Winter of the Gods

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  His voice grew fainter as he floated northward toward the dock. “Yes, sir, the Nymphus Primus and the Miles Primus went to the boat. We’ll remain in place.”

  Selene grimaced. For now, only the Miles Secundus with the gun guarded the door, but the flying Corvus would return any second.

  “If you start shooting,” Theo said in her ear, “they’ll know we’re here and tell the others inside. They’ll lock the doors. And I for one don’t feel like scaling the exterior of the Statue of Liberty.”

  “Better to keep them guessing,” Selene agreed.

  Koko the cockapoo retrieved a driftwood branch twice his size and dropped it at her feet, waiting for her to throw it. He backed up a step and stared at her, tail wagging furiously. She looked at the other dogs. The German shepherd sat on her haunches, looking bored. Leila the feist stood frozen, her ears perked and her sharp nose pointed toward the guards. The three other shelter dogs had taken her lead and looked ready to launch themselves forward. Hippo, on the other hand, was busy sniffing the desiccated carcass of a sea bird.

  Selene stood, picked up the branch, and held it high. The cockapoo reared on his hind legs, nearly falling backward in his effort to reach the prize. “Come, my kastorides, my hounds,” she whispered to her pack. She breathed deeply, separating their scent from the salt air. They were excited, curious, fierce. She’d chosen wisely. But these dogs were not wolves; their parents had never taught them to bring down prey as a pack. And only the feist displayed any sign of being bred to hunt. But with the Lady of Hounds to lead them, anything was possible. She looked into the eyes of each of them in turn, reestablishing dominance. She let her body language, her scent, the low growl in her throat convey her desires. Hippo instantly turned away from her dead bird and stood at attention before her mistress. Men threaten the pack, Selene conveyed. Men would take your food and hurt your Alpha. Bring them down, kastorides. Bring them down.

  She knelt beside Hippo, who looked up trustingly into her eyes. “You be careful, my friend,” she murmured to her dog. “Now go!” She slapped Hippo on the rump; the dog took a flying leap over the wall and started running toward the Secundus, a hundred pounds of lumbering, brindled fury, tail straight and teeth bared.

  The syndexios, as she knew he would, cursed in disbelief and pulled his gun. Selene hurled the stick at his right hand, knocking the gun loose. The cockapoo bounced over the wall like a jumping jack and dashed forward. The little dog ignored the stick and grabbed the fallen gun instead. Its barrel dragged along the ground as he trotted happily back toward the seawall.

  Hippo crashed into the bewildered guard with her jaws wide. She grabbed hold of his leg while he screamed and kicked at her ribs. Then the other dogs, Leila in the lead, rushed over the seawall like a tidal wave.

  The flying Corvus returned, flapping unsteadily as he struggled to free the caduceus from his belt. “We’re under attack!” he reported into his headset. “Feral dogs!”

  The feist, the pit bull, and the others joined Hippo, ripping at the fallen guard’s limbs and biting his nose to stifle his screams. The Corvus swung his staff. The snakes flew free, transformed from gilded metal to living monsters. Lazily, the German shepherd caught one of the serpents in her jaws, and the cockapoo—who’d already dropped the gun at Selene’s feet and returned to the fray—bounded three feet into the air to snatch the other. The shepherd bit her serpent in half, then lay down with a huff, placed the head between her paws, and started gnawing at its flesh. The other snake thrashed in Koko’s small jaws, its tail whipping around his neck and back, but the dog just shook his head happily, clearly enjoying the game.

  The Corvus cursed and stumbled to the ground. Snakeless staff raised, he lunged toward the dogs attacking his comrade—but not before Hippo ripped the Miles Secundus’s trachea from his throat. She turned to face the Corvus with blood dripping down her jaws.

  Theo swore softly; Selene, her senses heightened by her connection to the dogs, could smell his fear. Whether he was scared of Hippo or for her, she couldn’t tell. She felt no such emotion—she watched her pack like a proud mother, never doubting they would fulfill her commands.

