Winter of the Gods

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  “Your heart has always been true, hasn’t it, Gerry?” she asked quietly.

  The captain’s face remained stone, but tears pooled in her eyes.

  “The Pater sent you visions, too,” Selene continued. “Not memories of your past, but dreams of the future. You saw a man with a cloak of stars and a rayed crown, leading the people into an age of peace.”

  “Mithras,” Theo said from behind her.

  Selene kept her gaze fixed on Gerry and shook her head slowly. “No. Jesus.”

  She heard Theo’s quick intake of breath. “‘The God of Three Aspects,’ that’s what the Pater called him.”

  Selene nodded. Mithras and more than Mithras, Prometheus had said. She hadn’t understood why until this moment.

  “The cult’s not trying to resurrect Mithras,” Theo continued, his voice hushed. “Or Jesus. They’re resurrecting Jesus as Mithras. To them, they’re one and the same. Different aspects of the same god. Like a new trinity.”

  “An old trinity,” Gerry snapped before turning her face aside and blinking away her tears. “Do not ask me to betray the Host. I won’t do it.”

  Selene would not relent. “This Host killed a brother before his sister’s eyes.”

  “We killed Pretenders.”

  “You killed a brother before his sister’s eyes,” she repeated. “You killed my brother, Gerry.”

  The policewoman’s entire body began to tremble with repressed emotion. Look how hard she fights not to weep. Not to scream. We are very alike, this warrior and I.

  Deep within herself, as deep as the old memories of working the city streets with young Gerry at her side, Selene found a sliver of empathy. Despite everything the captain had done, she couldn’t help seeing Gerry as a victim of her own rectitude. If she’d been a little more compromising, a little less committed to saving her city, perhaps she would’ve seen how unforgivable her actions had been. Another way we’re the same, Selene realized. As a goddess, I killed with impunity, always convinced that my brand of justice was the only right one. How many innocents died at my hands because I was protecting the honor of the Olympians? How many have died at the hands of Gerry’s cult because they were doing the same for their god?

  Selene’s smooth fingers wrapped around the woman’s arthritic ones. The lines across the cop’s knuckles told the years like the tally marks of a prisoner in a cell.

  “You wanted to share it with me—this dream of yours—but you kept your secret well,” Selene said, finding a gentleness she thought had burned away with Apollo’s death. “I had a secret of my own … you know that now. You probably knew it from the moment I appeared this fall, pretending to be my own daughter. Is that how the cult found me? Through you? And from me, you found my brother Dash, and from him, the others were easy to trace.”

  Gerry didn’t respond, but her lips tightened in assent.

  “Let there be no more secrets between us, Gerry.” Selene took a long breath then let the truth pour forth—a cleansing stream to sweep away the dam between them. “I came into creation as Artemis. A daughter, a sister, a huntress. A woman. Others might not have seen me that way—I did not dress like a girl, I desired no children, I refused to sew or spin or bow to the pleasure of others. And in all the ages since then, for all the hundred names I’ve borne, I’ve sought to protect my people, my women, from those who would deny them those rights. Rarely have I found a companion in that quest. Once I ran beside nymphs with long black tresses and arrows soaring, and our hounds bayed in concert with our own cries—announcing the approach of justice, trumpeting the joy of the hunt. My nymphs faded away long ago … but you reminded me of them.” She gripped Gerry’s hand tighter. “So brave, so clear, so stubborn. The years have aged you, my friend, but your heart is still strong. Open it to me, as once you wished to. I promise that this time—I’ll listen.”

  Gerry turned her head to Selene and held her gaze for a long moment. Then she slowly withdrew her hand, eased her way onto her elbows, and propped herself against the headboard. She winced as she moved. An old woman, with decades of cigarettes in her ragged voice. “The Holy Order of the Soldiers of Theodosius.”

  “What?”

  “The H.O.S.T. The Host. That’s what we are. But like so many things in our world, the name carries more than one meaning.”

  “The bread of the Eucharist,” Theo interjected quietly. “The body of Christ. And the Heavenly Host, the angelic army. It’s all those things to you.”

