Previously in Wonder Woman…

Daughter. Princess. Warrior. When the amazon queen, Hippolyta, begged the goddesses of Olympus to breathe life into a body of clay, she never imagined that girl would grow into the champion of her people, known in the world of men as Wonder Woman!

Dr. Marina Maru has manufactured a poison, akhlys, able to slay gods – and Wonder Woman; Circe is confronted by Asteria, an amazon coming to terms with a hidden past; and Ettahcandei guides Cassandra Sandsmark on a journey… to a theme park? 

A TOUCH OF DEATH

Part IV

By Miranda Sparks

Any scientist worth their salt knows better than to anticipate a result, lest they be skewed by said anticipation. For method to have merit, even the most consistent theories require room for deviation; and in an age of the extraordinary, where gods and mysticism have returned to the forefront, it is imperative a researcher acknowledge and remove themselves from bias.

Oh, how tempting it was to call achlys a success! Some might have thought the fall of a proverbial demi-goddess just that; but potent though the poison proved, Wonder Woman still lived – perhaps a confound derived from her humanity – and Dr. Maru had yet to meet a deity to properly test her hypothesis.

That, however, was a ‘later’ problem. With the Air Force Colonel Steve Trevor aware of her involvement, it was imperative that the doctor clean house; to a new lab, no doubt tucked away in some south American jungle stronghold, where she could continue her work, far from the eyes of collected agencies and their misguided ‘justice’.

She gathered her belongings, pulled her notes into a single folder, closed her laptop, and slipped them unceremoniously into her bug-out bag. Madame would never forgive her if the enemy gained even a scrap of their knowledge.

Dr. Maru paused and ran her fingers down the glass of the containment lab. There was one research vessel she could not bring with her; that which held the most promise in the festering shell of Jason Woodrue. Strange that she should pine for the least of a man who was unbeautiful in life, but rich in death. Perhaps it was ironic that his most valuable contribution to toxicology should come at such a cost, but Dr. Maru would not have it any other way.

With the flick of a switch the walls ignited, running beneath the panels and fracturing concrete. No fire could maintain such heat for long, but would leave little more than ash. No leads, no evidence, and no exoctic corpse.

“Goodbye, beloved.”

What pain it was to pry herself from him. How her research could have advanced given more time. No publication would accept the research of an international criminal, but what need had she of peers? The work was the point, and her employers were more than satisfied.

She marched down the hall toward the exit, knowing better than to let the fire give chase. No sooner had the doctor reached the stairwell than the building shook, and a wall of heat knocked her off balance. Dr Maru struck the gritty floor and saw stars. Pain flashed before her eyes, leaving her in a haze.

“What the hell…”

From the inferno emerged the shape of a man, twisted and bloated with corners singed. The hot smell of wood permeated its aura as it lumbered toward her. Gone was the green, replaced with char. The only thing living were eyes as red as hate.

Dr. Maru fumbled. “J-Jason!”

“Guess again,” it said with the sharpness of winds through the pines.

The monster’s digits pointed like upturned roots, and came down with the weight of an oak. If there was one truth in the world it was that nature would survive man, no matter man’s intent.

* * * *

There is no worse time for fun than the brink of disaster, thus Cassandra Sandsmark was determined not to have any. The things she’d seen, though visions, spoke to an urgency only she could meet, though wasn’t prepared for. How could anyone enjoy themselves with that knowledge? 

Not that she could help herself, of course. Fantasy Falls had some of the best coasters this side of the country, including the Terror Twist; plunging midway into a vertical corkscrew toward the ground. Riding it was like being a little girl again, playing ‘helicopter’ with her mom’s hands around her ankles, times a thousand. No amount of worry could keep the adrenaline from washing her thoughts.

Ettahcandei squealed with delight. The crone threw her arms high and beamed so bright she almost appeared young. Perhaps if she could, she would have thrown herself ahead of the ride to meet the earth all the faster. It soon came to an end, and Ettahcandei giggled long after she stepped from the harness. Cassandra fought to contain her joy, tightening her lips into the smallest of smiles.

“Do they sell camel apples here?” asked the old woman.

“You mean ‘caramel apples’,” said Cassandra.

Ettahcandei nodded. “That makes more sense. Apples are not camels. Your American accents are difficult to understand.”

As her high wore off, the weight of Cassandra’s worries returned. She crossed her arms. Everything was wrong. Not the place, but her. Wasn’t there somewhere else they should be? She didn’t even know how to use a sword!

The ancient woman bit into her snack, smearing sugar around her cracked lips. “What’s the matter, dear? You look like a centipede has crawled into your bottom.”

There was an image she wouldn’t soon forget.

“I don’t get why we’re here,” Cassandra said.

Ettahcandei smacked apple chunks with her mouth open and shrugged. “You don’t like roller coasters?”

