I'm so sorry for how late this is... But here it is:
Chapter Six
"It doesn't matter. Kill them. All of them!" Alfred flinched from his corner of the hall as Daka slammed her fist into the arm of her throne. "Why should we give a damn about casualties? They're nomads and heretics besides. They follow her."
Pakram gave a long suffering sigh. Daka was volatile at the best of times, but now spring was warming to summer and Pakram's, and therefore the other gods', power was waxing. The goddess was seething with blood lust. The quieter winter months were over and Daka was eager to begin the campaign against the Daemon's in earnest.
While Pakram admired Daka's energy, her lack of restraint could be cause for concern. He studied her with his ever even gaze, and she met him, eyes shining madly.
"While it is true the southern nomads are devoted to the Daemon," he began, choosing his words carefully, "they are nonetheless our people. I cannot permit their slaughter in good conscience."
Daka hissed and clenched the arms of her throne, though she did not argue. Gilbert reached over and squeezed her shoulder. She shrugged him off, not in the mood for the god's gesture. He continued to watch Daka with worry as she glowered through the rest of the council. As the meeting adjourned with no action decided on, she swept out of the hall and appeared a moment later on the balcony of the mountainside she called home.
She seethed. She gripped the metal until her fingers imprinted in it, her rage boiling within her. Her fingers were pried off the metal by two pale hands.
"Daka."
"I don't want any of your ridiculous feelings, Gilbert. I don't need comfort. I want action. I want vengeance," said Daka, looking out at Caelei with frustration.
Gilbert sighed. "I hate them too. I hate what they did to us, all those years ago. But it was all of them, not just Elizaveta."
"Do you think I really care?" she asked, pale eyes glinting. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with excitement more than anger. "I want her dead. I want to feel her blood warm against my skin, smell her flesh burning against my sword. She plays the custodian to a worthless, homeless people; they adore her. But I know what she is. What she really is. She's as bad as I am; she has just as much blood on her hands, starting this war in the first place. And yet she thinks she's better than I am."
"Sometimes even I don't understand you" Gilbert sighed. "It's like you don't even want to bother with the fun parts of battle: the game, the thrill, you just want to kill Elizaveta, one Daemon. The rest are just a bonus."
"I want to obliterate her. Tear every shred of her apart. Because she has the gall to act as though she has a heart, that those nomads matter to her. As if they matter to anyone! See, Elizaveta is someone I can truly destroy, and that is more satisfying then your games," Daka chuckled.
Gilbert looked on with guarded eyes. "So it is," he said without feeling vanishing behind her.
Daka continued to chuckle. "There was once a time when my blood lust was arousing," she said to the still air. "Gilbert's going soft. A pity, I like him. I suppose it might be worth my time to remind him what this goddess can offer him." She sighed, serious again, "But on the other hand, I have more important matters to attend to now."
She pushed herself up from the railing of her balcony and vanished.
As no one had asked for him, Alfred left the council and flew over to spend the afternoon with Kiku. They lazed under the unchanging sky playing with Heracles' cats. They talked of nothing important, mostly the ever-changing alliances and rivalries between the gods and goddesses, with lapses into a content silence.
"So have you noticed Daka lately?" Alfred asked, allowing a grey tabby to chew on his fingers. "Spending more time with usual with Vahnic."
"I suppose," said Kiku. "Odd. They were not on best of terms just a year ago. And that is a very short time for a god."
"Gilbert's probably jealous. Wonder how he's dealing with the sudden change," Alfred smirked, glancing over to his friend, who shook his head.
"Nothing has changed, really. I'm sure the same scenario has happened before, possibly several times."
"Probably. Even after all these eons the gods haven't changed at all."
"Of course not," Kiku said. "The gods, Caelei itself, have attained perfection, a completion unlike anything in our own realm. Nothing here changes; nothing here needs to. Everything of Caelei is static, sterile, yet forever preserved."
Alfred turned on his back and gazed at the motionless sky, the unchanging mountains. "Makes sense," he said. "But what about us? Aren't we changes here? New additions?"
"Yes, but we are not of Caelei. We are mortal, subject not to these laws but those of our own realm."
Alfred hummed and let the conversation die, though it remained in his thoughts. Caelei was static, a trait that made Alfred uneasy more and more since his recent forays into the mortal realm. There were no seasons in Caelei, only the length of the days marked the passage of a year. But that in itself was a unfaltering cycle.
"How is everything going with Arthur?" Kiku asked.
Alfred huffed and laid his head on his hands. "Fine, I guess. I've been down there, what, maybe five times? Our first meeting was the only time he ever really talked. Hasn't spoken more than three sentences to my since."
