Winter of the Gods

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  I do, Selene remembered suddenly. His tale recalled images she’d thought long forgotten. The child Hephaestus, whirling through the air, his leg turning red above Zeus’s grip and blue below, wailing in agony, desperate for help. She’d been a mere child herself, sure of her parents’ love and content with her place in the world. She’d made no move to stop her father. No move to assist her stepbrother. Animals, maidens, and hunters were her responsibility, not this strange quiet boy more interested in tools than arrows.

  “What I do remember,” he went on, “is my mother. She wrung her hands, but did nothing to stop it. And behind her stood my glorious older brother, who’d only ever looked at me with disdain. Something crossed his face, an emotion I couldn’t define.

  “Then, with a snap of his wrist, Zeus let go.” He spoke the name defiantly. “My leg cracked with the force of his throw. I flew through the air, through the clouds, through the thunder, into a storm meant for mortal men. A stinging, cold rain that soaked my clothes and chilled my bones. And still I fell. My leg hung twisted, useless, even as my other limbs flailed in distress, trying to seize the clouds to stop myself. But still I fell. Finally, I slammed into a rocky slope.” He paused, his face hard. “I shattered the other leg with the impact.”

  Selene wasn’t sure what to say. She moved her hand an inch closer to his on the railing, but dared not touch him.

  “I passed out. For days, I think. Who knows?” He shrugged. “Years, perhaps. What did I know then of the passage of time? I dreamed my mother came to find me. Or even her husband. Perhaps Zeus would relent and bring me back to my rightful place atop the mountain. But when I awoke, it was Ares who stood above me, his hand extended. It was Ares who pulled two trees from the ground and ordered me to fashion crutches for myself. He was the only one who came for me.”

  A look of wonder crossed his face, as if he still couldn’t believe it. Ares and Hephaestus, a god of destruction and a god of creation. Two halves of the same whole. And not unlike Artemis and Apollo, they loved and hated each other in equal measure. But my twin and I have reconciled, Selene thought. Flint and his brother never will.

  “I was bloody, bruised, healing too slowly from the Sky God’s wounds, but Ares didn’t help me as I carved the wood into crutches. He just sat there, his gilded helmet in his hands, looking at his reflection in its surface. I thought he did it for vanity’s sake. But then I recognized the expression on his face. The same one he’d had when he watched his father fling me from Olympus. It wasn’t pity, or anger, or even disgust. It was confusion.” Flint sighed deeply, and Selene detected grief for the first time. “My brother thought he understood the world and his place in it. God of War. God of Bravery. He didn’t bother protecting the innocent. Innocents always die in war. He lived for bloodlust, for the slaughter of men in glorious combat. But when he saw me in his father’s grip and realized that he was about to lose his mother’s only other son, I think he felt something crack open. I was one innocent he couldn’t bear to see harmed. Yet his mother stood by. His father wouldn’t listen to reason. I think he recognized their cruelty in his own reflection, and for once, he didn’t like what he saw.” He grimaced, and Selene wondered if he spoke of himself in that moment. A god without beauty, who found no solace in his own image. “Last night, when my brother cringed beneath dreams sent by a mortal man … when he faced death at the point of his own spear … he must have had that same look. The world had changed around him. The rules no longer applied. And he must not have understood what lay before his eyes.”

  “We will avenge him. The murder of an Olympian will not go unpunished.”

  She meant her words as a comfort, but Flint shook his head. “That’s what he would’ve wanted, I know. Blood upon blood until the world overflows with red. But it’s not my way.”

  “It is mine,” she said fiercely. “I bore little love for Hades. Even less for your brother. But each time they kill us, something goes out of the world. Some control or balance over the domain we ruled.” She struggled to find the right words for something she barely understood. “I thought we had no real power anymore, yet perhaps some single thread remains, connecting us to our realms. Enough so that, without us, the thread is snapped, and the world shudders, rocks, and men and women tumble off into oblivion. Without Mars, the ranks of soldiers become marauding bands, bloodlust unchecked. Without Hades, the lust for wealth and the lure of death become so powerful that those seeking riches fling themselves from buildings when they lose their money. Whoever is killing us has no care for what our deaths do to the world. Who will they come for next? My twin? Dash? Maybe even you, Smith.”

