Gods of Manhattan

by Scott Mebus

  Rory didn’t know what to believe. Could this be true? Cockroaches that waved to you while riding on rats were real? Indian girls with laughing eyes were real? It was all real?

  “Who is this ‘them’ you keep talking about?” Rory asked. “And what kind of world is out there, anyway? What have I been making myself ignore?”

  Bridget almost knocked all the couch pillows to the floor as she raised her arms in excitement.

  “Is it a fairy world? With elves and swords and things?”

  Hex smiled softly. He stood up and looked out the window, watching the empty street below.

  “Not quite.”

  “Then what?”

  He turned back to the two children, eyes dark beneath his heavy brow.

  “Would you like to see?”

  5

  INTO THE PAST

  Hex led them out the front door of his office and up the dark stairwell, which doubled back and forth above them. Bridget was beside herself with excitement. Her brother the superhero! Strange worlds filled with fantastic creatures! She sneaked a look back at Toy, who was silently following them like a Secret Service agent or a pet collie. A paper boy, just like in “Puff, the Magic Dragon”! When he’d come out of nowhere to save Rory from that horrible thing, she had almost died of relief. If Rory had died…she pushed that thought away. Next time she wouldn’t just stand there and watch. Next time, she’d be ready.

  As they rose up the stairs, Rory asked one of his sensible questions. “What are you going to show us, exactly?”

  Hex glanced back over his shoulder, smiling apologetically.

  “Well, I won’t be showing you quite as much, Rory. I like to illustrate my tale with a bit of derring-do, but you’ll be able to see right through that. So you’re going to get more of the radio version, while Bridget gets the movie. But you won’t be left out completely. There are still things to see as well as hear.”

  They continued to climb. Bridget took a look down the stairwell, which dropped away into darkness. “How tall is your building, anyway? We keep going up and up.”

  Hex shot her an enigmatic look.

  “It’s taller than it looks. Even to Rory. Here we are!”

  Hex turned the corner, which opened up onto a landing with a small metal door on the other side. He strode across the floor to put his hand on the knob. Rory lay his hand on Bridget’s shoulder, pulling her behind him.

  “What kind of surprises are out there, Hex?”

  Hex smiled impishly.

  “Come on, Rory. There is no point in living if you’re going to be a big scaredy-cat.”

  And with that, Hex opened the door and stepped out into the sky.

  Rory and Bridget rushed forward, gazing out the doorway onto a frightening scene. The door opened onto nothing, high up in the air. Far beneath them, the city stretched out under the afternoon sky, cars and people flowing through the tiny streets like water through a sand castle built too close to the surf. Above it all, Hex stood in midair, somehow refusing to fall the hundred or so stories to the ground. Peering over the edge, Bridget discovered that the door seemed to be balanced on top of a long needle that in turn poked out of a skyscraper.

  Rory gasped, immediately recognizing the mirrored peak. “We’re on top of the Chrysler Building! What’s going on?”

  Whistling to himself, Hex walked a little ways out and dropped down on the edge of nothing at all, seemingly floating in the middle of the sky. Upon closer inspection, Bridget noticed that the patch of air beneath him was slightly bluer than the sky above, and that deeper blue extended back toward them like a walkway. She reached down, still holding onto the doorway, and tapped the tinted sky where it met the floor at their feet. A dull thump greeted her knuckles. She looked up at Rory.

  “I think it’s solid.”

  Rory put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t go out there.”

  “Why not? Hex is sitting right on the edge. He looks okay.”

  Hex was indeed seated on the tinted air, his legs swaying beneath him as if he were dangling off the end of a lakeside dock instead of thousands of feet up in the air. He beckoned to the siblings.

  “Come on. You wanted to see.”

  Bridget squirmed under Rory’s death grip as he stared down at the ground below and took a deep breath.

  “I’m going first, Bridget. Wait for me to tell you to come out.”

  She was eager to rush out into the sky, but forced herself to wait her turn as Rory slowly stepped out into nothing. His foot fell through the air for an eternity before clanging onto the platform. Always the careful one, he dropped to his knees and crawled over to Hex, who smiled widely.

  “Amazing, isn’t it? Don’t worry, there’s a guardrail here. Hold on and swing your legs around. There we go!”

  Rory did as asked and soon he, too, sat suspended above the city far below. His eyes teared as the wind blew past his face, whipping his hair around his forehead. He shouted back to Bridget.

  “I don’t want you to come out here. It’s too dangerous!”

  “Tough!”

  Bridget bounded through the door unafraid, laughing as she walked on air. Behind her, Toy stepped out as well, but he stayed back at the door, watching. Bridget practically skipped over to Rory and plopped down next to him.

  “This is awesome!”

  She could see Rory wanted to shake her, but he settled for giving her his patented older-brother-knows-best look.

  “Be careful, Bridget. This isn’t a game! You almost gave me a heart attack running out like that.”

  Bridget made a face.

  “Scaredy-cat.”

  Hex put up his finger.