  Koko dropped his snake and leapt into the air, grabbing the caduceus in his jaws. The Corvus waved the staff wildly, and the dog oscillated like a child on a tire swing as he stubbornly refused to let go. Finally, with a shouted grunt, the Corvus managed to dislodge his attacker. His small black body flew through the air, landing with a sickening thud in the crater of broken bricks.

  All thoughts of strategy disappeared. Selene rushed forward, gun raised, even as the other four dogs leapt on the Corvus. Before she could reach the man, he’d fallen to the ground beneath the canine onslaught, his blood flying.

  He was dead by the time she got there. So was Koko. His snaggletooth still poked defiantly from his lower jaw.

  Theo grabbed her arm and dragged her from the dog’s small corpse. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  He smashed the last snake’s skull with the heel of his shoe, then propelled her toward the pedestal’s entrance. She could hear the Nymphus and the other Miles running toward them from the dock.

  Hippo trotted over to join them, but Selene stopped her with a hand gesture. “You’ve done enough,” she said quickly. “You can’t help once we’re on the stairs. Go back to the boat.” The dog whimpered. “Go!”

  Hippo finally obeyed, barking at the others and nipping at their heels until they followed.

  Hansen had scaled the seawall without a word. Now she joined Selene, her face a stony mask. She barely looked at the mauled bodies of her comrades.

  Theo held up his fist and ticked off one finger at a time. “One dude dead in the boat. Two killed by the dogs. Two more on our tail.”

  Selene nodded. With the Leo Secundus whom Philippe had killed in the planetarium, and the two she’d killed at Governors Island, that meant they faced four syndexioi ahead … and an unknown number of divine weapons.

  As they neared the pedestal, she had to crane her neck to see the statue. She’d never been this close to her before—like most New Yorkers, she’d never bothered to visit. In the glare of the floodlights, she could see the seams in the massive sheets of oxidized copper. A rust stain beneath her elbow. A smattering of bird droppings across the back of her robe. The sculptor based his New Colossus on the Roman goddess Libertas, but she’s no more divine up close than any other Athanatos, Selene thought as cold water squelched in her boots.

  Over the statue’s head, the moon inched ever closer to midnight.

  Theo followed her stare. “They’ll be in the crown,” he said. “In honor of the seven-rayed Sun.” He pointed to a sign above the pedestal’s entrance: “354 Steps to the Top.”

  “So far, the magic sword has failed to keep my feet dry,” he continued. “Something tells me it’s not going to miraculously improve my aerobic capacity either. How about you start up, and I can deal with the guys coming from the dock. I’ll keep the captain with me—that should slow them down.”

  She paused, torn. She didn’t want to leave Theo to face two syndexioi by himself, but she couldn’t afford to delay.

  He drew Orion’s sword from his belt. The moonlight glinted off his glasses, hiding his green eyes behind circles of brilliant white. He looked every inch a hero. “I’ve got this.”

  She placed the Secundus’s gun in Theo’s belt. “Might come in handy,” she said. “But try not to shoot yourself by accident.” She still had Gerry’s Glock for herself.

  He grabbed her and kissed her hard. “Now go. I’ll join as soon as I can.”

  Once Selene had entered the pedestal, Theo turned back to the plaza. Hansen, still bound and gagged, stood beside him looking out toward the dock. Lampposts lined the way, and Theo could just make out two figures rushing toward them in the distance.

  He took the captain by the elbow and raised the tip of his sword toward her throat—not too close, since he didn’t yet trust himself not to accidentally decapitate her.


  “Stop where you are!” he called to the approaching syndexioi. “Or I’ll kill the Hyaena!”

  One man carried Mars’s gleaming spear. The Miles Primus. He’d been the lunkish guard outside his cell in the mithraeum. The other man had Venus’s mirror hanging from a strap across his chest and a shotgun in his hands. He’s the Nymphus who met me at the vault door, Theo decided. Without his veil, he was just a forty-ish man with a slight paunch. Both syndexioi slowed to a walk, but didn’t stop their approach.

  “I swear it!” Theo said. “One more step and she’s dead. If you try to warn the others inside, then she’s dead. In fact, unless you guys sit down right now, take off your headsets, hand over your stolen weapons, and start acting like rational men instead of fanatics, she’s dead.”