  He gave a small snort of disgust. “I would not fight them if they came for me. No one missed me when I fell off the world the first time. They won’t miss me if it happens again.”

  “I’ll miss you.” She grabbed his arms and spun him to face her. “How about that? You work magic with your hands—you, who have no magic left. Don’t you realize what a gift that is to mankind? You can teach them to create with purpose, to find new answers to old problems, to bring beauty to the world, despite the beauty that has so long been denied you.” She hadn’t known the words were true until she said them.

  He teetered a little in her grip, and only her magnified strength kept him upright without the help of his crutches. He grasped her forearms to hold himself steady. He was an inch shorter than she, but only because of his hunched back and bent legs. If not for his fall, she realized suddenly, he might have been glorious. Millennia of fire and soot had lined his face; millennia of rejection had coarsened his features. She wondered if he’d grown the beard to hide himself from the world. It did a fine job of it, disguising his expressions, creating the appearance of homeliness. But his eyes shone bright beneath his bushy graying brows, and as his lips parted, she discovered a surprising softness to his mouth.

  He leaned forward, and she wondered, half stunned, if he meant to kiss her.

  “Selene?” She spun toward the voice just in time to catch the look of concern on Theo’s face before a careful mask of indifference descended across his features. “They took Martin away. And the cops are doing another search of the whole top of the building. I figured you didn’t want them to find you guys up here.”

  Flint, leaning once more on the parapet for support, reached for his crutches without acknowledging Theo’s presence. Selene was afraid to catch his eye, unsure of what she might see there. “Come,” she said to him as she headed toward the stairs. “Your brother’s killers are still out there.” He didn’t follow her.

  As hard as it was to believe, vengeance did not move this man. But now she knew what would.

  “I need you at my side, Smith. Don’t ask me to do this alone.”

  She continued down the stairs without a backward glance. A heartbeat later, the tap of crutches echoed her steps.

  Chapter 26

  GOD OF THE ZODIAC

  Selene caught up with Theo as he got into the elevator, then held the door until Flint could limp in beside them. What followed was easily the most uncomfortable ride of her life. They stood in complete silence, eyes averted. She’d asked Theo to wait for her, and yet he found her in another man’s arms. Nothing had happened, but he must’ve seen the tension between them. Had it not taken less than a minute to travel sixty-eight floors, she might’ve tried to justify herself—but even if she’d been willing to stoop to such measures, she’d never found difficult words with ease. Still, Theo’s expression discomfited her: She wasn’t used to seeing him keep his emotions bottled up, pretending he didn’t have a million questions.

  They emerged onto Fiftieth Street and came to an awkward halt on the sidewalk amid the passing crowds of morning commuters. Flint stared at the ground. Theo looked east, then west, with studied casualness, as if trying to decide whether a bus or a subway would be his fastest way to wherever he was headed. Does he come with me? Selene wondered suddenly. Or should I urge him to go back to Ruth’s, where he’ll likely be both safe
r and happier?

  Then Theo’s face froze. “Selene,” he said very low. “Don’t look, but that man is—”

  Ignoring his warning, she spun around. A man dressed in a bulky black overcoat stood under an awning halfway down the block. While the other pedestrians rushed from subway to office building, eager to get out of the cold, this man just stared at them. When he caught her eye, he turned quickly aside. But not before she recognized the widow’s peak above his high forehead—this was the hawk-faced man from Governors Island. Without another word, she started running toward him, pushing aside the commuters in her path.

  She wondered belatedly if he’d draw a gun on her. Or worse, use his poppy crown to send her reeling into her own memories.

  She dared not pull out her bow, not with the street full of pedestrians, but she reached into her pack and broke the head off a wooden arrow, secreting it in her palm. She knew Theo would advise caution, but there was a time to steal up on your prey and catch it unawares, and a time to run it down relentlessly until it fell before you.

