figure out, ah,

Beyoncé's eyes flickered to Constanza then Sabia. I knew Marilynn, with

her young age, had the least seniority, "Constanza, Sabia, Marilynn.

How's tricks?"

Glum faces by everyone except Beyoncé. I didn't

ask about Sabia's particular well-being. It had been months since I'd

beaten her into the mats of the Full-blooded gym. She'd attacked Yasmin,

the Brazilian Hottie and my Brazilian Jujutsu sparring buddy, and I'd

retaliated by ambushed her when she turned her back on us. Besides,

she'd been giving me shit before I even could see straight.

Constanza

was minus her left eye because of her dire insult to me. If she wasn't

capable of working, she wouldn't be here. If she appreciated my 'mercy'

in sparing her life ~ her insult was worthy of her death ~ Constanza hid

it well. I hadn't spared her expecting a change of heart. I hadn't felt

words alone warranted anyone's death. I was a big boy and could take a

few insults. House Ishara, as represented by me, could care less. These

days, my sisters would be less understanding despite them knowing my

heart.

"Constanza Landau of House Jaya and Marilynn Saint John of

House Anahit are Assistants to President Shawnee French," Beyoncé eased

things along, "so will be working closely with us, at least for the

short term. Sabia Noel of House Guabancex, who I now think you know as

well, has joined you as the other 'Assistant' to the 'Executive

Director to the President', (that would make me an 'adept', but adept at

what?), and since two of the three Regents are unfamiliar with the

workings of Havenstone proper, Shawnee has asked me to perform in that

role."

Beyoncé was, or had been, Havenstone HQ's CFO (Chief

Financial Officer). From what I was quickly piecing together, she would

essentially be making all the day-to-day decisions concerning the

running of Havenstone (how the Host made the majority of its money)

until the Regents got up to speed.

Only Buffy had actual

experience with the New York office and, from what she had told me,

solely within Executive Services. While ES knew 'who' did what inside

Havenstone, they weren't aware precisely how those Amazons got their

jobs done. That would have been an impossible task. Katrina could do it,

but she knew it was beyond the ability of most of us 'mere mortals'.

Since we were currently at war, the Host needed Katrina completely

focused on her duties as Chief Spy-mistress, not baby-sitting the

adults.

Shawnee indeed had much gravitas among the other House

Heads. Not only had she risen up to lead a First House, she had

performed heroically during the final days of the last Secret War.

Afterwards she had moved into the realm of Amazon jurisprudence and

mediation. Until yesterday, she had lived in a House Arinniti freehold

in Minnesota's Great Lakes region thus her desire for the 'Training

Wheels' period.

The Regency would not rule through

telecommunication (the upper echelons feared being eavesdropped upon

beyond the standard Amazon (read: paranoid) levels) and Havenstone: New

York was the center best situated for the current war-fighting

operations, so here she lived. I was sure a team from Executive Services

was buying, outfitting/spy-proofing and fortifying a dwelling suitable

for the President of a Fortune 500 company. Hayden's home would remain

the domicile of Sydney thus Marilynn.

The same rigmarole would be

done for Rhada and Buffy (though I imaged Buffy would bitch endlessly).

Publically, they were VP's of a company worth hundreds of billions of

dollars and they had to present the public trappings of such leaders.

Why

did the Amazons do this ~ unmask their leadership to public exposure?

Legal-simple: they could request and expect all levels of public and

private security for their executives who happened to also be important

officials of the Host. Certainly not all executives at Havenstone were

officeholders, House Heads, or House Apprentices, but the high level of

competence which permitted one often led to the other.

Beyonce:

As

an example: Beyoncé wasn't the most 'bad-ass' lethal chick in House

Hanwasuit. As she was preparing to be casted, her intelligence,

creativity and diligence at her future craft, finances, was noted by the

Host and the members of her House. In due time her name was circulated

as Apprentice and the elders approved. When her elder cousin, the prior

House Head, took herself to the cliffs, Beyoncé assumed the top spot.

Beyoncé wasn't even one of that woman's three daughters.

Mirroring

her advancement in her House was her advancement in Havenstone's

Accounting, Acquisitions and Banking Divisions until she was appointed

CFO Havenstone HQ ~ the supreme financial authority inside Havenstone,

though the individual regional branches had a greater degree of autonomy

than you might normally expect from a 21st century conglomerate, or a

Bronze Age autocracy.

I had to constantly remind myself, despite

the near-constant feuding, Amazons exhibited a phenomenally higher level

of trust than I'd ever found in any other society I'd ever witnessed,

or read about, before. Though technically Beyoncé could have gone to

President Hayden to enforce her decisions ~ or now the Regency ~ she was

far more diplomatic in her approach in dealing with the other

'continental' CEO's and CFO's.

That meant she had to wrangle the aspirations and resources from:

North America (including Latin America, the 'Canadian Arctic' and the North Pacific Ocean),

South America (includes both the South Atlantic and South Pacific as far as Samoa),

Europe (mostly Central Europe these days plus Antarctica, the 'Russian' Arctic and the North Atlantic),

Africa (mostly West-central Africa),

India (the subcontinent plus the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean) and,

Southeast Asia (which includes Australia)

All

of which suggested Havenstone hadn't redrawn the Amazons' geographic

demarcations since the late 19th century. As an example, an East African

venture, say in Tanzania, was as likely to be under the purview of

Havenstone: India (due to its control over the Indian Ocean) as

Havenstone: Africa (which traditionally had no East Coast holdings due

to their constant struggles versus the Arabic slave trade).

Returning

to Beyoncé: initially she had held the proper 'conservative' (aka

man-hating) mindset. My behavior during that first Board Meeting began

to change her opinion of me and the New Directive. After the Archery

Range incident, Beyoncé became a vocal proponent of the New Directive

and faced challenges within her ranks. House Heads do not have to accept

challenges and Beyoncé didn't, reasoning with her detractors they had

no alternatives save the 'Old Ways' which spelled doom for the Amazon

Race.

Bing-bang-boom ~ I became the Head of a resurrected House

Ishara by the Will of the Ancestors and Beyoncé was vindicated. Not

necessarily in the New Directive, but in her support of me thus the

rebirth of a sister First House. The purge following High Priestess'

Hayden's death was her ultimate absolution. The Ancestors and Destiny

had spoken and shown Beyoncé had been piloting House Hanwasuit along the

proper course all along.

Back to my current circumstances:

Oh,

why was I Assistant to the Executive Director to the President? It gave

me direct access to the finances of Havenstone which was a critical leg

of the war-fighting stool ~ people, morale, money and equipment. As

Chief Diplomat, I helped with all four of those in varying degrees,

allied troops, allied victories, allied bank accounts and allied

armaments.

The Great Khan, my spiritual 'Blood-Brother', was

ramping up his logistic support for my Amazons in Africa, Asia and the

Americas. We were 'Allies in the Struggle' and he wasn't going to wait

for the Condottieri to begin coordinating with the Seven Pillars to

declare them to be his enemies. They were already fighting the Amazons

and 9 Clans, his allies, so their fates were sealed.

In Japan, my

Amazons provided small yet highly effective strike groups which the

Ninja families furnished all the support services for. Everything from

food to bullets to medical attention as needed. Without reservation, we

shared their death-grapple with the Seven Pillars.

From the

dispatches I was getting back from my family members and envoys in

Japan, we were making serious diplomatic inroads with the Ninja. Once

again, it was the Amazons shocking capacity for violence as well as

their fanaticism, professionalism and proficiency which all impressed

our hosts and terrified our enemies, and this from people of a

philosophical mindset which had them historically battling samurai.

The

Black Lotus were running around like rhesus monkeys on crack cocaine

unleashed in a China Shop and given RPG's. While the Amazons couldn't

help them in China, Indochina & Thailand ~ the Khanate could and

was. The Amazons were of more help in the Philippines, Malaysia and

Indonesia, where the Black Lotus and Amazons were going everywhere on

the offensive against the Seven Pillars while the normal tight cohesion

and iron-clad confidence, traits which made the 7P's so dangerous ~ were

shaken by their horrendous losses in the 'Homeland' aka Mainland China.

Less

we forget, the 'military intelligence' wing of their organization had

been decimated by the Khanate's Anthrax attack due to members of the

Earth & Sky sacrificing themselves by being injected with the toxin

then allowing themselves to be captured, which always ended in torture

and death.

Furthermore, the People's Republic of China, while

having a scary 18% of the population either captured, imprisoned, dead,

or displaced due to the Khanate invasion, that had come with the loss of

63% of their landmass (they had lost all of Nei Mongol, Ningxia &

Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Regions, Qinghai and Gansu as well as 90% of

Yunnan, 80% of Sichuan and 20% of Shaanxi provinces) to the Khanate and

the 'abomination' that was a free Tibet.

Then came the Russian

'stab in the back' which entailed the loss of another 10% of their

people falling under foreign dominion as well as losing 8% of their most

industrialized territory, Manchuria (Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning

provinces ~ the Nei Mongol portion of 'Manchuria' was in the Khanate's

greedy clutches, from the viewpoint of a Seven P's warrior).

Don't

get me wrong, they weren't about to throw in the towel. If anything,

they were becoming more dedicated to trying harder, digging deep into

their knowledge of every atrocity, inhumanity and perversion now deemed

necessary to re-chart history back onto its 'correct' path. It was this

willingness to act in an even greater sociopathic manner which was being

used against them. After all, the 7P's had plenty of proxy allies, who

were starting to get really nervous about what their paymasters were now

asking them to do,

We Amazons were getting some extra special

help too. The Booth-gan (Do not call them Thuggee ~ the confederate 9

Clan member based out of India though long since ensconced within

various Hindi enclaves across the Globe) had created an all-female group

of ultra-fanatical Kali-devotees ~ a gift for the upcoming battle

fomented by the Will of the Goddess herself.

While Aya was our

Queen and the Regency would rule until she wished to assume command of

the Amazon People, the nuts-and-bolts of the Host's activities were

handled by Saint Marie as Golden Mare (our Minister of War) (technically

she held the top spot due to our State of War, though no Golden Mare

had ever exercised such authority over a Queen (and she definitely

believed Aya was our Queen)), Katrina (as Minister of Intelligence and

Security), Beyoncé (as Havenstone (the multinational corporation) ~ our

Treasurer/Economic Tsarina) and me (our Foreign Minister).

Saint

Marie had decided to forgo a public face in order to better facilitate

her moving around to various battle fronts and holding clandestine

meetings with her junior regional commanders. Her Havenstone corporate

title was 'Chief of Security Training and Certification'. As an extra

level of deception, the head of Security Services wasn't even a

Director-level position, instead being folded into the duties of the

Office of the President.

To my current circumstances ~ I had been

given Constanza's house name which could only mean she wasn't currently

assigned to the Security Detail; a fact that couldn't have made her bad

attitude any better. Marilynn had completely lost her way as an Amazon

when I first met her, burying her pain and confusion in endless partying

and intoxicants. I believed only her grandmother's status as High

Priestess kept her from the severest of reprimands, or death. I didn't

even know what Marilynn's caste was. Sabia,

"While I'm sure you

are both far more qualified than I, precisely how did you two get these

jobs?" I had to ask my two non-coworkers. Constanza glowered. Marilynn

flinched.

"I have an in depth knowledge of Havenstone security procedures and resources," Constanza replied.

"Shawnee requested me," was Marilynn's comeback. "I also have intimate knowledge of the City of New York and its environs."

"Actually,

Buffy Ishara recommended you both to Shawnee," Beyoncé corrected their

misconceptions. I knew the score. I'd be working intimately with the

tight community around the President (Shawnee) and Vice Presidents

(Buffy & Rhada). Buffy wanted me to be surrounded by women who hated

my guts, so I wouldn't end up boinking them. It rarely worked that way.

All too often ladies who hated my still-beating heart ended up

punishing me with sex. I wasn't sure why that happened, but it did.

"Beyoncé,

didn't the Chief Diplomat of the Host have her own office? I'm pretty

sure Troika had one before her unfortunate collision with Saint Marie," I

felt entitled to inquire.

"Do you feel you've earned that office space?" she riposted.

"Oh,

fuck no!" I waved my hands one over the other to accentuate my denial.

"I was just wondering where I could stick Juanita while I'm hanging

around, here."

"She has the desk right outside the door, Cáel," Beyoncé smiled knowingly. "So there is no way you can sneak past her."

"Oh," I grunted. "Buffy again?"

"No. Pamela Pile put in that particular request."

"Oh, Sweet Mother of God, now she is conspiring against me too?"

"Yes.

Some of us realize the greatest hazard to your health is yourself,

Ishara," Beyoncé chided me. "We'd like to keep you around, so we listen

to those charged with that nigh impossible task."

"Is she going to be hanging around the office often?" Constanza asked, either myself, Juanita, or Beyoncé; I wasn't sure. She = Pamela.

"Please,

Constanza," I attempted to intervene, "don't make Pamela kill you. It

will upset Mona." Constanza's scowl was accentuated by the eyepatch

covering her ruined left socket, the one Pamela had carved out when

Constanza had insulted me and House Ishara on our first day of rebirth. I

didn't tell Juanita this, because Juanita might just shoot Constanza

over the insult before Pamela got a chance to finish the job.

The tension was palatable.

"Mona

and I have talked, about Romania, and other things," Constanza

grudgingly allowed. It took me a second to realize there was a hidden

meaning to what she said. Mona was part of my personal Security Detail

bodyguard unit. If she felt Constanza, the woman who had raised her

after her birth-mother had died, was a threat to me, she'd feel

duty-bound to snuff Constanza first. Amazons were hard-ass bitches

alright and I think Mona had made that clear.

"I hope things can

improve between us," I offered to Constanza. "Beyoncé, I just stopped in

to say 'hey'. I'm off to JIKIT and I've got three of the Pope's people

waiting on me in the garage so,"

"Vice President Varma requested a moment of your time," Beyoncé smirked. "She is in 2604."

"Who?"

"Vice President Rhada Varma, a moment of your time, alone?" she clarified.

"Sure

thing," I backed out of the office. Once I had some space, I turned to

Juanita. "Give me three minutes then bust in and say, I don't know, a

tsunami is about to overwhelm the city, or something. Otherwise, I won't

get out for at least an hour and I think I've put the Bishop and his

people through enough delays as it is."

"Are you actually asking

me to stop you from having an in-office liaison?" she studied me

intently as we walked in the direction of Rhada's office.

"Yes. It's not likely to happen often, believe me."

"Oh,

I do, in that you won't ask me to do it often," she grumbled. I'd deal

with Juanita's morale problem later. Right now, I had to gird my loins

so they wouldn't do anything else with Rhada. I had work to do, damn it!

Rhada

was sitting at her desk, working on something, stylus raised up so she

could chew on the end. Her hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail, the

type that captured the rear half of the hair in a ponytail while leaving

the front and bangs free to flow down. Rhada's blouse was white &

billowy and, as I was soon to discover, her pants were ultra-tight and

contour hugging.

"Mr. Nyilas," she greeted me. "I would like a

moment of your time," she relayed what I already knew. She was more than

a tad nervous to boot.

"Vice President Varma," I started off.

"When in private you may call me Rhada," she interrupted.

"Rhada, you look more ravishing than ever."

That

got up her and coming around her desk, which revealed her ultra-tight

pants with no sign of her wearing underwear. Yikes! My cock was

preparing to do what a cock was meant to do and I just didn't have the

time, Really!

"Do you have any time?" she let her bosom heave.

"Not

today, ugh," I groaned. See, Rhada took the stylus and dragged it down

her chin, throat and in between her bountiful mounds.

All of which exposed the top of her black bra.

"Are

you sure, Master?" she enticed me by turning around and then leaning

over her desk, point that ass in my direction. My mouth began salivating

and my groin ached. I found myself quick-stepping to her and giving

those buttocks two firm slaps, one on each cheek.

"No, damn it, though I'm going to make you pay for this when I get back," I rumbled.

"Master will make me wait?" she taunted me.

"That

will cost you even more," I growled. "I have business which simply

won't wait and here is my captive teasing me with the treasures of her

flesh. Bad, war captive," I spanked her yet again, hard. "Bad!" and I

spanked her a fourth time. With each beating, Rhada gasped in pain and

then exhaled in pleasure.

"If I've been bad, Master must be extra

harsh with me when he returns in triumph from the Great Hunt," she

gloated. Rhada had gotten what she wanted, which was another affirmation

of my lust for her and our 'game'. I could provide her the release she

so desperately craved while allowing her the safety of remaining in the

Amazon fold. It was a perfect pairing, for her.

I had other

problems, such as all the other baby mamas in my life plus the

extra-marital affairs I was contemplating. I still took the moments we

had to snuggle with Rhada, her grinding that tush into my rod while I

held both her arms tightly to her side while raining kisses down onto

her neck and head.

"Sir! A giant tsunami is approaching the city!" Juanita exploded through the door.

"What?" I coughed. I had a face full of hair.

"Huh?" Rhada pushed up and away from me. I let her go.

"Right now," Juanita insisted. She really needed to stop taking me so seriously when I gave her such advice.

"Really?"

from Rhada. She shot me a curious look so I shrugged. What else was I

supposed to do with such a flimsy lie forcing our separation? At least I

got out of there on time?

{9:50 am, Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}

(JKIT HQ)

"Is

this a common occurrence?" Sister Rafaela Sophia whispered to the

closest woman, who happened to be Wiesława, the Polish Amazon. Since she

hadn't arrived with us from Havenstone, the nun might have assumed she

was with the 'Americans', or British.

"What?" Wiesława responded evenly.

"Weapons combat, they look real," the nun clarified.

"They are real. We always practice with real weapons."

"Really?"

"Of course," Wiesława smiled at her. "We believe a few cuts and scrapes now will save lives when the true tests come."

"Oh, you are with, Havenstone?" Rafaela clued in.

"Yes. I am Wiesława of House Živa.

I am currently assigned to Unit L, Cáel’s unit within JIKIT," she

offered her hand to shake. Despite being a full-blooded Amazon from a

freehold, her 'human' skills were progressing nicely. The nun shook it.

"I

am Sister Rafaela Sophia of the Handmaids of the Sacred Heart of Jesus,

that is a Roman Catholic Religious Order." Pause. "Do you hate

Catholics too?"

"Yes. We have lived beside your people for many

centuries and found your clergy to be much more dangerous than your

pagan predecessors. Still, Cáel thinks you can be relied on and he's

proven we can trust outsider women, which I was raised to believe was

unlikely, and outsider men, which was basically anathema, so I'm willing

to set aside my prejudices and judge you as an individual," the Pole

imparted.

"Outsider men?" Rafaela mumbled.

"Well, yes," Wiesława smirked. "You are a nun, right?"

"Yes."

"So you set aside the World of Men to live mostly among women, right?"

"Not

entirely," the nun chose her words carefully. "We still rely on priests

for religious rights and of course obey the life teachings of Christ

and follow the leadership of his Holiness, the Pope, a man."

"No one is perfect," the Amazon bantered back.

"Do you know the teachings of our Lord, Jesus Christ?" Rafaela ventured into dangerous waters.

"Yes. He was the semi-historical Son of your supposed One True God. We are not monotheists. We are Polytheists. Živa is

my House's matron Goddess. It is also the name of the first woman to

lead the House, her birth name surrendered to Destiny so all the

daughters who came afterwards would be equals."

"Oh, is Mr. Nyilas also pagan?" she inquired.

"I

am unsure. From what I have been told, he has commended the spirit of

his fallen father to your Jesus in a sacred ceremony then, in the

presence of your Trinity and the Goddess Ishara, brought in new members

to his House. I suspect he may be both," Wiesława reasoned. "Why don't

you ask him?"

"Because he's fighting for his life?" Rafaela looked my way.

See,

the entire time their discussion had been going on, I had been sparring

in a spare room at JIKIT HQ with Estere Abed, the Hashashin assassin

(rather redundant ~ like saying the Sahara Desert). I had two tomahawks

while she had a scimitar and curved dagger. While we sparred using the

furniture as obstacles, Agent-86 was briefing me on various World events

to get my input.

Addison Stuart (CIA) and Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke (MI-6) were having a chat with Bishop Nicolé de

Santis, verifying for themselves he was worth adding to the team.

Juanita was having a similar discussion with Rikki Martin (US State

Department) concerning my earlier encounter with the Papal team. Nicolé's buddy, Wachtmeister Mathias Bosshart of the Swiss Guard, was getting acquainted with the other security personnel.

In comparison, those two had it easy. Both men were in their elements. Nicolé was

a spook who pretended to be a diplomat for the Pope and was well

acquainted with terms like 'deniable assets', 'plausible deniability'

and your direct superior referring to requests concerning your

identity/diplomatic status by saying 'I never heard of him and if I

had, I have no idea what he was doing when you caught him doing what I

don't know what he was doing', or something like that.

Mathias

was in the company of military-security specialists, brother

professionals who were introducing him to his 'sister' professionals.

Our Homeland Security gang were almost entirely former military by now.

They got along with our JSOC folks and both had gained a limited

acceptance with the Amazon security contingent.

They bonded over

the fact they were forced to work with really shady characters ~ the 9

Clans menagerie ~ who didn't always appreciate JIKIT operational

security. Without going into particulars, the Wachtmeister was given the

impression the abnormal was the norm and if you didn't think there was a

'down-side' to being able to carry your personally favorite bang-bang

(the SG 552-2P Commando in his case) with some serious attachments

(read: grenade launcher) around in downtown Manhattan, you probably

didn't belong on this team.

Back in the room,

"He's not fighting for his life," Estere laughed. "He is fighting for mine."

"Right,"

I responded sarcastically. We went through a flurry of exchanges,

ending up with me kicking a chair at her. Estere stepped over it,

colliding with me.

I blocked her dagger, disarmed her scimitar and,

"You

are dead," she panted down at me, smiling. I was on my back, her

straddling me. She had a belt-knife to my throat. I hadn't see her draw

it. The scimitar 'disarm' had been a distraction.

"Woot!" I exhaled.

"But you're dead," Sister Rafaela misunderstood my good humor.

"He

survived a minute and thirty-four seconds more today than his previous

record," Estere responded. She slithered off of me, doing my arousal no

good whatsoever, then offered me a hand up.

"And that's better?"

"He's

a rank amateur with a few months on the job. I've been training to kill

people for nearly two decades," Estere smiled. "Care to have a go?"

"With him, or you?"

"Either," Estere offered.

"I don't have a knife, or any hand weapons," she stated.

"We'll need to remedy that," Wiesława stated. "You should at least carry a knife."

"Really? Why?"

"It

is a nearly universal tool," I verbally stepped up. "Even if you are

disarmed, you should be able to find one relatively easily, people are

less likely to miss a stolen knife than a purloined gun, and a concealed

blade could come in handy."

"Do you train in knife-work?" Rafaela eye-balled me.

"Absolutely. It is part of my culture," I grinned.

"Okay. Can we spar, hand-to-hand?"

"Sure,"

I nodded. I put my tomahawks in their harnesses then put my harnesses

aside. Estere gave me a wink before giving us the fighting space.

"So," Rafaela began to circle, "are you Christian?"

"By your definition, or mine?"

"By the definition of the Catholic Church."

Oh cool, she went for a Savate stance. This was going to get ugly.

My

"no," was followed by her kick and my block, lunge and grapple. She

wasn't nearly as good as Felix. I had her down and in a choke hold

within fifteen seconds.

Perhaps she thought I'd take it easy on

her. She tapped out. I released her, retreated and flowed back to my

boxing stance. It took her a moment to realize this was 'practice', not

'an interview'. She hadn't failed in anyone's eyes. We were both doing

this to get better.

"See, I really, truly believe I have talked

to supernatural entities ~ some who are considered divinities," I

continued. This time she was more careful, trading jabs and blocks with

me. "They don't claim to be the One True God. I believe in such a thing,

but I also believe having been given the Message, Humanity has been

left to muddle things out for ourselves."

Whoops, she popped me one.

"The Woman-Thing this morning?"

"Yep,"

I evaded another flurry. She got cocky and I landed three blows,

dropping her to the ground. I didn't help her up. Instead, I withdrew

and let her get back up on her own before deciding if she wanted to

continue. She did.

"I believe I've seen dragons and ghosts. I

have felt legions of my ancestors give me quiet encouragement when I

needed it. I know the dead have been brought back to life," I came at

her. This time we both went for body blows, knees, elbows and fists. She

was not SD-caliber and she needed to be. I grappled and she was forced

to tap out again. After she regained her feet, she held up a hand for a

pause.

"Do you believe any of that?" she addressed Estere.

"I

am an adherent of Ismaili Islam yet nothing Cáel has encountered is

contrary to my belief system. The Universe is a complex place and the

Divine Light is often seen through a fractured lenses," she counseled

the nun.

"Among the escapees were lawyer Francisco Luemba,

Catholic Priest Raul Tati, economist Belchior Lanso Tati and former

policeman Benjamin Fuca who are serving jail sentences of between three

and six years each for supposed links to the rebel group FLEC (Frente para a Libertaé’o do Enclave de Cabinda),

which carried out the attack on the Togolese football team at the start

of the Africa Cup of Nations in January, 2010," Agent-86 read off yet

another bit of global minutia.

"We need to get to them," I half turned. Sister Rafaela punched me in the gut and I folded up.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I'm sorry."

"Okay,"

I mumbled. I had to keep with the plan. "Those men. We need to contact

our Coils people in Kinshasa and the Warden of the Mountain Ways ('she'

was the Amazon Host's leader of Africa ~ in the ancient times, the

mountain ways had been the routes of southern vulnerability for the

Amazon tribe thus the name)."

"Okay," both Agent-86 and Estere answered.

"Why?" 86 added.

"The

Coils and the Host have had a serious problem with no nation in Africa

giving them even back room recognition so we are going to take over our

own country, Cabinda. It's been struggling to be free of Angola since

1975 and, by latest estimates, we've got strike elements of over 2,000

Amazons ready and waiting next door in Cameroon, Gabon and the Republic

of Congo."

"So you are going to go to war with Angola?" Estere frowned. "Don't we have enough enemies?"

"Au

contraire," I grinned wickedly. "The resistance movement is genuine," I

ticked off my points, "they have tons of offshore oil, and after we set

off some spectacular explosions in the two main Angolan ports which are

just down the coast, we allow global panic to bully the UN into

intervening before the Angolan military launch an effective

counter-offensive ~ considering the Angolan Armed Forces (I'd been

reading up on a ton of CIA & MI-6 briefings) will most likely

involve attrition warfare since they can't beat us in a stand-up fight."

"They,

the Angolans, have no overland access, they are separated by 60

kilometers of territory belonging to the Democratic Republic of Congo

over some sad ass roads Plus the Congo River itself which is freaking

huge by the time it gets that close to the Atlantic, Cabinda rests on

the Atlantic Ocean by the way. No bridges. The Angolan Navy is anemic.

Let me think."

I began pacing.

"Hmm, they have no

paratroopers though they have some Special Forces, we will need to hit

as many of them in the barracks as we can. Their last invasion was from

the north, overland, from the Republic of the Congo, in 1975, not likely

to happen this time, though I may have my 'Brother' weasel up a

battalion of Indian paratroopers to act as convincing peacekeepers after

the initial take over."

"Perhaps we can recruit some Vietnamese.

I'm sure they'll love fighting in someone else's jungle for a change.

We'll need some of 'our' guys to seize the port of Soyo, it is on the

wrong side of the river, but has the major refinery the Cabindans will

need. Since the entire surrounding province are the same ethnic make-up

as the Cabindans, we'll have to take that too."

"Man-o-man, I bet

by the time this is over they'll really wish they'd given little

Cabinda independence back in 1975. As for their other refinery, it is in

their capital, Luanda, a few big explosions there too will get the

markets jittery. Check that ~ the complete and utter destruction of

their major petroleum facility will create a stampede for Peace," I

continued. I walked over as our resident computer intelligence genius

worked his magic.

