This story was written for the Hercules-Xena FQF  for 2004.  This explains the significant lapse between the completion date and the story being posted on my website – not to mention the fact that I confused April with August.   This story attempts to tell the story of how Ares stole the Chakram of Darkness from Kal to give to Xena – at a point in Xena canon where many people believe they had not met.  It keeps in canon with several of my earlier stories but stands on its own.  It is rated R.

 

MOVING IN CIRCLES

“Thanks be to Aphrodite!  There is nothing more delicious that the look of a man in tight black leather,” the contralto voice from behind him cooed.

Ares turned expecting to see a middle-aged harlot whose voice had been lowered by of years drinking wine and semen.   Instead he saw a man almost his height but lacking muscle tone and definition.   His long hennaed hair fell in waves around a face that bore no traces of a beard yet was replete with accents of kohl pencil and rouge.  One expected to encounter such eunuchs in larger cities, but not here in this god-forsaken outpost north of Thrace.

“Sorry, not tonight.”  Ares knew there were gods and men who would have rebuked such a creature in a much crueler way.  He realized that few men would choose to put themselves in this state and that the gelding probably had been ordered by one of his warriors who used the man in his youth and then sent him on his way.  Such eunuchs would not survive long on their own, unless they secured employment as guards for harems or became skilled as prostitutes.   Ares felt a little concerned that the act of altruism he knew he would eventually have to commit was slopping over into other aspects of his life.  But it wasn’t written anywhere that a god of war had to be cruel to everyone all the time.

“Here, buy yourself a drink.”  He pressed a coin in the man’s soft hand, and smiled as their hands met.

“My lips are as soft as my hand.”  The man looked deeply into Ares’s eyes.  “Are you as hard as . . . “

“Spare me the sales pitch.  I said not tonight.”

“Sorry, it is just my second rejection of the evening.  I’m beginning to feel . . . unloved.”  Ares did not have or want to listen to this whining.  He concentrated his attention on his ale and pretended that the eunuch had gone away.  “She rejected me and all I offered was a backrub.”  

Ares thought that he might have accepted an offer for a backrub and glanced his eyes in the direction indicated.  He could not believe what he saw.  There, after three long years of searching, was Xena.  She was quite disheveled and very drunk, sitting at the bar with several empty mugs in front of her.  It took all his godly powers to avoid running to her side, but he had executed the plan in his head hundreds of times and knew it wouldn’t work that way.

“You know her . . . or of her?” Ares asked.

“Her name is Xena.  She led a great army into the Battle of Corinth.  Tried to battle the centaurs and get the Ixion stone.  She lost.  She lost her lover.  Now she’s lost her army.  Some say she even lost her child.”

“Xena had a child?”

“Just a rumor.  You know how we girls like to talk . . . story is that Xena has forsaken love and is headed north.  Don’t know how she’ll make it if she drinks this much along the way.”

“Listen, if I give you ten more gold coins, would you come to my room and do me a favor?”

“Changed your mind, have you?  I have that effect on men,” the eunuch said.

“No, this doesn’t involve pleasure, it involves a delivery.  I have something I want you to give to Xena.”

“Why don’t you give it to her yourself?”

“Long story.  Just easier this way.  I have a something I want you to give to her.  Tell her it will help her conquer the world.”

“In the state she is in, she couldn’t conquer anything.”

“Times change.  She’ll change.  Tell her to go north.  There are gods there who have miraculous things for warriors like her.  She can conquer them first.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

Six months earlier in a region far to the east of Greece.

Ares’s sources had informed him that Xena had headed east and he had intended to follow her, but he had been interrupted by a war – a long war.  Usually he loved such conflicts, the longer and bloodier the better; but this one had just served as an impediment to his real goal. The war was flat-assed boring.  It consisted of petty men fighting over some ugly princess and a strip of worthless land; and still, it wasn’t over for two and a half years.  He lost precious time when he could have been following Xena.

Still he was the god of war and even this war demanded his attention.  It was not the time to leave Greece on some personal quest that none of the other gods would understand.  He couldn’t explain it to his father, his brothers and sisters or anyone on Olympus.  It was even difficult to explain it to himself.  He had created a great warrior and then let her slip away.  He needed her back.