  The hawk-faced man immediately bolted toward the towering Christmas tree in the center of the plaza. He still hadn’t produced a weapon—no way was he hiding Mars’s spear beneath his coat, and Hades’ helm would be equally hard to conceal. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Still, she dared not cry out for help—she didn’t want to alert the milling cops in the plaza.

  Her prey had his own ideas about drawing attention to himself. He careened down the stairs to the Rockefeller Center skating rink—empty and bloody after the night’s brawl—and jumped the glass barrier wall. He stumbled on the ice, sliding headfirst toward the exit. By then, Selene had vaulted onto the rink herself. She slipped and slid like a rookie on roller skates, all her vaunted grace deserting her as she crashed to her knees on the ice.

  By now, the skate rental attendant was speaking into his walkie-talkie, no doubt summoning security guards to deal with the sudden intruders.

  Selene resorted to crawling toward the fallen man. As he struggled to stand, she caught a glimpse of the tattoo on the back of his neck: a circle with a dot inside. She pushed herself forward with a grunt of effort and pinned him down before he could move any farther. She twisted his head so his cheek rested against a patch of bloodstained ice.

  “Do you see what you did?” she hissed in his ear as she pressed the point of her arrowhead against the small of his back. “This is your fault. Now stand up before I slice you open.” She dragged him to his feet even as the rink attendant raced toward them, his face red with indignant rage.

  Suddenly Theo was beside her, sliding in an out-of-control circle before coming to a wobbly halt. Before the attendant could say a word, Theo let out a cheerful yelp. “Wow, Uncle Bob, a little overexcited about skating, huh?” he exclaimed to the hawk-faced man. Selene jabbed the arrow point a little harder, warning her captive not to respond.

  Theo spoke to the attendant. “Sorry, man, he’s got early onset Alzheimer’s, you know, and he got it in his head that he was a twelve-year-old on his first trip to the city. We’ll get off the ice and out of your way, okay?”

  He turned to Selene and her captive. The hawk-faced man glowered back. “Come on, Uncle Bob, let’s go get you some eggnog!” He waved cheerfully for them to follow and stumbled over to the railing, pulling himself hand over hand toward the exit. He looked back for a moment, as if remembering something surprising, and Selene followed his gaze to the golden Prometheus statue towering over the rink.

  Selene dragged her captive along, a forced smile plastered across her face for the benefit of the woman behind the skate rental counter, who stared after them suspiciously. She felt someone else’s eyes on her and glanced upward; Flint stood at the railing on the plaza level above them, clearly about to launch himself onto the ice, crutches be damned. Stay there, she mouthed at him. Getting off the ice without winding up in custody would be hard enough without her stepbrother sliding around beside them.

  They made it through the locker area. Theo marched ahead into Rockefeller Center’s lower concourse, threading their way through the commuters rushing to and from the attached subway station. He paused before an “Employees Only” door and raised an eyebrow at Selene. She kept one arm on the captive’s elbow and the other on her arrowhead.

  “Front pocket,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward her backpack.

  Theo reached in for her lock picks, then took hold of the captive so she could open the door. The room before them was a janitorial area, full of mops, buckets, and row upon row of brass polish. As soon as the door closed behind them, she pulled a length of wire from her pack and bound the man’s wrists.

  Then Selene slapped him hard across the face. “Who are you? Who sent you? What are you doing to us?” Even as the skin of his cheek burned red, he didn’t speak.

  “Wait, Selene,” Theo was saying, but she didn’t listen. This man was responsible for the capture of Mars, for the tsunami and the riots that had killed innocent mortals, for the fear that stalked her twin. He would speak, or he would suffer for it.

  “Answer me.” She twisted the man’s arms, feeling the give in his shoulder socket. He winced, even let out a sharp yelp, but said nothing. “Why are you chasing us? Are you the Pater? Talk!”

  Finally, a tiny smile pulled at his lips. “I speak to the Pater, for the Pater, but never of the Pater.”

  “Selene!” Theo shouted again, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her from ripping the captive apart. “Stop and listen!”

