Arascus felt the crowd behind him. Igos had come out to watch, from its children still in schools, to its elites from their ivory towers, to the camera crews that desperately begged Abakwa and his men for permission for an hour with Arascus.

He stood at the edge of the port, and accessed his Divine Armoury. Some Divines had their own, Kassandora’s carried her armour and blade, Maisara and Fortia had them too, but his was one worthy of the status of God of Pride. Golden gateways opened around him, to the sides and above as the crowd ooh’d and aah’d. Harpoons slowly slid of out of them, he took his time to put on a show, there was no reason to rush.

Then they launched into the water. Arascus felt them pierce the ship that had sunk in Olephia’s storm.

He slowly began to reel it back out of the water.

Kassandora was angry. She liked when things went to plan, when work was done on schedule, and she understood human limitations. People were simply not able to keep up with her, that was why the schedule she set for Sokolowski’s soldiers was so hard, she had expected that they would take a day or two’s rests. On-Schedule meant Ahead-of-Schedule in her mind. Failure was assured, there was no such thing as success, at the end of the day, she simply failed less than others. Thus, at the end of the day, she was closer to her goals than others.

Now, she had wasted fifty days chasing Iniri. Back in the desert, there was nothing she could do, so she simply ignored that anger and impatience. She had pushed them all hard enough on the way back anyway, Kavaa, even though she hadn’t used magic once since she healed Fer, still had not fully replenished her magic. They were back in the camp now, and now that they were in the camp, that righteous rage flared inside her like a bonfire. If she could give it physical form, the Jungle would be blazing already.

Unfortunately, she could not. Unfortunately, she had to deal with civilians now. Kassandora retrieved the papers from her tent, it had indeed not been touched, there was a layer of red dust on everything. Good! Then she would have had to chase up cleaners and maids and see who they talked to, if they were talking with Clerics, and so on. Then she made her way to a water-hose. A grey-green rubber snake attached to a canister. Her own men, dirty and sweaty, in those green shirts and shorts and shaved bald, were drinking from it. They saw her and moved out of the way. The closest one, she stopped by. “Hold this.” She gave him the papers before he even had chance to agree, although he eagerly took the job.

Then she sidestepped the line and stopped the bald man from drinking. “Goddess! Your orders?” The man saluted with the hose still spurting in his hand. Kassandora dismissed him with a salute and spread her arms and legs to her sides.

“Wash my armour.” She could take it off, but then she’d have to put the straps back on and that took twenty minutes of tedium. It was much easier to simply materialize it already fastened on her body. The man looked at her, then at the hose. “Spray me!” Kassandora said. “How do you wash a car?” In her armour, she was easily the size of a car.

“Do I need soap?”

“Spray the dirt and blood off my armour!” Kassandora barked and the man jumped into action. He put his thumb over the tip, until the hose became a spray and he started at her. The water was cool, it steamed off her armour, Kassandora hadn’t realised the metal had grown so hot. “Start at the top.” That was more effective in time, then she finally realised why the man was so careful about washing her. “Don’t worry about getting my face or hair wet, they’re dirty too.” The man nodded and sprayed the top of her armour. The water came from a tank buried in the sand and covered in a tarp. “By that, I meant wash my hair.” The first time was always the worst. Men were coming to watch the sight and pretending they weren’t interesting. Kassandora would never give them permission to look, but she would never tell them off either, a Divine bathing in this way simply drew naturally curious human eyes, there was no reason to try and wage war on human nature.

In the past, it had been the same, eventually her armies got used to it. She was sure they’d tell tales of washing the Great Of War’s armour, but they were soldiers. They’d have worse stories to tell eventually. The water drenched her red hair, the blood and dirt and mud and sand washed out of it as she threw it and methodically rinsed it. Once. Twice. Twelve Times. Then the man got to her armour. Kassandora, quite honestly, had no clue what it was made out of. It was a hard metal, it was naturally black, it resisted damaged, it either regenerated itself, or it was her own magic that fixed it. That was enough information to work with, she didn’t need to know the nitty-gritty science of it, nor did she have time to work it out beyond the bare essentials. Very simply put, what metal her armour was made of, was not useful information.

The man finished and her black plate was left with a nice, shiny gleam. On the battlefield, on campaigns, Kassandora rarely washed herself. There was no reason to, she would get dirty anyway and her armour glinting could only give her away. But now, she had to deal with civilian bureaucrats. The Kirinyaan Internal Affairs Bureau, it reeked of middle-management that she would have simply side-stepped in the past, and blood scared types like that. It would be better not to scare them away. Kassandora looked up at the Sun, and towards the North. Kavaa and Fer and Iniri were only now just returning.