"And does that bother you?"
"What?" Alfred said. "Not really. Whenever he does speak he insults me. And when he did speak we argued most of the time. I wouldn't really say it's quite companionable, but the quiet is better than him trying to strangle me."
Kiku shook his head at his friend, bemused, and let it slip into silence.
Alfred had closed his eyes when a shadow covered him. He looked up into Francis' impatient face. The god was more anxious than Alfred had seen him since the day our their battle at Aenea.
"Hey Francis, is it time for our lesson already? I could have sworn—"
"No, no. I have a job for you. It's urgent."
"A job?"
"Yes," snapped Francis. "Are you not the messenger of the gods?"
Alfred scrambled to his feet. "Of course I am," he said with a touch of indigence.
"Good. I need you to find Daka."
"Sure, and what do I do once I find her?"
"Just tell me or Gilbert."
Francis turned and was gone.
"I wonder what he wants with her," Kiku wondered.
"Well," Alfred said, stretching his hands above his head, "Better go find out. I am the heavenly messenger after all."
Kiku chuckled as Alfred threw himself into the air.
He rose through the heavy, still air, mindful of the barrier that had thrown him out before. He made one preliminary sweep of Caelei. The mountains were as unyielding as ever, stony and cold, blocking Alfred's gaze wherever they rose. He dove and swept through the outer canyons. He saw no one. Undeterred, he made his way to Daka's home, landing gracefully on her balcony. A cough startled him.
Gilbert stood across the balcony, fidgeting though he was trying to appear unconcerned. He strode over to Alfred.
"Have you seen her?" he asked.
"Not yet," Alfred replied and gestured to the goddess' chambers. "I thought there might be some clue or something in her rooms."
"I haven't found anything, but I'll keep checking. Maybe she's in a canyon somewhere, practicing-"
"Right. I'll go look for her there," Alfred said and turned to leave. "Gilbert, calm down. I'm sure she's fine."
"Her safety's not what I'm concerned about," Gilbert said to himself.
Alfred sought out the confined cliffs usually used by the gods when they wanted to be alone. He dodged through spires and reached the highest of platforms, searching for the missing goddess. Every empty landing left him with a growing sense of dread.
He hovered above the great expanse of cliffs and canyons. Where could she have gone? Daka rarely left Caelei, and then only on some kind of war campaign. Shoving down his anxiety, he dove into the canyons, searching the winding trails for the lost goddess.
It was only after nearly losing himself in the twisting paths that he conceded defeat. Daka was nowhere he could find. Just in case, he did another general sweep of the mountains before returning anxiously to Daka's rooms.
Gilbert paced along the balcony, running his hand through his hair. Francis was also present, leaning against the railing and rubbing his palms into his eyes. Alfred touched down next to the gods, and cleared his throat.
"I couldn't find her, I have no idea where she could be."
Gilbert and Francis exchanged a glance.
"We do, unfortunately," said Gilbert.
"What? Where?"
Francis took over. "We feared it this morning, and more when she vanished. She's gone to war."
Alfred cocked his head in confusion. Francis continued, "You heard her, no? At the war council? She wanted to attack Elizaveta, a high Daemon, and her nomads. They travel to the northern edges of the southern plains this time of year, close to some of Daka's army camps who're probably marching by now."
"Daka doesn't care if she slaughters the nomads on her way to Elizaveta," Gilbert explained. "In fact, she'd enjoy it. The more slaughter, the better."
"The nomads are a formidable force," Francis reasoned, turning to Gilbert. "And they are devoted to the Daemon. Daka underestimates their strength. Elizaveta herself is not to be taken lightly, and she has a tactical advantage over Daka."
"What's that?" Alfred asked, intrigued.
"She can fly," Gilbert said darkly. "Alfred," he said, turning to the boy, "You have to find Daka. She's an excellent fighter, but I need to know if she's going to be alright. I have nothing against the nomads, in fact I like them despite their loyalty to a Daemon, but if Daka's in trouble I'll fight them all to get to her."
Alfred had never seen Gilbert so passionate, with a glance at Francis, who just gave him an unreadable stare, and he found himself agreeing. Gilbert grasped Alfred's shoulder and they appeared at the gates of Caelei. The path out of the mountains continued deceptively beyond the marble. Alfred looked up at Gilbert.
"You've never been where I need you to go," he said. "Think of a place where the mountain forest fades into a tall grassland. There's river running beside you, coming out of the mountains behind you. In the distance you can see the outline of a city. You should end up close enough to where the fighting will be."
"And once I find her, how do I get back?"