  Her head snapped toward him. “Listen to what? He’s not telling me anything!”

  “Listen to me,” he replied, exasperated.

  “There’s no time. This man knows everything. Look at the tattoo.” She pulled down the man’s collar to reveal a black circle surrounding a dot.

  “That’s the astronomical symbol for the sun,” Theo said, his excitement growing.

  “Exactly. The guy in the winged cap had a tattoo of the Mercury symbol between his collarbones. I killed a man on Governors Island with Mars and Venus symbols on his wrists. So if we can just get this guy to talk—”

  “You asked me to be patient,” Theo interrupted. “Now return the favor. I’m almost there, I can feel it.”

  She took a deep breath, as if controlling her rage took a conscious act of will. The captive’s eyes moved from Selene to Theo. He looked unconcerned by his predicament. He’d made no move to cry out for help. He clearly wanted to keep the police away as much as Selene did.

  Theo pressed on. “I’ve been trying to figure out what a bull, a snake, a scorpion, a feast, and two torches have to do with each other. And why a cult would pick Rockefeller Center, of all places, as a murder site. Then, on the rink, I noticed the gold oval suspended beneath the Prometheus statue—it’s engraved with symbols of the zodiac.”

  “So …” Selene scowled impatiently.

  “Ruth and I have a theory that the objects at the crime scene are all astronomical references. And now we know all the cult members have planetary tattoos. There’s a connection here.” He banged a fist lightly against his forehead to shake his thoughts loose. “The sheepskin upstairs. The ram’s horns. The Charging Bull covered in blood.” He felt the pieces slot into place. “When I spoke to Minh Loi at the planetarium, she said the first murder was a reference to the Age of Taurus six thousand years ago. But if these rituals are all about sacrifice, then Hades’ death may represent killing the bull. So what if it refers to the end of the Age of Taurus instead?” He couldn’t restrain the grin that pulled at his lips as the solution became clear. “That would place the scene around 2000 BC, the start of the Age of Aries the Ram. Last night they kill Mars and dress him in ram’s horns—aka the Greek god Ares becomes the constellation Aries. Boom. End of another age, into the next: the Age of Pisces in the first century AD. Smack-dab in the middle of the Roman era.” He gave a triumphant cheer. “That’s why I couldn’t tie the killings to any Olympian cult. At that point, the Romans were alrea
dy turning to new religions, Eastern cults, even Christianity.”

  Selene looked thoughtful. “My father mentioned the Eastern gods at the last Great Gathering. Serapis, the Magna Mater, Mithras—”

  “Mithras!” Theo had visited the remains of some Mithraic temples years before on a trip to Rome. Mithraism was a short-lived Mystery Cult religion, its secret practices known only to initiates. With no written sources to consult, modern scholars knew only what could be gleaned from analyzing temple ruins. But the one thing Theo remembered was that their sanctuaries always contained the same image: a bull sacrifice. “Yes, Selene! Mithras might work!”

  At the mention of the god’s name, the captive’s eyes widened.

  “Is Theo right?” Selene demanded of him. “If you’re not the Pater, then is Mithras?”

  “The Pater Patrum is a man like any man,” he recited, his voice even.

  Selene gave him a rough shake. “But are you worshiping Mithras?”

  “We worship the true God,” he said, maintaining the same unflinching calm. “And he will reign supreme once more—when Pretenders like you are wiped from the earth. He will come to you with his armies, and you will fall beneath his might.”

  “Yeah? Just try me, asshole.” Selene punched him in the temple. He collapsed in her arms, unconscious.

  “Great!” Theo chided her.

  “I didn’t mean to knock him out!” she shouted back. “I’ll just wake him back up—”

  “Wait. Let me think for a second.” Theo tried to dredge up his foggy memories.

  “Come on, Schultz,” she said. “This is your job. You’re telling me you’ve never studied this Mithras cult?”

  “You’re the one who was alive back then,” Theo retorted. “How come you don’t know anything about it?”

  “I was a little too busy presiding over millions of my own worshipers to worry about a new god who had nothing to do with me.”