“I like roller coasters just fine,” she said. “This isn’t a productive use of our time.”

The old woman shook her head. “Oh, child. Every moment of life comes with wisdom if you know where to look for it. Sometimes you have to learn the same lesson over and over.”

Cassandra furrowed her brow. “So where’s the wisdom in the Terror Twister?”

With a sticky, caramel-covered hand, Ettahcandei turned the young woman toward the ride. “Look at those people,” she said. “They have no control over where they go. Up and down, while the ride tries to throw them far, or threatens to smash them into the ground. But are they afraid?”

“Yes.”

“No, they are not really afraid,” the old woman said. “You see, they trust things to go as they have before, and trust the fates to bring them to the other side.”

Cassandra smirked. “You mean they trust their restraints.”

“They trust the fates to keep their restraints secure,” she continued. “They could break at any moment. Someone worries about that, and they prepare, but you and I? We go, blind onto the Terror Twister, and trust our lives to another. We could spend all day fretting about it, but it would do no good. Fate unravels as it will.”

“Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know, fatalistic?”

Ettahcandei sunk her teeth into another bite. “I’m no’ shaying no’ to gird yoursheff.” She swallowed down the sweet mash. “But young people such as you fail to realize how little good comes from worry. Life is long enough to spend on other things, and too short to waste.”

Cassandra would have argued the point if words didn’t fall short. What would be the point? The crone was set in her ways, and had probably heard it all before.

* * * *

Another body upon crashing through a brick wall would be reduced to a bloody mass, but amazons were made of sterner stuff. Regardless, Asteria felt the stabbing in her bones as she rolled into traffic. She was halfway to her feet, still bleary, when the Nissan snapped her from the side, sending her flying again into the asphalt. She heard nothing but ringing. The world swayed like a boat in her storm. Agony came full circle, and the rush of endorphins set numbness down her limbs. But those things alone wouldn’t stop her; not while her blood ran hot and the copper taste saturated her lips.

One and all stopped to see the warrior clamor. By their reckoning she should be paralysed, maybe dead. Her ability to walk – nay, charge! – spoke to an endurance that only existed in myth, or Metropolis.

“Is that all you have, witch? I promised to have blood, and by all the gods I will have it!”

Whether she believed it or not mattered little. No amazon feared death, and few the fires of Tartarus for which Asteria was surely destined. Her honor outweighed any pain she carried, and her spirit would fight long after her body failed her.

A hail of cutlery and broken plates flew through the hole in the wall, and scathed the amazon like ravens pecking her flesh. Even a blunt fork could break skin with enough speed. Asteria shielded her face, weathering a thousand cuts. The agony was enough to sway even the sturdiest of warriors. Asteria tore the bonnet from the car that struck her, and knocked the flying pieces away. Blood ran between her trembling fingers, so thick that it dripped onto the road.

Circe sauntered through the debris, nonchalant in the shock of passersby. “Behold, mere mortals, the power of an earth-born goddess, blah blah blah.”

“You… are no goddess,” the amazon grunted.

The witch smirked. “Call it ‘divine cosplay’.”

With all the fury in her bones, Asteria threw herself into a mad, animalistic dash, driven by desperation. Her shredded limbs were the least of her thoughts, as was her waning strength. All that remained was the vision in front of her, of wrapping her hands around Circe’s throat. That vision, however, was not to be realized.

“Pathetic amazon.”

An unseen force amplified the swat of Circe’s hand, colliding with the impotent warrior. Asteria flew from her feet, beaten of all her senses and into a bloody stupor. The witch was no god, but by Hera, she landed blows like one! She’d barely had the chance to scrape herself from the ground when the asphalt turned. Asteria groaned as the earth folded over her and crashed onto her back. Wounds and broken bones screamed, vying for attention she couldn’t give. Hot blood ran over her skin, yet her veins ran cold.

“Psychopomp, I beseech you,” she gasped. “Leave me to this plane… to rain otherworldly justice on my tortmenter…”

“Olympus has abandoned the world of men,” Circe said. “And even if the gods could hear you, you spurned them in your quest for vengeance. Why should they listen to you now?”

But it was Circe at the heart of her ill-fortune – of this Asteria was certain. Why should she shoulder the blame of another’s treachery? Perhaps, if she humbled herself, the gods would give her their ear still.

“You’re like a gnat,” said the witch. “Not even worth killing.”

Asteria seethed impotently. The words were like poison in her ear. She watched as Circe turned, spitting on her honor; demeaning her prowess as a combatant, and most of all robbing her of a warrior’s death. Though amazons were not so foolish as to race toward death, to die in glory was something cherished. How cruel to be denied that end.