"Blowing things up, you mean killing people," the nun blanched.

"Yes.

This is what I do," I spared her a sympathetic glance. "I've got a

madman roaming around in my head who provides me truly epic military

advice which normally, but not always, means blowing shit up and killing

folks. Welcome to the team," then as the data appeared, "Holy Shit! Did

they build their oil refinery in the midst of their ghetto?" I was

staggered. The refinery in Soyo was isolated from the town so it could

be easily (and safely) seized. It was the one in Luanda which was the

'Holy Shit' site.

"It looks that way," Agent-86 agreed

nonplussed. "Hmm, yeah, here is the port facility then your neighborhood

of shoddily constructed one- and two-story dwellings between the

refinery and the inland storage tanks, the perimeter barrier appears to

be a chain link fence. I'd hate to be their Chief of Security."

"Oh yeah," I choked. Estere slipped around to get a look.

"Whoops," she snorted.

"What

are these people thinking?" I continued. "The whole shebang is exposed

to the northern quarter of the city. The storage tanks have residential

dwellings on all four sides with numerous side streets. Two teams with

RPGs and four rounds apiece, Holy Crap. Sorry Sister."

"But I want to save lives," she sputtered.

"Limiting the collateral damage could be pretty tough," Estere frowned. She toggled throw a series of maps to multiple pictures.

"Oh,

look (dripping sarcasm); they light up the refinery at night. You can

sit off the coast in a speed boat under cover of darkness and attack

from there," she noted.

"Damn. Those are a lot of lights," Agent-86 agreed.

"24-7 operation," I suspected.

"We will need some experts," the government agent nodded.

"Or

we are going to kill a fuck-load of innocent people. Not just the

workers, but can you imagine a fire spreading to those neighborhoods?

Shit," I muttered.

"You can't seriously be contemplating doing

something like this," the nun sputtered. "It is inhumane. Think of the

families, the children."

"Lady, yes I am. Do you have any idea

what the Human Rights record of the Angolan Army in Cabinda is? It is

truly horrific and in case you missed it, one of the guys in dire need

of rescuing by me, due to him being a huge rebel leader who has managed

to escape, is also a Catholic priest. He's going to be part of the new

government we are going to install once we kill a few hundred Angolans ~

mostly soldiers (more like well over a thousand)."

"We are going

to kill a few hundred so a few hundred thousand can live free,

democratic lives without worrying about the local police and political

establishment torturing and murdering them. It is all part of the plan."

"I think I need to talk with the Bishop."

"Hang

on. Let me finish," I forestalled her. "He'll get briefed along with

everyone else. After all, it is a majority Roman Catholic country as is

Angola, so I'm sure your guy can be of immense help."

"The people you are putting at risk don't deserve this," she protested.

"They never do," I nodded in agreement with her. "It rarely stops terrible crap from happening to them though."

I

felt sorry for the Sister. She thought the Bishop was going to put a

stop to this. Poor girl; he was going to do the exact opposite. See, the

two competing forces at play here were a communistic kleptocracy

(currently ruling Angola) and Catholic liberation theology united with a

Cabindan national identity dating back to 1885. At stake was 900,000

barrels a day of petroleum. That was a bunch of funding for somebody.

Last I checked, the state run energy conglomerate had misplaced $32 billion, in just three years.

Mind

you, the Coils of the Serpent and the Amazon Host didn't want to help

the People of Cabinda out of the goodness of their hearts either. They

wanted cover for the importation of weapons and other war-fighting

material so they could kill the Condottieri in Africa. If the rebel

leaders-turned-legitimate government didn't play ball well, the Coils

were in the 'assassinating people' business and somewhere along the line

the survivors would figure out keeping 'us' happy kept them alive.

Problem solved.

It was Bishop Nicolé de

Santis' job to facilitate that understanding. If certain people with

Vatican credentials explained the 'facts of life' to the new regime a

lot more lives could be saved, Catholic lives. In turn, he could work to

make sure the new group in power wasn't nearly as corrupt as the gang

we were tossing out. Better education and quality of life, improved

infrastructure & security and a nice shiny cathedral, or two.

We,

as in JIKIT and our component members, didn't want to rule the country

and dominate the people's lives. We needed the ports and the airfields

with a blind eye turned to our skullduggery. Sure, there would be future

considerations. Amazons and Coil members would be fighting and dying

for these people's freedom ~ public recognition definitely not required.

No; the Amazons wanted to be left alone in their deep jungle homes

which was an isolation they basically already had. This was a future

chit which said 'don't come looking'.

The

Coils? Let's just say in the future Cabinda would have embassies around

the globe and if occasionally they wanted someone to slip through under

diplomatic cover ~ they were good for it. And if the Cabindans ever

needed help in the future they knew they had friends in dark places who

were now invested in Cabinda's survival. It was a win-win-win, unless

you were an Angolan big-wig, or one of their foot-soldier currently

serving in Cabinda. Amazons weren't big on taking prisoners, or even

giving the opposition the option of giving up.

For me, it wasn't

lunch yet and here I was plotting to overthrow yet another government in

yet another country ~ though in only two, small provinces this time.

Thank the Goddess I had the rest of the week off. I wasn't sure the

Globe could survive me working another four damn days.

"Wait," I

back-tracked. "What was that you said about Moldavia?" and I had spoken

too soon. Off I went, pushing things one more step toward Ragnarék-and-Roll, again.

A Quick Historical Aside:

If

you are still thinking Amazons and visualizing any of a number of

representations by DC Comics, you are way off base ~ especially

concerning the Amazons of Africa. They had been historically genetically

homogenous for most of their earlier history being Hittite with a

continuing admixtures of Indo-European folks. Around 500 C.E. things

began to change in a serious way.

The Western Roman Empire was

succumbing to Germanic invasions and civil disorder. Just as bad from

the Amazon point of view, it was becoming Christian. The 4th, 5th and

6th century Christians were an internally violent lot, witness the

'Christian' destruction of the 'pagan' Library of Alexandria, one of the

greatest collections of lore and writings of the Ancient World

destroyed by a mindless, frothing, religiously intolerant mob.

So,

when the Amazon Diaspora began, they weren't just fleeing the barbarian

Germans, they were fleeing Roman orthodoxy which was grinding down all

pagan beliefs within the 'safe' zones of the Empire. It was Christianity

which drove the Amazons who departed for Egypt down the Nile past the

southern Roman frontier and farther still. The squabbling successor

states to the Kingdom Monroe were unhealthy yet the Bantu expansion

eastward provided opportunities in their wake.

Departing the

White Nile, those six houses crossed over into the Chari River Basin and

its Sao Civilization. By the 6th century CE, the Sao were quit old and

established. In some ways similar to the Slavic folks of Eastern Europe,

they were loosely organized ~ more a cultural union than a monolithic

empire, so the Amazons scooted around to the south of these people (to

the north was the Sahel) and set up shop. They wanted to live in

isolation, not in the middle of nowhere. They appreciated civilization

as much as the next guy, or gal.

The Bantu-speaking folks already

had a tradition of the 'Twa' ~ Forest People. Normally the Twa were

social inferiors and Pygmies (though we don't call them that anymore).

Traditionally the Twa provided meat via hunting for the agrarian Bantu

farmers. The Twa were also were rather 'put upon' and treated as 'less

than' by their 'civilized neighbors. The Amazons gave the true Twa

'teeth', becoming hybridized-female Forest Demon leopardesses, prides of

leopardesses who brooked no intruders, or mistreatment of themselves

and their unobtrusive cohabitants.

The Amazons provided meat,

furs and other animal products for goods they needed, things like iron

ingots because the Amazons always retained their weapon-crafting and

armorer skills. Disease did kill off a good number of the original

Amazons and wiped out their entire Asiatic horse stock. It would be five

hundred years before the African sisters would remount on steeds

introduced by traders and conquerors spreading the World's newest

monotheistic religion, Islam.

The important thing was that after

five generations if you bumped into a troupe of Amazons on a trail, or

on a boat on a river, outside of an odd eye color, or perhaps a mildly

lighter skin complexion, you, the African native, were looking at

someone who could be from the next village over, or perhaps the tribe

over the mountain, or upriver. You still might find five, or six, armed

women without male company odd, but their melanin level wasn't going to

be a problem.

‘Til Touchdown brings me round again, to find out I’m not the man they think I am, at home.

Sir Elton “Hercules” John

{7:31 pm, Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}

{The Roof of Havenstone HQ; New York City}

I

pushed the ritual hood aside, the one I used to gather the smoke up

from the embers to add my tears to those contributed by my Isharan

Sisters. I was inducting five more new, flesh & blood warriors into

our ranks and calling upon our Ancestors to escort twenty-one to the

Halls of Paradise which awaited those loyal to the Goddess and her

dictates. Eighteen had been the unheralded ghosts of now former-Runners

from the Amazons' past. The other three,

Dead in Japan. There had

been an ambush yesterday. Those three gave their lives so the rest of

their party, ninjas mostly, could escape a trap set by proxies of the

Seven Pillars. It was the price they paid for my promises, yet three

more were already champing at the bit to get on a plane and replace

them. They were our first War Dead in sixteen hundred years and I wanted

to make sure our Ancestors would be ready for them.

I read off

the last name ~ Maribel Custer Ishara, 31, my Sister. I burned the

script with her name upon it, mixed the ashes with our blood and tears

and commended her name and deeds to those who waited for us beyond this

life and to our Goddess ~ Dot Ishara. I finished pulling back the cloth,

letting it fall to my shoulder and then stood. To my right was Buffy,

to my left was Helena, and across the brazier from me was Hayden.

I choked, nearly stumbling forward into the embers.

"Hayden?"

"Yes, Cáel," she smiled. "I have come to tell you 'we are with you'."

"With

me?" I mumbled. I caught Buffy's worried look. Of course, Hayden was a

ghost so none of the assembly could see her, or hear her.

"You have our support in what you are doing, what is known, and what is not so well known," she gave me a prescient look.

"Even if," I left the threat to reality hanging there.

"Yes.

That is why they sent me. The fabric of the Weave has started to

unravel and the Goddesses do not wish to confront this growing danger.

They have grown overly cautious by necessity yet we ~ the Ancestors ~

have voted and decided bolder action is needed," she counselled.

Voted?

Thousands upon thousands of those who had proceeded us were so

concerned about the fates of their living descendants and those yet to

be born they had felt compelled to gather and, vote, but for what

precisely? And why tell me and not the augurs?

Because,

Krasimira wasn't the firebrand, I was.

Krasimira wasn't on the Council, I was.

I was the one romantically and sexually involved with two of the three members of the Regency, not her.

Finally,

when I relayed this conversation to Aya, she wouldn't have a single

doubt about my motivations plus the Ancestors couldn't communicate with

Aya. The Ancestors could find ways to chat with me because of what Alal

had done to me ~ turning his weapon against the Host to their own use.

How appropriate.

Still, shit, didn't I have enough on my plate already?

Apparently

not and Hayden hadn't come all the way back from Death to watch me

mentally dawdle. Of all Amazons now deceased, she had the clearest

experience witnessing my dedication to our Race no matter what the cost

to myself, to my morality, and the spiritual and emotional penalties I'd

have to pay. I had to keep forging ahead.

"Will there be any help on your end?" I inquired.

"Yes,

but we must be careful. You are a subject of concern for several of the

Goddesses," she warned me. She was also letting me know the Ancestors,

within some nebulous limitations, were wishing to risk their matron

deities' ire to do something about this looming crisis.

"Craptastic," I muttered darkly.

"You saw how, perturbed Istustaya and Papaya where when you noticed their appearance as Tadéfi made her most recent predictions?"

"Yes."

"Cáel?" Buffy touched my shoulder.

"I'm

okay," I addressed her while keeping eye contact with Hayden's specter.

I was afraid if I looked away she might vanish. "Hayden has returned to

give me counsel."

The mortal hush around me was truly telling.

For the assembly, Hayden was the only High Priestess they had ever

known, their Absolute Authority. I had killed her. No one had disguised

that. My confrontation had led her to some personal crisis, to her

decree which led to the death of the worst of the Runner-hating,

hardcore Traditionalists leadership, and to her own trip to the cliffs.

Before

her demise, she had shorn her hair and renounced her membership in

House Anahit thus dying Houseless ~ like virtually every other Runner.

At the hour of her passing, I had defied even the Goddess Ishara herself

to bring her into our House, so now Hayden was one of our Honored Dead,

an Isharan. The true reason Dot Ishara allowed Hayden in wasn't

something I had shared with many others. Sharing it with everyone

wouldn't have helped anyone, even me.

"Yes," I related to Hayden. "How did you know this?"

"The

fate of our children is of great concern to us," she gave her

pantheress' smile. "For many of my Sisters it has been a long term

concern."

"Oh, I can understand that. I noticed."

"What can we do?" the deceased High Priestess offered.

"Do? Aren't you in your designated reward?"

"Yes, but we are alive, just not here ~ in this reality."

I had a blasphemous brainstorm.

"Can

you gather a party of our best hunters and send them into the Endless

Black Sands?" I blurted out. I regretted doing so immediately. These

were my Honored Dead I was talking about. Each had already given their

all for my House and my Host in their lifespan.

"Yes, it is

possible," Hayden frowned, in concentration, as if she was in

communication with others beyond my own supernatural perceptions.

"Can you find Artimpasa of Anahit?"

"Who is she?"

"The

twin sister of Sērkuēn of Anahit, also known as Shammuramat, Queen of

Assyria and currently called Sakuniyas. Sērkuēn killed her sister, in a

bad way and I suspect she has been denied her place in the Halls of Anat

for her actions."

"By what thread would the Daughters of Ishara find her? After so many centuries, are you sure she has somehow survived?"

Hate

carried Ajax and his warriors. Hate carried Shammy. Could, love do any

less? If you believed love was as strong as, if not stronger than, hate

then I had to hope the love for her sister and worry Artimpasa had for

her exiled twin might have kept her going all this time. How to find her

though? Then I felt stupid for asking.

"Could an augur transition an object, or objects, from this World across the Weave to the Ancestors?" I inquired of Hayden.

"I would have to ask," she nodded grimly. "What do you have in mind?"

"Saku's gear comes from the other side, from the Black Sands. She will gift you/us with some arrows."

"We will find a way to chat again when you come back from the Great Hunt. Oh, and Cáel?"

"Yes?"

"Please tell Katrina 'my love for you has never been stronger' ~ those precise words and,"

"And?"

"Don't embarrass us," she chided me. The Great Hunt. Gee, thanks ladies.

"Wasn't planning on it. I've got a strategy all figured out, something they'll never see coming."

The

ghost rolled her eyes. As she turned away, her form faded into the

night sky and I was left with thirty-seven of my very mortal sisters who

had been gifted with only my side of our conversation. Oh joy.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled story:

{10:30 pm (CDT), Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}

I

was staring at the screen of my laptop. After the death of my Father

and the litany of my oncoming offspring, this was probably the most

traumatic event of my life. Okay, I should tack on the whole 'bringing

the Cosmic Dragon back from the dead' and my own possible immortality to

the list, but this was, bad.

"Ishara?" Juanita caught wind of my

worry. We were on a Havenstone jet winging our way to Chicago. Tomorrow

I had to clean up some of my Father's affairs before heading off to

wherever House Epona had stashed Felix.

"What's wrong?"

"I, ah,"

She came across the aisle and looked from my pale features to the screen.

"What is that?"

"Quarterly Earnings Reports," I responded.

"We made that much? Seems good," she put a hand on my shoulder.

"No. That is House Ishara's share of Havenstone's projected 3rd Quarter Earnings. It just hit my corporate bank account."

"Oh,"

"Yeah."

"What are you going to, do with it?"

"It

is forty-three million dollars?" I grunted. "What the fuck, well, I

guess I should purchase House Ishara a freehold, or two for starters."

Actually it was $43,285,825.

"What's that?" she pointed to another stream of figures.

"Oh,

that's our net worth," I informed her. "House Ishara. Havenstone has

$732.3 billion in assets and a net worth of $308 billion. 'We' are only

worth 0.9259% of that so $2,851,772,000."

"Oh."

"That's a

few bills under $18 million per Isharan. Congrats, you are a

multi-millionaire," I teased her. "Technically $272,000 of the money

warming my bank account is yours too."

"oh," she repeated in a really small voice. "I don't actually get paid," she gave me a funny stare. "I have an expense account."

Of

course she didn't get paid. None of them did. They were part of a

fanatic, insular cult. I was an oddity due to my maleness and 'New

Directive' hire status.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled diversion:

For

the first time in my life I sent definite word to my 'Brother', the

Great Khan. My Spirit and Mind were joined on the liberation of Cabinda ~

I wanted this done. I absolutely knew I was sending forces in motion

which would lead to untold human suffering and I felt absolutely sure doing nothing was the worst choice.

Screw

it all, after sitting through the British briefing from 'suppressed'

sources inside the Portuguese government, I wanted to free all 23

million Angolans, but that wasn't going to happen, so I was going to

save the roughly 600,000 Cabindans and 500,000 Bakongo in Zaire if I had

to go see to it in person and make sure the 400,000 living in exile

could return home.

In response, my Brother began calling people ~

starting with the Prime Minister of India, Narendra Damodardas Modi,

and General Secretary of the Communist Party of Vietnam, Nguyễn Phü Trọng,

personally. Those calls cascaded. The  Prime Minister of India, after

head-butting with some cabinet members, called his counter-part in,

Brazil.

Brazil was the leading power in the Lusosphere

(Portuguese-speaking countries), she was right across the Atlantic from

Cabinda/Angola and her proximity would become a huge factor if Angola

became pugnacious. The Brazilian Navy was sizeable and her Air Force

capable. If Brazil decided to oppose this territorial usurpation things

could get nasty quickly, so Brazil had to be convinced to sit on the

sidelines, at least temporarily.

Vietnam's GS Trọng, after some

brief consultations, began making his own diplomatic overtures. Why?

Imagine for a second being any small, poor country in the United Nations

who wasn't a Permanent Member of the Security Council and didn't have

veto-power.

And you have lived with this 'inequality' for 70 years.

And

you woke up a month ago and suddenly you were a permanent council

member of a New Global Body which valued your input and opinions.

The

Great Khan couldn't tell the General Secretary precisely what was going

on, but he promised to have a team fly down to him within 48 hours to

explain everything in person because unwelcome people were 'listening

in' which was the damn truth. So, GS Trọng began reaching out to every

Marxist, Communist and Socialist in Europe, Africa and South America who

would listen. The top country on his list? Cuba.

No, he wasn't

asking for Cuba to become involved in Angola again as the Soviets had

done back in the 1970's. That would be, awkward. Instead, GS Trọng was

asking his "Old Buddy", Raál Castro, President and 1st Secretary of the Communist Party of Cuba to put in his good offices with,

Good Morning, Havana!

Raál:

"Comrade Nguyễn, long time, no see. (In fact, I can't ever recall

seeing you) Precisely why are you calling me at, 3 a.m. your time? The

current retrograde revisionist direction of our inevitable victory got

you down?"

Nguyễn: "Quite the contrary, Comrade Raál. In fact, an opportunity has arisen to strike a blow against the Old World Order, Comrade. Can I count on you?"

Raál:

"Oh, umm, if you take into account I've heard this ugly rumor you are

about to kick our fellow 'Brothers in the Struggle' (the People's

Republic of China) in the testes in collusion with these jumped-up

autocratic, religious fundamentalist fanatic Reactionaries from Central

Asia and the always doctrinally-dicey Indians, what do you have in

mind?"

Nguyễn: "All I need you to do is lend the gravitas of your

leadership to a bit of backroom diplomacy, Comrade. I understand you

are on speaking terms with those presently in charge of Brazil, despite

their questionable adherence to Marxist-Leninist purity."

Raál:

"Hmm, beyond the linguistic reality Spanish and Brazilian Portuguese

are not mutually intelligible, something could be arranged. Please

continue."

Nguyễn: "I need you to contact the President of Brazil

and request her agreement for diplomatic and logistic intervention to a

freedom-fighting victory we are about to experience on the African

continent."

Raál: "A victory? Really? Where?"

Nguyễn:

"Sorry. We both know the USA's CIA and the NSA are crawling all over

your communications networks like the smoke wafting off of one of your

Havana's Finest."

Raál: "Ain't that the damn truth. Still, what do you want me to ask her for?"

Nguyễn:

"Just to be prepared to back India's play, no matter how bizarre it

might appear at first. Also, let her know we've got her back militarily

if it comes to a confrontation with the forces of Global Imperialism and

post-colonial aggression."

Raál: "Wow, that sounds, ugly. What's in it for us?"

Nguyễn: {pause} "Workers of the World, Unite!"

Raál: {looks at his phone suspiciously} "No really, what's going on?"

Nguyễn:

"I already said I can't tell you the details right now. I guarantee

this will help advance the struggle of World Communism."

Raál: "Nice to know. And?"

Nguyễn: "Has your fervor for the Cause dampened, Comrade?"

Raál: "I know for a fact you get your suits from Brookes Brothers, Comrade.

I just found out my nephew's yacht needs an extensive engine overhaul

and the Venezuelan outfit which used to do the work closed up shop last

month,"

Nguyễn: "Ah, we'll, given two years my economic experts have informed me we, as in the hard-working people of Vietnam,"

Raál: "Get on with it."

Nguyễn: "Upwards of ten million Central Asians a year, will start visiting our burgeoning tourist industry,"

Raál: "Been there, done that during the Cold War."

Nguyễn:

"No! These people will have money! The Reactionary Khanate will be

paying their workers Free Market salaries! We are talking real currency

too, not those crappy, Soviet-era rubbles you couldn't wipe your ass

with."

Raál: "Great Lenin's Ghost! You had better not be lying to me, Comrade Nguyễn. If you could send five,"

Nguyễn: "Two!"

Raál: "Three!" (I just doubled my tourism industry!!)

Nguyễn:

"Fine {grumble} three million, but you had better not leave me looking

like Leon Trotsky in desperate need of a raincoat in Mexico City when

all of this comes out."

Raál: "Perish the thought. If this works out ~ positively ~ I won't forget this."

Nguyễn: "You will be advancing goodwill toward the Cuban people in the corridors of power,"

Raál: "I'll take the hard, cold currency, thank you very much."

Nguyễn: "How the struggle has been, transformed."

Raál: "Such is life. I'll get right on this."

Nguyễn: "I appreciate it. I really do."

Raál: "Well,"

Nguyễn: {uh oh}

Raál: "Are your violently reactionary allies in Central Asia, sending any, economic aid your way? Things you might not need?"

Nguyễn: "Like?"

Raál: "Like, anything. Have you seen the state of my economy and military? We've been hurting over here."

Nguyễn: "Comrade Raál,

you get the President of Brazil in a cooperative mood so that this

blossoms into a victory for the Freedom-Loving Peoples of the World and

I'll hand your Wish List to the Great Khan personally."

Raál: "And if it is, a partial victory, for the Freedom-Loving Peoples of the World?"

Nguyễn:

"Eh, it won't be my people dying, nor yours. I'll let my allies know

you did your best and let New Delhi and Astana figure out how they wish

to respond."

Raál: "Oh well, it isn't like President Obama is going to get a 3rd term. What do I have to lose at this point?"

Nguyễn: "On the bright side, the Great Khan has, what's the term you Latin American's use?"

Raál: "Machismo?"

Nguyễn: "That sounds about right. "Machismo to

face down the Americans and just about everyone else. As one valiant

member of the proletariat to another, I've met him face-to-face, he kind

of scares the shit out of me."

Raál: "Really?"

Nguyễn:

"Yes, he has the eyes of, those old-timers, the ones who ordered human

wave after human wave of soldiers to clear the minefields and throw

their bodies over the barbed wire so the next wave could rush over the

corpses as well as the mangled and dying so they could finally grapple

with the enemy, and would do it all over again in a heartbeat."

Raál: "And this is the man you chose to ally with?"

Nguyễn:

"I'd rather sell my granddaughters to a Jakarta brothel than help the

Chinese after the way they've treated us the past 50 years. Besides, he

went to Tibet and left then went to Thailand and left. He is the best

kind of ally there is, the one who remembers to go home when the war is

done."

Raál: "Good point (I hope for your sake), best of luck with that. I have some calls to make. I will be in touch."

Nguyễn: "You do that. Good luck, Comrade."

Raál: "Comrade."

And back again:

So,

when the President of Brazil began to field phone calls from the Prime

Minister of India, the Prime Minister of Portugal (via the Vatican) and

the President of Cuba within two hours, she began to get truly

concerned, about what? No one could definitely tell her, except it had

to do with a Portuguese-speaking country which bordered the South

Atlantic (and, including Brazil, there were only three of those).

And

just when you thought you might know what's going on, there was

Brazilian Lieutenant general Carlos Alberto dos Santos Cruz, commander

of the United Nations Organization Stabilization Mission in the

Democratic Republic of the Congo (MONUSCO). That's right, the DRC which

bordered Cabinda. Christmas had come early and it got better.

The

Indians needed to move troops 'through' the Congo, but that was 'okay'

because they already had over 3,700 men 'in country' as part of said UN

mission, so all it had to look like was they were reshuffling some guys

around, with the added bonus the Khanate and the Indians both flew the

same transport aircraft, the Il-76 (though the Indians were getting new

American-built Boeing C-17 GlobeMaster threes too). Suddenly the ability

for the Khanate (and the Indians) to funnel the necessary equipment to

the Cabindan rebels became a whole lot easier, for once.

My

Brother didn't skimp at this juncture either. He couldn't send his best

troops, but he could open up his War Chest. What equipment he couldn't

afford to send, he purchased and manned. Western and Central Europe may

have vacated the killing business, but they were still willing to sell

the Weapons of War to the willing and able (to pay that is). His allies

were contributing too. Ships and planes from Europe and Asia were

converging on the ports along the Congo River.

Technically this

was in the Democratic Republic of Congo, but the regimes Secret

Policemen were looking for people out to overthrow the current

President-for-Life, not some insanely over-armed folks merely passing through. Those officials took their bribes, went home and slept like babies. This wasn't their war after all.

Back to Cabinda:

(A three and a half page diversion from the life of Cáel)

Back

in Cabinda all sorts 'fun' was about to break out. I was to blame.

Strangers and people I only barely knew where going into harm's way,

bleeding and dying.

Opposing Forces:

In the past

1400 years, those six African houses prospered so well they founded five

more of their own plus sponsored the movement to South America of one

of their own ~ House Yemonja ~ plus two from Europe. In today's numbers,

this equated to the Host being able to muster 125 Security Detail plus

roughly 1,900 House Amazons and 1,200 Runners for combat operations in

Central Africa which took into account the House Amazons left behind

defending key assets and the Runners keeping Havenstone-Africa

functional.

In comparison, the Angolan Army had over 90,000 men.

Countering their numerical superiority were numerous handicaps. For

starters, they were men and the Amazons had no problem at all killing

men. The Angolans didn't have much compunction about shooting women

either, but this time the women could and would shoot back, which would

be a surprise.

The Angolan Army's primary combat experience was

in combating a poorly-equipped, home-grown guerilla force. Its heyday

was fighting the long-running Angolan Civil War that was over a decade

ago and most of their conscript soldiers were using Cold War-issue gear.

This

time around their enemies were highly motivated, well-financed and

expertly trained in both conventional and unconventional warfare. On

this battlefield, the Host would be engaging in a 'stand-up' fight, more

on that later. With the British and US being able to provide useful

signal and satellite intelligence and the Coils inflicting political

turmoil judiciously, it was likely the Amazons would counter-punch the

Angolans first reaction and the International Community would intervene

before they could gather up a credible threat.

It turned out the

Indian government was rather taken with the idea of providing a

peace-keeping force for Cabinda as well. The 'why' was simple enough.