"The pendant Arlya gave you. Spin the hourglass it and call Arlya's name. She'll find you and bring you back."
Alfred nodded and steeled himself.
"Please, Alfred," Gilbert added, "bring her back."
"Don't worry, Gil, I'm up to it," Alfred laughed and stepped through the gate.
"You better be," Gilbert said to the empty air.
"Would you like some stew, Anima?"
A young woman offered a bowl of thick stew to the windswept Daemon. The Daemon laughed, a light, bell-like noise, and brushed her long, brown hair from her face.
"I'd love some," she said, taking the wooden bowl and spoon. She took a spoonful of the savory broth and sipped it. "It's wonderful."
The young woman's face broke into a shy smile. "Would you care to join us, Anima? It would be an honor."
"It would be my pleasure."
The Daemon was led back to a cooking fire surrounded by content people and their well-cared for horses. The young woman's family greeted the Daemon with familiar courtesy. She tucked her great wings close to her back and joined in the lively conversation.
"So what news do you have of the other clans, Elizaveta?" asked an older man.
"There's not much to tell. Life goes on much in other clans as it does here. I'd rather hear about your lives since I've been gone."
Elizaveta listened as the group recited their most recent adventures: hunting mishaps, thrown horseshoes, and their last visit to the city. She was helping clean the wooden cookware when she heard a thundering of hooves. She looked up, but the nomad camp was calm. She handed the bowl she was washing to a little girl beside her.
"Hold onto this, will you?" she said absently and took two running steps and threw herself into the air. Great brown, dappled wings snapped open and beat down against the warm summer air. A few beats more and she was high enough to soar towards the oncoming pounding. She swooped, catching a thermal to lift her high above the plain.
She was stunned by what she saw. An army squadron, maybe a thousand strong, marching towards the plain where her nomads had settled. The nomads maybe had a total of several hundred, including children and the elders, there was no way they'd get away without being slaughtered, if that's what these soldiers desired.
Elizaveta circled down, hovering before the assembled ranks. She summoned her loudest voice and shouted, "Soldiers of the mountains, some of my people have settled on the plains ahead; I must ask you to make your way around them so as not to trample them or their camp."
She was met with an unnerving silence. Spilling the air from her wings, she alighted before them. "Who is your commander? I wish to speak with them."
Silence again. The soldiers glared at the Daemon, armor and swords clinking restlessly.
"Who commands you?" she demanded.
A soft chuckling danced through the ranks. A single, contemptuous laugh that made Elizaveta's blood run cold.
"If it isn't the little rat herself," said a cool voice emerging from the ranks of soldiers. The goddess emerged, magnificent in scarlet plate and her sword gleaming at her side. She was dressed for battle whereas Elizaveta wore nothing but her flying leathers.
"Daka."
"Elizaveta."
"What do you want with my people?"
"You're people," Daka simpered. "I didn't realize those worthless heretics could be considered people."
Elizaveta narrowed her eyes but refused to give into the taunt. She glared at Daka then turned to leave. The war goddess, having been bored by the taunts already, lunged, drawing her sword with a grating hiss. She swung at the Daemon, who twisted to the side and buffeted Daka with a heavy wing. Daka recovered effortlessly and swung at Elizaveta's head.
With a small gasp, the Daemon ducked and, though she hated to retreat, she had no weapon with which to defend herself. She dashed to the side and let her wings snap open and catch the air. With a final shriek, Daka leapt for her only to miss by several hand-spans. The edges of Elizaveta's wings caught the goddess on the down stroke, knocking her back to earth. A few wing beats later and she was skimming the grassy fields, flying as as fast as her wings could carry her. She fluttered to a stop midair, above the calm camp.
Her people looked up at her with confusion and a bit of fear. She touched down in front of the camp, where the clan leaders and their families were circled around. She rested her fingers against the long grass as her wings slumped on the ground. The matriarch waited for Elizaveta to regain her breath.
"Coming… Soldier's… several hundred—maybe a thousand… flee… need to," she panted.
The alarmed matriarch shouted a warning that spread like wildfire through the camp. Elizaveta straightened and was about to take to the air again when she felt metal slice and burn through her side accompanied by a manic shriek. Daka slide to a halt before spinning back to Elizaveta. With a cruel smile she flung herself at the Daemon who managed to deflect the most of the blow.
Elizaveta's mind clouded with the pain smoldering in her side. She forced it down and manged to focus on the whirlwind coming at her. Daka moved with the rage of a brushfire, wild and uncontainable and Elizaveta couldn't find a her footing to strike back. She weaved, slapping Daka with edges of her speckled wings, but she couldn't manage to knock the goddess off balance for long enough to gain the advantage.