* * * *

Donna clung to the steering wheel. When once her life had been so certain, all she had now was the product of her senses. Thinking back, she would swear to knowing her mother’s face. Dorothy Hinckley, pregnant at sixteen, an unwed mother. She was determined to love her child, even when robbed of a home. It was a fact Donna knew in her bones as she clung to snippets. The late nights and double shifts that made a little girl ache with want, and how her heart leapt when her Mom walked in the door.

Or maybe she imagined it all. The human mind is a fickle thing, prone to trickery. It strives to see patterns that often don’t exist, or fabricates memories to fill blanks. No, Dorothy had to be real. She had to be! Carl and Fey were good to her, but still Donna mightn’t have survived foster care without knowing that her mother loved her; that she was good enough, and wanted in a way that so many children aren’t.

Yet she couldn’t shake this new vision. Asteria, the witch – women she’d never even met – and the soft, nurturing smile of a great queen. Her name was Hippolyta, and she was overcome with caring for her daughter – a long-lost daughter that would one day grow into Donna Long.

“This is crazy,” she sighed.

Stolen princesses were the stuff of fairy tales. Such things didn’t happen in real life. People like her weren’t the carbon copies of magical superheroes. She couldn’t be! It was too extraordinary, especially for an Agency recruit who spent most of her time behind a keyboard. Later that night she’d serve eggplant parmigiana for her husband and daughter; not battle starfish from beyond the stars.

The school bell rang, and a swarm of K-7th graders flooded the front lawn. Donna didn’t stand with the other Moms, but like them searched the sea for who she considered the most special child of all. Artemis was taller than kids her age – girls and boys alike – making her easy to spot. She was a lean girl, with hair as red as her father’s, and wore three-quarter length jeans under a too-short-dress-turned-top. Clothes were rarely made with girls like her in mind.

Donna beamed. There was no imagining the fifteen hours it took to bring her into the world, the sleepless nights, or her tiny body sprawled diagonally, face down in her parent’s bed. She’d watched her girl grow from helpless to intrepid. These were the days she would cling to, long after Artemis flew from the nest.

She waved her toward the car, and Artemis came running. Ten years old was young enough that seeing Mom was still a treat.

“What are you doing here?” Artemis asked as she climbed in the back seat.

Donna rolled her eyes playfully. “Do I need an excuse to pick up my favorite daughter?”

“I’m your only daughter,” said Artemis.

“Well, you’ve got me there. Seatbelt?” The girl still needed reminding, like road safety was some kind of chore.

“You’re usually at work,” Artemis said.

Donna exhaled. ‘I needed to see you,’ she didn’t say. ‘I needed something good in the world to remind me why I carry on.’ But it would be unfair to put that on a child. It wasn’t a kid’s place to worry about their parents.

“I decided to take a personal afternoon,” she said, which was close enough to the truth. “And I thought with all this free time we could catch a movie, maybe get some ice cream. Unless you don’t want to.”

“Mom! Of course I want ice cream!” said the girl. “You can’t just mention ice cream and then not get ice cream!”

Suddenly, all was right with the world. Donna’s heart eased. Whether or not she was Wonder Woman’s ‘sister’ mattered less than family. They were her cornerstones, and Artemis needn’t be an amazon to be a princess.

* * * *

Despite what Hollywood calls ‘hacking’, the act of infiltrating computer systems is an arduous process. Tracking an ISP in real time is difficult enough through the dark web, through VPNs, even with the Agency’s formidable resources; not to mention the legal murkiness of breaching a network without a warrant.

None of that mattered in the pursuit of their suspect, Dr. Marina Maru. Judges and panel hearings were a problem for later, and few would cry ‘excessive force’ when chasing down a terrorist. Supernatural pathogens, public endangerment, conspiracy with a treasonous cell, trapping hundreds of hospital staff and the infirmed during an attack – somebody had to go down; somebody higher on the chain than the ‘zombies’ in containment.

It was only by good fortune that the Agency tech department pinpointed their target so quickly; but not before the fire department were on the scene, extinguishing the last of a self-contained flash fire. No investigation was necessary to divine a deliberate cause, or the intent.

Agents lingered at the scene. Any leads to a perpetrator had, quite literally, gone up in smoke. Staff and patients at St. Cosmas would have to live with unanswered questions.

“We’ve found something!”

Firefighters and agents climbed through the ashes where a crew had upturned a concrete slab. No level of experience can prepare someone for charred human remains uncovered from a blaze; but this body was different. At a glance it appeared the flesh was intact. One of the firefighters dared to touch it, then knocked the hard casing. 

“It’s wood,” he said. “Coated with some kind of, I don’t know, non-flammable lacquer. Has to be good stuff to survive all this.”

But the representatives of the Agency weren’t convinced. The head investigator knelt before the figure and wiped the soot from her face. Even with skin hardened and grey there was no mistaking who the statue was.

“It’s our perp,” she said, laying bare another thread of mystery, along with a mountain of paperwork.