Her greatest competitor in Asia (in her mind), China, the People's

Republic of China, was in serious trouble, India had already pulled off a

flawless intervention in Thailand and as a Nation-state, she was

feeling her oats.

Suddenly, for the pro-Khanate faction it was what can't we do? 99% of the India's Lok Sabha (House

of the People ~ lower house of Parliament) had no idea where Cabinda

was yet they felt India's Armed Forces could do this and their new

allies wouldn't leave them hanging if things got tough.

Of

course, being up against a military power of Angola's caliber didn't

hurt either. Angola didn't have a host of allies (with the PRC being

their biggest), no navy to speak of and life in Cabinda was hellish, if

off the media's beaten path. Saying the province of Zaire was,

'neglected' was putting it politely. And, less we forget, oil, oil, oil!

The most oil in Sub-Saharan Africa!

The third prong of the

offensive (the Amazon/Coils actual combat actions being the first and

India championing Cabinda's cause being the second) was a bit of Vatican

global diplomacy. Up front, Angola was a Catholic country and Cabinda

was a Catholic province struggling for historical (1885) independence,

so the Pope's voice carried weight. In the back channels was a matter of

impassioned egos and a glaring historical imbalance.

For

starters, Cabinda was only part of Angola because of it being gobbled

up as the European powers were dividing up Africa. As groups in Berlin

and London were tidying up the map for people who they had never seen

and had never seen them, the Portuguese ended up with both regions.

Cabinda

and Angola were inhabited by culturally similar peoples yet were

politically different entities when they ended up under Lisbon's

colonial administration. It was simply easier to govern small Cabinda

from the vastly larger Angola, so that's what they, the Europeans, did.

Cabinda never considered itself part of any internal Angolan

political-tribal entity because they weren't.

Dial up an episode

called the Carnation Revolution in 1974. If you are Portuguese, or speak

Portuguese, this is probably well known to you. Otherwise, probably

not. Anyway, after a long-reigning totalitarian regime, the people of

Portugal overthrew their unelected leadership for some of the elected

kind. Having been dragging along a series of rather long and unpopular

colonial wars of independence, the new people in charge in Lisbon

(Portugal's capital), rapidly set their colonial possessions free.

That

was rather nice of them, unless you were in Cabinda. See, the natives

of Cabinda already knew they had Massive deposits of oil sitting right

off the coast of their tiny province and they had no real desire to

share that wealth with the rest of Angola, because they didn't see

themselves as Angolans. They had never been Angolans in their minds, so

why start now?

For Angola, the answer was easy, because you have

oil! On top of all this mess, plenty of African nations at the time were

heavily experimenting with Marxism with the added bonus of this being

the middle of the Cold War ~ the Soviet Union + Warsaw Pact vs. the USA +

NATO vs. France (who always followed their own foreign policy goals

despite being part of NATO). Then there was the fact the ole Soviets had

already invested in those anti-colonial movements which were now taking

over those former Portuguese patches of earth.

Cabinda said 'We

are Free!' and then Angola, with the help of the Republic of Congo

(Marxist back then), said 'No, you are not!' and shot most of the

Cabindans who insisted on disagreeing. The Angolans then spent the next

25 years in a civil war with their fellow Angolans. Though the war had

ended and the country had migrated away from a Marxist-Leninist

One-Party Rule toward democracy in 2010, the President remained the same

guy since, 1979, (cough, cough)

... and the average Angolan got

by on $2 a day, despite Angola pumping out more oil than Nigeria, having

the 3rd largest diamond mines in Africa, a collapsed iron mining

operation worth $220 million (in today's $) and a cornucopia of other

valuable natural resources, and the President's daughter being the

richest woman in Africa (having absolutely nothing to do with her

Daddy's influence of, well everything in Angola).

The only hitch

in all of this was, stunningly, the oil. See, petroleum production was

45% of Angola's economy and 90% of her exports. To say the Angolan

government owed a shitload of money to just about everybody was putting

paid to the word 'shitload'.

Mind you, things like 'torture,

rape, summary executions, arbitrary detention, and the disappearances of

environmental, political and human rights activists kept coming up over and over again as the Standard Operating Procedures for the Angolan government and their various stooges.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

Graduation Day.  

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"You know nothing of what you speak of, Ishara, yet you now feel free to insult us," she simmered.

"Don't

know, don't care. It was all before my time. I care about the

'here-and-now' as well as what we do in the future. What I am asking you

is what concrete item or 'thing' can be provided to House Zorja to put

this blood feud behind you. Name it and House Ishara will endeavor to

procure it for you."

"We are not merchants," Jana's eyes narrowed.

"No.

I didn't imply you were. If you want new sandals for everyone in your

House, I'll find you new sandals. If you want 100,000 acres of

ranchland, I'll find you the land. Name it," I persisted.

"Our prestige cannot be bought," she 'explained'.

"No,

but a blood feud with House Ishara can be avoided by making a request

of us in the same way as expressing your desire to harm my daughter can

be expressed by denying my offer," I hardened. "And 'fuck you very much' if you think I won't use every son, daughter, mother, aunt, and uncle of Ishara when I come gunning for House Zorja too."

"You wouldn't dare bring outsiders into this," Klavdiya interjected.

"Why

not? The offices of Ishara handed House Zorja the coup of the century ~

the capture of the People's Liberation Army Navy nuclear carrier. A

member of House Zorja commanded that task, yet they did so by leading

forces marshalled by House Ishara, outsider forces. You may wish to keep

playing by old rules concerning who is and isn't part of a House, but I

am not so constrained, sisters."

"So

Klavdiya, if House Meenakshi pursues its blood feud with House Zorja,

House Ishara will gleefully join them in the pummeling. And we have

Isharans in the 9 Clans, the Khanate and the Illuminati who will gladly

help us out in slapping them around like the old-fashion curmudgeons

they are showing themselves to be, or, House Zorja may request a gift

from House Ishara and we will happily clear accounts between them and

House Meenakshi in the name of our daughter, Parvati. Their choice."

"You are still on the mats," Elsa reminded me. Sikia coiled protectively next to us.

"And you said something about a lesson being long overdue," Pamela smirked, "Kitten."

"Cáel

Ishara," Shawnee said in a soft voice, "perhaps it is germane to the

argument: the fault of the blood feud rests with House Zorja, not House

Meenakshi."

I fell on my back, carrying Tad fi with me. She gasped out in surprise while remaining closely cuddled with me. Her right hand never left my lips.

"Why does no one tell me this shit?" I moaned.

"You are hard," Tad fi

announced. "Are you ready to have more sex?" She was sounding upbeat

about our prospects. She was also ignorant of our surroundings being

deaf and blind to the mortal realm.

"Gossamer Wing," I

created a pet name for the augur, "we are lying on the sparring mats of a

large combat arena in the central Full-blooded training center for

Havenstone with roughly 500 sisters in attendance (the audience had

grown). While I am enticed by your scent, words, proximity and sweet

memories of what we've shared, I'm probably going to be badly beaten up

really soon for a terrific diplomatic snafu."

"But then we can have sex?"

"Yeah.

I'm totally up for having sex with you after they release me from

Medical," I assured her. I looked around her to a very unhappy Mahdi.

"Can you find it in your heart to forgive House Zorja? Anything I can,"

"Yes," she abruptly cut me off.

What the fuck?

"At

this time, my hatred of House Ishara, and you in particular, make any

grievance I have with House Zorja pale in comparison. You have bewitched

my only daughter. She bares your child, and it will be a wonderful

child if the soiled augur you've stuck your cock in is to be believed,"

she ground out bitterly. "I want to go home. I want to find enemies to

kill. And when I do, Cáel Ishara, know each and every one of them will

carry your face in my mind."

She turned to Jana. "Do you agree that we both hate Ishara enough to put aside our current differences?"

Jana

studied Mahdi, me, then Mahdi again and agreed. She stood. Mahdi stood.

They clasped arms like Amazons, then hugged like sisters.

"Agreed. He is much worse."

My thoughts on the matter. Woot! I was having sex! Oh, and I was making Aya happy by ending a blood feud.

"My

admiration of you continues to increase," Krasimira looked at me. "This

diplomacy stuff is harder than it looks yet you pull it off so

effortlessly."

"Yay me!" I muttered.

"Keeper, are we done?" Sikia asked Krasimira.

"I believe so," the older Amazon rose to her feet. Sikia was far faster in rising.

"Mahdi of Meenakshi, you have insulted me and my augur. Defend yourself," she snarled. If Tad fi hadn't been immediately present, Mahdi wouldn't have even warranted a warning no doubt.

"Had you done your job," Mahdi flowed into her fighting stance, "you both wouldn't be pregnant."

"Whoa now," I struggled to rise while keeping Tad fi close and my body between her and the Meenakshi/Zorja side of the mat. "Sikia, I can't let you fight. You're pregnant too."

"Don't

be stupid, Cáel Ishara," Sikia retreated off the mat, so she could shed

her jacket and footwear. "Amazons have fought pregnant for thousands of

years."

"Hold on now," NYPD Sgt. Larisa Kutuzov said in English

as she moved forward. I was a millisecond too late. Larisa's foot

touched down on the mat and Marlene Zorja popped her one, a hand chop to

the larynx. The senior cop stumbled forward.

"Mom!" shouted

Nikita. Marlene followed up with a leg sweep, putting Larisa face first

on the mats, then a fist strike to the back of the head, knocking her

out. Neat and tidy in less than two seconds.

Nikita was about to charge in when Chaz stopped her.

"Footwear,"

he advised in the tone of voice I had learned to associate with him and

imminent violence. The moment he stopped her, he was quickly removing

his own socks and shoes. Virginia and Pamela were doing the same. I was

allowed freedom of movement because I was holding Tad fi. Krasimira exited because of her unique status. The rest were already barefoot.

"Gale, could you please stay with Tad fi," I tried to hand her off.

"No," Gale looked me over. "I will fight." No hint on whose side she would be fighting on. Krasimira came to my rescue.

"I'll take her."

"Tad fi," I told the augur, "I have to go get beaten up now, but I promise I will be back for you directly."

"This is not your fight," Krasimira said. "The words and deeds are Sikia's."

"A, she carries my child and B, the deeds being called into question are my fault."

"You told me once they were the Will of Ishara," Krasimira mused.

"We are one in the same," I gave a lopsided grin.

"Be careful," Tad fi pleaded. "Your future is a chaotic jumble, I cannot see,"

"Eh, I've been very bad. We'll talk about it later. Gotta go," I headed onto the mats.

Pamela

was giving the ground rules to the 'normals': No 'fair warnings'. No

'fair play'. No 'time outs'. You fought until unconscious, or you

surrendered.

"This is going to suck," Virginia assessed our odds.

Two Amazons had removed Larisa from the mats and were tending to her.

Nikita was kneeling by her side until she heard Virginia, then came our

way.

Besides Sikia, we had Pamela, Chaz, Virginia, myself and

Nikita. Oneida stepping up was nice. She wasn't a great combatant, but

we dearly needed the help. Gale joining us was, unsettling. Amazons

don't play fair, so this could be a ruse.

Against us were all

three Zorja and both Meenakshi ~ I imagined Rhada felt she had something

to prove to her mother. They'd picked up ten other Amazons and Rhonwenn

Nemain. Klavdiya joined them to counterbalance her baby sister. Eight

to seventeen ~ ouch.

"Damn," a familiar voice from my first days

on the job spoke up from behind me, "we almost missed this." I didn't

dare look over my shoulder. Desiree stepped between Chaz and Virginia.

Rachel came up on my left and Tiger Lily on my right. At the tail end of

our line was Mona, Meridian, Brielle and Wiesława. Fifteen to seventeen

was looking much better, especially considering Desiree had brought

five Security Detail warriors with her, all of whom were moving to

further bolster our numbers.

"Rachel," Elsa looked to her underling, "you have no idea why you are fighting."

"It is for Cáel. So it must be for a better tomorrow," Rachel laughed.

"Very well," Elsa smirked.

"You!"

Mahdi pointed at me, and we both charged. It was a jumbled nightmare of

clashing bodies, war cries and flashes of movement all around. Our side

had two main advantages -

While Chaz was by no means the best

hand-to-hand combatant present, he knew the basic Amazon style and most

Amazons didn't know his. Added to his overall height and bulk

advantages, he bought us time.

Of greater importance, Rachel, Tiger Lily and Mona had extensive training working as a team, which none of the opponents had.

Elsa

was the most dangerous individual on the mat. Pamela was the second

most dangerous, so Elsa grabbed a couple of partners and ganged up on

her to drive her off the mats. Chaz went next, out-Elsa'ed and beaten

unconscious. The issue was, it took her too long to accomplish those two

feats. By the time she rounded on me, Rachel and Tiger Lily, our half

of the field had wiped out theirs. It was six of us (me, Rachel, Tiger

Lily, Gale, Wiesława and Desiree) versus four of them (Elsa, Marlene,

Klavdiya and Rhonwenn).

Still, I was facing Elsa, so a judicious bit of treachery was required.

"Gale," I huffed and puffed, "please retire. I don't want you to fight your sister."

"What?" Gale snapped. She'd taken a beating, yet remained feisty.

"No, fighting her sister is okay with me," Desiree scowled. "We are still facing fucking Elsa."

"All the other women you have mated with have failed. I remain," Gale trumpeted.

"Oh, you are right," I half-turned. "All the reason you are more precious to me."

"Really?"

"Of course," I deepened my introspective appreciation of her.

"Oh," and Klavdiya punched Rhonwenn. That was an 'oh, Cáel Ishara must actually care for my baby sister and not be just a Playa' on Klavdiya's part. Yeah. I'm a horrible fucking person at times.

Rachel,

Tiger Lily and I rushed Elsa. Marlene pivoted to ward against Klavdiya

while Gale and Wiesława stormed in against her. Desiree helped Klavdiya

finish drubbing Rhonwenn before they combined to force Marlene off the

mats. Elsa chose to go down swinging in a dogpile of bodies. I took an

ear-ringing blow to the head which allowed Rachel to apply a chokehold

and it was lights out for the Head of SD.

After some water

bottles went around and those concussed returned to wakefulness, the

resolution of the brawl was decided. Mahdi apologized to Sikia. It was

short, terse and sparing of any empathy, yet was within the bounds of

Amazon etiquette. She departed with Rhada, which left me to pick up the

pieces, starting with Nikita's mom.

"Oh," the older woman moaned then, "Ms. Fredrickson? What are you doing here?"

"Avenging

you, Mother," Nikita fluffed up the truth. "She, Cáel and the others

cleaned house on the woman who jumped you and her allies."

"Desk Sergeant," Desiree gave a curt nod.

"This isn't over," Larisa winced as she moved to a sitting position.

"Mrs.

Kutuzov, it is over," I headed off a colossal waste of time. "This is

my daily life and part of your daughter's life with JIKIT. You will find

scant witnesses and no tape recordings of these events. This craziness

is just another day in the life here at Havenstone. You stepped on the

mat and thus became fair game to any physical confrontation an opponent

cared to mete out. Consider this sovereign soil of an independent

nation-state."

"We," she looked around. "You kicked their asses?"

"Definitely," Pamela gave a feral snarl.

"This is plain nuts," she shook her head, winced in cranial pain, then put her aching head in her hands.

"One

of the reasons we've put our dating in hiatus," Nikita comforted her

mother while looking at me, and smiling affectionately.

Ah, for

fuck sakes! I was engaged to someone else and having a dozen kids by ten

different women. How could I still possibly be considered viable dating

material? Oh yeah, martial valor, laughing at death, I hung out with

truly exceptional cool people and I would always be in need of saving, a

plus for a crusader like Nikita.

I had so many allies to tend to, but only one who seemed to be making an exit. I swooped down on Tad fi long enough to place her fingers to my lips.

"I'll

be right back, friend of a friend in need," and off I went. I caught

Tavi of House Stolgos just outside the door. She wasn't avoiding me.

She'd been observing Chaz and he had been otherwise occupied.

My

British companion had played a pivotal role in the combat and taken his

beating like a man. He'd been rendered unconscious. So had many others,

so no stigma was attached to his loss. Post-battle, he had chosen to sit

on his haunches, knees up, talking to several of the Amazons, both

kneeling and standing. A few had been bystanders and a few others foes.

He

stayed on his ass to reduce his height advantage. Letting Amazons make

eye contact while not having to look up at you created definite

benefits. His good natured approach to his role in the fight and

pummeling earned him positive vibes as well. He made it clear the tussle

to him was not macho-personal. He was my 'brother / sister / sibling'

spiritually-speaking via Pamela adopting us both as her 'grandsons', so

my fights were his fights. Sikia had my (Cáel’s) child, so that bond

extended to her as well ~ family.

Pamela and I had schooled him

on Amazon psychology and those lessons were now paying serious

dividends. 'The Male' hadn't wanted to fight them ~ 'Amazons are tough'

he'd confessed, he knew this because he worked with several every day

on JIKIT~ but family was on the line, so he fought. Mahdi had

apologized, so the matter was settled. The other Amazons he'd fought?

They had fought for their reasons and he was okay with not questioning

them about it.

Why? He was conscious of his conspicuous status as

a 'guest', knew he was in no way an Amazon, and was not privy to what

motivated them. He didn't want to be an Amazon. He had his own, much

younger, martial tradition he was proud of, yet was eager to learn from

the vastly greater Amazon war lore because 'winners' didn't have a

gender-bias and no other tradition could compete with the Amazons' 3,000 years.

Under

normal circumstances, the women around him wouldn't have given credence

to his praise. He was a male after all. Through the tiny tear I'd

created in their insulating social fabric, Chaz was building upon his

own exploits. In the after-battle analysis, the Amazons reflected on the

realization Elsa had concentrated on him as her number two objective,

second only to Pamela who scared everyone who knew anything about her.

That bolstered Chaz's appeal.

For the Amazons who thought a male

would get all pouty and cry over being beaten up by a girl/girls, Chaz

was breaking the mold. He wasn't angry. He was amused. The fight had

been a learning experience and he'd felt honored to watch, no matter how

briefly, a warrior of Elsa's caliber fight. He'd explained 'I', Cáel

Wakko Ishara, considered Elsa one of the top 5 combatants I'd ever seen,

which included Ajax the Unconquered. The others were Sakuniyas, reborn

Amazon and former Queen of Assyria, Saint Marie, the Golden Mare, and

Pamela, the Cliff-walker.

More

happy Amazons because the list's only non-Amazon was a dead Hero from

the Trojan Wars and it was well known I 'got around' (aka dealt with

violent outsiders.) Chaz was telling the truth, almost. The 'fifth'

person on the list was Alal, but explaining him would be difficult, so

Chaz edited him for this particular audience. Good man.

In the hallway, "Tavi, a moment," I called out. She slowed down, took a few more steps allowing me to catch up.

"Yes Ishara?" she gave me her best neutral look. Yep. She was jealous.

"I

beg two favors from you," I quickly went down to one knee in her path.

That caught her off guard and left her in the awkward position of me

being terribly close and staring up at her.

"I, I will listen," she muttered.

"I

would like to know if you are pregnant," I asked very softly. Yes, she

was, but she didn't want to tell me. She contemplated pushing past me.

It would be very easy. "I know I am stepping beyond the boundaries

between warriors. Please. My destiny has brought you two together. I am

at fault here." 'Fault' was the key word.

"If I have a son, he will be given to the Queen," Tavi's face was stern and unforgiving. "He will live."

"That's

not what he's worried about," I shook my head. "He wants to be a father

to your daughter, Tavi. He wants to introduce you to his mother and

grandmothers, maybe his sisters too, if that can be arranged."

"Huh?"

"He is not like me, Tavi. There is no other in his life, but you."

"I, I will not leave my House for him," she protested angrily.

"He

would never ask you. That doesn't mean he doesn't want to remain at

your side for years to come. He can be a father to your child and not be

a part of House Stolgos in the same way you can be a mother to your

child and not be a part of Clan Tomorrow."

"Oh," she furrowed her brow. "How would this possibly work?"

"I have an 'in' with the Queen," I winked. "I'll work out something."

"He knows I will never stop being an Amazon," she elucidated intensely.

"Absolutely. He is an intelligence operative after all. He's figured a few things out for himself."

"Why doesn't he tell me these things?"

"Tavi,

he threw his body on top of me to shield me from a bomb blast, so he's

undoubtedly brave, but telling you what is in his heart is scary for

him. As his brother, I see behind his silence,"

"Oh, what should I do?" she was vexed.

"Go back in there, demand to speak with him and tell him the truth," I stood up.

"The truth?"

"That you are going to have a little StolgosTomorrow-ite running around sometime next year," I exuded confidential friendliness.

"Cáel Ishara," she tilted her head slightly, "you don't know much about infants, do you?"

"Nope,"

I pseudo-confessed. I actually did know something about newborns. I'd

studied up so I could make a move on a cute girl whose free time was

eaten up by babysitting, so I 'helped out'. Oink.

"They aren't

'running around'," she turned to head back into the gym, "until the

ninth month at the earliest. Normally, running doesn't happen until the

eighteenth month."

"My fiancée

has a three-year old, so she should be able to help me through some of

the hardest parts," I babbled along. Tavi didn't give a crap.

In we went. Tavi stormed straight toward the bevy of Amazon babes concentrating on 'her' Chaz.

"Color Sergeant Tomorrow," she abruptly interrupted. "A moment of your time."

"Ladies,"

Chaz uncoiled himself from the surrounding women. The Amazons were

either mildly put off, they thought they were about to get laid, or

pissed off, they were sure they were about to get laid, and Tavi was

stomping on their happy.

"Yes, Ms. Gentry," Chaz linked his hands

behind his back in a 'rest easy' stance. 'Gentry' was the fake last

name Tavi used in the outside world. She motioned toward the windows

with her head. Off they went. I couldn't hear what was being said, but

my lip reading skills were up to the task.

T: (I am pregnant)

C: (I love you)

T: (Oh) ~ stunned. Go Chaz!

C:

(Well, I don't imagine the Amazons have a marriage ceremony and an

Anglican service would be inappropriate, so perhaps we could research a

Scythian ritual which could make both families happy) ~ delivered in the

patented smooth Chaz style.

T: (Marriage? To you?)

C: (I

will not submit to being anyone's slave nor would I ever ask you to

submit to me. Outside of that, will you be my partner and my partner

alone until the cliffs separate us?)

T: (Amazons are not monogamous)

C: (I am)

T: (I will, I mean, can I think about this?)

C: (I am not going anywhere, Tavi)

{Pause}

T: (Did you put Ishara, Cáel Ishara up to this?)

C: (Yes)

T: (Why?)

C: (I imagine he explained what I am feeling better than I could)

T: (Oh, do you want me to meet your mother and grandmothers?)

C: (Absolutely)

T: (Okay)

C: (Okay ~ you would like to meet my Mother and Grandmothers?)

T:

(No, yes, I mean, yes I would like to meet them and I am okay with you

being with no other woman until the cliffs separate us, and I will do

the same, no other males)

C: (If I pick you up, hug you and kiss you, will your sisters freak out?)

T: (I don't know)

So

Chaz swept Tavi up until her head was higher than his (a feat,

considering their 8" height differential) and kissed her deeply. Mumbled

words followed. Tavi wrapped her legs around Chaz's waist and out they

went. Around me were angry murmurings of the 'did that Amazon just run

off with our man' variety. Not my problem. I had plenty of different

Amazons wanting my attention. Hallelujah!

{8:00 pm

Don't try this at home.

I

covered my face with a pillow and pressed down hard. I'd already tried

breathing exercises, meditation and even contemplated more cranial

trauma before thinking up this particular crazy idea. It took some

mental effort and accessing some of my Alal-'pain sorting' skills to

accomplish, but in the end, I felt myself 'let go'.

I sat up.

"Hello," Tad fi beamed.

"Hey," I took a deep breath. Since we were talking, I must have passed out. Her eyes wandered over the room.

"Is this the world as you see it?" she wondered. Oh yeah, I had to be creating the environment for her to enjoy.

Sikia

was kneeling on the bed a foot away, her gaze moving between the two of

us. The 'grayness' of her form suggested she was wholly in reality and

not in the 'Ishara-space' the goddess had shown me and I was now sharing

with my augur.

"This is how you see me?" she examined her fingers, her wrists, then some long locks of her hair.

"You

are more beautiful," I answered. The impact of my words crossing over

drew her eyes back to me. It was the magic of hearing for the normally

deaf girl. I concentrated, peeled back some fantasy and attached a

realistic form to Sikia. Tad fi followed my gaze.

"Your hair," she addressed her guardian, "It is lighter than I imagined."

Sikia said something I couldn't understand, muffled as it was by my dreaming.

"I

cannot hear you, but I see you through his eyes," the augur carried on

her conversation. They touched. It had to be somewhat bizarre for Sikia.

As she reached for Tad fi's

hand, her friend intercepted the extended member. Their fingers

intertwined before completing the journey to the guardian's lips.

"Don't

cry, no, we couldn't have, no, we shouldn't have knocked him out

sooner. I don't think he was aware of this discipline when we first met.

Were you, Cáel?"

"No. Perhaps if I had understood more about the

consequences of seeing ghosts, I might have," I tapered off. "Now that

we know. I can try this more often."

"Your health?" Tad fi worried.

"I might be

immortal," I confessed. I was confessing because I was desperately

seeking a way to share some of my genetic quirkiness with her ~ some

strength to carry her through this pregnancy and spare her life, Dot

Ishara be damned.

"And you would seek a way to spare me," she

graced me with her gentle presence. Lying in the 'spirit' world was a

whole lot tougher than in the flesh.

"Yeah. I've got some arcane

lore rattling around in my head, plus I have a few outside sources I can

ask for help. I'm not giving up on you."

"I have foreseen my death."

"Well,

un-foresee it," I scolded her. "Dot Ishara told me we see what might

happen, though nothing is guaranteed. So even your death isn't an

absolute. Since it hasn't happened, I see no reason to let it happen.

You are going to live to hold our daughter. If not, my immortality is

worthless."

"You can never save everyone. Sometimes you must let a few go to save the rest," she advised.

"If I find someone I'm not attached to, I'll let them go. I promise. Until then, I'm, ugh, I'm fading, and I'm keeping you."

"We shall see," she murmured. I fell back into my body and into wakefulness.

"Now we have sex," Tad fi announced in a melodic voice.

"He

is ready to perform," Sikia agreed. She was fondling my balls with one

hand while her breath played across my rod. I sat up to see the augur

climbing up the bed between my thighs. She kissed my glans, licked

across its top, then kissed it again.

"I've got it from here," she told Sikia.

"What?" Sikia was confused. Tad fi's lips began to engulf my sceptre.

"Sikia, come here," I gently pulled on her arm. She was conflicted yet up some came.

We

started out with tender kisses on the lips. I kept drawing her toward

me. My lips and tongue migrated down her chin and throat to her breasts.

When she thought my target was her breasts, she was all onboard. That

was a mere stop-off point on my journey, though I played around for a

while.

At the same time, I had to use subtle movements with my hips and clenches with my gluts to school Tad fi on her fellatio. Thankfully, I was doubly-blessed. This wasn't my first time schooling two girls at once and Tad fi

could determine more from such minimal reactions due to her heightened

sense of my muscle contractions through her touch than any other woman

I'd ever met.

When I began running my tongue in large lashes

underneath her breasts, I confused Sikia once more. She was resistant as

my hands on her hips pulled her higher so that my lips and teeth could

tease her taut stomach while I twirled my tongue in her belly button.

She giggled.

I had been slowly wiggling down the bed, backing Tad fi

up, so when it came time to mount Sikia on my face, I had the headboard

room. I kept her muscular thighs securely in hand because the moment I

had her happy, I pushed her up. She looked down, seeking guidance and I

motioned her to turn around. She did the eye-ball math, realized she'd

be facing her augur, and hastily obeyed. Of course, her movement on the

bed alerted Tad fi through mattress vibrations.