There was something in her that longed for that easiness of life, for that ability to simply take time, but War did not sleep. War raged and raged and raged until it brought Peace, and when that happened, she would die. That was her lot in life, and she had accepted a long time ago. Was it sad? She rolled her eyes at the meaningless question in her head and kept moving, her stride long, her back straight. Her crimson hair falling to her waist as it glistened in the Sun. “You, follow me, after this, you’re free for the rest of today.” Kassandora pointed to the man holding the papers who happily trailed along.

Damian Sokolowski, in his green shorts and shirt, was already waiting at the southern edge of her camp, his hands full with papers. “Are these sorted?” Kassandora asked.

“The oldest is at the top.” Sokolowski replied promptly.

“Good, turn around.” Kassandora had thought the hot Sun would dry her off in a few minutes, but maybe she had gotten used to the sweltering heat of the desert. She wiped her hands on the back of Sokolowski’s shirt and took a paper. The man actually thanked her for it. Great. Another Iliyal. “Both of you, follow me, we’re having a meeting with KIAB, simply drop the papers off for me and wait outside.”

“Understood General!” They both replied curtly as Kassandora started scanning the paper. She had always read fast, her mind was simply able to pick out what was useful, what was not. The first three papers were not useful, they were mere project updates from Iliyal writing about some Mikhail Alash and his team. The next one was useful though: Naphthenic & Palmitic Acid, Napalm. Iliyal of course wrote about it wrong, he called it a weapon for a new style of war. Under Pantheon Peace, all weapons were banned. Production was simply disallowed, enforced by the decree of the White Pantheon. Kassandora had read historical reports about countries which broke the rule. They would break it, and then they would get a visit from the Zerus, or Allasaria, or Elassa, or Atis, or a group of minor Divines.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

There was little mortals could do against Divines.

Kassandora flicked through more of Sokolowski’s notes. Near the end, Iliyal had written a report for civilians, about how the Kirinyaa needed a tool to deal with the Jungle in the same way that woodcutters needed an axe. Taken at face value, it may as well have been a method of clearing woods. There was also plans for a vehicle. This Alash had given it a name, the SPG-M1, model name ‘Binturong’. A picture of some cute animal, looking like a fat raccoon but all black with a long tail, was attached. SPG-M1 apparently stood for self-propelled-gun-mark-one. Kassandora sighed. If they were going to build an army in secret, then calling their inventory SPGs was the first thing they should not do.

She finished Sokolowski’s reports and started thinking on how to convince whoever she met at KIAB to buy Binturongs.

The KIAB camp was a stark difference to the Arikans who dwelled near the Jungle, and to the Clerics’ camps. It was modern, with the tents extending from jeeps and caravans, with everyone walking around in loose white shirts that screamed that they still cared for fashion even in this outback. Several men walked up to her and the two following, almost as if they were unsure of what they were supposed to do. Kassandora took the initiative, she ignored her annoyance, she ignored her negative predisposition to middle-men, and she met them with a bright smile that would have made even Helenna blush with how lovely it was. “I apologize for making you wait for so long, but I’m sure you’ve been made aware of the urgent situation that was happening, I’ve been meaning to visit.” She towered over them, they barely reached up to her chest, and her armour gave her an imposing bulk.

It was good she had arrived this soon, normal people would never expect even a Divine to already be planning a move after only just arriving from the Jungle. The men nodded, smiles painted on their faces, obviously they were impressed that Kassandora was so easy-going. Hopefully, they would be thinking that they would be prepared for negotiations. One rung a radio, said something in a fast language Kassandora did not know, got a quick reply and put it down. “We do not mind whatsoever, come, I’ll show you around the camp.”

“Can my men come in too?”

“Of course.” They followed along with the papers as these two men led them around. They were dark-skinned, with the white shirts and black shorts, shoes laced up to their knees. Batons on their hips. They shoved off the various cars and made a long circle through the camp. Kassandora had seen this trick before, leadership was not prepared, so they had to quickly scramble to organise a meeting. There was nothing more shameful than not being prepared for guests.

The tour ended when another message came through the radio. Again in Kirinyaan, but the tone was calm, as if everything was planned and KIAB had just scored some great victory. Kassandora thought about whether she should have given them notice. Maybe haste was a mistake, she was always a hasty one. Arascus had told her that a long time ago. Maybe she should have sent Helenna, the Goddess of Love would no doubt be a good diplomat, but then if she wanted to use Helenna, she would have to probably wait all of today and tomorrow.