  Gerry nodded. “Mithras himself, whom others call Jesus—but who is both in one—visited the Emperor Theodosius and commanded him to protect the secret rituals, the true rituals of the original church, while his soldiers destroyed the remnants of paganism that still fouled the land. Once the Pretenders are wiped from the earth, and only then, can He rise again to walk among us and bring about the End of Days. The Last Age. We’d thought it a futile task—one that had gone unfulfilled for nearly two thousand years—until I learned Prometheus could die. His death foretold that the end of our mission was at hand—you could all be killed. Then, when I found you again this fall, and I told the Pater about the Classicist Cult’s rituals, he realized we could use something similar to bring back the true God. He said that if we combined the ancient rituals of Mithras with the death of the Pretenders, we could complete both our tasks at once.” She looked hopeful as she reached a plaintive hand to her friend. “Please, you of all people know the evils that haunt our world. The poverty, the violence, the chaos. When the Last Age begins, it will all stop. Is that not worth a few deaths, Diana?”

  “I’m not Diana.” Selene backed away. “Don’t call me that. I’m no longer the leader of nymphs who haunted the forest. I’m no longer a Moon Goddess. I’m not even Cynthia Forrester anymore, full of helpless rage. I’m just Selene DiSilva. A woman whose heart has broken once already tonight.” She stood up, staring down at this woman she thought she’d known. This woman she’d called friend. “I did not think you would be the one to break it all over again.”

  “You sure you should leave Hansen untied?” Theo asked as Selene closed the bedroom door behind them. “She wants to kill us all—she made that clear.”

  “No, she doesn’t. She wants her Mithras alive. We’re just collateral damage.”

  “But why trust her not to run?”

  “Because she doesn’t have anywhere to run to. Her Pater knows she took you and Gabriela out of the planetarium. She might’ve been willing to see me die, but she tried to save two innocent mortals—would’ve succeeded, too, if you hadn’t figured out who she was. They won’t forgive her for that.”

  “And you won’t forgive her for saying Apollo’s death was justified.”

  “No, I won’t.” There was little anger in her voice—only sadness. “She’s like me,” Selene went on. “Broken. Twisted. She thinks she’s doing the right thing. And because of that, she won’t tell us anything more—not if we tortured her or begged or threatened.”

  “You’re not broken,” Theo began, although he wondered if the words were true.

  The doorbell rang.

  They both froze. Selene’s right arm twitched as she tried to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there with a hand that didn’t work. Before Theo could look for something to defend them with, Gabriela burst out of the kitchen, Hansen’s gun raised, with Ruth close on her heels.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Gabi demanded, pointing the captain’s Glock variously at Selene, the front door, and the bedroom.

  Selene rounded on her. “Give me that before you get someone killed!”

  “I saved your life with this gun!” Gabi shouted back. “So don’t tell me what I should—”

  “I know how to use it, and I’m the one they’re after so—”

  “You can’t even lift your right arm. So unless ambidexterity is another one of your secrets—”

  “Quiet!” Ruth’s urgent hiss silenced them all. “It’s probably just my super or something. Everyone calm down.” She walked with surprising
poise to the door, gesturing for the others to get out of sight.

  “Wait, Ruth!” Theo whispered. Unlike Gabi, he didn’t have a weapon. And unlike Selene, he couldn’t knock a man unconscious with a single kick. But it was his fault Ruth had gotten herself into this. His fault a homicidal cultist with who-knew-what divine weapon and a seriously confused take on religion might be standing in her hallway. He grabbed a heavy glass vase off an end table and moved to stand just inside the door.

  Ruth gave him a thankful nod and pressed an eye to the peephole. Then she turned to Gabriela, who was unsuccessfully hiding behind a narrow pole lamp, her gun still drawn. “Didn’t you say something about a hot guy with skinny legs and a serious facial hair problem?”

  Chapter 39

  GOD OF FIRE

  Selene rushed forward and opened the door. Flint stood with one hand on a bent aluminum crutch and the other pressed against his stomach. His feet were bare, his leather jacket torn, and his face twisted with agony. But when he saw Selene, he took a breath so deep it sounded like the bellows of a forge—as if it were the first deep breath he’d taken in years—and collapsed forward into her embrace.