Sikia was sitting on my face, leaning down so she could run her hands through Tad fi's

hair and along her face and lips (and my phallus). I kept my hands

pressed between our bodies. My right made the sojourn to my pubic area

to play around and give them both something else to suck on, my fingers.

My left loitered around between Sikia's breasts and her clitoris when

my lips were otherwise occupied.

I could cup her clit with my

tongue in a U-shape, rubbing it along my taste buds. Most of my time was

taken up with my tongue broad lashing her vulva or tightly-twisted and

delving into her cunt and my nose pushing against her brown hole. I

could tilt myself up so I could make tongue-intrusions into her back

passage as well. The first time, she squealed.

Before she could

decide if she wanted to make me stop (she did, virtually all first

timers always default to asking their partner to stop, so you have to

distract them), Tad fi

wanted to know what had brought her reaction on. Then came Sikia's

troubled revelation of what I was doing, how the augur shouldn't suffer

through it, despite the increasing pleasure she was receiving, only to

finally be unable to supply the answer as to why Tad fi shouldn't experience it too.

Sikia shot me a treasured look of bewilderment. I'd brought her to orgasm with my tongue alone. I was a guy after all.

"Switch?" I suggested. Tad fi

was still administering one of the slowest, most considerate blowjobs

I'd ever experienced. She wasn't rushing toward anything. Sure, she was

unschooled, but was devoting her incredible sensitivities to my pleasure

and taking pleasure in her ability to bring me to such excitement.

"Change places?" she mused. "Okay." Tad fi's

lips slid off me with one final, loud 'pop', then she used her

spider-like fingers to climb up my body while Sikia traveled south. She

lavished butterfly kisses on my face ~ childish, yet so very appropriate

between us ~ and I mirrored the gesture.

With some reluctance,

she mounted me, facing Sikia. My tongue flicking across her clit on its

first exploration brought out a joyous gasp. It only got better from

there.

The Long Slide Into Domestic Life:

"Twins?"

Hana snuggled into my arms. We were at her place, naked in bed together

after a late late-night unscheduled meeting with some VIPs. Despite the

late/early hour, she was alert, tense even. It had been a mentally

stimulating late night encounter which had brought me to her bed.

"Yes. That is what Tad fi

predicted," I inserted between raining kisses down on her forehead.

Hana liked non-distracting attention when she was in this kind of mood.

She was exhausting herself mentally as she was building up to being

amorous.

"Ana-Călina and  rp d?" she worked over the names on her tongue. "They have a special meaning?"

"Only if you are Hungarian and Romanian," I teased her. She elbowed me slightly. " rp d

was the semi-mystical pagan warlord who led the Ten Tribes who became

known as the Hungarians ~ the Magyar peoples ~ into the Carpathian

Basin, present day Hungary. Ana-Călina was born a Byzantine princess of

the storied House of Basarab; she married Radu Negru, thus becoming the

first Princess of a free Wallachia ~ the foundation for a free Romania.

She was also the great-grandmother of Dracula."

"So they are famous names with regional historical significance, did they live long, happy lives?"

" Árpád,

no one knows for sure. His kids were quarrelsome, but they did manage

to found a dynasty at the start of the second millennia which ruled for

three centuries."

"Ana-Călina, yeah. I think so," I continued.

"She lived into her seventies and her eldest son left his country

stronger, richer and safer than when he received it. She did out live

her husband by over fifty years, and got to see her youngest grandson

bury most of his rivals, the kids from her husband's first marriage."

"Ah,

what?" Hana rose up until we were eye to eye. Since she was naked, her

boobs swayed slightly as she did so. My eye flickered. "Eyes forward,

Mister," she playfully barked. "What happened to all her other

grandsons?"

"Wallachia in the 15th century was a tad rough and tumble," I evaded.

"They killed one another?"

"Mostly they were killed by conspiracies amongst their boyars, nobles of the time."

"Why does, Tad fi want to dredge up these names again?" she kept eye contact.

"Not a clue," I pleaded.

"But you think it is important?"

"No.

I think you are important. Screw Fate. It can name its own kids. We can

chose whatever names make you happy, except 'Up'. Up's been taken."

"You've

named another of your offspring 'Up'? That's cruel, or does that mean

something in another language I'm unaware of?" she shifted her shoulders

so her boobs wobbled again. Of course, I broke eye contact. I hadn't

had sex in hours and her boobies were right there, damn it!

"Actually, Pamela and I named this secret agent in Hungary that, just to fuck with his head," I divulged.

"Oh.

Pamela. I should have known," she slowly smiled. "You are being very

well behaved," she added. Woot! She noticed I wasn't throwing her down

and pawing her delectable flesh. "One more thing before the nookie."

"Name them. Their dead," I pledged.

"Not

necessary," her sigh turned into a giggle. "If I'm going to be having

twins, I'm going to be rather big come late March. We need an earlier

wedding date."

Oh, fuck me!

"What do you have in mind?" I tried to keep the creeping dread out of my voice.

"New

Year's Day?" she suggested. I did a quick calculation. That was

annihilating 78 days out of what remained of my bachelor life. In 114

days my life would cease having any meaning whatsoever. I'd be a Mr. to

someone's Mrs. The end

"Sure, I can arrange to be killed before then," stumbled out of my mouth.

"What was that?" Hana pouted.

"Nothing Dear. Cosmic psychic intersection with an Al -demon; don't know what came over me," I fibbed.

"Man

up," Hana bit my nose. "Our marriage won't be that bad if we both work

at it. It isn't like I'm demanding celibacy from you." Then she mouthed

'yet'.

"Wait. Did you mean celibacy, as in no fun at all, or

monogamy, as in only 'happy time' with you?" I desperately sought

clarification.

"Oh," she pursed her lips. "I meant monogamy. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh, thank goodness," I sighed.

"Here,"

her gaze turned tender. "Let me make it up to you." Hana placed one

hand on my shoulder and rose up my body until my face was gently nestled

in her bosom. Then she wiggled back and forth, basically because I'm a

big baby and easy to please. I was alternating which nipple I was

kissing in no time.

"Mmm," she murmured. "I've missed you." Her

other hand's fingernails coasted down my abdomen and found 'Mr. Happy'

had risen to attention. Okay, he'd been hopping up and down on my groin

since she'd said we were 'going to bed' 30 minutes ago. Hana decided

wrap up my shaft with her hand, then applied a few tender strokes. I

reciprocated by cupping her left tit in one hand, forming a mound with

her areola at the center, and began to twirl from the outside inward to

her hardened nipple with just the tip of my tongue.

It was 4 a.m.

Why was I taking it slow when I had my final work review with Katrina

in three hours? Hana deserved this and more. Why was Hana doing it? She

was her own boss, plus her life was careening wildly outside of anything

she'd imagined before she'd first laid eyes on me. Half of the

financial empire she shared with her father was suddenly in the hands of

a military dictatorship, her beloved father was dealing with the murder

of her hated step-brother and she was marrying a Prince in a European

cathedral which required someone high in the Vatican's approval process

to use.

Yeah, her life had gone nuts. Worse, she loved me. And I

wasn't the kind of man she ever thought she'd love. She'd thought she'd

never love anyone again after her life with her asshole of an ex-husband

and their bitter, contentious divorce. I was barely someone she could

classify, and Hana was a terribly ordered and organized person. Saying

my life was messy was being generous. I was some mysterious

warrior-diplomat-playboy-aristocrat who hung out with people more

bizarre than me.

Hana picked up her tempo. I switched breasts.

Her motor was really starting to hum. Any other night, I could have

moved straight to revving her up to an orgasm. I had the time to make it

two without any problems. A good one and Hana would be happy and drift

off to sleep. Instead, I intuited she wanted more, so we developed our

own game of cat and mouse with her climax, and its suspension, being our

ultimate goal.

My left hand danced down the back of her ribcage

like playing keys on a piano. It was a light, teasing gesture. Her hair

the color of tarnished gold cascaded down as she began placing her own

kisses upon my crown. Each move by one partner evoked a response by the

other. Hana ran my glans over her glistening labia, getting it nice and

slick. I worked down her waist, cupped her ass, and then glided over her

thigh to the back of her knee where I started tickling her. She

snickered.

"You are distracting me," she murmured. I wasn't. I knew these things.

"I

like to get the feel of every inch of your flesh," I responded. More

mirthful noises from her. Slowly, her gooey vestibule rubbed against and

over the top, until I felt myself entering. There, she hesitated. I

propelled my hips an inch up, twisted right then left before falling

back down, a micro-fuck.

"Ah," she emoted her approval. "My

turn." Hana's knees spread to the side, making a memorable sound on the

silk sheets as she impaled herself. This time she rolled her hips

forward, back, then did a slow 360 with me  inside her, letting the slow

progress over her spark memories for her to savor. "I never believed

sex could be like this," Hana hiccupped.

"How so?" I knew the answer, but wanted her to put her chaotic passions to words. It would make her happier.

"Experimenting,

silly. Stopping in the middle and doing, this," she reversed her hip

rotations this time. "I never imagined a lover having such patience,

or,"

"Yourself as being so openly sexually adventurous?" I finished.

"Yeah,"

she huffed. "I really, really owe your college professor, plus you and

all your diligence, for this," at the last moment, she encountered the

gateway to her G-spot. I knew precisely where that gem was. Previously,

Hana had gained a vague idea where it was from the perspective of

masturbation and our prior lovemaking. Now I had let Hana rediscover

that joy with my cock as her tool to utilize as she wished.

"You

realize pregnant women want even more sex," she hummed. She was

vigorously working my cock now. Hana had bridged a huge gap, sexually.

Normally, a woman of Hana's quality tried to please her man first with

the hope her orgasm would soon follow. I was different. My greatest

sexual gratification came from her ecstasy. She was confident in that

now. By bringing herself to climax, she was making me excited for what

would come next.

"That's okay," I propped myself up on one elbow

now that Hana was riding me cowgirl-style. "I dig big chicks." The

open-palm slap to the chest was a given.

"Hercege, you, you are

horrible," she growled around a feral smile. The lip-biting,

tongue-sucking kiss was equally vicious, primal and leading Hana to the

end of her tether. Not only was Hana's sexual trust in me/us expanding,

she was putting extra effort into her physical workout regime too. She

might still have a ways to go to compete with an Amazon, but it was

still going to be a great night.

"Hercegn ,

I am nothing but a twisted shadow of masculine lust whose every contour

is cast by your muliebrous glow," I teased. Her eyes twinkled. Yes,

definitely still going to be a great night.


"Okay," Hana

yawned, "I give up. What does 'muliebrous' mean?" She'd been holding on

to that for an hour and a half. It was five-thirty and I was dressing in

my biking clothes before heading into work.

"From the Latin 'muliebri'

which means 'womanly'," I answered. Her sleepy eyes drank in both my

response and my physique. I had discovered another thing Hana liked and

that was to expand her academic/linguistic frontiers. She was enchanted

with the idea that I liked to engage her mind along with her body,

sparking on all cylinders.

She'd crawled over to my side of the

bed, her head resting on my pillow, soaking up my scent as she watched

me. I knelt down, kissed her on her ear, cheek and finally the side of

her lips. Hana was beat.

"Have a good day and be careful," she

mumbled. Her eyes closed. Her chest rose with one last, waking breath

before her sleep rhythms took her.

"Ditto," I whispered. I snuck into  Annela's

room and planted a kiss on her head as well. The craziness of my life

had a way of cascading over to the ones I loved. Loved? Oh boy,

7:00 am Monday, September 8th, Graduation Day!

Brielle

and her buddy were humming along as the elevator doors closed. Once

more, my 'hellish' schedule demanded I change in the elevator. I'd gone

to gun practice with my bike clothes on, so I absolutely had to change

into business attire in the magic box, in front of them.

Juanita

adjusting my tie was a less than subtle attempt to strangle me. I was

about to be late to my final 'start of day' meeting as an intern in

Executive Services, so her chastisement would have to wait. Who would

have thunk it? Juanita would have to wait outside for this ceremony.

Paula raced with me to be the last one in, only to have Daphne grace us

with the 'news':

"The meeting won't start for another fifteen

minutes," she grinned. "Katrina is bringing up the 'new hires' for the

fall program."

I finger-flicked my head. The 84 days as an intern

was merely the 'training wheels' period. To really be a member of ES

was at least a two year training process. The Amazons around me had

started their training for this gig when they were fifteen and were

eighteen and nineteen now, their ID's said they were older for legal

purposes.

In theory, my four years in college was counted as

'preliminary' training and provided things such as acclimation to

outsider culture ~ aka 'acting normal'. Logically, I would train under

someone like Desiree or Buffy for a year before being a full-fledged

member of the service.

"How many this time?" I asked Daphne since she seemed to be in the know.

"Twenty," she grinned. "We are getting two."

I

noticed there was still only my tiny desk in Katrina's office. That

meant the new guys would be out in the office pool with everyone else.

Probably for the best. The ladies were now used to having a male around,

so would be careful in what they did and didn't say. I yawned.

"Tired," Fabiola smirked.

"Oh

yeah," I stifled another yawn. "Met an emissary from the Pope." Fabiola

glowered. "No. Seriously. I met an emissary from Holy See. I let Hana

know I wanted to get married in a highly improbable place, a ruined

cathedral, so she contacted the Catholic Church and one of their guys

wanted to meet with me."

"That had to be fun," Tigger grinned. "What does the Cult of the Nazarene think of you and the Goddess Ishara?"

"We

actually discussed polytheism and the place of an omnipotent,

omnipresent being in the scope of things," I placed my hands behind my

back and rocked back and forth. "It was quite interesting. The guy knew

his shit."

By that, I meant he was probably with the Pope's

Secret Service as well as a Brainiac with a PhD in something. He'd

promised to be in touch as soon as he heard back from his superiors. He

had this hot chick with him who I suspected was a nun. And if his driver

wasn't ex-military, it was because he was still in the service. On the

plus side, Hana had been beaming when we left, which assured me the

meeting had gone well, so we had sex from 4 AM until 5:30, thus my

current fatigued state.

"Are you going to abandon your faith?" Fabiola taunted me.

"I

don't have faith, Fabiola of Minerva. Faith would imply I don't know

there are supernatural entities screwing with our lives. I know they do

exist, I've met a few. To satisfy your disingenuous curiosity, we

discussed the nature of the Weave and it being the possible

manifestation of God's Will."

"How did that go?" Paula appeared interested.

"He

strongly suggested I should 'revisit my Catholic roots' soon. By that, I

think he meant I'm supposed to start attending church regularly," I

shrugged. "The Pope is sending an envoy to the Great Khan too, so odds

are good I'm getting married," I pronounced the last bit as the

doom-laden prediction it was.

"Oh, yes," Fabiola reached passed

Paula and smacked me in the chest with the back of her hand. "That is

for insinuating you and I had intercourse to my Mother and the Council."

"Was that chastising me for lying, or for not making it so?" I winked.

"Ah, no!" she pouted. "Stop lying about me."

I looked down at my phone.

"We've got twelve minutes," I double-pumped my eyebrows. "Want to go to Katrina's bathroom?"

"What! No!" Fabiola tried to hit me again. I backed away like a big coward.

"Is that an open invitation?" Tigger purred. I made eye-contact with Tigger. Her joking fa ade crumbled. I was feeling like the old 'me' again, plus I was stressed and twelve minutes was plenty of time.

"Don't do this to Katrina, and Buffy," Daphne advised both of us.

I sighed in defeat, Tigger in regret.

"Cheer up," Daphne reminded us. "His 84 days are up. No more date obfuscation for us, and downright lying by him."

'Me'

rolling out my mental 'sex' calendar was short-circuited by Katrina

showing up with two men. One short, chiseled Hispanic guy and one tall,

svelte, Black dude. By their early arrival, I could only imagine none of

their crowd had argued like Brian had on our 'Day One'.

Katrina

graced me with a maternal, wistful smile as she glided past. The two

gents stopped close by me and the ladies somewhat uncertainly.

"Come

here," I motioned them forward into the line-up on either side of me.

"This is where the fun begins. I'm Cáel Nyilas, by the way," I offered

each a handshake. They took it.

"Stalin Bolivar," the Hispanic

man went first. His Latin-timbre placed him definitely 'South of the

Border'. My guess was South America, south.

"Lennox Fitzgerald,"

the Black guy said in a strong British/London accent. Katrina taking her

seat brought the meeting to order. She looked at her monitor, at me, I

could tell that look of disappointment could only be coming 'my' way,

then back at her screen.

"Well, since the new team members have

been introduced, I might as well get to the work reviews for Friday,"

she regarded us all with her hawk-like gaze. Tigger came first. I was

last, if there was any doubt. Once again, I worked with the Rhodes

Scholars of the New Hire world; they could do no wrong and then came me.

Katrina stopped and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her right

thumb and forefinger. Oh! This was going to be good!

"Cáel, I,

I'm not sure what possessed you to get frozen samples of Dodo DNA out of

our Gene Bank, but I want you to know you've contaminated a whole

generation of pygmy cassowaries we were attempting to reintroduce into

Timor-Leste. 18 months of research and development down the drain. We

have these bastardizations of Phorusrhacidae and emus we are going to

have to put down now, I'm, I'm rendered speechless."

I had to think about that for a second.

"Oh, I brought back Terror Birds?

Woot!" I exclaimed. "Oh, and sorry about that budgetary hiccup. Wait!

Can't we use those as bio-weapons, or something? Recoup our losses on

the black market,"

"No. No we can't, Cáel. There are all sorts of

UN regulations against that," Katrina chided me. There was more to

come. She stood up.

"Cáel, it is with multiple deep personal

regrets I must inform you that I have decided we can no longer afford to

keep you on with Executive Services. It seems you are simply not cut

out for this line of work. Fortunately for myself, you and Havenstone,

you are being offered a position in the President's Office as Assistant

to the Executive Assistant to the President, Ms. French. Will that be

acceptable?" Katrina remained cool and cordial.

Okay, who was Ms.

French and why was she President of Havenstone? Hmm, my bet this was

because of yesterday morning's meeting and the Regency.

"Well, as long as it isn't Ms. Dubois, I'll take it," I sighed.

"I heard that," came the sizzling voice from behind me.

"Oh shit," I jump aside, twisting fearfully to face the feminine Smurf-doom of Death.

"Good morning, Senior Vice-President Dubois," Katrina nodded to Buffy.

"Good

morning, Director Love. I need a minion to move my stuff," Buffy glared

in my direction. "I'll take that one," she pointed at me.

"No

can-do, Captain McGiggle-Pants," I waved her off. "I've got a new job

and I have a feeling it doesn't start until 8 ~ like normal people."

"I'm going to get you," Buffy shot daggers my way.

"Fabiola,

when the meeting ends, please take the Senior Vice-President's

belongings to her new office," Katrina directed. Making Fabiola her

fetch-and-step-it minion mollified Buffy enough to let Katrina return to

marshalling the meeting. "Now, if you don't mind," went Buffy's way.

Buffy withdrew, so Katrina resumed. Next came the introductions and

assignments. I got another plum.

Stalin (I was going to have to get used to that) got Helena and Lennox had Desiree, and Kid Duty!

"Please Katrina, can I tag along?" I begged the moment we were released.

"Cáel, you have two groups stopping by to meet with you at 8. You don't have the time," she informed me.

"First I've heard of it," I evaded. "So I'll be a little late, they won't mind."

I was getting incredibly odd looks from the two new guys.

"You

have no idea who they are," she gave a slip of a smile, "or how patient

they might be, so by all means, make groundless assumptions."

"I know I'd rather see Aya, and Europa and Lorraine," I pleaded.

"Oh,"

she gave an exaggerated sigh, "by all means. I'll make sure to put the

visitors in separate rooms so they don't kill each other."

"That

shouldn't be necessary. I only know good people," I turned things

around. I put my arms around both guys before they could evade me and

out we went. Juanita detached herself from a nearby wall, scowling at

me.

"Gentlemen, this is the best lifestyle mistake you could have

ever made," I explained. "Try to have fun, because I guarantee there

will be times when this job will suck big time."

"You just got fired from this position," Stalin reminded me.

"Oh, it's worse than that. I was promoted. I'm sure you can avoid my fate if you try hard enough," I urged.

"You should listen to Cáel," Tigger joined us. "He was the only one of the first five to make it the full 84 days."

"Hey, Felix is coming back," I countered.

"Really?"

"I pledge to you," I smiled. "He shall return."

"Damn," Paula came along the other side, "now I wish I was in the Great Hunt too."

Paula and Stalin immediately had to leave for their assigned trainer.

"What

happened to the other four, three?" Lennox prodded me. We were at

Desiree's desk. She shot me a vile look. She'd guessed my intention to

be an unnecessary attachment to her mission, which necessitated a

request for a new vehicle.

"Khalid became Chief Depilator in a

social engineering experiment in Paraguay, Trent transferred to our Far

East Acquisitions Unit as a permanent in-flight Caba a Boy and Brian became a Locust Wrangler in the Australian Outback and dedicated student of the digeridoo."

"Lennox,

don't listen to him," Desiree grumbled. "He's an idiot. Oh, and Cáel,

thanks for making that psycho Rhada my boss. I'm going to get you for

that."

"I aim to bring passion to the lives of all the women I meet," I gloated.

"Idiot," Desiree mumbled. Into the elevator, joined by Juanita, we went and down to the garage we travelled.

We

had to go for a Mercedes Benz GL550 instead of the normal Audi because

of the extra riders, me and Juanita. Lennox, sitting up front with a

grim-faced Desiree, was more perplexed than ever. I contemplated handing

him a back-up piece since technically he was a bodyguard, though, pro

forma at Havenstone, he wasn't informed of that fact.

"So, a lot

of women at Havenstone," Lennox finally opened up to me/us. He had yet

to realize the futility of trying civil discourse with Desiree. Juanita

was super-grumpy and had her arms crossed in such a manner her shoulder

holster was exposed.

"Hot, athletic babes everywhere you look," I

revised his statement. "I'll show you the gym before end of business. I

heartily suggest you work out twice a day. They've got a massive

facility, plus several large pools."

More pausing on his part. Then he grew ambitious.

"You don't worry much about sexism, do you?"

"Me?

Nah. The women here admire courage. They also exercise to the point of

extremism and practice at least one form of martial art regularly, so

you best temper your interest with respect," I grew stern. "Seriously,

if you have difficulty with a woman here, ask her to spar off the clock.

It will work wonders."

"Ah," he grinned, "I'm a mixed martial artist. I've been competing since my teens. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Hah," was from me. Desiree merely snorted.

"Lennox,

I work with a guy from the SRR," I 'elaborated'. "Not 'retired', active

duty SRR, and some of the ladies you work with in Executive Services

can take him. Fuck it all with Security Services."

"You work with

a bloke with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment? Here in the States?

What's he doing here?" Lennox clearly didn't believe me. "I heard about

you in Romania against those terrorists," or maybe he did.

"Lennox,

as fast, smart, strong, good-looking and driven as you are, do you

really think you are in Executive Services to pick-up laundry, kids and

dinner?"

"Cáel," Desiree cautioned me.

"I was curious about that. The pay is really good so," Lennox grinned.

"You're not. You are being prepared," I got out.

"Ishara!" Desiree snapped.

"Trust

me," I soothed Desiree. "I know what I'm doing." She gave me a

poisonous glare in the rearview mirror before returning her eyes to the

road.

"Prepared?" Lennox restarted things.

"Yeah, prepared to redress a grievous imbalance between the women of Havenstone and male-kind."

He blinked, waiting for me to continue.

"A grievous imbalance between the women of Havenstone and male-kind?" he reiterated. "What does that mean?"

"It means that is

the first clue I'm going to give you, Lennox," I slyly smiled. "It is

Day One in this nut ranch for you, and you are getting more of a head

start than I had, trust me."

"Don't trust him," Desiree snapped snidely. "He's an idiot. Juanita?"

"I'm too furious over his latest stunt to speak with him right now," Juanita replied.

"You

ain't getting an apology from me, that's for damn sure," I got snarky

with my bodyguard. To Desiree, "Am I lying to him?" She didn't respond.

Instead we rode in silence until we pulled in front of the Ruger

household.

Mind you, I spotted the tail the moment we left

Havenstone and I was sure another protective detail was out there

hovering about our diminutive Queen. I got to go in and get the girls.

Even though technically Caitlyn was no longer Aya's mother, courtesy of

the adoption, she was the logical choice for guardian of the young girl.

There was the added bonus of having two ex-aunts at home and two junior

Amazons, previously her older sisters, close by at school for extra

protection if necessary.

Still, an SD chick met me inside the

door, eyeballing me to make sure everything was okay (in the belief if

something was hinky, I'd let her know somehow.)

"Atta," squeaked my favorite boon companion.

"Duma," I scooped her up.

"Cáel," came from the lips of Europa and Lorraine. Caitlyn was there beside them, cloaked in melancholy.

"A

moment please," she requested of the rest of us. I put Aya down and

walked with her to the dining room. She turned with tears in her eyes.

"Katrina told me of your words of anger to the Council," she whispered.

"Thank you. I know, no matter what else happens, she will have an ally

in you." I hugged her tightly. What else could I do? She let me go, put

on her Amazon Mother face, and back out we went. For a few seconds, I

was all business. I made sure the sidewalk was safe before we exited the

Brownstone. Lennox held the car door for us. We were heading off to

school inside 30 seconds.

"I think someone is following us," Lennox noted to Desiree.

"Define."

"Florist van," he answered.

"Good eyes," was her response. He looked my way.

"Support vehicle for our VIP's," I gave him a bit more information.

"So, you are the new guy?" Europa began the interrogation.

"Ah, yeah. Lennox Fitzgerald," he told them.

"Listen

to Cáel," Lorraine spoke. "He's a total nut-job, but he knows what's

really going on. Oh," she surprised me with a hug, giving me a face full

of cleavage. Eek! "Good luck on the hunt."

"Yeah," Europa added, "good luck. You'll need it. I hear Elsa, Rachel, Caprica and Torm  are all coming after you."

"Caprica from camp?" I worried. Europa nodded. "I've never heard of Torm ."

"She's a younger version of Pamela," Desiree enlightened me ~ 'cause it caused me pain.

"She's

from House Maeve," Aya whispered to me. Ah, the 'Enslaver of Men'.

"She's Aunt, I mean, Katrina Epona's #1 killer." Of course she is. Why

hadn't I heard of her before? Why would I have? I'd never asked and had

I, I doubt Katrina would have told me who her top assassin was. I was a

lousy spy.

"Who is Pamela?" Lennox was getting into the groove of things. If you didn't ask questions, you would never get any answers.

"She's his grandmother," Aya piped up. "Not really. She adopted him."

"She adopted the SRR guy too," I shrugged. "She's a one woman Welcome Wagon."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," Juanita griped.

"At least you are talking to me," I beamed happiness her way.

"No, I'm not," she snapped.

"O-kay," I shrugged, then hugged Aya. She hugged me back.

"Take me to class?" Aya asked.

"Sure," I spoke (too soon). "If it is okay with Desiree. I'm just a tagalong today."

"Please," Aya begged Desiree. "It is a new teacher. He hasn't met her yet."

"Of course, Aya," Desiree agreed. "Lennox, go with him."

"Okay."

As we piled out of the car, I turned to the new Brit.

"So, ever had a three-way in a school custodial closet?" I inquired.

"Huh?" he gulped.

"Don't make me kill you," Juanita seethed.

"That's my Daddy!" Aya squeezed my hand.

"Is that an invitation?" Lorraine sidled up to us.

"No,"

I pointed a finger to the tip of Lorraine's nose. She tried to bite it.

So Amazon of her. "Thanks Aya," I squeezed by buddy's hand back. Into

the school we walked. Aya's class was on the ground floor this year. Her

teacher was so young, fresh and new to the profession, she sparkled.

