Dominion

by Bentley Little

  suppose we should be thankful that the first god to come back is a god of flesh. It increases our odds greatly. Dionysus is also a cyclical god. Like the other agricultural gods which sprang up in his wake, his life parallels the cycle of nature, in his case, the grape, the vine. He lives and blooms, withers and dies, is reborn again next season.”

  “Then he should be dying pretty soon,” Kevin said. “The season’s over for this year, I think.” He glanced toward Penelope for confirmation, but she would not look at him.

  “Perhaps not.” Holbrook walked to the other side of the basement and from between two piles of books produced a Mcdonald’s cup in which a twig was half immersed in water. He brought the cup over, pointed at a sprout of green on the side of the otherwise brown twig. “Look at that,” he said. “What do you see?”

  Kevin shrugged. “A bud.”

  “Yes. A grape vine. Blooming. In the late fall. Do you know what that means?”

  Kevin shook his head.

  “The cycles have changed, to coincide with Dionysus’ rebirth.” He put the cup down on the desk. “I don’t know how far this phenomenon extends, whether it’s only here in the valley, whether it’s everywhere, but the vine is supposed to be dying now, to be reborn in spring.” He stopped, staring into space for a moment, then began writing in his notebook again. “I never thought of that before. Dionysus and Siva.”

  “What?”

  “Siva, or Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction and regeneration. Siva has many parallels with Dionysus. Maybe they’re the same god, different name.”

  “Who gives a shit?” Kevin said. “Jesus. We came to you for some help.”

  Penelope cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice was quieter than it had been before. “How will he die?” she asked.

  Holbrook looked at her. “He’ll be torn apart.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Maybe we can speed up the season somehow,” Kevin suggested. “Once he’s dead, maybe the rest of them‘11—”

  “What are you talking about?” Penelope demanded. “That’s Dion! Your friend!”

  “It’s not Dion,” Kevin said. “Dion’s dead.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s in there. Trying to get out.”

  Kevin shook his head, resigned. “It doesn’t really matter anyway, does it? Even if we kill him, he’ll only be reborn again next season.”

  “Then he’ll be dead. Dionysus might be reborn, but Dion won’t. If we kill him now, we’ll be killing Dion.”

  Holbrook closed his notebook. “You’re right. You’re both right. It’s possible that Dionysus can’t be permanently killed. But the form he has taken can be. And if he was driven into dormancy for thousands of years, he can be driven so again.”

  “How?” Kevin asked.

  “I don’t know yet. But for all these centuries Dionysusl has been like a seed waiting for the right soil. And that! soil was Dion. If we can destroy this incarnation, it mig be centuries before another compatible host can be foundi again.”

  Kevin took a deep breath. He realized that his hands were shaking, and he slipped them into the front pockets of his jeans to steady them.

  “What about God? Our God? What’s He doing? Why doesn’t He do something about this? Have we been worshiping the wrong god all this time? Was He something we just made up?”

  Mr. Holbrook shook his head. “God’s real. At least, / think He’s real.

  But I also think that we can’t and shouldn’t count on Him for help. He doesn’t intervene in wars, He doesn’t stop natural disasters, He doesn’t halt the spread of disease. These are all problems we must deal with ourselves. And I think this is the same way. You know, we refer to Dionysus and the other Old World dieties as ‘gods,’ and perhaps to us they are. But I don’t think they’re gods in the true sense of the word.

  I don’t think they’re omnipotent. The myths, in fact, tell us that they’re not. I think they’re beings or creatures with powers greater than our own, but I do not think that their power can be measured against that of a true god, against … well, God.”

  “So they’re, like, demons. Monsters.”

  “Yes.”

  For the first time since entering the basement, they were all silent.