The two guards led Kassandora to a modern tent, with window netting and even a door that had been built into the dirt. One of them opened it for Kassandora, and motioned for Kassandora to enter. Four people were already waiting, two men, two women, all dark, all in suits that weren’t suited for the hot temperature. One of the was shaved bald, with glasses, the other with his cut short. The two women had both of there’s cut to their shoulders, the sort of style that screamed professionality. Kassandora supposed she wasn’t one to judge fashion, she had come in battle armour. “Leave the papers here, and wait outside.” Sokolowski and the other soldier deposited the papers in the middle of the desk as Kassandora took a seat. They had prepared a bench for her, obviously they knew she wouldn’t fit in a chair. “I thank you for coming to meet me with such short notice and I want to apologize again for it.” The men who had met her were obviously guards.

“Goddess Kassandora, there is no issue whatsoever.” One of the men replied. Arusei had not used the title, and this man’s tone was far too pleasant. Even Arascus did not use that tone with her. Kassandora kept her smile up as they introduced themselves. The bald man who spoke first was called Mwinga, the other man was called Rigathi, the two women were Auma and Wahome. Mwinga continued. “We’re here simply to see what the Clerics, and you, are doing. Kirinyaa has had a long relationship with Kavaa, so it’s no issue, we’ve already told the Pantheon to…” He looked down at the table and cracked a smile. “Well, to stay away, let’s leave it at that.” Kassandora nodded.

“I thank you graciously for that.” If the man wasn’t willing to swear, then it was good she had cleaned her armour before coming here. “It does mean a lot that you have not given me up.”

“Goddess Kavaa has helped stem many a plague, Goddess Iniri has helped stem many a famine, the Clerics vouched for you, so we believe them.” Kassandora nodded again, her face brimming with a smile that even Helenna would believe. The Clerics vouched for her? She was Kassandora! She was the Goddess of War! They should be glad she was containing herself here! “We also congratulate you on rescuing Goddess Iniri from the Jungle, if I say so myself, I thought it was impossible.” Kassandora smiled. She caught the meaning, they knew she had gone in, and they had networks fast enough to communicate that they had seen her return. A thousand years ago, it would have been impressive. Now, the radio existed, a child could tell on her if it wanted to.

“That is partly the reason I’ve come here.” Kassandora said. “I’m not here to interlude in your organisation or anything like that, but I would like for assistance.” The four looked at themselves quizzically. That was the worst expression Kassandora expected. Joy would have meant they were feeling gratitude or greed, a denial would have been condescension or guard against outsiders. Confusion simply meant that they had been cast out of their depth. Kassandora kept her smile up and pretended not to notice.

“You want our assistance?” Auma asked.

“I do.” Kassandora said. She decided it would be better to give them a moment of respite before bombarding them with information from her notes.

“Internal Affairs…” Rigathi, the man with the short hair, spoke this time. “We don’t really have that sort of jurisdiction.” Kassandora already had a way out for them.

“You could pass it on.” Kassandora said. They looked at each other again.

“We don’t really… we’re only here to report on what you’re doing here if we’re going to be honest.” Kassandora blinked. She was good at reading people, and these people were in fact being truthful. They seriously had no way to help her. “We could pass the information on.”

“It was a plan to deal with the Jungle. To stem its growth. Its going to hit urban areas in thirty years from now.” Kassandora said. Anger flared up inside her again.

“We can make a note and send it. I’m sure the government would heed your advice.” Kassandora had heard talk like that before. ‘Heed your advice’ was code for ‘Throw it in the bin.’ If she wasn’t going to talk to someone face-to-face, then nothing would happen. Kassandora nodded, feigning disappointment.

“I work for Kavaa now.” She said. If they had a good opinion of Kavaa, then she would take that easy benefit. “And you can pass it on. Is there really nothing you can do?”

“We can listen, but any decision has to be passed along.” Kassandora made a sad face, like a child who just had their lollipop taken. She didn’t lay it on too thickly, sadness, once mastered, always seemed like a genuine emotion born out of care.

“I’ll write out a report then, you can have it…” Kassandora thought. “Tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“We’ll deliver anything you wish.”

“Thank you.” Kassandora stood up and called for Sokolowski and the other man to take the papers out. She sighed, she looked up at the Sun. It was scorching hot.

What a waste of a day.

Kassandora left the KIAB camp. The Sun was still overhead, but already music was playing from Kavaa’s camp. No doubt they were celebrating tonight. There was a reason to celebrate, that was true, but Kassandora did not feel it. She kept a straight face, and tapped her thumb on her fingertips to keep herself from drawing Joyeuse and exterminating everyone in that useless fucking KIAB camp.