  At that, they halted. Thank God, Theo thought. I’d never be able to slit Hansen’s throat in cold blood.

  “Now the weapons,” he called toward them. “Throw them down.”

  The Miles raised his spear, holding it like a javelin. “You sure you want me to throw it?”

  “Not like—” Theo began, panicked.

  “You think we care what you do to that traitor?” the Miles interrupted. “She helped you escape, remember? She’s as good as dead to us already.” He started running toward them, spear outstretched and aimed at the captain.

  Theo instinctively thrust Hansen behind him and raised his sword to parry the blow. She grunted in surprise. As the Miles hurtled close, she twisted free of Theo’s grasp with surprising strength, then ducked beneath the spear and rammed their attacker’s solar plexus, throwing him over her shoulder with the practiced ease of a trained fighter.

  The Miles rolled, still clutching his spear. Theo started after him, but the Nymphus sent a shotgun round whistling past his ribs, kicking up brick dust as it struck the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hansen running toward the cover of the gift shop, abandoning him to the fray.

  Then he remembered the winged cap.

  Another shotgun slug sailed past as he sprinted toward the glimmer of metal beside the Corvus’s corpse. He grabbed the hat and jammed it on his head with a silent prayer to all the gods that his powers as a Makarites would let him use it. Okay, how do I … he wondered, before the flapping of wings drowned out his own thoughts. All he had to do was wish to fly, and he did. Steering was another matter entirely. He hovered four feet off the ground, bouncing up and down with each stroke of the wings, watching with growing panic as the Nymphus reloaded his shotgun and the Miles stalked toward him with his spear. Dash, he remembered, is lighter than I am. Magic hats, it seemed, still had limitations.

  Realizing he couldn’t fight with his sword from this distance, he slung it through his belt and drew the gun instead. He pulled what he assumed was the safety, pointed the barrel at the Nymphus, and squeezed the trigger. The recoil sent him fluttering backward through the air, his bullet pinging harmlessly off the brick, four feet wide of his target. The Nymphus sent a slug whizzing an inch from Theo’s ear in response.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Theo muttered as the Nymphus pumped the shotgun for another round. He fumbled for the sword in his belt, dropping the gun in the process, and only just raised the blade in time to deflect the round from his face. The sword vibrated with the impact, and he barely managed to hold on to it.

  The Miles put aside his spear to snatch up the fallen handgun, and Theo found himself swinging his blade in a whirring arc, sending bullet after bullet spinning back toward the shooters. It didn’t move of its own accord like some enchanted object, it simply told his muscles what to do: All he had to do was listen. He fell into a sort of trance, all of his attention on the whizzing bullets. He barely noticed when one ricocheted back toward the Nymphus, striking him in the neck.

  The Miles tried for one more shot, and the gun gave an empty click. Theo finally stilled his sword and swooped to the ground, stumbling forward a few steps and nearly falling on his face.

  The Miles dropped the empty gun and raised his spear instead. It was taller than a man, its shaft covered in gold and its foot-long blade of dark iron nearly invisible against the night sky. He thrust it straight at Theo’s stomach, but Orion’s sword easily turned the head aside in a shower of sparks.

  Theo swung for the shaft next, hoping to slice it in two, but the bronze slipped across the gold plating without a nick. Divine weapon versus divine weapon, he thought grimly. This is not going to be easy.

  He instinctively turned sideways to give the Miles a smaller target. Up close, he was struck by the man’s obvious youth. Surely he’d been born into the cult as Hansen had—was it his fault he believed its lies? “You don’t need to do this,” Theo insisted. “I don’t want anyone else to die tonight.” Watching the dogs devour the first two men had turned his stomach. Now he could barely stand to look at the Nymphus felled by his bullet. He would defend himself or those he loved, but he was no killer. Yet it seemed the Miles wouldn’t give him a choice.

  “My death doesn’t matter,” said the soldier calmly. “Tonight, the Last Age begins, and I will be resurrected along with the rest.”

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t feel guilty when I run this sword through you?” Theo asked.

  A feral grin slashed the Miles’s face. He held the front of the spear’s shaft loosely in his left hand and thrust the butt forward with his right. It darted like a snake’s tongue. Theo had to leap back six feet to avoid its reach—a feat impossible without the winged hat.