  She staggered beneath his weight, struggling to support him with her only good arm. Theo grabbed the Smith from the other side and helped her drag his limp form toward the couch. A stifled gasp from Ruth and a less restrained curse from Gabriela drew Selene’s attention to the blood streaming from beneath Flint’s jacket and leaving a long red trail across the carpet.

  Ruth ran into the bathroom and returned with her box of bandages and antiseptic—already severely depleted from her ministrations to Selene and Theo. Flint’s arms hung limp at his sides, and his jacket fell open. Selene gave a choked cry when she saw the three arrow wounds that had sliced through his thick sweater and T-shirt and into the flesh of his abdomen. They showed no sign of healing.

  The ice around Selene’s heart, which had cracked open with the memories of Gerry’s past, now split apart with the force of a calving glacier. How could she have ever thought she didn’t care about the rest of her kin? I will not let another brother die. I WILL NOT. Flint had said he healed no faster than a mortal. How would he ever recover from three divine arrows? Then again, if he was barely a god anymore, would gold shafts be any worse than wood?

  Ruth dabbed at the slashes with gauze, but the blood soaked each pad immediately. Selene roughly pushed her aside and placed her left hand on the wide plane of muscle above Flint’s heart. When her own death had loomed before her, she’d prayed that her twin would take on her attributes when she died. Perhaps he’d done the same. She could be the Healer.

  She closed her eyes and dove into Flint. She could almost sense something red and glowing like the embers in a forge, fading in and out as if at the brink of extinction. She blew upon them, willing them to burst into flame, willing her own pneuma into Flint just as Prometheus had once breathed life into his creations of clay. But the embers remained faint, and soon she could see nothing but blackness before her.

  “Bring me a candle!” she demanded.

  “What are you going to—” Ruth began.

  “Just do it!”

  Ruth returned shortly with a thick scented pillar and a book of matches.

  Selene fumbled with the matches in her left hand then pushed them toward Theo. “Light it!”

  “This isn’t a good idea,” he warned.

  “I don’t know what else to do.”

  He handed her the lit candle. She moved the flame toward the wound. She knew that a god’s attributes could speed his healing. Hephaestus was the God of Fire. The flames could help him just as the woodland streams helped her.

  “Stop it!” Ruth cried, lunging forward. Theo caught her and held her back.

  Selene moved the candle even closer to the wound. Come on, Hephaestus, she prayed. You must still have some remnant of your power left. As if in answer, the stream of blood slowed to a trickle as his internal injuries began to knit closed. On the edges of the wound, a millimeter of new flesh appeared, then another.

  But then the wound stopped healing. She moved the candle closer, desperate, but the hair on his stomach began to sizzle and glow, and the new skin began to blister. The blood still oozed, letting off a foul burnt odor. Theo grabbed the candle from her hand and blew out the flame.

  “No, no, this can’t happen,” Selene murmured, snatching the gauze from Ruth and trying once more to stanch the wound.

  “I can help,” came a raspy voice behind them. Selene turned to see Gerry standing in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning heavily against the wall.

  “Hey there, Captain,” Gabriela said, awkwardly sticking the Glock into the back of her waistband. “Are we over the nearly killing each other thing?”

  Gerry ignored her and walked unsteadily toward the couch. She stood looking down at Flint, her face expressionless. Does she want him dead too? Selene wondered. That’s her whole purpose, isn’t it? As she pressed her good hand against his wounds, she tried to see him as Gerry did—as something unnatural, less than human, that should be destroyed. But all she saw was a face lined with care and a beard that hid him from the world. With his lips slightly parted and his eyes closed, he looked completely vulnerable for the first time. She’d never understood this man, but she knew she couldn’t bear to lose him.

  “Why would I trust you?” she demanded of Gerry.

  “Because you don’t have a choice. Do you really want to take him to a hospital and explain the arrow wounds?” The captain lowered herself to her knees beside the couch. “Get me a needle. Thread. Alcohol.” Ruth hurried off to get the supplies.