  Kevin watched Holbrook as he put his notebook back on the desk. Penelope was right, he thought. There was something creepy about Holbrook, something secretive and unsettling. And though he didn’t doubt that the teacher was on their side in all of this, that he was one of them and not one of them, he didn’t feel comfortable being down here alone with the man. He wished there was another adult around. Or at least another male. Penelope was fine, but, sexist as it was, he’d feel a hell of a lot better if there was another guy here with them.

  She’d probably kick him in the nuts if she knew he thought that.

  He smiled to himself, then glanced over at Penelope. She did not smile back at him, but she did not turn away this time, and the look that passed between them told him that she was not angry with him, that everything was okay.

  Once again he found himself glancing around the basement. His gaze alighted on a large urn, a carved marble vessel on which nymphs and satyrs frolicked between Doric columns. He turned toward Holbrook, about to ask about the photos, the artifacts, the shrine, this whole strange Grecophile basement, but Penelope beat him to it.

  “So what,” she asked, gesturing around the room, “is all this?”

  Holbrook looked up. “All what?”

  “All this … Greek mythological stuff.”

  Mr. Holbrook smiled proudly. “I knew this day was coming. I was preparing.”

  Kevin snorted. “Boy, you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?”

  Penelope ignored him, faced the teacher. “You knew this was coming? What made you think so?”

  “Dion’s last name. Semele. That’s why I asked you about your name and your mothers and your wine. Semele was a Theban princess, the daughter of Cadmus, who was consumed by fire when she beheld Zeus in all his glory. Dionysus is the son of Zeus and Semele.”

  Penelope stared at him incredulously. “And that was what made you think this might happen? Dion’s last name?”

  “Your last name. ‘Daneam.’ It’s ‘maenad’ spelled backward.”

  Penelope was silent. She obviously had not noticed that.

  “So?” Kevin said.

  “This didn’t come out of nowhere. They’ve been preparing for this for centuries.” He paused. “As have we.”

  Kevin’s uneasiness increased, and he moved next to Penelope. “We?”

  The teacher stood straighten “The Ovidians.” He looked at them proudly.

  “Mankind’s protectors against the gods.”

  Kevin looked at Penelope, but her eyes remained fixe on Holbrook.

  “Our order was originally formed to prevent gods meddling in the affairs of men. In ancient Greece, during the time of the gods, they were always raping our woe playing with us, using us to combat the boredom of imf mortality. We attempted to put a stop to that.”

  “Godbusters,” Kevin said.

  “If you like.”

  “Ovidians,” Penelope said. “After Ovid?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought he was the one who wrote down the myths -j and, you know, saved them for posterity.”

  “He was a Latin chronicler of the gods, but he thought ^ it was all nonsense. We’d been around a few hundred* years by that time, but we didn’t really have a name for j ourselves. It was Ovid’s disparagement of the gods, his insistence that these were fictional tales, not factual recountings of actual events, that further weakened people’s already waning belief. We named ourselves after] him. He wasn’t one of us, but he furthered our cause.”

  Kevin looked at the teacher. “You guys wanted to get I rid of all of the gods? There weren’t any of them you liked?” ;

  Holbrook leaned forward. “They’re evil. All of them.”: He gestured around the basement, at the pictures on the walls. “P
eople think that the ancients lived an idyllic life in a golden age, that they were enlightened, intelligent men who lived happily amidst their temples and oracles. But do you know what horrors the gods perpetrated on men? We were slaves. They were masters. And they enjoyed that They thrived on it Our order grew out of the resistance to them.”

  “So you’re the ones who killed them off?”

  Holbrook shook his head. “I wish I could say we were, but no. We tried to foster disbelief, and it was disbelief that eventually weakened them to the point that they were forced to go into hiding and protect themselves before they faded away entirely. Ovid was a big help with that. But no, it was probably the emergence of Christianity, more than anything else, that caused people to stop believing in the old gods.”

  “But your group kept on?” Penelope said.

  “We knew they’d be back. We didn’t know how, didn’t know where, didn’t know when, but as long as the maenads and the other believers survived, we knew the gods weren’t dead.”