He was now following a very cold trail through mountains and deserts. The humans of this area were nomads.  Towns, what that they were, existed as groupings of hovels at the intersections of trails that appeared to go from nowhere to nowhere.  He’d traveled many of the trails and found similar villages where no one could give him any information on Xena.  

In his heart he knew it was entirely his fault.  Xena was his star pupil.  He had taught her well and set her on the path to conquer the world.  He should have been at her side as she led her army into battle.  Except for Caesar, Julius Caesar.  He had been another of his protégés and when the two met, sparks flew.  Ares would have liked to think that his temporary anger with Xena had been caused by the fact that she had shown her weakness in trusting Caesar and not by the fact that she had also bedded him, but he knew it wasn’t the case.  In a fit of blind jealously he had wiped out her memory of ever having known the God of War.

He had not realized how ruthless Caesar would be with Xena.  How she would be left to die on the cross as a message to others who would challenge Caesar’s power.  Even after she was saved by M’Lila and kept alive by a healer on Mt. Nesta, Xena broken legs made it necessary for her to walk with a cane.  Caesar’s mark would forever be on Xena.

He heard that she had crossed paths with a warlord called Borias, become his mistress and headed east.  How far east he did not know?  He had never been past the edge of Greece and had to keep testing his powers to make sure they were still there.  Blowing up sheep seemed to work fine, much to the dismay of a few shepherds.  Still he worried that there were other war gods out here – maybe even more powerful gods.  He didn’t want to fight them or impinge upon their powers; he just wanted to find Xena.

*  * *  *  *

He heard of a temple five days east and had traveled for ten and found nothing.   The timing must have been calculated on horseback, or riding one of those ugly, despicable animals the nomads called camels.  He was content to travel on foot, even if it took longer. Even when it felt like he had been moving in circles, he used the time to plan what he could possibly do to return Xena to his fold.  It was not going to be easy.  
.
The temple sat alone at the side of the trail and was much smaller than Ares had expected.  He doubted if the priests here would provide any useful information.  A curtain of crystal beads indicated the door, so he walked inside.  The air was heavy with incense and filled with the sound of small bells that moved in the wind.  Obviously it was a minor temple of a minor god.  He looked around and saw remains of sacrificed animals – lambs and pigs.  He wrinkled his nose at the smell and was glad that his warriors become civilized enough to leave coins and gold.  What would he do with a dead pig anyway?

There appeared to be no one there, so he had full reign to walk through the temple.  The wooden door to an inner-chamber was marked with a large metal circle with intricate geometric designs around its rim.  Inside, the floor was littered with skeletons and rotting corpses, animal and human; and situated in the center was a carved stone altar.  The circular top was divided by a serpentine curve into two identical pieces of contrasting colored stone.  On the larger part of both sections were metallic circles, like that on the door, each ring with its own pattern.  He ran his hand over the smooth altar top and around the two circles.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”  A male voice came out of the darkness.  

He pulled his hand away and looked around to find the source.   

“Why, what happens?”   He hated it when his voice came out like that.  It was his “little kid scared” voice that he tried so hard to keep hidden.   It always popped out at times like this when he wanted more than anything to put up a brave and intimidating front.

“Look at all those bodies on the floor.  Why do you think they died?”

“Boredom?  Hunger? Bad decorating?”  He shrugged his shoulders, and his godlike attitude returned.

“Bad decorating.  I kind of like that one, I’ll have to remember that.”  There was a chuckle in the voice.  

“Do that.  This your place?”

“Yah.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Kal, the god of war.”

“Excuse me?”  

“If I hadn’t excused you, you would be dead.  Why do you think you’re still alive?”

“Good looks?”

“Very perceptive.”  He was not prepared for a figure to materialize behind him and slap him hard on his leather-clad ass.  Spinning round he came face to face with a smiling man, taller and broader than himself, with long dark hair and flashing black eyes.  

“I’m Ares.”

“Ares is the Greek god of war.”

“Exactly.”  He took a deep breath and puffed up his chest.  He was still not as large as Kal.

They both took a few seconds to process the information that had been shared.  It was not every day that two gods-of-war came face to face.  

“Fairly nice place you have here, Kal,” Ares began, “but you got to do something about those animal sacrifices.  In more civilized areas, butcher shops have sprung up next to temples.  The meat can be recycled to feed the people, not left to rot.”

“If you haven’t noticed, there aren’t many people around here, let alone butchers.”