She wasn't sure what to make of myself and Lennox.

"Ms.

Carmichael, this is my custodian, Cáel Nyilas and his buddy, Lennox

Fitzgerald. They are not gay," she tacked on. "They are just lonely and

don't have many friends in the city."

Woot! Aya was hooking me/us up.

"Cáel,"

echoed a familiar voice behind me. Uh-oh, Ulyssa Reichmann, Aya's 3rd

grade teacher had been keeping an eye out for me. "Nice to see you

again."

"Ulyssa?" Ms. Carmichael wondered why another teacher was

in her room, interfering with the two 'lonely' guys clearly in need of

succor.

"Ms. Reichmann," I spun around. "How was your summer?"

"Lonely," she smirked. "So, do I call you Mr. Ruger, or Mr. Nyilas?"

"You

can call me 'busted'," I gave my best 'ya caught me, but I have a good

excuse' placating gesture. "Oh and this is Lennox. He's my replacement.

I've been transferred to a position which promises to be a lot less

fun." See, I was referring to my time with her as 'fun'. "How's Nadia?"

"Rather

lonely too," Ulyssa kept teasing. "We were worried about you. After

your kidnapping, you sort of dropped off the map." Aka, I stopped

returning her phone calls. I'm an idiot. "Then you got engaged,", fuck

TMZ and the New York Times Social Page, "to an heiress," and the

Financial Times.

"You were kidnapped, an heiress?" Ms. Carmichael was reeling.

"Ms.

Reichmann, that's stuff Cáel can't talk about because of his job," Aya

rose to my defense. "Yes, we were kidnapped over the summer," she

extended her mangled hand for Ms. Carmichael's perusal. "Cáel saved me

from a plane load of bad people, then again when we crashed in the

Typhoon on a Pacific atoll. We were rescued by the Marines and some of

the v nători de munte he led into battle in Romania. They came half way around the world to help find us."

"The 'who'?" Ms. Carmichael frowned in concentration.

"Mountain Huntsmen," I translated. "They are Romanian soldiers."

"They are elite Romanian soldiers," Lennox corrected me. "Kind of like their Special Forces, hmm, akin to your US Army Rangers."

"Because you are 'not a spy'," Ulyssa studied me with renewed curiosity.

"Correct," I nodded. "I'm definitely not a spy. Neither is Lennox. He's just a new hire, from England."

"Really?" Ulyssa noticed him.

"Yes,

Ulyssa, is it?" he gave his own dazzling smile. "London, by way of the

University of Cardiff and King's College. I have a BA in International

Development. Wales is where I picked up my mountaineering lore, thus my

knowledge of who the v nători de munte are."

"And now you are in New York," Ms. Carmichael stepped up.

"Yes Miss, with Havenstone Commercial Investments, learning to be 'not a spy'," he rapidly adjusted.

"Executive Services to the uninitiated," I kept things moving along.

"You'll be working with Cáel?" Ulyssa pondered. Maybe she had a date for her sister now.

"Nope," I sighed. "I'm off to the Office of the President. Apparently I'm a tad too unreliable for Executive Services."

"I

think he means they find him too valuable," Lennox played along, "along

with unreliable. Today he simply wanted to make one last school run and

I think I see why."

"Yup," I nodded my head, "ya got me."

"Does this mean you will be answering your phone?" Ulyssa teased.

"Yes Ma'am. I'll be maintaining a keen interest in Aya's education, even from my cubicle in Hell."

"On that note," Lennox tapped my arm, "we should be going before your bodyguard takes you up on that death threat."

"Too true," I grinned his way. I turned and knelt in front of Aya. "Love you, Duma," I smiled then hugged her.

"Will I see you before you have to go, Atta?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," I moaned. She hugged me then let me go.

On the way out Lennox began chuckling.

"Just

so I got this straight: you've had sex with Ms. Reichmann, Aya was

setting either you, or I, up with her current teacher, Ms. Carmichael,

and this happens enough so that virtually every women I've met so far

isn't surprised by your disreputable behavior?"

"Precisely."

"I think I'm going to like this job," he chuckled.

"That's

the spirit," I patted him on the back. "Now we just have to look after

the other nineteen new hires. This place can be harsh, unforgiving and

unfair. It compensates by offering plenty of adrenaline-pumping danger

and sex."

"I trust you, about the 'harsh, unforgiving and unfair' and the ' adrenaline-pumping danger and sex', not so much about anything else. Do you have any male friends?"

"Discounting

our budding relationship, I have my gay roommate and the SRR guy

previously mentioned plus an older FBI guy who likes me, although he

knows not to let me to be alone with his daughters. I'm not the kind of

friend you trust with your girl, or your sister, or mother for that

matter," I shrugged.

"But you're straight?"

"Yep. Decidedly so."

"Good

enough. I'm an only child, my Mother passed three years ago and my last

relationship faded after she ambushed me with a strap-on, so we should

be good," he confirmed. I had high hopes for Lennox.

Faith Distrust, & Bullets:

I was getting ready to walk into the conference room on the 17th floor when I recalled a vital life lesson. It is enough to know you're right. You don't always need to force others to acknowledge it. Case in point:

"Juanita,

I apologize for sending you away yesterday without allowing you to

bring in a replacement. I showed disrespect to your position. I was

wrong," I looked at her glumly.

"Damn right, you were wrong," she

glared. Not a hint she'd been hugely disrespectful, rude and beyond the

Pale horrible to Theddy. I didn't expect anything else from her. I

atoned because I knew Juanita would never bend, and beating her up for

being a bitch was pointless. The apology cost me nothing while freeing

up Juanita to let go of her anger ~ she was right and I'd admitted it ~

so she could do her job better.

"Are we okay?" I 'worried'. I wasn't worried. I was being manipulative.

"No, we are not okay. Are you going to repeat the mistake?" she glowered.

"It

is a learning process for me, Juanita," I 'explained'. Translation: 'I

was an irresponsible male, thus in need of a caretaker which validated

her existence.

"Well, don't repeat this one, damn it," she looked

away. Ta-dah, I was forgiven. Trust me, she was shuffling her anger

away because 'I needed her' and it was her job to protect me from myself

as well as from external threats far too numerous to easily be named.

In

we went. It was a nice wood-paneled room with a Maplewood table, ten

chairs to a side with a chair at each end. Opposite me was Rayen Artio,

Martial Commander of Amazon forces in North and Latin America and a

frightening individual inside and out. The right side of her face was a

mess. An eyepatch covered her missing right orb. Her left hand was

missing three fingers as well. Beyond that, she had been a candidate for

Golden Mare (she's been too Runner-friendly) and a grandmother several

times over.

She had a bright-eyed, blonde-haired Amazon typing

away on a laptop sitting on her left and a SD close to the wall behind

her with an MP-7A. The PDW (Personal Defense Weapon) was overkill, which

suggested my guests had been, or might have threatened to be, snappish.

That made some sense, since to my right were the visitors from late

last night and to my left was the crowd from noonish yesterday. The

pagan Death Cult looked ready and willing to eviscerate the militant

Catholics, until I stepped into the room.

The Goddess

Ītzpāpālōtl, aka the Obsidian Butterfly aka Obsidian, popped out of her

chair the moment I became visible. She had a freshly fucked glow about

her ~ freshly fucked by me, if there was any doubt. I guessed I'd left

her with a good impression. Juanita began muscling me aside and

interposing herself between us. While endearing and professional, it was

also so very foolish. Yes, it was her job. Sadly, considering the

monstrous entity coming at me, she had no hope of success.

In

favor of Juanita's response, Obsidian was: A) dressed like a

leather-clad fantasy hooker, B) eyeing me with a clear desire for some

very energetic, mystically-potent, blood-letting laced sex play, and C)

failing to conceal her inhumanity to the assembly. Off-handedly, I

noticed she'd brought along an additional man and woman I hadn't seen

yesterday who were a cut above her normal religiously feverish crowd and

thus most likely messengers, the 'nuts and bolts' people of the 9

Clans' Cult of the Jaguar. Introducing them to Rayen was most likely

her excuse for showing up here in Amazon Central this morning.

"Tehuatlcochitlehua,"

I passionately greeted her, simultaneously keeping Juanita from

committing a diplomatic faux pau and fatal life choice. It sorta meant

'Angel of my Dreams' in the Olmec derivation of Obsidian's mother

tongue.

"Tetonehualoyanōchin," she purred as her arms went over

my shoulders, fingers linking behind my head. Huh? That meant, I was her

'Inferno Rabbit'?

"Mmm," I mumbled around her lips and

prehensile tongue. (Still trying to get used to that.) Her black leather

hip-hugging pants laced up the front and barely covered her pubic

mound. Her matching vest only had two of its five buttons doing duty and

showed every inclination of coming undone at any moment. My first

attempt to gently disengage failed, so I considered, then discarded a

mistake (an audible slap to the ass) and finally snaked a hand between

us to coax her kitty under her tight leather crotch.

That brought forth some definite alien sonic buzzing. She broke her lip-lock.

"I've

got to work right now," I tilted my forehead forward so it and my nose

kept our mouths apart. Out came the 'No mortal denies me', 'I hate being

denied' and finally 'why are these other people necessary?' washing

over her face. Had her eyes had pupils, a few others might have noticed

her angry stares. The double-nictitating (up-down / left-right)

membranes over her multi-faceted eyes ~ those gateways to the void, ugh.

"These,"

she pulled away, motioning to the two newcomers at her side of the

table. "They are empowered to talk with you for us. When?" That was

aimed my way.

"I am heading out on an ordeal which will culminate

this weekend. When I get back, I will need two days to sort out my

House and other allies. Then?"

"I will come for you," Obsidian

announced. With that, she brushed passed me, nearly put Juanita through

the wall and blitzed out the door. Her followers raced to catch up with

her while her diplomatic contingent remained.

"Oh boy," I

muttered. Looking at Rayen. "Here you go, as requested," I tossed my

chin to indicate the remaining cultists were there in fact to meet with

her, not me. Rayen had requested of me, as Chief Diplomat of the Host,

an intelligence-sharing arrangement with the Cult of the Jaguar and I

had delivered. Getting her arms and ammo shipments from the Khanate to

North America was much more a JIKIT issue, though I was positive things

were progressing along that front as well.

"Indeed," Rayden

stood. "I'll leave you to the raging misogynists and pedophiles," she

grinned wickedly. Note to self: Rayen was not a diplomat and resented me forcing her to act as one, even for a short time. She gathered up the two messengers and prepared to depart as well.

That

left the Papal group. I was sure the Pope's guy had a mission in the

same way I was sure him getting a glimpse of the real Obsidian Butterfly

was causing him to re-assess the morality of his objective. The blanket

Amazon hostility and Rayen's insults only stoked his fury.

"Katrina

thought you might find this useful," Rayen pressed a tablet into my

chest after she rounded the table. "Immediately useful."

"Thank

you," I nodded. Rayen chuckled, shook her head and shut the door behind

her. As the Catholics studied me, I studied the tablet. Three files.

Hmm,

First off: Bishop Nicolö de

Santis, Titular Bishop of Acmonia, some vacant bishopric in western

Anatolia aka Turkey. Posting in various places the Catholic Church

wasn't liked, or had 'difficulties' aka civil disorder, gang strife,

drug wars; Education, Pontificia Ecclesiastica Academia (2005-2007), Pontificium Collegium Germanicum et Hungaricum de Urbe (2001-2005), Caporal Chef in the 2e R giment  tranger de parachutistes (1989-2000); Awards :{L gion d'honneur   titre militaire; Croix de guerre des th  tres d'op rations ext rieurs; numerous other citations}.

'Wait! The  tranger de parachutists was the French Foreign Legion.'

Suspected to be of Hungarian birth. Reported birth date: March 6th, 1972, making him 42. From Alal's memories I figured out the L gion d'honneur   titre militaire normally

got handed out to either brave dead people, or really old soldiers. His

rank made sense, because very rarely did non-Frenchmen get past the

rank of 'Chief Corporal'. The odds of this guy having Condottieri ties

were pretty high.

Contestant No. 2: Sister Rafaela Sophia of the

Handmaidens of the Sacred Heart of Jesus {Latin: Ancillae Cordis Iesu}

A.C.I. Major notation: Heavy indications someone had gone to great

lengths to eradicate her previous history. A nun who needed her history

scrubbed ~ the way Buffy's had? Like my life couldn't get more bizarre.

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, yet her flinty eyes bespoke a

terribly painful, dehumanizing existence devoid of hope prior to someone

tossing her a lifeline. She was a fanatic and by her cut and stance, a

well-trained one.

Contestant No. 3: Wachtmeister Mathias Bosshart

of the Swiss Guard. That was a Sergeant, OR-5. Dual-citizenship. Clear,

legitimate history. Swiss, Saint Gallen. Swiss Army, Grenadier

training, Distaccamento d'esplorazione dell'esercito 10, which meant Army Reconnaissance Detachment 10, something which Alal didn't know about, which meant they were something new. Chaz would know.

Followed

a centuries-long family tradition into Papal service. 31 years old. 31

might seem a bit old to be a mere OR-5, except the entire Swiss Guard

only had 10 of them.

"Juanita?" I pointed to the Distaccamento d'esplorazione dell'esercito 10.

"What does it mean?" she'd whispered. She'd been reading around my side.

"Army Reconnaissance Detachment 10," I translated for her.

"That's the Swiss Army's elite counter-terrorism unit. Less than a hundred guys," she informed me.

"The Swiss have a counter-terrorism unit? Who the fuck picks on the Swiss?"

"They

have money," Juanita reasoned. "And they are Europeans, and nominally

Christians. All qualify for some level of assholery and abuse in the

world today."

"So," I finally initiated our belated conversation

with the Pope's folks, "nice to see you all again and what brings you

here today?" After all, I'd last seen them, at 3:45-ish in the morning

as Hana was ushering them out the door, this morning, yet here they were

again.

"What was that, creature?"

"Please be more specific," I tried to act innocent. This guy had to make one mean confessor.

"The woman-seeming 'thing' who put her tongue down your throat, when you should be devoting yourself to your fiancée,"

he chastised me. I didn't like his use of the word 'thing'. It was

condescending. Worse, it was foolish. Shit like Obsidian had really good

hearing.

"Why on Earth would I tell you?" I replied with my own simmering disapproval.

"Your

soul appears to be in mortal peril, Mr. Nyilas," his eyes tried to

pierce my emotional vortex. 'Good luck with that, Buddy'.

"I

fought her off. My soul's just fine. Now, why are you here?" I deflected

his approach. After all, I doubted he was here hunting pagan cultists.

If he had been, I doubted he would have let Havenstone disarm him and

his two pals. Sure, his firepower would have ultimately been useless,

but he would have momentarily felt safer, until he discovered he was

using flyswatters against a living tornado.

"Would you consider confirming her inhuman nature?" he tried again.

"Sure.

She's not human. She's a pre-Columbian horror walking around in a poor

facsimile of a human suit mainly because she finds me amusing. Normally

she's more careful about her appearance, so you wouldn't detect her, or

the others like her, until it's too late. Now, please tell me why you

are here, at my place of business, Bishop de Santis, if that is even

your real name."

"Okay." Pause. "Very well. I came to inform you

the Prince Primate of Hungary, His Eminence Cardinal Erdő, has agreed to

go forward with your plans to marry at the Sz kesfeh rv r

Basilica. In a concurrent matter, His Eminence, Cardinal Parolin, is

extending an offer to assist in the humanitarian efforts of JIKIT."

I'd

been through this before. 'Here, let me give you something nebulous and

presently valueless because it can be taken away at a whim. Then let me

bring up the real reason I've shown up to rain on your day'.

"Who is the second guy, Cardinal Parolin?" I grinned wearily.

"He

is the Secretary of State for the Holy See," was his cordially reply.

Wow! How could this possibly go wrong? Rome, Italy, the Condos? A

secondary source for the Illuminati/Alal?

"Sure," I stepped

forward, extending my right hand while pressing my left hand (with the

tablet) back to Juanita. "Come on. Let me introduce you to the team."

Not

what they were expecting at all. Nope. The Bishop was expecting

evasion. I had slithered from reprobate to villain in his eyes by

swapping spit with a demoness, so evasion was the expected response.

"One

condition," I said as our palms touched. His hawk-like gaze froze. "If

my team decides you are not working for the Pontiff, they will kill you.

They won't care about diplomatic protocols, or any presumed sanctity.

If you are lucky, they will simply put two in the heart and one in the

head. If your stars are misaligned, they will let you exercise all the

counter-interrogation and torture-resistance techniques I'm sure the

three of you know. Just so we are clear: If you are not working for who

you claim to be working for you, are, dead, guaranteed. Still want in?"

"Mr. Nyilas," he hadn't let go of my hand yet.

"Don't

bother," I interrupted. "A former Foreign Legionnaire, a Swiss Guard

ex-Special Forces and the 'Nun with No Name', you can't claim to be

anything approaching a normal ecclesiastical mission, Bishop de Santis,

oh, and I'm going to start calling you Bishop Nicolö.

I always use first names. It is a quirk of mine. Whomever sent you

knows I work with some nasty people, doing wicked things to even more

vile members of the various groups, clubs, agencies and other religions,

cults and supernatural manifestations out there. Either you say 'yes'

and put your lives in my hands, or 'no' and we part ways."

"What about your wedding plans and your wife-to-be?" he tried to get my measure. "What of the message of the Prince of Peace?"

"You

aren't going to threaten my marriage in the same way I'm not going to

threaten every Catholic living in Central Asia because the Great Khan is

my 'blood'-brother. I won't do it because it's wrong and you won't do

it because a major Catholic wedding in Hungary is nothing but good news

for the Church. As for Christ, he forgave a whore, so I figure there is

still hope for me. Your answer?"

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

A Butterfly wants to kill the World?

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Although

Love is both fire and shadow, we often forget to take comfort from the

coolness of the memories when the burning flames are absent

There

were precisely two things, okay, four things, keeping me alive. The

fourth thing would come to her later when her 'furious was replaced by

her 'curious' ~ as in how I knew her inhuman lingo ~ which would lead to

my legacy with Grandpa.

The top three reasons -

She had

poked my chest. It was a challenge, calling for one of my guardians to

come out and play. The avatar knew I was the chosen heir of the Goddess

Ishara and my goddess had devoted a good deal of time and effort to my

survival and continued service in her cause.

If Ishara made an

'appearance', it would be enough reason to not eviscerate me for my foul

treatment of her august personage.

Nope. It seemed Ishara was busy at the moment.

Still,

she most likely knew SzelAnya had shown a keen interest in me in

Romania, though I'd never told Selena, or any other member of the 9

Clans, the Dragon's Daughter had killed Ajax for me. Figuring out

SzelAnya, a storm deity, had helped me and Aya escape from our

kidnapping in the midst of a cyclone in the Pacific Ocean wasn't much of

a reach.

But no bolt of lightning coalesced from my chest to

singe her finger. No clap of thunder. Not even a cloud with a hint of

disfavor appeared above us.

Her obsidian fingernail began penetrating my shirt, touched my skin, then drew my blood, and something 'twitched'.

That

would be Contestant Goddess #3. She wasn't actually hanging around me.

She didn't have to. She'd left me a memento of our last shindig before

we parted ways. That was the nightmare-inducing episode where she, the

chthonic goddess Sarrat Irkalli, had compressed one man's body into a

dagger and then proceeded to suck another's soul into it to use as a

power source for an Airbus 350 (a commercial airliner, if you didn't

know).

I

still had that snaggletooth-looking thing at my back. Well who the Hell

was I going to leave it with? Honestly, the only people I felt could

keep it safe I loved too much to curse with it. Anyway, the second her

divine claw touched my blood, the long dormant weapon whispered to me in

a somewhat bored, lofty feminine voice from beyond the grave,

Do you want me to discorporate this pathetic has-been for you?

Quick

check. Only the avatar and I, and her priestess-savant heard that. Of

course, in downtown, New York City, noon Sunday, how weird would such a

declaration be? The avatar's eyebrow arched. Her big bat-ears (still

looking human to the normal viewing public) flicked this way and that,

figuring out precisely where the threat originated from. Slowly, her

once poking hand began to slide across my chest, along my ribs and

around my back.

She touched the dagger. Nothing.

Gingerly,

she drew it forth. I'd had a makeshift sheath made. As the blade made

its journey around me, she took a half-step back to better observe it.

"Please don't kill him!" Theddy squealed. "We haven't had sex yet!"

Being

'who' and 'what' she was, the avatar did what came natural. Fortunately

for Theddy, I'd become accustomed to working with psychopaths.

She

stabbed the dagger at Theddy. I clamped my hand down on her wrist. The

claws of her left hand came down on my constraining wrist. My free hand

came down on that hand, trying to pry it free. It was a hopeless

struggle, except.

Yes, my old friend 'except'. Except the avatar

was holding the dagger. As powerful as Ītzpāpālōtl was, she wasn't

pushing against me. She was pushing against Sarrat Irkalli.

Ītzpāpālōtl was a living, breathing terror machine who killed and received sacrifices on a regular basis.

Sarrat Irkalli hadn't been actively worshipped in 3,000 years.

Uneven contest? Oh yeah.

See,

Ītzpāpālōtl had spent the past 500 years continuously fighting against

the Weave to keep her fingers on this side of reality.

Meanwhile,

for the most part, Sarrat Irkalli had sat upon her throne in the

Sumerian Underworld with hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of souls

toiling under her watchful gaze for eternity. Sure, her version of Hell

wasn't getting any fresh deposits, but she knew how to milk the system

well.

Even the bad karma for the dagger's creation wasn't hers.

She'd stolen it from the foolish Gong Tau sorcerers who had meant to

enslave my soul, aka one-third of the Baraqu-Alal-Cáel deal she'd worked

out millennia ago. It was the Weave giving her a 'freebie' for playing

by the rules, if you considered the Weave sentient.

And now

Ītzpāpālōtl was touching it. Whoops. It wasn't as if Ītzpāpālōtl was

stupid. It isn't like there are tons of magic weapons running around,

much less soul-munchers like the one I had. Rationally, who would give a

novice like me, a weapon like this? I say again, 'whoops'.

Once I'd figured this out, I couldn't stop being me.

"Theddy, do you like girls?"

"What?" she squeaked. Here was this psycho trying to drive a Smilodon incisor into her bosom and I was giving her a sex quiz.

Ītzpāpālōtl was really starting to struggle now.

"I, ah, are you okay?" she continued.

"Oh, I'm dandy. I'm serious. You think this chick is hot? I mean, would you do her in a three-way?" I proposed casually.

"Timothy?" Sovann.

"Bro?" Timothy to me.

"It's

all good. Sovann, you want to know what my life is like? This lady who

came to discuss business with me today is an immortal mass murderer. You

give the word, I'll let go and this knife is going to cut her up like a

Ginsu blade on market day because just cutting her heart out isn't

going to be enough. Worse. Eventually she'll get back up."

"Timothy?"

Sovann repeated, this time with more concern. He thought I was nuts. I

released my left hand. The blade flipped up, twisting in the avatar's

grasp. That was the point her minions figured out something was wrong.

"El Amado?" the priestess-savant called out softly. The three goons began reaching for 'things'.

"Call them off, or I open my other hand," I cautioned the avatar. She spared me a swift, hostile look. My fingers tingled.

"Esten quietos!" she snapped. They stopped.

"Cáel,

bad day, or not. This isn't you. Stop it. The girl's in danger,"

Timothy spoke up. He didn't mean Theddy. He meant the avatar.

"I'm being a real asshole, aren't I?" I sighed.

"Pretty

much. You never let the bitches get to you before. Girl pops an

attitude, you smile and move on. Life is too short," he reminded me. Too

true.

"I'm going to put my hand over the blade," I told Ītzpāpālōtl. "When I do, you can let go."

She didn't say anything for several seconds, even after my left hand covered the semi-serrated edge.

"Why should I trust you?" she sizzled.

"Because

'me' letting anything bad happen to you would make me a total,

judgmental jerk. I don't know you. Whatever you did before you showed up

today shouldn't matter to me. I acted stupidly. I should have stopped

you. I didn't. I didn't even warn you and I could have. I was angry, and

not even at you. Just angry and I apologize. Now, let go."

"Why?"

"Hi. I'm Cáel Nyilas. Can I have my knife back? Please?"

Blink.

She released it. For a millisecond, it wanted to do something else

because bitches are bitches. It didn't, so my palm wasn't sliced open.

My right hand took the hilt. I carefully put the blade away.

"Yes," Theddy gulped.

"Huh?"

Sovann shook his head at the sudden evaporation of the life and death

tension. Welcome to my life. Theddy meant 'yes' to the 'girl-girl-guy'

thing I had proposed earlier. It pays to keep things prioritized.

"What

is this movie you were talking about?" Ītzpāpālōtl asked. Had she

forgiven me for anything which had transpired? Bwahahaha, no way. She

was taking the initiative and going with Option 1 from my earlier insane

diatribe.

"Wait!" Sovann nearly shouted. "You nearly, I don't

know, threatened Cáel’s life and tried to stab Theddy and now you think

you can go with us to a movie?"

"I told you," Timothy put an arm around his shoulder, "life with Cáel is rarely dull."

"I

thought you meant he was fun to party with, or something like that,"

Sovann looked up at his lover. "I thought his uncle showing up, and

trying to kill him and then being blown the fuck away by those women and

federal agents, and that other girl who pointed a gun at us, is this

the new normal?"

"I love you, Sovann," Timothy grew

compassionate. "Cáel is my best friend. He'd never deliberately hurt

either of us and normal friends are something he has in short supply.

Today being a great case in point."

Ten seconds passed.

"The title is 'As Above, So Below'," Sovann addressed the avatar, "and what do we call you?"

Since 'if you are not a worshiper and addressing me, I normally am about to kill you' would sound really cool in Olmec-ic, but I might be asked to translate,

"How about we go with 'Obsidian', please?" I pleaded with her.

She

knew I was currying favor now ~ and behaving like a weather vane caught

in the wall of a tornado ~ she gave a gracious bow of her head.

"Obsidian will do for now. Is the Legend of the dagger 'business'?" Translation: it had better not be.

"No,"

I smiled. "It's pillow talk." Rancor, 'how presumptuous', followed by

'but that dagger ups the count to three Goddess interested in him', and

next to recalling all the trivial babble about me being a sexual dynamo

(I prayed my PR was that good) having some relevance. Her chimera

emotions allowed me to get a few more crucial words out, because even

women who aren't sleeping with me are jealous.

"Esta

mujer fue la primera en ofrecer bienes funerarios tras la muerte dee mi

padre," I reinserted Theddy back into my close company. For some

reason, Obsidian considered me unreliable thus had to verify what I'd

just said.

"Did you make funerary offering upon his father's

passing?" she asked Theddy. Let's think about this. The wacko chick

questioning Theddy had tried to stab a huge freaking blade into her not a

minute ago. Fleeing in terror while screaming for the cops? Nope.

"Yes.

I baked him some walnut and caramel chip cookies," she nodded. "It is a

family recipe." Sovann looked over the three of us, then back to

Timothy.

"I told you 'that's impressive cocking like I've never seen before'," he explained.

"She

may remain," Obsidian 'permitted'. Theddy wrapped up my right arm with

her left and gave it a squeeze. She wanted attention/explanation.

"Obsidian

is a Master Vampire, Theddy," I leaned in and whispered. "Before she

was turned, she was captured in a raid by the fey, mentally, spiritually

and physically raped and made into their sex-slave. Part of her spirit

never healed properly. While this imperfection allows her to walk around

in daylight, her heart can never hold on to any emotion for long, so

she is forced to forever seek passion, no matter how dangerous, from the

world around her."

Revealing secrets? Ha. I had noticed Theddy

had every work done by Laurel K. Hamilton in her place, including the

comic book series.

"You are not supposed to know, so act like I didn't tell you anything, okay?"