Daka rushed the Daemon again, but was knocked off course by a screeching body. The young woman who had given Elizaveta her stew rammed into Daka, throwing both of them to the ground.
"How dare you attack the Anima! How dare you! How dare you!"
Daka rolled, regaining her feet and held the thrashing woman by the hair. She turned to the gathering crowd.
"This is what happens to heretics," she spat, and with practiced efficiency, twisted the woman's neck and threw her to the ground. The mob fell silent, grief and anger welling up within them, though the goddess' voice held them as if enchanted.
"An army is marching on these plains as I speak, a thousand strong. Do you really think you can do anything against them?" she sneered.
Elizaveta stared down at the dead woman in horror and sorrow. Fury welled up in her at Daka, always Daka; she would pay for that unnecessary death. With a battle cry, she grabbed the polished wooden handle of an abandoned cooking pan and swung. Daka turned, startled, and took the blow to the shoulder. She cried out in pain but drew her sword and stabbed at Elizaveta, who parried with the flat bottom of the pan and skipped backwards, drawing Daka away from her people and to where she could use her wings to their fullest.
The army had reached the camp. The nomads took up Elizaveta's battle cry and rushed the surprised soldiers armed with iron cookware and long hunting knives. Their ferocity made the well-trained army stumble, though they held their ground.
With a satisfied glance at the nomads, Elizaveta readjusted her grip on the cooking pan, using two hands to grip the wooden handle but careful to avoid the iron pan itself. She stretched out her wings, nearly doubling her own height as she glared at Daka.
The goddess leapt and darted around the Daemon, attacking as fast as she could. Elizaveta danced in and out of reach, for despite the apparent bulk of her eagle wings, they lent her an lightness of foot that Daka couldn't match. She saw the frustration grow in Daka's expression as she failed to land a heavy blow. She used it to her advantage, daring closer and closer to the goddess until she began to become careless with frustration.
Her strategy worked well. Daka had taken several heavy blows from the pan, but she still fought with the deadly energy that made here feared and renowned as a warrior. Eventually Elizaveta slowed, pulling back as her arms trembled from the heavy weight of the pan. She chanced a look to see how her people were faring against Daka's soldiers. The sight was horrifying. Bodies littered the field, both soldier and nomad, though the dead nomads were by far the majority.
As her attention faltered, Daka swung with her sword and Elizaveta barely managed to parry, though the flat of the blade pressed along her forearm, branding the Daemon flesh as it fell away. Elizaveta let out a strangled cry, more eagle than human and jumped into the air.
The soldiers were relentless. The entire clan would die if she didn't do something, so she shot up and let loose a cry that pierced the very fabric of the air. Below Daka clutched her ears at the sound as the winds whipped up and a thunder of hooves broke out from the distant plains. The soldiers' horses reared as eerie whinnies flew on the wind. Across the horizon sprinted a herd of smoky, black shapes. As they approached both soldier and nomad could make out the enormous equine Daemon's as they ran toward their mistress' summons.
Alfred stumbled into a place that looked just as he'd pictured it. The thick groves of the mountain forest thinned as the reached the yellow-green plains. A creek flowed to his left, bubbling happily as the mountain runoff swelled its waters. He broke into a run and leapt into the sky once he was clear of the trees. He could here the sounds of fighting and made for them.
Staying high enough in the air to be overlooked, he shot towards the battle, though he took the time to marvel at the clear, open sky with it's pleasant thermals and playful breezes. He halted above the body-strewn plain, shoving his fist to his mouth to stop from retching. Despite the fury with which the nomads fought, it was a massacre. The smoking coals from their cooking fires still smoldered, and pots and pans and tents all lay strewn about. Bodies littered the ground, men, women, children, all must have risen to the fight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure shoot past him, and settle in the air above him, beating enormous wings. She let out a terrible, inhuman wail that he had learned to associate with Daemons. When the cry faded into the thin air, he saw a cloud rise through the haze as a mass of lower Daemons galloped forth onto the field to the aid of their mistress.
Alfred tore his eyes from the advancing herd and found Daka, flinching against the sound of the high Daemon's cry. He flew down and found a patch of shrubs where the oncoming Daemons wouldn't notice him. He was about to call out to Daka when Elizaveta swooped down, striking the goddess feet first. Daka cried out in fury and whipped her sword around. Elizaveta, still carried by her downward momentum, couldn't dodge and was too slow to parry. The sword struck her sharply across the back, sizzling as it encountered her flesh and sliced, leaving a weeping wound in its wake.