  The spear came at him again. Its length allowed the Miles to thrust high and low, left and right, without breaking a sweat. Theo parried frantically, quickly tiring. The spear’s reach was simply too long, the Miles’s strikes too swift. His is the weapon of the Lord of War, Theo remembered, while mine was owned by a Hunter. His only chance was to get inside the spear’s reach, where his shorter blade could prove more effective.

  As the Miles drew his spear backward for a stronger thrust, Theo landed a single lucky blow against his torso, but the blade didn’t cut fully through his Kevlar vest. Still, the Miles staggered to the side and lost his breath for a moment. Theo took advantage of his sudden weakness to leap forward and grab the spear’s shaft. He threw his whole weight against it, flinging the spear aside, then brought down his sword in a blinding crescent against the Miles’s neck.

  Inside the statue’s base, Selene broke into a run. Ten flights up at the top of the pedestal, it took all her willpower to continue toward the next staircase rather than duck onto the terrace to check on Theo. She had only minutes before midnight.

  From here, the ascent to the crown was a double-helix staircase with protective glass walls, each pie-slice tread treacherously narrow. Around her hung the thin copper of Libertas herself, blackened with age. A branching framework of beams met a thin steel grid that held the great undulating folds of her robe in place. Selene ran as quietly as possible, but even the Huntress’s silent tread made some noise in the metal echo chamber.

  She sprinted around and around the central support column, growing dizzier by the second. Then she heard a pounding of footsteps above and pressed her face to the glass wall, trying to peer upward. She could see nothing but the bottom of the next curve in the staircase. She had wooden arrows in her quiver—but nothing to shoot them with. That left her Hansen’s gun. During her time on the police force in the 1970s, she’d been the best shot in the city. She hadn’t bothered with firearms since then. But in the life of a goddess, fifty years were nothing. She hadn’t forgotten her skills.

  As the syndexios rounded the bend above her, Selene flattened herself against the central column and fired up into the man’s face. She would’ve hit him with Gerry’s old Smith & Wesson Chief’s Special revolver, but her Glock was a completely different animal. Selene adjusted wrong for the trigger’s heavy pull weight and the bullet flew an inch wide, shattering the glass wall instead of the man’s skull. Suddenly, she was looking down the shaft of a golden arrow.

  Before she could shoot again,
the arrow struck the gun, knocking it from her grip. It flew over the stairs, bounced off the copper walls, then plummeted ten stories, banging like a cymbal as it careered from wall to stairs and back. She stared at the man before her. “I see. You take my bow, and you think you’re a Hunter now?” she snarled.

  “No different from you.” He aimed a second gold arrow, this one at her chest. She remembered him from the planetarium. A Perses who dared claim the moon as his protective planet. He’d shot three of her shafts into Flint’s stomach and one into her own back.

  “You’re just a Pretender,” he sneered. “Any powers you possess are either trickery or devil-spawned. You cannot defeat the true servants of the God.”

  He drew back the bowstring, and Selene quickly raised her hands above her head.

  “I surrender, okay? Take me up to your Pater. I’m sure he’d rather use me in some ceremony than have me die here on the stairs.”

  The Perses didn’t budge. “Sacrifices won’t matter after tonight. He just wants you dead.”

  The instant he released the string, she ducked to the side, pulling two wooden arrows from her quiver as she fell into a crouch. The arrow flew past her ear and clanged against copper. She sprang back to her feet, an arrow in each hand, and leapt toward the Perses. She slammed her knee into his gut, launching him upward. The backs of his thighs hit the low wall of the staircase—the rest of him hung over empty air.

  She thrust her arrows through either side of the Perses’ neck, then stepped back.

  “The difference,” she whispered into his ear as he died, “is that I don’t need a bow to be a Huntress.”

  Eyes bulging in disbelief, he toppled backward into the statue’s hollow core.

  Taking her gold bow and arrows with him.

  Chapter 43

  LIGHTNING BRINGER

  Selene peered over the edge of the staircase. She could just make out the glint of her bow and arrows, over a hundred feet below. Then she heard the chanting begin from somewhere above her.