'Okay,'

she mouthed back at me. I could see it in her eyes. My chaotic life

suddenly 'made sense' to her because a best-selling fiction author said

so.


Obsidian thought the movie was; hilarious. She couldn't

stop snickering, giggling and poking at me as horrible shit happened to

the various actors. She thought the plot was 'insightful' and wouldn't

stop whispering to me throughout the entire thing. During the closing

credits, I told her I'd get her the DVD for Christmas ~ she knew the

concept behind digital technology, but didn't own any ~ she kissed me.

The

first kiss was fierce and joyous with the added benefit of her tongue

doing things no normal tongue could do, it stretched. Not sure how I

felt about that. The second kiss was more sultry, longer and came with

some accompanying body action which, I'm no virgin. Not even close. She

was on my left side, so when she twisted in her seat, her left leg

insinuated itself between mine. Her left hand cupped my jaw and held my

head in place as her lips played along mine.

A dance of the

scorpion perhaps? Tender at first, then suddenly stabbing, dominant and

brutal. My lips and tongue battled back, using my superior Kiss-fu to

nullify her natural strength and agility. She liked it. By her moaning,

she liked it a lot. As the kiss progressed, more and more of her flowed

from her seat into my seat, body facing me. Her body rose over mine,

forcing my neck back to maintain contact.

"So, Dot Ishara is

hovering around somewhere close, isn't she?" I murmured as our lips

separated barely a centimeter apart. One chick kissing you to make

another one jealous. It's happened to me plenty of times. Obsidian

didn't give a damn about Theddy, or any other mortal woman in close

proximity so,

"Yes," she purred. "Do you mate with her?"

"A man does not brag of such things, but no, unless heavy petting counts?"

"What will she do to you when I steal your seed?"

'When'?

Why was I not surprised? Why was I not surprised another concussion was

in my immediate future either? Was it possible I was, learning?

"Chastise

me for not fighting harder," I breathed across her lips, "and, in case

you forgot, I'm on a date with the girl beside me."

"Who I care nothing for," she sent a cruelly playful look Theddy's way. Wisely, the girl shivered.

"Who

I am indebted to and how I honor my debts might matter to you," I

hazarded. My words hurt Theddy's feelings. That was on purpose. Obsidian

took pleasure in me hurting Theddy because she was basically a vicious

monster.

"Yes?" I pressed her gently.

"Yes," Obsidian allowed, easing up slightly both romantically and physically.

"And

Theddy, if you believe I'm with you solely because of some sense of

obligation, you clearly haven't been listening to your recordings," I

shot the human girl a wink.

"Oh."

"Am I, or am I not, a

sex-obsessed little monkey?" I teased her. Theddy giggled. I paid for my

diversion with four obsidian claws to my ribs outside of Theddy's view.

After all, it wasn't like Theddy could possibly compete with her for my

attention. Considering Obsidian's legendary ability to rip open her

opponent's ribcages and feast upon their hearts, I slipped my left hand,

the one next to her between her legs and stroked her cotton-slacks

covered cunt.

Theddy hugged my right arm and put her head against my shoulder. Not to be outdone,

" Qu  un

centenar dee hombres se quemaron vivos como el sonido?" Obsidian

inquired with sexually sadistic hunger. Ah, memories of burning 7P

Commandos.

Whoops. Theddy knew Spanish.

"No lo s . Ten an

respiradores en," I replied casually. "Si lo desea, puedo describir lo

que se siente al tirar de una flecha de guerra lanzar mi propio muslo."

"Eep," slipped out of Theddy's lips.

"Why did you do that?" Obsidian looked over us both.

"Well, I was showing a little girl I believed in her,"

"And she shot you?" Theddy gulped.

"No.

She hit the target I was standing next to. A co-worker mistook me for a

cardboard cutout of a Jehovah's Witness and let fly. Seems she had

issues with organized religion as well as a reaction to the oscillation

effect of florescent lighting and ceiling fans."

"But why did you pull the arrow out?" Theddy asked. "Couldn't you wait until you got to the hospital?"

"Mosquito," Obsidian menaced, insinuating Theddy was a pest.

"I

wasn't thinking rationally at the moment, I work in an asylum, I had a

hot date in a few hours, any of those three will do," I smiled at

Theddy.

"Copil such as Cáel don't bother with petty human

conventions," Obsidian turned my gaze back her way with her hand on my

jaw. 'Copil's were 'god-touched' in her lingo.

"More than one girl?" Theddy mused.

"Four."

"Okay," she sighed happily.

"Theddy,

three under-age girls and the police office he was dating acting as

their chaperone," Timothy intervened. "He hurried home so he could keep a

promise to the children, not for sex." Bastard. He really was my best

friend. He didn't mention my post-injury, pre-festivity sex with Odette

giving me a few extra, urgently needed Brownie Points to suggest I might

be a decent human being.

"You are a wonderful guy," Theddy ran a

fingernail over my free hand. Clearly I was 'wonderful' enough to risk

Obsidian's anger over. The screen went blank as the last credits

scrolled away and the room was plunged into darkness. Five seconds

later, the lights snapped on.

Pain!

"Fuck," I

hissed. It wasn't any extra physical trauma causing me discomfort. No, a

metaphysical dam had burst within and my stream of conscious thought

had been turned into a white-water rapids. The competing cyclones of

thoughts in my mind had stopped cooperating and my hypothalamus was

letting me know I was in danger.

"Cáel", "Cáel", "Bro", and "Ishara" all came in rapid succession. I needed some space both tangible and social.

"I

need to step outside," I eased Obsidian off me and stood up. My sense

of my personal danger was ratcheting up. While I had been studying

Obsidian, so I could screw her, I had discovered more and more

Alal-badness.

The light display had ignited a series of pressing

implanted memories which had been clamoring for my attention. Things

like not all 'divinities' were stewards of the Weave. Some even wanted

its destruction, preferring risking all on a chaotic restructuring of

reality over what existed now ~ things like Obsidian. They weren't

attempting to do so because they thought they had no chance.

But

there was. A real serious chance to unravel reality existed; and it was

staring her in the face. It wasn't 'me' as in 'I was the Anti-Christ'.

But with the torrent of memories pouring forth, I knew where the peril

lay and I was completely responsible for it. Hell, I was a prime ally of

Armageddon and hadn't even known it.

'Holy Shit!'

I blinked. Timothy was shaking me. We were out in the lobby.

"Oh my God, Timothy," I nearly wept. "What am I going to do?"

"I

have no idea what you are talking about. Is there someone you can talk

to about this?" he suggested. Normal folks were around us. Obsidian was

at my side. Sovann was behind Timothy with an arm around Theddy's

shoulder.

"Theddy," I looked at her. "Can I catch up with you

later? I just realized I've screwed up something fierce." I put my best

'really don't want to go but I gotta' face on. Her worried look

brightened, she slipped around Timothy and gave me a tingling French

kiss.

"I'll hold you to that, Cáel," she murmured when we parted.

"Timothy, go home, I got shit to deal with," I hoped my grin didn't become as feeble as I felt it to be.

"I," he started to say something. "Time not to ask questions?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Wait."

I pulled us to the side and went on to my toes, leaned in and whispered

in his ear, "Tell Pamela 'he' sent Ajax to kill the Professor, his

family and the sisters. They were the targets all along. It wasn't me,

or the other women. Just in case,"

"Okay," Timothy patted my arm. It was cryptic. It was the best I could do. See, I wanted to cry so badly.

{2:09 pm Sunday, September 7th ~ Last day}

Where to begin:

Every

mythology across the globe has some creature, or creatures, which

threatens Existence. Usually a God, or a Hero-God, slays the creature

and everything is right with the world, except such a being, being older

than Existence itself, can't really die, so they are carved up, buried ~

what have you.

Illuyankamunus was one such manifestation of this

underlying cancerous desire to destroy reality. He'd had a far more

real child, SzelAnya, and she's never quite given up on her dad. Of far

greater critical importance, she was 'part' of Illuyankamunus, somewhat

in the way I was part of Alal and Baraqu. And yes, that meant all the

offspring of Bolu, the guy I'd praised a few hours earlier, held the

seeds of that malignant deity as well.

And Alal knew it. He

hadn't been killing off the descendants. He'd left that task up to a

group far more capable of the task, the Egyptian Rite, who knew a

fucking threat to existence when they saw it. Lest I forget, No secret

society are the 'good guys'. Also lest I forget, I alone decided to go

after the Arinniti sons to fulfill Vranus' quest. I had no divine

mandate I was aware of nor any real world orders.

Inadvertently, I

had rounded up the last five mortal remains of Illuyankamunus in one

place for convenient disposal in a remote Transylvanian town. The only

problem was: if someone didn't get to them quickly, I was also about to

whisk them into the loving (and heavy-armed) protective embrace of the

Amazon Host, where the completion of centuries of culling would have

suddenly become a cast-iron bitch instead of a simple disposal.

Enter

Ajax. Yeah, I bet the Egyptians were trying to figure out how I stopped

him as well as Alal. I thought I was being clever by not telling most

of the world. In fact, they most likely suspected; and the reality of

SzelAnya watching over me was much more terrifying. Ishara had put a

serious curse on the Amazons, yet her curse only affected her followers,

the Amazons, who were fair game.

SzelAnya had killed someone for

me, and I hadn't been one of her followers. Thus I had committed a

blasphemous act only a magician of some significant ability could have

managed. I wasn't a sorcerer, but I had a cornucopia of mystic knowledge

rolling around in my noggin. Trying to figure all this out was one of

my major headaches.

The others?

I even suspected I knew

who betrayed me ~ kinda. They didn't do it on purpose. At least I hope

they didn't, because my odds-on favorite was my Mother by way of Captain

Delilah Faircloth. Realistically, there was only one secret society who

might help her against Grandpa and that was the Egyptian Rite, and they

did send three people to Dad's funeral including two 'somebodies'. I'm

an idiot.

I'd chatted away in fluent New Kingdom Egyptian and it

never occurred to me how odd it was for two of them to also be so fluent

in it. Know it, sure, but as fluent as Kimberly had taught me to be?

That should have been a Red Flag.

The Earth & Sky had sent Iskender, who should have been the benchmark I judged the other delegations by, damn it.

Three Condos? They'd killed my Dad and their guys had been flunkies.

The 7 Pillars had been nobodies, which they'd proven by their inaction.

Now I had to question why I had 3 actual  9-Clans  assassins at my dad's funeral too. Holy Ishara, I wasn't nearly paranoid enough.

Anyway,

why would the Amazons be aiding and abetting the End of All Life on

Earth? Normally, they wouldn't be, but 3000 years ago, the majority of

Human life did a colossal dump on the Amazons. And when they needed

help, they got it in the form of SzelAnya and her dual-sex followers. I

seriously doubt they told the Amazons their purpose was to resurrect

SzelAnya's daddy. I imagine the Amazons didn't pry too much either.

It

turned out almost to be okay. During the 2nd Betrayal, the Amazons

betrayed SzelAnya and almost short-circuited her plans by exterminating

her lineage.

Except for the Arinniti elders and Bolu. Good old 'except'.

I

can imagine when the Egyptians heard about the 2nd Betrayal, they

figured they were 'okay'. Those wacky Amazons had inadvertently done the

world a favor. Except an act of maternal love kept a slender hope of

Illuyankamunus' return alive. By the time the Egyptians realized they'd

been prematurely hopeful, Bolu's descendants were all over the Balkans

and hunting them down had proven difficult.

But, it gets worse. Much worse.

When

those Gods shattered Illuyankamunus, they scattered him in the relative

certainty no one would ever gather the parts back together.

His

flesh was scattered across the land, modern day Turkey, but encompassing

everything from Pakistan to Italy and Egypt to Poland. The flesh became

soil, then plants, the things that eat plants, then food for humans.

Get the picture.

Whoops. SzelAnya had been doing just that for

centuries upon centuries every time she mated with a mortal of

Illuyankamunus' line and had offspring, they accumulated his energy,

which made hunting down the few remaining ones easier to find, since

they were 'beacons of badness', except...

There were two key

pieces missing which SzelAnya could never get. After all, you would

think burying them on the far side of the world would matter, right?

The

'breath of Illuyankamunus' ~ his cosmic fire ~ they buried in a volcano

in a distant land far across the Great Sea. His spirit 'body' they

imprisoned in a great river, again, across the Great Sea.

But wait, it gets worse.

The

being standing next to me knew precisely where the 'breath of

Illuyankamunus' was. Seems Mesoamerica is laced with volcanos. They'd

discovered 'the breath' long ago and used it as a weapon called

Xiuhcoatl. Better yet, Alal suspected she and her buddies were more than

happy to reunite it with the rest if they thought the Weave itself

wouldn't annihilate them for daring to do so.

In their current,

weakened state they were vulnerable to such a karmic backlash. In

theory, a reborn Illuyankamunus would have access to power beyond the

bounds of the Weave, older and more terrifying. Still, without the

mortal remains to anchor the energy, giving it to the spirit would be

pointless.

Alal knew where the spirit body was (in general), but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was where it was,

Of

all the places the Arinniti sons could have fled to, they had to choose

Brazil, the burial place of the restive spirit body of Illuyankamunus.

Mother-fucker.

And Ildiko 'Alkonyka' aka Dusk Lovasz had sworn

she'd travel to Brazil to fulfill Bolu's side of the quest in the same

way I was holding up Vranus' end. If I tried to stop her, SzelAnya would

know something was up. Fuck.

I was processing all of this when

Obsidian violently yanked me out of the way. A cabby had swerved to

avoid a flurry of trash and nearly run over us. It was the third

near-concussive experience in the past five minutes she'd help me avoid

while she had walked by my side. I'd been mumbling like a madman.

"That would be my Goddess wanting to talk with me," I looked her way.

"I know," she gave me a clever smile.

"She's really not going to like that," I shook my head.

"I know that too," she kept smiling. "Where is your mind?"

"Five lives away from making the world a safer place," I sighed.

"Safer

for who?" she purred. Where were all the bimbos? Not only was it an

insightful question, it cut straight to the heart of my dilemma.

What

decision could I make? If I elected to help my fellow Amazons, I risked

screwing with the world. In truth, I was risking everything even if I

did nothing. Well Dad was always clear that things didn't change by

themselves. You needed to do something that would have an effect. So, 'What are you going to do?'

More

to the point, I wasn't Grandad. Killing the last five of the line of

Illuyankamunus wasn't 'me', so it wasn't going to be something I'd worry

about.

SzelAnya wanted to bring back her Dad, I could understand

that. I'd have to figure out a way for her to believe this world

sticking around was more important. How? Well, I had a goddess-like

creature right in front of me to probe for ideas.

"You are an

immortal," Obsidian commented. She'd been weighing her opinion for some

time. I could tell by the wonderment with which she gifted each word.

"What? No. I can die."

"No.

I don't think so. Your wounds. Normally the wounds I inflict flow

freely for some time. Yours have already scabbed over," her eyes

flickered to the various minor scars she'd imparted to me in the few

hours we'd been together.

Of course, her idea was insane, Oh God No! I was in Grandad's body. Well Duh! His body was supposed to be immortal.

"Are you sure?" I looked deep into her eyes.

"You

are a young immortal, the youngest I've ever met, but you are an

immortal," she seemed to be convincing herself as much as me.

Stupid

Assumption (on my part)! I wasn't in Alal's body. I was in Cáel’s.

Because the Cáel soul shard was young, Alal hadn't been able to find it

because it had moved through Time, to me, sonofabitch! 'I' hadn't been

around for him to find. No! I was making yet another damn assumption.

What

did I know? When Pamela found Baraqu, it had been in an object, not a

person, though she had been short on details. When the Alal-shard went

to the Land of the Endless Black Sands to bring Saku back, the

Cáel-shard had been in reality, so it had been allowed to create a body,

'me'. Still, the curse Sarrat Irkalli placed on Baraqu was on Alal and

myself as well, which meant I might just be immortal.

My

Alal-mind agreed with Obsidian's assessment. In his first years, his

healing had been slow, still taking days for what took mortal people

weeks. I'd stupidly attributed my swift recovery to Amazon medicines,

ugh. Because I got wounded more than most Security Detail trainees while

concurrently entertaining two and three sex partners.

"Can you talk with Dot Ishara?" I asked her.

"Yes, but why would I?"

"Sex?"

"We are going to have sex anyway," she smiled. I'd tricked her. Set her up with the right so I could now drop her with the left.

"I can bring the mbo  tat  back

to life," I pledged. That was not what she was expecting at all. "If

you bring the Xiuhcoatl, I can bring the flesh and we can unite the

three." Mbo  tat  was the Tupi name for the legendary 'fiery serpent' of the Amazon Basin. In Portuguese, it had become Boi-tat ,

a will-o-wisp with a confused, Christianized mythology ~ a serpent

dwelling in darkness, devouring the eyes of corpses, glowing in the

forests at night.

"Where is the flesh?" she whispered.

"In his mortal children," I replied.

"Who?"

"You

are a monster, Ītzpāpālōtl. I'm not going to tell you and you don't

have the time to drag the information out of my mind before my allies

drop on you like a nuclear detonation," I drew my body tightly to her.

"Why would the Amazons do this?"

"They are not. This is a deal between you and me," I kissed her lips. I pulled back. A few seconds later she kissed me back.

"Why?"

"My

grandfather had my father murdered and I would avenge him. In the end,

despite my father's Amazon heritage, my 'Sisters' will let his death go

unavenged for the greater good of the Host. He was a man and they will

never look beyond that ~ they will never value his life as they would

that of a woman."

"Your mother's father?"

"Yes. Cáel O'Shea of the Illuminati."

"We are not at war with the Illuminati," she murmured. It was a casual observation, not a protest.

"You are at war with Cáel O'Shea."

"He was slain."

"He didn't stay dead."

"You know much more than you are saying," she was finally catching on.

"Absolutely."

"I

need much more than a few names to convince my kin to help," she

purred, a cocktail of sexual immersion and flesh-flaying pain.

"I

don't work for you. You are agreeing to work for me," I was hard as

iron in more than one way. Why? Boundaries. She lived in a world where

only the fundamentals of reality constrained her. Having a human, no

matter how polished my pedigree, or how much I might appear to be

'special', tell her 'you are not the boss' in a reasonable fashion was

new and very unwelcome.

"What would make you think that?"

"My

mentor taught me knowledge is a curse. It is our inability to forget,

and I can see into your soul, Ītzpāpālōtl. You care not one wit for the

life of an assassin. But the thought of the other 'Factors' of the 9

Clans treating you as an equal galls you almost as much as the crushing

reality that you need them.

"You have lived 500 years in chains and I'm offering you a desperate grab at freedom," I added.

"Your brief glimpse of immortality gives you no insight into my existence," she bristled.

"Oh,

how many have given up? How many have decided the fight was no longer

worth it and faded from the Sunlight to make their final trip into the

Underworld, never to return? Do you even visit them?" I spoke with a

voice tinged with compassion and loss. I pulled upon the pitiless, blank

memories of a childless Alal all those centuries and imprinted on them

my own fears of fatherhood and failure.

"How do you know so much?" she let her fa ade

crack, then blow away, in the hollowness of her own sorrow. How could I

pity such a monster? I could because I was me and I wouldn't surrender

that to the barbaric past and most likely horrific future. I pulled her

close, resting my chin on the top of her head.

"You are not the

first, wonderful, very bright woman who has stepped into my life,

Obsidian," I whispered. "You are not even the first divinity. For all

the millions of differences enforced by power and time, I think love,

hate and the conflict between the two wear upon us all. If anything, you

face an endless parade of hope and misery. Even if you chose to ignore

it, you have seen it and perhaps it leaves its marks ~ water scarring

the rocks of a riverbed."

We paused. I was able to peripherally scan about and realize we'd made it to Central Park ~ the Ramble and off the beaten path.

"Your Goddess is a fool for not keeping you closer," she murmured.

"She

does keep me close. You have been actively keeping me from her," I

reminded my guest. "She also plays by the rules, so is of limited help

in my plans for vengeance."

Translation: I could enlist

Ītzpāpālōtl's aid while still remaining loyal to my matron Goddess.

Ishara could not provide what I needed and my Amazons wouldn't agree

with my scheme, so I needed her. Three hours ago, she wouldn't have

considered me a worthy supplicant, much less an allied equal, yet here

she was conspiring with me to shake the foundations of Creation.

Personally,

I was thanking Mamitu, Destiny. Had I not been having my worst Sunday

ever when we first crossed paths and then acted like a total cockhead,

pissed her off and led her to holding Sarrat Irkalli's dagger, thus

putting her life in my hands, and not had Timothy as a best friend, I

wouldn't have taken her to the movie, and my mind wouldn't have wandered

down those dark corridors of Alal's memories to piece things together.

Whatever

itinerary Obsidian had approached me with, my abrasive behavior had

forced her to it cast aside. Dagger, movie, revelations, I was now so

much more in her eyes than she had envisioned.

"Share my need and

share with me an ounce of your sorrow," I murmured to her as I gently

curled my fingers in her hair and directed her head up until she faced

me.

"The dagger," she rumbled. While she was stroking my hard-on, I knew she was using it as a double meaning.

"I

was pinned to an onyx sacrificial table," I began my tale. We worked

off pants to mid-thigh then 'got busy'. Penetration was only going to be

possible by turning her around. Ground-breaking was her ready

acceptance of my instruction. I leaned against a tree, then pulled her

onto my lap. She guided my phallus home.

One locomotion and I

sunk in deep. It was warm molasses until I hit and pressed against her

cervix. For a second Obsidian trembled, then her muscles clamped down

tightly, gripping my manhood firmly in a vise, keeping me still.

"Ah,"

I groaned. Obsidian had her neck twisted, so we were kissing with eye

contact as I described my adventures with the Gong tau sorcerers. She

shot me a quick twinkle of delight, a connection. She'd relayed physical

pleasure in the way I was giving her cerebral gratification, aka hope.

I

rolled up her shirt, and gave both nipples a brutal tweak in response.

She gasped. I was applying a little 'rough' with my tender intercourse.

She rolled her tush against my groin, an invitation to double-down on my

nipple-play. I kept my left hand working over each tit while working my

fingernails down her abdomen. As I described the terror in old Tsu's

face as he shouted out 'M iyǒu!

(Mandarin for 'No!') as he recognized too late the curse he was

invoking. She relished the visual of the Han necromancer's terror.

'Me'

smacking two fingers down on her clit earned me a squeal and a small

gush of fluids on my nut-sack. Her look of astonishment was something

I'd always cherish. Before me, sex was something she demanded from her

followers/victims and definitely orchestrated. Her partners being

fearful/worshipful must have limited their initiative.

"A-a-a-ah, we are being observed," she groaned, her lips less than an inch from mine. It took me a second.

"Which

direction?" I kept pumping her, strumming her clit and treating her tit

like taffy on a hot Coney Island summer afternoon. Her hooded eyes

flickered to our right. I gave it ten seconds. I had to get Obsidian

refocused on what I was going to do to her next, in case this was

innocent voyeurism. Nope. It was Chaz.

Why Chaz? See, I'm an

idiot. My cryptic warning to Timothy for Pamela had been good for all of

one minute. He'd called her and she'd gathered what she could and come

looking for me.

Why was she concerned? I was babbling to Timothy then wandering off with a 'beyond-freaky' chick I had just met named 'Obsidian' who came my way courtesy of another chick with the name of Estere.

Let me see, Estere was Hashashin and for Timothy to describe someone in my life as 'beyond freaky' was

bad news. Timothy was seriously worried about me and Timothy was an

emotional rock ~ he didn't panic. Lest we forget, I was in a federal

taskforce. A quick peek into New York traffic cameras revealed me and

Obsidian wandering into Central Park from the south, so in the rescue

party went, splitting up and Chaz 'lucked-out'.

I still had two,

no, three problems. I was really enjoying my sexual excursion with

Obsidian and she was seeming to truly enjoy her experience with me. Oh,

and Central Park is big, Pamela had been pressed for people, so she had

pressed some unlikely participants into my rescue party.

"He's," smooch, "my brother, by adoption," I headed off the whole idea she'd been briefed on me already.

"Visual,

Peacekeeper Six, OS2, L-11," Chaz muttered into his headset before

taking up a casual stance on the path overlooking our trysting spot. Sex

with an audience didn't bother her, so, we worked out as much action

from twist, turns and two inches of in-and-out motions (she liked to

keep our bodies tight) as we could. Obsidian was humming along in no

time. Her vaginal walls were undulating, wearing away at my

self-control.

Panting, not from us,

"Is he o, are they, who is she?" huffed and puffed a trio of voices from Chaz's locale. Oh. Pamela had recruited my 'Hounds'.

I

accidently (from a timing perspective) took that moment to grind my

nails into her left nipple, pinched her clit and hammered her as hard as

I could. Obsidian howled. Her vocalization exited the human realm in a

cataclysmic manner.

The noise scared avians a mile away into

terrorized flight. Cats hissed, then raced for cover. Dogs tucked tail

and ran. Streetlights a hundred yards away shattered in sprays of glass.

Better yet, for the entertainment of my viewing public, she lashed out

with her right hand at the closest Black Cherry sapling, exploding it

into a mist of sap and pulverizing the bark and wood fiber into pulp.

On

the downside, her cervix gave my balls an ultimatum ~ release my seed

at once, or she was going to twist off my head. My cock and balls have a

long history of making decisions without me. I began lavishing her.

Before I finally got the feeling I was out of the danger zone. She was

back to rubbing against me and purring in blissful satisfaction.

"Onun g zleri," whispered Belgin, one of the Turks. 'Her eyes'?

"Cáel,

are you aware of the alternative nature of your liaison?" Chaz coolly

cautioned me. Translation: 'mate, do you know you have your cock in a

demon?'

"Yeah," I coughed. I had a face full of her hair. I was

working on some post-coital nuzzling along with slowly helping her get

her pants back up.

"Ininzqueoccehpa," she hummed to me, ignoring our gathering. That was 'let's do this again'.

"Tehuatlcochitlehua,"

I replied with some fondness. She studied me for a second before

deciding my term was one of endearment, thus 'you are what dreams are

made of', not 'nightmares'.

Obsidian had another issue to deal

with. Timothy would call it a righteous cocking. Whatever it was, her

hold on her human mein had slipped and her inhumanity was slipping

through, mainly in her glass-like, black, multi-facetted eyes and her

fingers which now ended in molten obsidian talons. On the subconscious

level, her predatory nature was setting everyone close-by on edge. I

could also make out the high pitched, ultrasonic pipping of her

chiropteran cries ~ purpose unknown.

Obsidian made her way off

farther into the underbrush leaving me a few precious seconds to

appreciate her retreating posterior while holstering my equipment. More

people were arriving. I had one more thing to take care of before, oh

look, Nikita had brought her Mom along, the NYPD Sergeant.

"Chaz,

I need to have a quick chat with Dot before I can explain things. She's

been waiting and that's unwise," I looked to the Brit. He nodded.

"Cáel?

Mr. Nyilas? Prince?" all came my way. I relaxed as best I could. Chaz

went to a body blow to stagger me, then an epic upper cut to send me to

Lullaby Land.

Dot & the Dragoness

Dot and

SzelAnya, in dragon form, were waiting as I tumbled forward. By the

state of my haziness, I knew my unconsciousness wouldn't last long.

"You gave her your seed," came the accusation.

"Yes," I staggered, "and now you should be able to track her," I pointed out the bonus part of the arrangement. No comment.

"I've got to make this quick, SzelAnya, I've found your father, geographically speaking," I dropped the bomb.

"Don't,"

Dot Ishara commanded. After all, she and her divine cohorts had done

the killing and corpse-dividing eons ago. Undoubtedly, they'd executed

their own oaths to one another to 'never reveal what they had done' as

well.

"Too late," I shook my head. SzelAnya's attention was

magnetized. "I owe you and I'm paying my debts. I'm not blind to the

dangers, believe me."