  “You won’t hurt him?” Selene asked after a moment, surprised by the desperation that leaked into her voice.

  Gerry looked at her coldly. “His death tonight would serve no purpose. He will not die at my hand.”

  Selene stood by helplessly as Gerry cleaned and sewed the wound. Ruth smeared antiseptic on the blisters. Gabriela applied bandages to cover it all. Selene knew that Theo stayed at her side, his hand brushing her own in silent comfort, but she could barely feel his touch.

  Hours later, Theo finally succeeded in getting Selene to eat something. Flint remained unconscious on the couch. His bleeding had stopped, and Ruth reported that his pulse had steadied. But he didn’t stir. Geraldine Hansen had gone back to the bedroom and closed the door. Theo couldn’t begin to imagine the thoughts going through the captain’s mind. He could barely understand his own.

  He’d watched Selene tend Flint while trying to ignore a sudden needle of jealousy. The Smith was one of the only family members she had left. Of course she cared for him. Theo had urged her to rescue him, after all. But something in the way she’d pressed her hand against Flint’s heart had reminded Theo of the terrace atop Rockefeller Center. Artemis and Hephaestus above the clouds, gods once more. All night, I’ve been unable to break through her grief. But somehow, Flint did.

  Theo pushed another plate of fried eggs in Selene’s direction. Some of the color had come back to her cheeks, and she looked less haggard. He would’ve liked her to sleep, but he knew it was pointless to ask—not when there was so much to do.

  Three nights had passed between Hades’ death and Mars’s. Another three before the cult had killed Apollo. Hopefully, that meant they had some time to spare before the next sacrifice. Theo mentally ticked off the tasks at hand. First, rescue Dash, Phlippe, and, according to Selene, Prometheus. Next, get past a small army of divinely armed men to kill the Pater. And finally, before it was too late, stop the resurrection of Jesus.

  “No problem,” he muttered aloud.

  “What?” Selene started.

  “Nothing. Just imagining what happens if Jesus really does come back. I have a feeling I’m not making it into heaven when the rapture comes. What do you think—me and the other pagans, turning to cannibalism and polygamy while all the good Christians flit around on angel wings?”

  “It’s not Jesus who’d come back,” she said,
pushing a scrap of egg white across her plate. “It’s Mithras-as-Jesus. Whoever that is. Do you really think he’ll be a Prince of Peace like Gerry believes? The cult that worships him is a bunch of men in an underground temple, drowning innocent bystanders, sacrificing my family, torturing people … does that sound very holy to you? If they manage to resurrect anyone, it will be the god they’ve dreamed up, the god they’ve created. Remember when Orion gave me back all my strength? I turned into a version of myself I barely recognized. Vengeful and all-powerful and devoid of empathy. The same thing could happen to Jesus.”

  Theo hadn’t noticed Hansen standing in the doorway until she spoke. “Is that true?”

  Selene turned around, as if she hadn’t noticed the captain either. “Yes,” she said shortly, before turning back to her food.

  “But the Pater said …”

  Ruth walked into the kitchen and they all fell silent. “He’s awake.”

  Selene rose hurriedly, and Theo followed her into the living room. She knelt beside Flint and took his massive hand in her own. Theo tried to ignore how that made him feel.

  “You need to leave,” Selene said to Gabi and Ruth, no doubt afraid of what Flint might say.

  To Theo’s shock, Ruth simply crossed her arms and said, “No.”

  Before Selene could insist, Flint spoke.

  “Huntress,” he whispered. He dragged her hand to his cheek and held it there for a long moment before he opened his eyes. He looked at her for a single breath before he raised his other hand to her head and pulled her mouth down to his. He kissed her. Fierce and long and desperate.

  Theo felt his hands ball into fists. Gabi snatched his elbow, holding him back.

  Selene broke away. Not quickly, not angrily … but she broke away. Her face burned bright red. For all his earlier remonstrance to stop hitting people, Theo wanted desperately for her to slug Flint in the face. Instead, she just stared at him, dumbstruck, and Flint gazed back, all his surly reticence transformed to silent entreaty.