From his place behind the shrubs, Alfred saw the Daemon fall and Daka raise up triumphant. She waited, content to see Elizaveta's pain linger before she went in for another blow. Alfred was horrified, but he had made a promise to Gilbert, one he thought Francis supported as well, to bring back Daka from her slaughter, and Alfred would keep that promise and try to spare as many lives as were left. He was about to race forth when a hand on his shoulder stopped him and only a well-placed hand over his mouth halted the yelp that threatened to burst out of him.
"You daft fool!" said a voice in a frantic whisper. "What do you think you're doing? Why are you even here?"
Alfred knew that voice, and it was confirmed when Arthur moved to crouch beside him.
"Daka," he whispered. "I need to get her back to Caelei. As soon as possible, before those soldiers murder the entire clan."
Arthur laughed humorlessly. "Not enjoying the blood-fest?" Alfred made a disgusted snort. "I thought not, weak stomach that you have. There's nothing you can do for them at this point."
"There has to be something. I can't just sit here and—"
"Yes, you can and you will." Arthur said. "That cry that Elizaveta sent up? It wasn't just for her lower Daemons. It reached all the high Daemons. Others with be here soon enough. They'll take care of the soldiers. It wouldn't do for you to die in some hopeless charge."
Alfred swept the hair from his eyes and pushed up his glasses. This was Arthur, who had been so distant with him lately, and he seemed concerned for Alfred's safety. However Alfred didn't have time to ponder what it meant. He had a promise to fulfill.
"I need to get Daka back to Caelei."
Arthur was silent, glaring at the still goddess. He didn't have time to waste.
"Fine, I'm not sure if we could kill a goddess anyway. I'll attack her, the other Daemons can deal with the soldiers," he said, glancing up to where the equine Daemons were pushing back Daka's soldiers. "I'll injure her the best I can, then you swoop in and grab her. Get out as fast as possible."
Alfred nodded and Arthur darted out of the brush. Brandishing a spear Alfred hadn't noticed he'd been holding. With silent speed he threw himself at Daka, stone spearhead clanging against her scarlet armor. Daka tumbled forward, caught off guard by the sudden blow. She slashed at Arthur but he ducked and leapt at her again.
Alfred watched on with awe and fear, mildly startled that the concern was for Arthur. He moved with none of Elizaveta's elegant grace, but with abrupt, patternless thrusts and attacks. Daka, worn from her fight with Elizaveta, attacked with chaotic, thrashing swipes of her sword, which Arthur either dodged or caught in the thick wood of the spear shaft. He struck her over and over again, precise and explosive. His attacks did not seek to unnerve or unbalance her, just to hit the same place on her armor over and over until it finally broke. With the screeching of ripping metal, Arthur's jab finally found flesh. Daka cried out, this time in pain, and collapsed, blood soaking the wild grass.
Arthur nodded toward the brush and Alfred burst out and collected the fallen goddess in his arms before flying off. After a final look of understanding between human and Daemon, Alfred whirled away.
Once free of the battlefield, he spun the pendant as Gilbert instructed and called Arlya's name. The moon goddess appeared before him and placed her palm on his shoulder. With a final gust of wind, they were gone.
Gilbert, Francis, and Pakram greeted them at the gates of Caelei. The sun god remained behind as the others took Daka to her rooms. Alfred stood, pale and exhausted and sick before the god and recounted most of what he had seen, leaving out his interactions with Arthur.
"So it seems we have been thrust into this war before we could fully prepare," the god said with his usual stoicism. "So be it. Arlya, get him to bed."
The goddess tightened her grip but Alfred shrugged out of it. "I can get there myself," he said. And flew slowly to his room. He collapsed on the bed. His last thought before he fell asleep was a vague hope that Arthur was alright.
A/N: Once again, I'm sooo sorry for how late this is. April and May tried their hardest to kill me, then June destroyed my inspiration. Ugh... But I remembered why I love to write this story when I finally got to the action in this chapter. So thanks, Z, for the edits and for threatening me with physical violence to get this done.
Um, added notes:
Yay! I got to introduce Elizaveta, my favorite Hetalia character after Al and Arthur. Wielding a frying pan and everything.
My attention is now split between this and an original, science fiction story I'm writing, but I plan to finish Amor Fati this summer.
That one-shot I promised a long time ago is now a two shot with an omake, but due to some current events in April, I postponed publishing it out of sensitivity for the victims of the terrible tornadoes that happened around that time. But expect it published on the America's Birthday in celebration! ~3
As usual, constructive criticism is love. Especially on consistency, since I haven't written this in too long.
And thank you all who have fav'd, sub'd and ESPECIALLY commented. You make my life.
Now I just need to figure out what to do next...
~Kitten