"You have no idea what power you are invoking," Dot's undercurrent of displeasure was the worst I'd experienced.

"Wrong. I've got thousands of years of Alal boiling around in my head, Plus the

rest of you betrayed her 2600 years ago. It doesn't mean I have to. And

now, given the chance, I'm not. Even if you kill me, she's got enough

to

Back in the Ramble

"Really expect me to believe," Nikita's mom was growling.

"Man down," I waved a weak arm skyward.

"Mr.

Nyilas, what is going on here?" the Sergeant addressed me. I was

reclining in a circle of my 'Hounds'; most were kneeling. Chaz was in a

tiny bit of trouble for having clocked me.

"Umm, thanks for

coming out and looking for me. I assure you, Mr. Tomorrow did what he

did as a matter of his professional duties ~ intelligence gathering." As

I struggled to stand, my ladies helped me. I saw Pamela with three

Hounds coming up fast from one direction and Virginia with three more

coming from the other. The gang was all here.

The mutterings in non-English tongues suggested a bit of explaining was already going on.

"You've been bleeding," Nikita pointed out with an unspoken 'again'.

"This?"

I pulled my shirt out and looked at the first bloodstain of my

encounter. "This is the just the start of the bad news." I shed my

windbreaker and then t-shirt.

The professionals shouldered aside the others to take a closer look.

"All

of these are from noon and less than an hour ago," I identified the

damage. Sarge was skeptical. Chaz, Nikita and Virginia less so.

"They look older," the senior lawman noted.

"I've been curious about that," Chaz frowned.

"I've

inherited my Grandfather's curse. My soul fragment was in the 'Here and

Now' twenty-three years ago while his was, 'over there', so I was

allowed to come into creation. According to my recently departed guest,"

"You

are immortal," Virginia mumbled to finish the thought. Had the speaker

not been a member of the FBI, who knows how the thought would have been

received.

"From the memories I've been gifted with," I tapped the

tiny divot on my forehead, "his healing abilities started out rather

slowly too. I certainly don't want to test this theory, so no worries

there," I scanned the group.

"How do you explain seeing your Grandfather in Hungary and again in Rome?" Virginia wondered.

"Again, that woman who just left," I got out.

"Was

no woman," Nuray, another one of my Turkish Hounds interrupted. "Her

eyes..." she tried to explain, "and look what she did to that tree," she

pointed to the greatest piece of evidence of supernatural wrongdoing.

The other two witnesses nodded.

"We all saw the same thing. Her

eyes were, bottomless, definitely not human," Belgin affirmed. The

veteran players looked to Chaz.

"She had a collapsed nose-bridge,

lacked a blink response, her dental work was carnivorous and her tongue

was extremely clipped and showed prehensile qualities," he reported

calmly. Pause. Chaz was a freaking intelligence operative, after all.

"If her hands were a type of glove weaponry, I've never seen it s

like before. While I know it is possible for a human to exert the

force-pounds necessary to snap a two inch diameter tree trunk in one

blow, it is a rare skill and requires intense discipline. This appeared

to be done spontaneously, without preparation of any kind and as a

reaction to other stimuli," he added.

"It was also your assessment he needed to be knocked unconscious?" Nikita's mom countered.

"Mr.

Nyilas' psychological constructs are something the whole team has to

work around. At times, he seeks 'insight' from his mind in a

deliberately unconscious/non-sleep state," he replied.

"He claims

to be talking with spirit powers. I know when he returns to

consciousness, he delivers useful intelligence. I'm not a psychologist,

psychiatrist, or psychic. I don't know why his mind functions that way. I

do know results. And I know I work with people who would achieve those

results by other means if it were at all possible. Since we haven't

found another method, we accept that from time to time, Mr. Nyilas will

be rendered unconscious for the benefit of the team."

"So you would beat him to death for 'results'?" she squared off with the Brit.

"No.

That is horribly simplistic, Ms. Kutuzov," Chaz exhaled evenly. "I

value Cáel’s life deeply. Not only is he a genuinely decent human being,

his actions have saved millions of lives. It is not a matter of hurting

him in order to save one life, or five, or ten. It is never that

clear-cut. I know Cáel is in his right mind and trying to make a

difference. I owe it to him to support him when I can."

"Today,

right now, it means I fulfilled a requirement for his inner psychic

workings. Had he been confused, or near death, I would have refused. As

your daughter can explain better than I, working with Cáel Nyilas gives

'complicated' a whole new meaning."

Nikita nodded vigorously.

"Fine," Sarge folded her arms. To me: "Maybe you can explain what the panic is all about."

"This will make as much sense as the plot of A Stranger Gets Mean," I rolled my shoulders. I was putting my shirt back on, buying time.

"Which one is that?" Pamela gave me a twist of the lips ~ a smirk-in-training.

"The last of the A Stranger films with Tony Anthony," I smiled her way.

"The one with the sneaky gunslinger, the Princess, the Moors and the generic barbarian horde?"

"Yeah."

"How can you know, ah, in the first film, the girl with the whip," Pamela got snarky.

"Don't obfuscate the question," Sarge persisted.

"I'm not. How does a young man not know Unforgiven, which won four Academy Awards, yet knows all four of the A Stranger films, which I'm sure no one else here has ever heard of," Pamela grinned at the other older woman.

"Maybe, kinda, sorta and it was at a film festival in Keene," I supplied the alternate answer.

"Sgt.

Kutuzov, I work with horrible people and the best reason I can think of

to keep going back to work is around me right now," I let my eyes

flicker from her steely gaze to the assembly. "The truth is, I was in

danger and at a moment's notice, seventeen people showed up to help.

That I worked my way through the dilemma before you arrived doesn't

diminish, in my eyes, what so many were willing to do on my behalf."

"So,"

"So,

the women is evil and part of the leadership of a faction your

government is allied with in the goings-on elsewhere around the globe.

By evil, I mean ritualized rape to breed future pawns for their

struggle, plus human sacrifice and blood offerings on a regular basis,

in addition to the usual bad. I had to impress upon her I was going to

be a useful ally," and heading off the accusing looks, "and in a manner

which went way beyond bedroom antics.

"See, it turns out my side

is inadvertently doing shit which could bring about the end of the

world," I lathered it on. "No lie. Don't trust me. Trust the look in the

eyes of people who know and work with me." I let the Hounds and Sarge

do just that. "So, the people we are fighting, are trying to save the

world, but for their own selfish ends, which don't work out well for

anyone standing in this circle we have today."

"So, I have to

balance keeping my side safe ~ thus endangering existence ~ and stop our

opposition, yet keep them in play long enough to tie up the forces

actually trying to destroy all life on Earth, at least until I can deal

with them too. That has been my afternoon so far," I finished up.

Yep.

I was a nutty-nut bar slathered in nut crumbs and buttered in nut oil.

Then the 'sane' folks looked at the other supposedly 'sane' folks who

doubled as my co-workers. Even Nikita, who hadn't been 'read-in' to most

of what JIKIT did, was nodding along, totally accepting my blathering's

as gospel.

"Special Agent Maddox, is it?" Mamma Kutuzov turned on the one other adult she might respect, the Federal law-dog.

"Sergeant,

I've seen things I'm unsure about. Of greater importance, I've seen

otherwise completely sane, rational people behave inexplicably around

Cáel, for both good and ill."

"Would I stand in front of the Head

of the FBI and testify Cáel Nyilas Wakko Ishara was a supernatural

entity, I'm afraid I would. I can't pinpoint any precise act. It is more

how those who know him react to things he does which he shouldn't be

able to do, telling us things he has no rational explanation to know and

speaking in languages he's never been known to be in contact with

before," Virginia forged ahead.

"Then you take in the evaluations

of the other 'normal' people we work with, people like the Color

Sergeant here and Special Agent Loire. When service professionals start

referring to the people in the field they are working with as 'Ninja'.

Or how the Great Khan, a man Cáel’s age, ruthlessly leads one of the

largest nation's on Earth and considers Cáel his brother," she left her

thoughts about the Great Khan dangling.

"So your engagement to

this Sulkanen woman is politically-based," Mamma turned on me. Oh, the

'had I been toying with Nikita' question.

"I don't look at it

that way," I met her stare. "Hana has been working overtime to make our

union something more than a hollow parody. Sadly, my grotesque life is

relentless and maturity is not something I ever had planned to embrace."

"Now I'm looking at fatherhood times eleven," I got out in a wistful tone.

"Eleven?" multiple voices chorused.

"One

is with Hana," I aimed at Nikita and Nikita's mom. The pace of my

declaration meant I wasn't a Lothario, or dead-beat Dad. I was happy

about having children, unhappy about marriage, yet accepting my

'screw-ups' as my responsibilities.

"This is because you are the last of your bloodline?" Flannery questioned.

"I

don't like thinking of my sons and daughters that way, but yes. Of my

Father's family, outside his unmarried sister, I'm it. I am also

expected to establish alliances with other entities and often the only

value we share is our love of our offspring."

"Is anyone else 'contributing'?" Mamma persisted. Pamela frowned. Not good.

"Havenstone

is notorious for not sharing, working poorly with others and for

holding male lives valueless, so until my arrival, such deals were not

possible. Within Havenstone, they do have the custom of adopting

daughters," I hurried things along. "Within the other two groups we are

allying with, such blood exchanges are more common."

"Is this practice going to stop when you are married?"

"No."

"Mom," Nikita intervened, "Cáel isn't leading

these women on. I admit his, and their, behavior is odd. His whole life

is rather inexplicable. You'd have to see him interacting with his

co-workers to understand how much words fail to describe what it's like

around him."

"Nikita, we can start by talking about these

twelve," Mamma took in my Hounds with a sweeping arm gesture, "European

girls showing up at the drop of a hat, plus my long history dealing with

Marilyn Saint James and Desiree Fredrickson, both of whom I have

suddenly stopped seeing... right after he showed up in their lives. I

know Mr. Nyilas, Cáel, is miles beyond what you find in the pages of the

New York Times. I'm worried about you."

"Wonderful. Let's get

out of here," Pamela began to corral us. As we began moving along,

Virginia pulled out her phone and gave 'work' a call: They'd found me

and I was okay. Me? I couldn't chat at the moment. I had a 3:30 pm with

Oneida (and Shawnee for some portion of the meeting no doubt; I was

making her a grandmother).

"I've been talking with Pamela and I

may have a way out of your conundrum with these twelve," Chaz sidled up

to me. The twelve in question were in hushed conversation in four

languages, going over what the first three had seen.

"Yes?" I looked his way. He seemed especially serious.

"Yes.

We Tomorrows have a few people schooled in the military arts. Notably,

my Uncle Mason, former SAS with 30 years in, my cousin Tanwen Tomorrow,

has been a staff instructor for the Honorable Artillery Company (she was

not an artillerists), my older sister Estelle ~ now a Carew, former

Royal Marines and my older brother Todd, former SRR, are all currently

capable of doing you, me and the world a favor."

"They'd train my, Hounds? Not kill them?"

"As

you pointed out, there is more to a person than physical strength.

There is character and willingness to dare. There is a spirit of

adventure and a desire to risk not only their lives, but save the lives

of the woman next to them. Fighting skills, endurance and discipline can

be instilled with the proper training and motivation. You provide the

motivation. Let my clan provide the rest," Chaz offered.

"Who will I owe?"

"Me

and mine, Cáel. You are the Head of an Amazon First House,

Blood-brother to the Great Khan, Diplomat of the Host, father to a

wonderful little girl and grandson to a woman who is as much family to

me as anyone born of my blood, or who I have ever had the pleasure to

spill blood beside," he confided.

"Okay."

"Do me a favor?" he asked softly.

"Sure."

"I

think I might be a father. Getting her to talk about it, isn't

happening and this isn't something I can ask Pamela to look into," he

requested. Chaz had been banging one of the SD ladies assigned to

JIKIT's protection force. A man of Chaz's character wasn't the type to

mosey through the available herd. No, he'd picked one and, since things

had worked out, he'd loyally stuck with her.

Neither lover would

mention 'word-one' about a commitment. And if she was pregnant, it was

easy to conclude she would believe it was none of his concern. If it was

a male, we wouldn't know until, month four and a half, or five,

"Name?"

"Tavi Gentry, of House Stolgos."

I

recalled her ~ around thirty, black hair, caramel skin, short (5' 4")

with small breasts with wide hips and a tight, hard body.

"I'll

find out," I grinned. "Of more immediate concern to you, as of 7:30 this

morning, all male Amazon children are to be given over to the Royal

House instead of slain. I'm already working on exemptions for myself and

the future House SzelAnya."

"How did you pull that off?"

"Thank Queen Aya next time you see her," I grew crafty. I should have known better. Chaz hid his surprise too well.

"I'll do that."

I

saw Pamela looking my way intently. Her eyes bugged out and she mouthed

'Aya?', then a huge 'Wow!' I was glad someone was both happy and

surprised.

{3:00 pm Sunday, September 7th ~ last day}

"Now

aren't you glad we tagged along?" Pamela said loudly enough to draw

attention from the onlookers. She was still beating me up for sending

Juanita away and for running off with an avatar-Goddess of the Cult of

the Jaguar. But we would have been drawing attention anyway.

See,

I was in my least-favorite place to get beat up: the Full-blooded gym

at Havenstone. Oh, the Amazons knew me by now. They knew Pamela too. It

was my other four 'guests' which were drawing the attention/ire. Three

were 'outsider' women:

FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox was

known to a few of the Security Services and the Security Detail Amazons,

who quickly spread the word about who she was. If they hadn't, well her

grey workout attire with yellow FBI lettering on it would have helped clarify any confusion.

The

other two were New York Police officers Nikita Kutuzov and her mother,

Larisa (aka 'The Desk Sergeant'). Those two were with me because Larisa

had been insistent on coming and Pamela had publically announced it was a

'capital idea', there-by vacating my veto.

"I thought you were a bigwig?" Larisa Kutuzov had accused me.

"I

am, but she scares everyone," I'd shrugged helplessly. Larisa then

looked to Pamela, who shrugged as if she couldn't understand why anyone

would be afraid of her. So those two, dressed in navy blue workout

attire labeled NYPD with golden lettering, were also accompanying me into Pain Central.

Had

those three outsiders not been with me, it wouldn't really have

mattered in the 'attention getting' department because my fourth guest

was Chaz. Yeah, Chaz. Mind you, Chaz hadn't wanted to come either, but

Pamela insisted I might need help before all this shit sorted itself

out.

Chaz wasn't as 'pretty' as me, but compensated by possessing

the aura of a professional elite warrior ~ calm, detached and

unflappable in a crisis such as calmly walking into a room where 200

women wanted to kill you:

... a third of them wanted to rape you, then kill you,

... another third wanted to kill you by raping you (Chaz was awfully 'manly' after all),

... and the balance just wanted to kill you and move on to whatever was next.

Now,

what the fuck was I doing in the Full-blooded gym? I had promised to

meet Oneida to discuss our hastily revealed 'Warrior's Love' during this

morning's council session, right before Rhada attacked her. But why was

Oneida meeting me in the gym?

As I scanned about upon entry, I

saw Oneida and my heart sank. My bad day clearly was not getting better.

A portion of the sparring mats closest to me had been cleared out for a

circular meeting of kneeling Amazons, who were most certainly waiting

for 'Yours Truly'. Thirteen Amazons were waiting for me. I knew them

all, five intimately. Closest to my left were three members of House

Zorja: House Head Jana, her Apprentice Marlene and my old buddy Elsa.

To their left were Shawnee and Oneida of House Arinniti. Opposite me was the Keeper of Records, Krasimira, with the augur Tad fi

and their guardians; Sikia and the persistently with Krasimira whose

name I'd never gotten. Beside them were Mahdi and Rhada. Closing the

circle were the Head and Apprentice of House Bendis: Klavdiya and Gale.

The moment I saw Tad fi, any half-assed plan I was cobbling together flew out the window. Sikia was holding Tad fi's

hand which she clenched when she caught sight of me. I hadn't believed I

would ever see the augur alive again, yet here she was. Fuck it all. I

was vaguely aware of Pamela telling Chaz and Virginia to 'clear the

road'.

"Ishara," the Apprentice of House Maeve, Rhonwenn, decided

to make a protest in front of the onlookers, "these strangers are not

welcome." She moved toward me. By the five companions she was bringing

along, she expected some level of resistance. Fortunately, she was

addressing me/us in Old Kingdom Hittite, which meant only Pamela and I

understood what the heck she was saying.

"Rhonwenn," I turned on

her with teary eyes, "the Mother of my first born daughter is here when

it was prophesied I would never hold her again this side of the cliffs.

If I hug her, I can hug them both and show them I share my love," I led

with my heart's song.

"First born?" Rhonwenn frowned.

"Yes. By Ishara's command, the augur Tad fi

was the first to have her destiny twisted by the Goddess. The price

will be her life to bring the first Isharan daughter to her first

breath. In a dream, I was told I would never see her again," I moved

past her.

"What of the strangers?" she followed along.

"Leave

this to me," Pamela grabbed Rhonwenn's arm and pulled her aside. The

old witch had arranged things so Nikita and Mamma peeled off to support

her, leaving Virginia to cover our back and Chaz to watch my other

flank.

I stepped between Elsa and Klavdiya Bendis, vaguely asking for their pardon as I passed them. Tad fi

seemed sullen, so I boomed subsonic rumblings from deep within my

diaphragm. It was a wordless message to her. Murmurs of 'Cael' and

'Ishara' floated around. I wanted to hug Tad fi; I fell to my knees before her. My hands flew to her hips as she reached out, determined to find me despite her blindness.

Her fingers brushed along my chest. I was dead set on showering her face with kisses. Tad fi's right hand danced to my lips while her left hand's fingertips traced along my tear tracks. She started to weep too.

"You are crying," Tad fi needlessly pointed out.

"I thought I would never see you again," I breathed over her fingers.

"The

Goddesses often show us what might be, not what must be," her words

lilted harmonically. "Perhaps you bear such grief, you have recast the

Weave itself, my Cáel."

I had to think about that for a second.

The Weave operated outside the strictures of Time as we humans saw it.

It acting in a compassionate way toward me wasn't something I was

seriously entertaining, but perhaps my actions had tripped up a few

things. I certainly felt I needed a few extra hugs.

"Could it not be the love of Tad fi

which has altered events?" I turned things around. "You are the first

mother-augur I've ever heard of." Yeah, I was ignoring the crowd around

us. It was both good and bad. Bad was me showing affection to one lady

when I was here for showing affection to too many women (in their

opinion.) The good was me paying attention to the one who had the least,

the one whose fate the rest would simply rather not think about.

"I

am an augur. I," her words trailed off. She was a slave to the Weave; a

sacrifice by the Host to the mysticism of the world around them.

However an augur ended up casted as an augur, I always had the

impression her sisterhood quickly tried to forget them as the

individuals they had once been. Well screw that notion. A hand came to

rest on my shoulder. It was the guardian, Sikia. Whatever everyone else

thought, I was earning serious Brownie points in her book.

"Hey Sikia. Sorry. Didn't mean to ignore you," I gave a sheepish grin.

"I understand, Ishara," she bowed her head slightly. "Tad fi told me of your visitation." For me it had been a dream. For Tad fi, it had been a waking moment. Krasimira coughed. I had business to attend to.

"Right-O!" I said as I kissed the augur's fingers. Next, I leaned awkwardly over and gave a full, lusty French kiss to Sikia.

That

wasn't what most of the attendees thought I was supposed to be doing,

but I still had to be me. I pushed up rapidly to both keep the

initiative and to give the impression I was about to topple over

backwards. I needed that split-second of uncertainty from a certain

someone. I spun, slipped my right hand behind Rhada's neck and planted

my lips firmly on hers.

I was standing up, towering over the

Indian Princess, so she had to bend her body backwards as I pressed in.

The 'oh please fuck me now' moan boiled up from deep within Rhada and

couldn't be misunderstood by anyone who had been given an orgasm which

took them to the peak of their physical and mental limitations. The

person I had to make 'uncertain' wasn't Rhada, it was Mahdi.

In

this instant, Rhada needed to know she mattered to me most of all. The

rest could be relied on to create emotional-social constructs to explain

our chaotic relationship. Rhada and I were too raw. She needed an open

and public declaration I wasn't going anywhere or denying there was an

'us'. When I finally pulled away, Rhada's eyes were feverish, her bosom

heaved with passion and I'd banished her doubts. Oh, and Mahdi was

furious.

"Mahdi," I bowed in acknowledgment, spun away before her

retort spilled forth, took five steps and went to one knee before

Oneida. I leaned in awkwardly; Oneida figured out my intentions and met

my embrace halfway. Our kiss, while packing in all the accessories, was

more sedate and romantic ~ what Oneida deserved. I left her smiling.

Better for me, I left with Shawnee giving me a veiled sign of her

approval. I hadn't gone to Oneida first, but she recognized I was acting

in a diplomatic fashion, which was probably for the best as far as the

Host was concerned.

In a maneuver reminiscent of a Cossack, I

went knee to knee from Oneida to Gale. Gale recoiled. We'd had sex, not a

relationship.

"May I kiss your hand?" I requested. She shot her House Head a worried look.

"Isn't

it a little late for that," Klavdiya's words dripped with venom. What I

hadn't appreciated was while Klavdiya was the House Head, she also was

Gale's 'Big Sister'. Whoops.

I risked it and took Gale's hand anyway.

"For

friendship and respect," I planted a firm kiss on her knuckles. "For

affection and gratitude," I said as I turned her hand over and planted

delicate kisses on her fingertips and finally her palm. It took her a

second to play catch-up.

"What are you grateful for?" Gale asked.

"Oh," I faux-hesitated. "Well, our love-making was wonderful for me. I hoped," and Gale blushed.

"Chaz, do you like seafood?" Pamela asked casually (and in English).

"I'm

from an island-nation. It is somewhat of a necessity," he replied

deadpan. I kept deep, meaningful eye-contact with Gale, seemingly

ignoring the mutterings around us. Implying any woman you've slept with,

even as a One Night Stand, had been a completely memorable experience

is an indispensable dating skill (i.e., so please ignore the other women

presently bearing my children, my fiancée and my other past, current and hopefully future sexual misadventures.)

"Would

you let my sister's hand go?" Klavdiya growled (back to IN HITTITE). I

was on the sparring mat, so force escalation was highly likely. I

reluctantly released Gale's hand. She had the ego-boosting effect of

sighing as she let my hand slide away from hers.

"So," I looked around as I stood. "Why are we here?"

"The Queen wishes peace," Krasimira began. I felt warm inside. Aya was looking out for me.

"Cool," I beamed. "Where do I sit?"

"Where is the rest of House Ishara?" Krasimira's gaze flickered to the outsiders with me.

"I travel alone. These are Pamela Cotytto's buddies," I lied. That earned a whole series of looks for both me and my entourage.

"Oh," Krasimira accepted my lie at face value. "Pamela, you are not welcome here at this meeting."

"I choose to be rude," Pamela responded.

"This

has been long overdue," Elsa stood. I had no idea who would win an Elsa

vs. Pamela fight. I wasn't going to find out today because a dozen

Amazons looked ready to make this an unfair brawl.

"Okay," I

intervened. "I had a fight with my bodyguard earlier today, then a

confrontation with the Cult of the Jaguar this afternoon which required

Pamela and the rest having to come rescue me. Besides, the rest don't

speak our language."

"You are among sisters, Ishara," Krasimira chided me. "Practice the truth."

I

didn't scoff. That would have been impolite and highly unwise. "I'll do

my best," I bowed my head. "I'll also stand here in the middle, since

everyone else seems comfortable." That meant no one would have to make

space for Pamela and company.

"As I said," Krasimira began again,

"our Queen wishes peace between our houses and hopes the blood of

Ishara can facilitate this somewhat."

'Oh, they are going to take turns beating me up,' was the first thing to come to my mind and probably some others' as well.

"How so?" I asked first. The words were forming on other lips as I spoke.

"By the adoption of daughters among those gathered here," Krasimira stated.

"No!" Rhada blurted out. Oneida's hand protectively went over her womb.

"For

peace," Krasimira suggested to Rhada. Mahdi was livid over our shared

indiscretion as well as Rhada's outburst. If Rhada hadn't already been

placed on the Regency Council, Mahdi might have removed her status as

Apprentice.

"What does this have to do with us?" Jana Zorja gave a worried look.

"It was thought a child of Elsa Zorja and Cáel Ishara could be adopted by House Meenakshi (aka Mahdi and Rhada)."

"We

have not had intercourse," Elsa clarified at her House Head's glance,

"though if I had, it would be none of your business since I am presently

with the Security Detail." Jana bristled, as did Marlene.

"I do not sleep

with every Amazon I feel a connection with here at Havenstone," I

protested. "And at the start I always used a condom. Even with the

Goddess Ishara's command, I have never wanted to bring any woman grief. I

certainly don't want to create trading tokens because of some feud

which happened before I stepped foot in this wacky place. Besides, Gale

might not be,"

"I am," Gale sulked.

"Fine," I soaked up more bad news from the Man-Dog-Pig perspective, "I will not agree to trade a single child of Ishara."

"Besides,"

Mahdi glowered at Rhada, "it could be a son." Ouch. Rhada looked as if

her mother had just slapped her; worse, had strangled her favorite

kitten before her eyes.

"We can settle that matter," Krasimira

continued guiding the meeting. "We are in the presence of an augur after

all." Oh, that was why I was meeting Tad fi here! "It helps if she has a link to the fate of a person she seeks to investigate as well as something the person loves."

"Oh, so we are going to castrate him and hand her his balls?" Mahdi muttered. Whoa now!

"Such as?" I inquired.

"A personal belonging, or body part; hair will do," Krasimira informed me.

"Oh," I sighed happily. I went over to Tad fi,

knelt before her and took her right hand to place upon my lips. "To

read the fates of me and my children, you need some of my hair or that

of someone I love?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"Your hair will do, if there is any doubt, Tad fi."

"I knew that," she announced, "but I wanted to 'hear' you say it," she shared her joy with the crowd.

"Would it help to have some of my hair as well?" I proffered.

"It

would indeed," her lips trembled sensuously. I pulled out my trusty

Amazon blade and sawed off a few locks while she did the same. I handed

them over.

"Step back," Sikia cautioned me. She didn't need to. The moment my hair touched Tad fi's

hands, other presences entered the room behind her ~ terrifying and

majestic in their power, the goddesses and mystic protectors of the

augurs, Istustaya and Papaya.

They seemed to be as surprised I

could see them as I was to be seeing them. The room's dimensions

distorted and lost all clear points of reference. It was the illusions

which concealed the Weave being laid bare. Unlike her sisters, Tad fi's

life's essence was burning down brightly to a very pre-determined end,

the birth of our daughter, Shala; there would be no slow, lingering

demise for her. Added to that, she was the Sixth Augur.

When the

other five augurs had pierced the Veil of the Weave with her to find the

Ally the Host needed most, the agony had been too much for them. The

Five had soaked up all that pain and agony, ending their lives so the

Sixth could bear the message to the person the Weave dictated could

wield the news most effectively, me.

As 'payment', Dot Ishara had insisted I have sex with Tad fi, guaranteeing the death of her poison-racked body with the birth of our offspring. I had done so callously. Tad fi

had done so, for her own reasons, perhaps to end the echoes of the

death screams of her sisters as they fulfilled their mission.

Now

the possible destinies of my other children were being discussed and

the two goddesses were making an appearance. Perhaps they were aware the

Heir of Vranus was playing Russian roulette with Creation. More likely,

they knew I was up to something, yet in the tangled weave of all the

possible futures, they couldn't tell what dangers existed amid all the

darkness and confusion.

Tad fi

spit into her hands as she rolled our combined hairs together. When she

had created one long strand, she began to pull the concoction apart.