“Perhaps it’s the sweet smell of your temple?”  Ares grinned.

“I was going to ask what brings you to this part of the world, but obviously you are a sales representative of some Grecian janitorial service, or perhaps a provision company. Don’t you have enough wars to fight back there?”

“Plenty of wars, just not the right warriors.”

“Come on, we’ll go somewhere and talk about it.  Somewhere a little more . . . inviting?”

A circle of light opened in the darkness and Ares was sucked inside.  He was in a room decorated in a way that matched his own personal style with polished stone, carved dark wood, flaming torches and black leather studded with silver.  He was torn between flopping down on the black leather throne or walking around and examining the various small items decorating the place.  The crystal skull was almost as interesting as the altar in the room he had left.    

“Nice,” he commented as he rolled it in his hand.

“Thanks.  I kinda like it.  So why then are you here, Ares?”

“I’m here looking for a woman.”

“Haven’t had one of those here for a long time, I am the god of war you know.”

“Yea, and . . .”

“My warriors are men.  They sacrifice to me on their knees . . . “

“Yadda, Yadda.  All warriors do that.  Stick with only men, and you lose half of the potential pool of mortal warriors.”

“The weak half.”

“This woman warrior is far from weak.  She’s going to ride with me and conquer the world.”

“Don’t see her or your horse, Ares.   What happened?”

“Long story.”

“Needa drink?”

“I need information on Xena.”

“That I don’t have, but unless you want to head across the desert at night I suggest you make yourself comfortable and dine with me.“

“Wine, bread, cheese would be fine.”

“I can do that.”

“And what do you do for dessert?”  Ares asked with an evil grin.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see if you clean your plate like a good little god of war.”

*  *  *  *  *

“Got to hand it to you, Ares, you’re good.”  Kal propped his head up with a bent elbow and looked across the sheets at his bed partner.  Ares liked the way this god looked, too, and reflected it in his rising cock.

“Just out of curiosity, what made you think I wouldn’t be?”

“You know, most of the Greeks that have come through here pretend that they are hung up on that romantic love stuff. “

“I know.”  Ares rolled his eyes with disapproval.

“Younger boys, no beards, no hair – how boring.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Interfemural intercourse.”

“Say what?”  Ares paused for a second and thought. “Oh, that.  Where’s the fun there?”

“Exactly.”

“And they think that having a big cock means that the sperm cools down and is – how can I say it – less fresh.”

The conversation had gone on way too long as far as Ares was concerned. He was ready to stop talking and resume fucking. Certain, given the timing of the evening, that Kal would find his semen pretty damn fresh and equally tasty.  He pulled Kal’s head to him as again the foreign god’s mouth began the trail down the Ares’s body to what appeared to be its new favorite destination.

“Kal, Kal, Kal.   Kal, Kal.”  Ares took a deep breath and relaxed, as much as a man in his position could relax.  

*  *  *  *  *  *

The past five days had been most enjoyable even if they had not been productive.  God of War Kal had proved an insatiable bed partner, stopping only to consider the needs of some poor nomads, who of course brought sheep, or to show Ares some new weapon that was being perfected in the far corners of his realm.  When they weren’t fucking, and sometimes when they were, Kal spun a continuous yarn about the warriors who had stopped by this temple from the east and from the south.

Most of the stories were too far fetched even for Ares.  One involved a new method of fighting which gave the smaller man an advantage over larger men who did not know the technique.  Ares had to think what a benefit that would be to the small men in his armies.  He made a mental note to find some men skilled in this fighting form and arrange for them to find jobs at the various military academies in Greece.   

Other stories involved a form of sex where orgasm was postponed for up to several hours and then continued for almost the same amount of time.  Only when Kal showed him some of those techniques did he believe him, but Ares had to admit it probably would have worked better with a woman – especially a tall, longhaired woman with magnificent breasts.

These stories became insignificant sidebars when Kal told him the story of the altar in his inner temple.  Long before Kal and his family had become gods in that area there existed a group of proto-gods who had created the world.  Ares had resisted the urge to challenge the story and listened intently. Why, he was never quite sure.