* * * *

Diana stood at the precipice and into a darkness without dark; a void with no space to define it. Even her own mind, which grasped more things than imagined in the mortal realm, could scarcely fathom the yawning infinite nothing.

“You needn’t be afraid,” Thanatos said. “All that lives has tasted oblivion.”

The amazon didn’t stir. She reflected the stillness in front of her.

“I don’t understand,” she said. Her voice echoed, but didn’t. Perhaps she projected the need for an echo onto the indescribable cavern.

“The universe existed long before you, Diana,” opined the god. “Think back to a time before you were born. There was no pain there; no sorrow or regret…”

“No love.”

Thanatos shrugged. “No. But in fairness, you will be less than a dream, and won’t have the means to mourn it’s loss.”

The thought rolled through her head, but Diana could not parse it. Without love there was only sorrow, but to be deprived of that, also…

“And what of my friends?” she asked.

“They will continue,” he said, “on Earth and in the Hereafter.”

Diana blinked, allowing memory to flood her senses. Not only would Steve Trevor go the rest of his mortal life without her, but also her mother in eternal Elysium. The strings binding them to her heart were stronger than death, but this was more. What agony that fate would snip them.

“They’ll mourn.”

“You needn’t concern yourself,” he continued. “Your concern for others will be extinguished also.”

But it was not for herself that Diana feared. Her feelings could be extinguished, but the memory of her would remain. In oblivion she could no longer return the gifts given her. At least in death she could look down on those she loved, but oblivion afforded no such luxury.

“No… no, I refuse!”

“It’s only a matter of time, if there is such a thing,” Thanatos said.

“I will not die today!”

The god shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. But I am patient, and things will be as they may.”

“You know, before you came along I never believed in angels,” Steve said. “Who’d’ve thought the closest thing would appear in leather armor with a freakin’ lasso?”

He clutched her hand, so frail and thin with a drip feeding into it. This was far from Steve’s first time seeing death creep. Being a soldier came part and parcel with the loss of friends, and though nothing can prepare someone for it, those left became well rehearsed in survival.

Somehow this had taken him by surprise. For all he had witnessed, the idea of Wonder Woman – of Diana – being made so small defied sense. She was fearless, without bounds, invincible; as strong as Superman! More than that, she was passion incarnate – the love of life and everything in it. And she was generous with that passion, sharing it with all, and making it theirs. More than the feats her body was capable of were the feats of her heart, which did more than lift others from the dirt, but inspired them to lift themselves. Or so Steve would say if anyone asked. Maybe he’d say it in the eulogy.

No, he couldn’t think like that – not while she was still breathing. No matter how bleak it looked, there was still hope. If it were anyone else he’d wait for the inevitable, but not here, not now.

“For what it’s worth, I believe you about Themyscira,” he said. “You know how crazy it sounds; a magical island of immortal women! But how else can I explain… this?”

Her chest rose and fell in long, desperate gasps. She wouldn’t be breathing at all without machines forcing her.

“I think in my world, people are discouraged from trusting in the good,” he said. “‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’, all that. So when a princess arrives and starts beating the monsters back, we think ‘this is too good to be true’.”

Shame caught in his throat. This was too close to a deathbed confession. Still, he pressed on.

“And then something like this happens. A bad as terrible as the good is, you know? That puts it all in perspective. You think, ‘maybe if this great, evil thing is real, then so is the good’, you know?”

Steve pressed his lips to her bony fingers and prayed to no god in particular. Maybe he was praying to her. “I trust the good now,” he said. “I trust you. You’re bigger than this, Diana, so keep holding on. You take this curse, and you kick it’s ass, you hear me?”

Somewhere, he hoped, she did.

Reality folded around the witch like a cool sheet and unfurled with a wave of her hand. Her winter furs peeled away to be replaced with a light jacket. After all, Celestial City’s weather was more temperate than in her previous locale.

She sauntered toward the debris, not stopping for the yellow tape keeping civilians at bay. Immediately she was set upon by a well-meaning policeman with no idea the power he faced.

“Sorry, ma’am. You can’t come back here.”

Circe rolled her eyes. She’d long since tired of the hubris of ants. With the brush of his arm his will was her plaything. In her world men were weak, propped up by assumptions of superiority.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said. “An Asian woman. Short hair. Glasses. A scientist.”

The thrall swayed, and pointed toward the clean-up crew lifting a wooden shell onto a bed. How surprising it was that there was a body among the ashes. There would have been ample time for a person to escape after tripping the burners. So what happened? No matter. That was somebody else’s problem. All she cared about was the experiment and seeing her concoction at work.

Circe chuckled as she turned away. “Looks like someone beat me to the punch.”

NEXT ISSUE: Wonder Woman sits on the brink of oblivion with a poison toxic to gods running in her veins. What, if anything, can pull her back? This and more concluded in ‘A Touch of Death’, Part 5…