The first effort fell into two parts. I didn't know what to make of

that. Thank goodness I'm not an augur.

"I see a, closet," the augur's brow furrowed. "A woman in shadow, a fast horse, bearing messages,"

I had to put that together. My closet-ninja who I'd ridden like the Pony Express, Miyako Yuki.

"A member of the 7 Families of the Ninja," I provided.

"Twin daughters," Tad fi

made her prediction. Wow! Lithe, slender Miyako with twins would be

tough. I had to get word to her. How had Saku missed that? Twin souls?

"Ah, Fushichou and Yozora," I conjured the second name. "That is Suwais-urāni and Ispantnepi  in our tongue."

The next was an equitable serpentine entwining of her white hair and my black.

"Peaceful, beautiful and strong of body and mind, an exemplar of our people, Parvati?" Tad fi

worked through the next bit of soothsaying. Her face clouded, even as

Rhada's brightened. "She will die still in her youth ~ much loved and a

bitter foe." When an augur predicted 'peaceful' she didn't mean

'non-violent', she meant 'of calm mind'. 'Youth' didn't mean child; it

meant in your first decade of being caste. Still, that sucked big time

for the three of us ~ Mother, Father and Daughter.

"My

granddaughter will die a hero of the Host?" Mahdi murmured. 'Bitter Foe'

meant 'hated by our enemies' thus a memorable threat to them. The augur

was still in the midst of her soothsaying.

The third casting was a bit of hair in a loop.

"A son of two houses and three lives, many loving sisters and favored by his mothers."

Hmm,

two houses was easy: Amazon and someone else. Three lives, I knew one

group who played at being a third person ~ the Hashashin.

"Bih l asan," I supplied the name Estere Abed and I had been toying with. In Kurdish it meant 'keep it simple'. What better advice could I give a son of mine?

"A daughter of Bendis," Tad fi

announced as she traced a corkscrewed bit of bound hair. Gale gasped.

"Inky blackness, a night sky with few stars, a place which is cold

beyond cold, yet warmed by hope and fearlessness, the Moon grows small,

yet is strong in her heart."

Sounded like utter nonsense, except I worked with JIKIT. It only took me a few seconds.

"Gale,

our daughter is going to be an astronaut," I turned her way. Skepticism

and disbelief surrounded me. "Gale, her God-uncle is the Great Khan,

who not only controls the largest Russian spaceport, he also has

captured the largest spaceport in China as well. He controls the third

spaceport in China too, if you want to rub it in," I added. "And, if the

Amazons do send someone into space, who better than a child of the

Moon?" Bendis was the Thracian Lunar deity.

"Why?" Gale finally asked.

"Did

our Queen not say 'the world is too small a place'?" I answered. "Why

shouldn't the Amazons seek a future out among the stars? We have

certainly headed out into the dangerous Unknown before and survived. Now

we have access to the resources to help us do just that."

"Those are outsiders," Gale protested. House Bendis was part of the Conservative faction of the Council.

"I'm not making this up, Gale. Tad fi is. Have you thought of a name?"

"Ah, no."

"How

about Hantezzi-pēda?" I suggested. It had two meanings. Long form:

'First Place'. Short form: 'Lucky'. I left her to digest that because

the augur hadn't stopped.

"A large temple without a roof filled

with people, a son and daughter, a white stallion rises up upon the

graves of thirteen kings. A gift of two rivers steeped in blood.

Ana-Călina," she stumbled over the names, "and  rp d." The last name I knew, which boiled back to the roofless temple ~ the Sz kesfeh rv r

Basilica in Hungary where I planned to marry Hana was a ruin, roofless.

Two sets of twins? My family didn't have a history of twins. I'd check

with Hana, but I strongly suspected my matron deity sticking it to me

once again.

Maybe I should buy my own daycare center. Maybe Pamela looks like she wants to slap me upside my head too.

"A boy born in hatred with a heart which heals if he," the vision appeared to confuse Tad fi,

which was ugly to contemplate. That would most likely mean others

fucking with the Weave as well. "Borne in safety by a ghost and a name,

Hana." A pause. That vision had been physically costly for the augur. So

many women hated me, a ghost?

" infean

(AWN f'yun), known by another name not her own, Bansealgaire, not our

own," more painful, mystic discombobulation on her part. Fortunately, I

didn't know the names, but I know the second name's ethnic point of

origin, Irish. Aunt Imogen.  infean Bansealgaire meant, stormy huntress, Sweet! Now if I only knew which side that daughter would end up on.

"The Trickster, Shining Son of the Sun who jests and whose great heart remains untouched, no matter what the burden, Ash," Tad fi

regained some of her focus. This one had to be Oneida and my offspring ~

a son. I stole a glance at her face. She was stunned, not heartbroken.

"We will name him Bruce," I expelled my worry, "in honor of the quintessential 'Ash' man."

"Who?" she looked up at me, teary-eyed.

"When I come back from the Great Hunt we'll spend a weekend watching all the Evil Dead films," I got out.

"And Bubba Ho-Tep," Pamela tacked on.

"And Sundown," I almost missed yet another Campbell Cult-Classic.

"Focus Ishara," huffed Krasimira maternally.

"I'm about to have a dozen children. I want to die," blurted forth from my lips.

"I thought this would be welcome news Cáel," Tad fi wailed. She'd exerted so much effort on my behalf, only to have me act spasmodically infantile?

"It isn't you, Tad fi,"

I soothed her with both words and a gentle hand along her jawline from

earlobe to her lower lip. "I didn't come to Havenstone expecting

Fatherhood; and I know for a fact every House Head present has 'okayed'

the murder of at least one infant boy, so I don't trust a single one of

them, which means I have to take full responsibility for every male

child."

"And you remain an 11th year in your heart," she reasoned.

"Yeah,

pretty much." '11th year', an Amazon 'pre-Test', thus free of any true

duties. I let her slump into me. Her guardian deities had faded into the

Aether, so it was safe for her to be human again. "Wait. How come you

understand that when no one else does?"

"I have seen your spirit-self, Cáel Ishara," she reminded me. "The real you."

"We seem to be no closer to resolving our disputes," Jana interrupted my bonding moment.

"What do you want?" I slowly repositioned myself so I had Tadifi

in my lap, facing me. It was somewhat sexual, but it allowed her to

regain some comfort from her ordeal. Sikia was very close by.

"Redress of Meenakshi insults," Jana derided me.

"Don't

be a child," I spat back before Mahdi could get her own vicious licks

in. Jana's face clouded, as did Marlene's and Elsa's.

 To be continued.

By FinalStand for Literotica.

Guardian Goddess in Manhattan.

Book 3 in 18 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Our

Princess grew up around a woman whose keen intellect we rely on to

protect us from unseen enemies," Saint Marie's voice became deeper and

more threatening. "At the age of ten, she," Saint Marie looked my way as

my hand shot up mimicking Aya's identical plea for attention.

"Yes Ishara?" Saint Marie chose to acknowledge me.

"She's nine."

"Fine. At the age of nine, she earned an honorific, Mamētu me eda, which I didn't accomplish until my 19th year." 'Yes Ladies, I'm an epic bad-ass and I've been out-performed by a child'.

"She

was kidnapped along with the Head of House Ishara. They tortured her by

clipping off two of her digits, one at a time, then seared the damage

with a blowtorch. She gave them nothing. At the end of the encounter,

the two of them managed to defeat thirty Seven Pillar's commandos, over

fifteen she disabled personally."

"After killing nearly

half as many enemies as the 35 I have personally dispatched in my entire

career, she crossed a mile and a half of barren rock in the midst of a

Category 4 Typhoon. Cáel Ishara only helped her half of the way because

he was engaged with the last two members of the Seven Pillar's team."

"I

have utter confidence the madness here today, while assisted by House

Epona and Ishara, was the brainchild of Krasimira. I say 'assisted'

because Cáel Ishara spared Kwenhamai's life on the battlefield. Katrina

Epona removed Kwenhamai from Romanian custody to keep her out of the

hands of those who wished us harm. I was aware Kwenhamai was in New

York, but not her precise location."

"My read on the situation is this:

"Aya of Kururiyahhssi was aware of Kwenhamai and Krasimira's plot to adopt her into the bloodline of the first Amazon."

"She was not aware of Kwenhamai's plan to exit the Host in the manner she chose. I read the shock and pain in, Aya's face."

"Our

Princess has not given me a single order and I am the only voice here

today that matters, I am the Golden Mare and the Council has

consistently failed to agree on a Regency."

"Krasimira, why have

you done this?" Saint Marie abruptly asked for either a denial, or

acquiescence of her perception of events.

"As directed by the

Ancestors, the statute of a goddess of a First House was recast then

returned to her perpetual spot. It brought new light to a dark, sacred

and painful place. In that moment I realized that for the first time in

nearly 3,200 years, the descendants of every Amazon gathered before the

walls of Wilusa (Troy) had been reunited."

"I was troubled. Was

this a portent the augurs couldn't divine? In their council (the augurs)

then came up with the words 'speak to our eldest'."

Oh shit, the

rest of the Council was racking their minds trying to figure who was

the oldest surviving Amazon. I knew for a fact they were overlooking the

two top candidates.

"I sought out the eldest Amazon alive. They

claimed to not have the answer for my worries. She had far more numerous

things weighing on her mind such as her intimate demise. Though I hated

sharing the same air with her, I asked her to tell me her greatest

regret."

"I had given up on the Amazon Race until an Amazon

reminded me, through martial effort, valiant spirit and a kind heart, I

was wrong to abandon my faith with my people. Now I will die, unable to

pass on my renewed hope because the one Amazon I would trust with my

legacy is equally childless."

"I asked her the name of this

Amazon she felt was worthy of her legacy. Then I informed her she was

wrong and the Amazon in question did indeed have a daughter. She asked

to meet the daughter,"

"Last night I requested the presence of a

female child residing with members of House Epona," the Keeper of

Records looked up at the Golden Mare. "I provided neither the resident

female (Caitlyn, Aya's Mother), or the House Head with an explanation."

Female child

Since

my revival, Amazons were using 'female' child a lot more often. This

meant, the motheer had never told her daughter farewell. The true fate

of Aya of Epona would never officially be recorded. She has been born,

but never recorded as an Amazon of her true House.

"The three of

us met alone. The two embraced; birth mother and daughter. The eldest of

us proclaimed she saw the light of Kururiyahhssi in her daughter's

eyes. Words were exchanged. The child agreed to be adopted then

departed. Further arrangements were made without the child's knowledge

as we have recently observed."

"I testify that there is only one

Amazon alive today who knows what transpired and I will take those

conversations to my grave. Does that suffice?" Krasimira finished. I was

already regurgitating my mental quandary with my Isharans. Was Aya

really a daughter of Kururiyahhssi?

"I will leave it to the

others to contemplate your, bizarre actions, Krasimira," Saint Marie

frowned. "As for the rest of you, Aya has impressed me. If she has not

impressed you, I do not care. I think she is definitely influenced by

those two," Saint Marie motioned to Katrina and me. "It is a given since

Katrina was of her blood and she has risked much in the presence of a

man she calls 'Atta' and he calls 'Duma'."

"Katrina is a cold, heartless snake and I am convinced she is one of the best 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death' the

Host been served by in a long, long time.” Saint Marie paused then

looked at me while she said; “ Cáel is a fool who leads with his heart

when he should let better women take charge. Fortunately for the rest of

us, he is reliably successful despite his multitude of handicaps."

Was

I upset about being insulted? No. The truth hurts and a Man needs to

learn to roll with the punches. Buffy I could deal with. Katrina most

likely appreciated being associated with a dangerous reptile. Saint

Marie hadn't forgotten Katrina threating Saint Marie's daughter that was

for sure.

"I am considering much of what our Princess would like me/us

to do, because it is based in keen insight and well-reasoned thought.

She wishes to spare our sons so we will have more warriors in the fight.

We have already added men to Havenstone and one to the Council, as was

the Will of the Ancestors."

"Let me see, she wishes a bodyguard

of fourteen (2 First House and 1 from Africa, Asia, Europe and North

& South America, the Amazon presence in Australia was minimal and I

doubted they would bring someone up from Antarctica, plus the seven

matching Runners) without removing permanent members of any House and

allowing all Houses to have access to our future Queen. I approve. It is

a fine idea and I wish I had thought of it."

"Should we add

Runners directly into the Royal House? She doesn't think so and I feel

this decision shows a remarkably insightful into the long history of our

People and protects the Council's sensitivity on such matters. I

approve."

"Placing our sons into the care of the Royal House? We

need to free up as many sisters as possible. Men under the care of the

Royal House will be tradesmen and help-mates. Not a single weapon will

be in their hands. If none of you have realized herlike will take two decades to implement, it only increases my eagerness to see her become 'casted'."

Aya's hand shot up again.

Yes?"

"I would hope the Council, or the Regents, will consider a 'like' which is not mine. It is a man's and it should be of no surprise the idea is Cáel’s."

"If you feel it holds merit, Aya, tell us," Saint Marie deferred.

"The

9 Clans have shown some interest in a children exchange programs among

our youth as it would provide new techniques we can add to our arsenal

an a new avenue to experiment with new ideas. I find the idea to be

promising as the Host takes part in affairs beyond our own immediate

needs. It would also supply partners between families to be shared for a

season or two."

Translation: Amazon women could breed with men

of allied Secret Societies to reduce our dependence on our own, much

smaller, male population. In the short term, it would go a long way to

rectifying the Host's child-bearing problems.

The Council's

quarrelsome behavior was biting them in the ass big time. Saint Marie

was right, the only opinion that mattered was hers until the Council

elected a Regency. Had we not been at war, the Council would have ruled,

but we were, so we took orders from the Golden Mare. Even if the High

Priestess had been alive, she would have deferred to our designated War

Leader on most things.

"Cáel Ish, Cáel Wakko Ishara is a very

dangerous and devious male, Aya. Be careful of any council he gives,"

Saint Marie's caution was more playful than menacing.

"I'll be

okay," Aya peeped. "He doesn't have sex with any woman until she is

eighteen." That wasn't what the Golden Mare was cautioning her about. We

all knew it. Aya was working to defuse a sticky bit of mental juggling,

listening to a man's advice.

"On that we can agree," Saint Marie conceded. "Back to what I would 'like' to

say. The New Directive is being implemented. I feel it goes beyond the

purview of my mandate. I will leave it for the Regency to deal with.

Katrina and Tessa have already invested in the groundwork in this

endeavor, so I will endorse it if that is the decision of the Regency."

"I

have zero desire to add a single Runner to the Security Detail. I will

open up slots in the training program if that is what the Regency

demands. Each House's policy for dealing with the First Directive is

their business, not mine. If any of you wish to consider something the

Princess considers to be important, so be it. The idea of 1,000 Isharans

does not appeal to me. Look how much trouble their tiny numbers have

already caused us and take heed."

Buffy began growling, which

amused/worried the Houses on either side of us. Unlike me, Buffy didn't

'roll with the blows' and considered all manner of insults to me, House

Ishara and her Isharan sisters to be answerable with violence. I loved

her so. There was also no way I'd let her go after Saint Marie. The

Golden Mare would crush her; I had no doubt.

"The unwelcome blood

feud: are both House Heads ignorant of my forbiddance of such things?

Apparently so. Both defied me by tossing insults back and forth.

Considering we are at war with two of the most powerful Secret factions,

I am angered by both for their idiocy."

"The solution the Princess likes is rather novel," Saint Marie was punishing both Messina and me with her low voice and fiery gaze. Krasimira coughed.

"Yes?" Saint Marie suspended her anger.

"The

suggested resolution is not without precedence," Krasimira spoke with a

scholarly detachment. "In our early days, the Host settled such

disputes in Spring and Fall gatherings by contests of foot speed,

hunting, horsewomanship, archery and wrestling. If we revive the

tradition, the competing Houses could nominate one woman for each

contest to settle the matter. Only the hand-to-hand match would risk

either contestant's health."

"I will consider it and render judgement before the Sun sets today," Saint Marie nodded. "The final like pleases me greatly. Dealing with the 52 of you is, Cáel?"

I

was on the spot. I couldn't let down my fan base of one, Aya. Perhaps

it was five, Buffy (who would never admit it), Daphne (who liked me),

Katrina (because she liked fucking with my head) and Desiree (who was

less likely to admit she found me funny than Buffy).

I felt I gave a decent effort.

"'A ginormous pain in my hemorrhoids?' the basic one."

"'More painful than having my cornea scrapped with a spoon?' more gruesome."

"'Enough to make me want to give Sakuniyas a surprise French kiss?' most likely to be fatal."

"'Worse than waking up to discover I'm related to Cáel Wakko Ishara?' most horrifying, for both of us."

"'Inspiring me to toss it all away and take up Professional Bikini Mud Wrestling?' a personal fantasy of mine."

"Why do we put up with him again?" one House Head remarked.

"Because I am worried that one," motioning to Buffy, "will stab me in the elevator after a meeting."

"My First, are you acting psychotic around the Council members?" I looked over my shoulder at Buffy.

"Wakko Ishara, it is not an act. I am psychotic," she responded deadpan.

"Are you still packing that thermite grenade?"

"No Wakko Ishara. Daphne stole it from me and hid it," was her quick delivery.

"I love working with you two," Daphne whispered.

"What is it with you, your unsubtle sexual innuendo and me in a bikini?" Saint Marie stared at me.

"I

find the combination of brilliance and lethality sexy. Just ask Elsa," I

grinned. Then I grimaced as Buffy stomped on my toes. The House Heads

and Apprentices on either side of me noticed and clearly expected me to

do something, like to show outrage (because she was my underling), or

start crying (because I was a guy).

"Prestige," Daphne hissed

quietly. "Prestige." She was reminding Buffy that beating me up in

public made the other Amazons think even less of me than they already

did.

"I will go with (B), the cornea scrapping," Saint Marie gave me a nod.

"Damn it," I muttered. I also got my foot out of the way before someone did any more damage to my phalanges.

'Best Daddy Ever,' Aya mouthed to me. Back to the main action.

"It

is not my place to order the rest of you to elect Shawnee, Rhada and

Buffy to be the Regency. I do admit I admire the mixture of candidates,"

Saint Marie declared. I shot Rhada a quick look. She seemed really,

really enamored of the idea of being part of the Regency, thus staying

in New York for the next decade, or so.

"Before the idea is rejected out of hand, I suggest we ask the three people our Princess would like to be part of the Regency if they would accept the nomination," the Golden Mare continued. "Shawnee Arinniti?"

"I bow to the logic and reason of the proposal," Shawnee replied.

"Rhada Meenakshi?"

"I

wish to join my sisters in battle, yet I accept the reasoning behind

the proposal," Rhada nodded. "If my Head of House agrees, I will stay

and do my part for our People." What was she saying to me? 'You are

going to whip me, beat me, torture me, humiliate me and push me to

beyond the limits of any pain I have experienced until I pass out ~

repeatedly'.

"I despair of finding any other compromise,"

Mahdi frowned. "If my Apprentice understands the greater difficulty she

will face gaining prestige among her House-mates, I will consent to this

proposal." Essentially a 'yes'.

"Buffy Ishara?"

"I was

really looking forward to ripping the spines out of still living foes,

but I would be a fool to go against Aya of Kururiyahhssi's smarts. If

Wakko Ishara wants to walk out of this room unassisted, he will see the

wisdom of this decision as well," she gave me a shark's smile. Daphne

had surpassed her limit and punched Buffy.

"Hell ya, I agree," I exclaimed. "Now I know there will be certain times of the day when she isn't stalking me."

"I'll work more pain into our limited schedule," Buffy grumbled.

"Are we sure he is the House Head and she is the Apprentice?" Yet another House Head joined the 'shit on me' train.

It

was telling of our group dynamic how we accepted the Pyramid of Pain.

The underlings dispensed advice and violence as they felt necessary

without their 'superior' getting pissy about it. Buffy felt totally

justified hitting me and accepted being hit by Daphne, who continued to

act unimpeded as Buffy's rapid-fire translator.

"If I was House Head, I'd handcuff him to me," Buffy clarified for her.

"What

she said," I pointed a thumb Buffy's way. I'd have used a finger, but

she might have grabbed, twisted and made me scream in pain.

"Perhaps the Council can vote on this as their second order of business," Saint Marie cloaked her command as a suggestion.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara, can I ask you a personal question?" Kohar of Marda caught my attention.

"Shoot, wait, probably not the best terminology in this crowd. Ask away," I replied.

"Have you faced a House challenge yet?"

"Yes.

Just last night in fact. We free-climbed the north-face of Havenstone. I

beat the next closest contender by three floors. I also had Princess

Aya on the roof dropping bricks on anyone who attempted to get past me."

"That means he isn't going to answer you," Beyoncé  interpreted for my audience.

"Can't you ever take these meetings seriously?" Febe Mielikki glowered.

"La, Febe, in the past few minutes I have watched the person I love most in the world get her life shat on," I shook my head.

"The

only thing worse than seeing this happen to Aya is knowing this is her

sole opportunity to not lose her soul, so I'm sucking up my heart's pain

and putting forward a jester's persona so I don't put any more pressure

on her than she's already been subjected to. Like me, she doesn't want

the distinction of being a Person of Note."

"Like me, she knows

she must sacrifice her dreams for the sake of our People, the Amazon

Host. Trust me, you would rather have 'me, the jester' than 'me, the

Amazon' furious with the destiny that has foisted this pain on her'. Do

any of you take responsibility for forcing the events of this morning?" I

growled. If they wanted to see the other side of the Janus, so be it.

"Had

you chosen a Regency in the fucking weeks you've been bickering,

Kwenhamai could have been dealt with privately. The fate of the Royal

House could have been put off a few years. Had you not all been so

dead-set on being heroines of the Host, three of you would have

sacrificed your bloodlust, your birthright and the future accolades you

could recite on your final night (before taking themselves to the

cliff), but none of you did."

"Instead, you set the stage for

dumping all of your indecisiveness on the slender shoulders of a nine

year old girl most of you had written off as too fractured and frail to

survive her 12th year only three months ago. So Febe how do you like the

honest 'me'?" I finished off furiously.

It was not lost on

anyone in the chamber I was an Amazon raging against the cruelty of

fate. Every other bitch in the room knew they had discarded my

daughter's life as trivial and I was prepared to unleash violence on the

next one to show an ounce of disrespect over Aya's surrendering of her

destiny and my grief at failing to find a way to stop this from coming

to pass. St Marie had just reminded them that I was 'reliably"

successful despite my handicaps. Not an enemy anyone in the room wanted

any part of. Saku would have been proud.

A Note:

I have

been remiss in informing my readers of the names of the 53 Houses, even

though I created it some time ago. I have made a few alterations to the

original version as I've had to rethink certain parts of this tale, but

here is the list I now use.

List of Goddesses:

The First Twenty Houses in no particular order :

1) Ishara, Oaths, Medicine and War (to North America) (died out 450 CE; Reborn in 2014)

2)   (Deceased) Anat, Goddess of War, Fury and Blood Sacrifice (died out 6th cent. BCE) ~ possibly resurrected by Sakunyias

3) Anahit, water, wisdom and war (to North America)

4) Arinniti, Sun Goddess (to North America)

5) Hanwasuit, Sovereign Goddess

6) Illuyankamunus, Dragon God (to North America) (Special Case)

7) Inara, the Hunter Goddess

8)  au ka, fertility, War, healing

9) Kamrusepa, Healing medicine magic (to Africa)

10) Lelwani, Goddess of the Underworld (to Africa)

11) Hapantali, Pastoral Goddess.

12) Hatepuna, Sea Goddess (to India)

13) Hannahannah, Mother Goddess

14) Moirai, Fate

15) Selardi, Lunar Goddess (to Africa)

16) Nammu, Primordial Sea, sailing, sailors (to India) (to Indonesia)

17) Uttu, Goddess of plants (to Africa)

18) Lahar, Cattle Goddess (to Africa)

19) Ereshkigal, Queen of the underworld (to India)

20) Istustaya and Papaya, Twin Goddesses of Destiny (to North America)

Additional Houses, founded in Europe:

(Code: Sc = Scythian; T = Thracian, P, Phrygian, C = Celtic, R = Roman, Sl = Slavic)

21) (Sc) Marda, the One-Eyed Goddess/Vengeance {fantasy creation}

22) (Sc) Farānak, A Scythian Goddess also known as the Lynx Goddess and the Silent Huntress (Dora)

23) (Sc) Stolgos, Monstrous Slayer of Greeks (known to the Greeks as the Gorgon Stheno) {semi-historical}

24) (T) Cotyttia, Thracian Goddess of Sex, War and Slaughter (to North America)

25) (T) Bendis, Thracian Goddess of the Moon and Hunting.

26) (T) Semele/Rajah, Thracian Goddess of the Earth and Birth (to India)

27) (T) Hylonome, Centaur Goddess

28) (P) Cybele, Phrygians Earth Goddess on Lion's throne (to the Amazon)

29) (C) Andraste, War Goddess; also Goddess of the Moon and Divination; 'the Rabbit Goddess'

30) (C) Epona, Horses (to North America)

31) (C) Cyhiraeth, Goddess of springs whose war cry precedes death (to Africa)

32) (C) Maeve, War Goddess, the Enslaver of Men

33)   (Deceased) (C) Nantosuelta, Earth, Fire and Fertility (died out 1st cent. BCE)

34) (C) Artio, the Bear Goddess (to North America)

35) (C) Nemain, Goddess of War and Panic

36) (R) Minerva, Roman Goddess of War & Strategy

37)   (Deceased) (R) Diana, Hunting and Archery (died out in India 16th cent. CE)

38) (Sl)  iva, Love and Fertility

49) (Sl) Morė, Goddess of harvest, witchcraft, winter and death (to North America)

40) (Sl) Zorja, The twin Guardians (Evening/Morning Stars)

41)   (Sl) Oźwiena, fame and glory (died out in 1944)

42)   (Sl) Koliada, Sky Goddess and deity of sunrises/dawn (died out 17th cent CE)

43) (F) Mielikki, Goddess of the Hunt

44) (N) Ska i, giantess, Goddess of bow-hunting, skiing, winter, and mountains

Additional Houses, founded in In dia:

45) (I) Mookambika, Demon Slayers

46) (I) Bhadra, Goddess of the Hunt (to Indonesia)

47) (I) Meenakshi, The Liberator (Rhada and Madi's House)

48) (I) Durga (Dark Mother) (to Indonesia)

49) (I) Chandala Bhikshuki, Queen of Night, Death, Destruction and Rebirth

50) (I) Jaya (Goddess of Victory)

51)   (I) Chelamma, the Scorpion Queen (died out 16th cent.)

Additional Houses, founded in Africa:

52) (A) Oshun, (Yoruba Goddess of Love, Sexuality, Beauty and Diplomacy; Lady of the Orisha ~ life spirits)

53) (A) Yemonja, Mother of Rivers (to the Amazon)

54) (A) Oba, Goddess of Betrayal and Exile

55) (A) Ox ssi, Goddess of Hunting, Forests, Animals and Wealth

56) (A) Jengu, Goddess of Jungles and Water Spirits

Additional Houses: founded in North America

(NT = Native Tribal)

57) (NT) Uusheenhiton (noo'uusooo' heeninouhuusei hitoniho') (Arapaho), Storm Horse Sister {fantasy creation}

58) (NT) Gahe, Apache (supernatural spirits who live in the mountains)

Prospective House:
59) New, (Hittite) SzelAnya, the Dragon's Daughter

Current Number of Central Houses:

12 in North America (9+Ishara from Europe and 2 native)

10 in Africa (6 from Europe and 5 native)

3 in Amazonia (1 from Africa and 2 from Europe)

8 in India (3 from Europe and 7 native)

3 in Indonesia (2 from India and 1 from Europe)

17 in Europe

6 Deceased

{7:35 am Sunday, September 7th ~ Last day}

Right where we left off

My