The altar was made of the two rocks used to form the world: the black basalt that had spewed from volcanoes and made the land and the white limestone that collected on the bottom of the sea and made its floor. The stones and their design represented the balance that the entire universe shared when it was residing in total harmony.   Ares had heard these balance stories told in Greece, but usually they were inarticulately illustrated by placing rocks on a teetering stick and not with something as artistic as the design on the altar.  

The two metal rings represented the ultimate weapons.  Kal explained that they were called chakram and into the circles were forged the ultimate powers – to rule the world and to kill the gods.  

Ares hoped that Kal had not noticed how his ears had perked when he heard about the power to kill gods.   He feigned interest in the other drivel and listened intently.

Such dangerous weapons had to be protected and both had come with restrictions.  The chakram of light – the one that could kill gods – could only be removed from the altar by a pure soul.  Kal explained how he had been searching his realm for such a person and had yet to find one -- thus the abundance of dead bodies.   The chakram of darkness would probably be easier to remove, as it required a soul committed to darkness and evil.  However, once removed it would require an act of altruism on the part of the removing person.  Its powers to conquer the world would only be unleashed if it were given to someone else.  It had sat on the altar for centuries while pure souls died trying to gain the power to kill gods, probably because anyone evil enough to take it would not want to give it away.

*  *  *  *  *
As soon as Ares had heard the complete story, he had formatted his plan.  He had to wait, however, for another visiting nomad to provide a method of transportation to flee the temple with the chakram.  Of course, the first such visitor had a particularly nasty camel.

While Kal was seeing to the nomad’s needs and accepting his worship, Ares slipped to the altar and without trepidation removed the chakram.   If he hadn’t been evil enough to take it safely before, stealing it from Kal should have been enough to protect him.  To be certain, he kicked at the skulls of the dead bodies as he walked out of the temple and laughed gleefully as they spun through the air as if scoring a victorious goal.

Now, he just had to find Xena and give her the chakram.  Then she would have the power to conquer the world, and he would ride with her at her side. Then he realized that Xena would not remember him and perhaps he would have to give her some time before he once again tried to become her partner – in war or in love.

The next crossroads had produced information that Ares was convinced could only be related to Xena.  A huge army lead by a woman warrior had ridden west about two months ago.  They had taken the southern route leading them directly into Greece.   Xena had been preparing to battle on his own turf and he was not there.  Some God of War he was.  He had no choice but to turn around and go after her, wondering if after she conquered Greece she would head for Rome.

As he traveled he listened for stories at each stop, and they were there. Xena’s quest for domination had led her to take on the centaurs.  She hadn’t won. Stories of Xena’s failure in the Battle of Corinth had drifted north.  It seemed that even with everything Xena had used to capture the city, like poisoning grain and diverting the water supply, had not been enough when Xena had become incapacitated. Before he had been killed, her lover, Borias, had taken his army and sided with the centaurs. There was even a rumor that the God of War had forsaken Xena and sided with Borias.  As if he would side with the horse-people.

All had been rumors until tonight when Xena had appeared in the dingy tavern.

*  *  *  *  *  *

“Is this a necklace?  How do you bend it to get it on?”  The eunuch asked as he grabbed the chakram only to cut his hand on its sharp edge.  He pulled his hand to his mouth to suck off the blood.

“Careful you could slit your throat.  It’s not jewelry.  It’s a weapon.”
 
“Makes a nice bracelet though.”  He put his hand through the hole in the center and spun it around.

“Xena will know what to do with it.  She trained with quoits as a young girl, this is essentially the same except for its ability to change directions and return to the person who throws it.”

“It . . . what?  Can I try?”

“Don’t try it.  In untrained hands it can be deadly, even to the person throwing it.”

“And you’re going to have me give this to . . . that drunk woman out there.”

“Tell her to be careful.  She can hang it on her belt until she remembers what to do with it.  OK.  And be careful, you wouldn’t want to cut off . . . aw forget it.  And tell her it’s from the God of War.”

“For sure.”

*  * *  *

Ares stood in the corner as the eunuch approached Xena.  He couldn’t hear their conversation over the din in the tavern, but everything he needed to know was reflected in the looks on their faces.  Ares hoped he remembered to include the part about traveling north.  He didn’t need Xena returning to Greece for a while.  He noticed a questioning look on her face – that must have been when he told her about the gift being from the God of War.

They both glanced in his direction.  By that time all that remained in the area where he had been standing were a few blue flakes of light.

Free Counters