  “So was, like, your dad an Ovidian?” Kevin asked. “And his dad? All the way back?”

  “No. I mean, yes, my dad was, but his dad wasn’t. Being an Ovidian is not a hereditary thing. You’re not born into it. Usually we recruit.”

  Holbrook sat down on the swivel chair in front of his computer terminal.

  “We keep in touch through an online network.” He reached around to the back of the machine, turned it on.

  “But the phone lines are down …”

  “Yes. We can’t communicate now. But I’m sure they know what’s happening.

  Right now I’m trying to access the Ovidian database. I knew this would happen, so last week I down loaded everything I thought I’d need.”

  Holbrook’s smug, I-knew-this-was-going-to-happen attitude was really starting to irritate the shit out of him, and Kevin nudged Penelope. She did not turn to look at him, but nodded as though she understood why he had elbowed her.

  “The other gods,” Holbrook said to Penelope. “You did not say how the other gods will be revived. Or how long it would take.”

  Penelope cleared her throat. “My mothers said that the other gods …”

  She trailed off, redness rushing to her face. “They said the other gods are in Dion too. And that if I had sex with him, I could give birth to them.”

  “Dionysus is supposed to father the others?” Holbrook smiled. “We may have gotten a break here.”

  “Why?” Kevin asked.

  “He was always something of an outcast on Olympus. The other gods loved order and symmetry. Dionysus loved chaos. He might not be so willing to bring the others back.” He typed something on his keyboard. “Dion’s mother is a maenad too, right?”

  Penelope nodded.

  “Same parents as your mothers?”

  “Same father. Different mothers.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Father. That’s new. yob wouldn’t happen to know this name, would you?”

  “My mother told me, but I … I can’t remember.”

  “Think.”

  “She said …” Penelope thought for a moment. “Harl ris,” she said finally. “Harris. Son of Elsmere. Whateve that means.”

  “Harris,” Holbrook repeated, typing. “Elsmere.” He| pushed a series of keys, then leaned back to wait. Therel was a moment of clicking and humming before a fullf page of text appeared on the screen. “Harris Naxos,” read, scanning the display. “He was found murdered inl his town house in New York, torn apart, along with the| bodies of four women who’d been drowned in his base-f ment. The women had been chained up and had all recently given birth, although none of the infants well&ij found. Harris’ mother, Elsmere, was a known maenad^f Emigrated from Greece. We knew about her, apparently^ but since she’d given birth to a son, not a daughter, wej concentrated our efforts at that time on keeping track of the maenad Ariadne and her children in Athens.*!

  Holbrook looked up from the screen. “If we’d known alf| this then, we could have killed Harris. And the babiesf too.”

  Kevin was chilled. He glanced at Penelope. Her facef was pale. “You would have killed the babies?”

  “Maenads, as we have always advocated, need to be! eradicated. Only then will the threat of the gods’ return bej ended. We haven’t always been able to manage it, ofj course, but when we can …” His attention returned to the; screen. “We got Ariadne. And her children when they grew up.”

  “What about me?” Penelope demanded angrily. “Do Ij need to be ‘eradicated’ too?” She grabbed the back of his| chair, swung it around until he was facing her.

  He shook his head. “Of course not. You’re more us! than them. And as long as you don’t procreate—”

  She backed away from him.

  “No, no. I’m not saying that we would automatically have to kill your child—”

  “Shut up,” Kevin told him. “Just shut your fucking mouth.” He put an arm around Penelope, drew her close to him. Her body was stiff, her muscles tense, but she allowed herself to be maneuvered.

  They were silent for a while, Holbrook reading the information on his computer screen, Kevin holding Penelope.

  “So what about your buddies?” Kevin asked. “Are they flying in to help us?”

  “No.”

  “No? I thought you said—”

  “They don’t know anything’s wrong. I didn’t have time to warn them before communications were cut off. They may figure it out on their own, but it might take a while.” He paused. “It might be too late then.”

  “Are there any Ovidians in Napa?” Kevin asked. “You guys are spread out all over the world, but is there anybody here in the valley besides you?”

  “Of course. This is one of the locations we’ve been monitoring.”

  “Then what are. we doing here? Get off your lazy ass and find them.”

  “They’re dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We were supposed to meet here if anything happened. It’s been two days.

  No one’s showed.”

  “They might’ve—”

  “They’re dead.”

  The flat certainty of the statement cut off Kevin in mid sentence, hanging heavily in the air between them.

  “So what’s your plan?” Kevin asked finally. “What are we going to do now? How are we going to get out of this?”

  “We’ll have to think of something.”

  “You’ll have to think of something?” Penelope said, her voice rising.

  Kevin glared at him. “You mean to tell me that your little group’s been around for centuries and your sole purpose is to put a stop to this—and you never came up with a plan?”

  “We have ideas—”

  “Ideas? Shit! You should have plan A, B, C, D, all the way to fucking Z!

  You’ve certainly had enough time to think about it. Did you think that just knowing it was going to happen was enough? You’d just wing it from there?”

  Holbrook was not on the defensive. “Actually, we had planned to prevent the resurrection from occurring.”

  “Well, you totally failed at that. Did you think that asking Penelope for a bottle of wine was an attempt to stop it?”

  “You’re right. I should’ve killed her mothers years ago, when I first found out.”

  Penelope sucked in her breath.

  “I should have killed Dion the first day of class.”

  Penelope whirled around, strode out of the basement, stomped up the stairs. Kevin hurried after her, only a second or two behind.

  Downstairs, at his desk, Holbrook laughed.

  The two of diem stopped in the living room, unsure of where to go or what to do.

  “I always knew Holbrook was an asshole,” Kevin said. “But I never knew he was so …”

  “Weird?” Penelope said.

  “Crazy.”

  She nodded. “You don’t think about what teachers are like in their real lives, what they do at home, on the weekends, with their families.”

&nb
sp; Kevin gestured back toward the basement. “Now we know.”

  Penelope shivered. “I think we should leave. I think we’d be better off on our own.”

  Kevin nodded toward the shotgun, still leaning against the wall next to the door. “He’s better armed than we are.”

  “That won’t mean shit.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He knows more than we do,” Kevin said. “Maybe he can figure something out.”

  Penelope snorted. “Yeah.”

  “The basement’s a good hiding place.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand …”

  “What don’t I understand?” Kevin said.

  She sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think we should stay here. At least for now. Until we figure out a plan. It’s better than being out there on the streets.”

  Penelope sat down heavily on the couch. “Whatever,” she said.

  The earth rumbled beneath their feet, a low, sustained vibration that was more than a sonic boom but less than an earthquake. Downstairs, Holbrook cried out as something crashed.

  “What was that?” Kevin asked, frightened.

  “Power.” Penelope’s mouth was set in a thin, grim line. “The power of the gods.”

  He dreamed of Penelope.

  They were in school, the two of them, in a classroom, though the teacher and the other students were vague, misty figures and he could not see them. He saw only Penelope. She was talking to him about a movie she’d seen on television the night before, and he was listening happily, glad merely to be there with her, to be able to enjoy these simple everyday pleasures with her.

  Dionysus awoke, tears streaming down his face.

  What was wrong with him?

  Hangover.

  That had to be it, although he had never gotten hangovers in the old days. That physiological inconvenience had been reserved for humans. He had been immune.

  Not anymore, apparently.

  He wiped his eyes. One of his maenads one of Penelope’s mothers —was sleeping between his legs, her hands wrapped around his organ. He thought of pissing on her, but he knew that she’d like that, so he pulled up his leg and kicked her hard in the midsection. She went flying across the grass, landing on an old couple entwined with a goat. He was gratified to hear screams, to hear the crack of old bones.