  “Oh no. Courage. You showed courage following me first, Rory. You didn’t know what would happen. You don’t know me or what I want. But you took a risk and showed great courage. That is what this city needs: courage. Someone has to slay the proverbial dragon. Someone has to sneak into the fortress and take back what’s been stolen. Talent, no matter how impressive, is never enough.”

  What about me? Bridget wanted to shout, but then she thought back on that cold, frightened feeling that had come over her when she froze up in the alley. She didn’t deserve to be called courageous. But she could be; she knew it.

  Rory let out a whistle as he took in the city below.

  “How did we get here? We were down in Greenwich Village, and now we’re in Midtown. That’s forty blocks north on the other side of the island.”

  Hex shrugged. “Not all roads go where you’d expect. Neither do all staircases. Great view, huh?”

  Bridget put her hand out in front of her and smooshed all of Midtown between her fingers. She felt a hundred feet tall. Giant Bridget, crusher of cities.

  “So why did you bring us up here?” Rory asked. “The view?”

  Hex betrayed no annoyance with Rory’s question. “Look north, toward the park.”

  They both turned uptown, where Central Park sprouted out of the middle of the city. Bridget heard Rory gasp before whispering in her ear.

  “The glow…do you see it, Bridge?”

  Once her brother mentioned it, she could see something. Gradually, a strange aura appeared over the park, blue and sparkling. Soon she could barely see the trees through the glow.

  “It’s like somebody turned Central Park into a giant bug lamp!”

  “It’s a shield,” Hex said. “What most folks call the Trap. You can’t see it when you’re up close, but from way up here it shines. It’s been surrounding the park for well over a century.”

  Rory looked away from the glow.

  “Why?”

  Bridget turned to see Hex regarding her brother with serious eyes.

  “That’s the story I want you to hear. The tale of the Munsees and the Gods of Manhattan.”

  Rory blinked in confusion.

  “We have gods?”

  Hex laughed. “I’d say. Mannahatta is lousy with gods, each of whom watches over his or her slice of Manhatt
an, big and small. Gods of everything from Justice to Sample Sales, Guilt to Jaywalking, Money to Street Construction—very equal opportunity.”

  “Where do all these gods come from?” Rory asked.

  “When a mortal does something great, he is reborn in Mannahatta as a spirit. If his legend grows enough, he might be fortunate enough to ascend to godhood. Of course, it all depends on what they’re remembered for. Mannahatta is littered with the spirits of famous gangsters, so very few of them become gods, since there’s room for only so many gods of crime. But there aren’t many contenders for the job of God of Alternate Side of the Street Parking, which is how Alan Tuddle rose to the position simply by being remembered as the guy who always got a spot. All told, there are thousands of gods here in Mannahatta, on top of hundreds of thousands of spirits, not to mention all the other creatures lurking about. They all have jobs to do—making sure Manhattan keeps sailing along smoothly, spiritually speaking. Though some work harder than others.”

  “So who’s in charge?” Rory asked.

  “That would be the Mayor.”

  “Wait a sec,” Bridget cut in. “I thought gods had kings.”

  “Not in Mannahatta. Here we have the Mayor and his Council of Twelve, and he’s elected. Though, the current Mayor has held his office for almost two hundred years, so make of that what you will. Those cursed incumbents always seem to win….”

  “So what’s in that Trap thing?” Rory asked.

  “Like I said, Mannahatta is ruled by the gods. But it wasn’t always that way. See, these gods, they’re newcomers in the grand scheme of things. They’ve only been here as long as the colonists who birthed them, four hundred years at most. For a thousand years before that, Mannahatta belonged to a different people. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We should start at the beginning. Ready?”

  “For what?” Bridget asked.

  Hex swept his hand into the air with a flourish.

  “Take a look.”

  Bridget’s heart skipped a beat as the world began to change. Buildings shriveled up, plummeting downward as if the island was sucking them back into itself. Even the Chrysler Building fell away, leaving them floating in midair above the disappearing concrete. Trees sprouted through the sidewalks, and ponds poured over the asphalt. Soon, the only buildings left lay far to the south, and they were small, ramshackle things barely standing. As she watched they, too, melted away, leaving forest behind to cover the island. Bridget clapped with delight.

  “Do you see, Rory?! Isn’t it amazing?”

  “It’s just the same old city to me, Bridget.”

  That’s right, she remembered. Rory can’t see any of this, since it isn’t real. She described it all, trying to paint a picture that would make Rory see how beautifully the tall trees hung over sparkling brooks where just moments before there had been nothing but steel and pavement.

  “So we’re in the past,” Rory said.

  “Before the English, before the Dutch,” Hex said. “When the only feet that walked on these ancient dirt paths belonged to those people.”

  He pointed, and suddenly Bridget was flying, soaring down toward a long path snaking in and around the trees from north to south. She laughed as the trees parted beneath her. Hex’s voice spoke in her ear.

  “This is Broadway. The oldest road. Very different from the wide avenue today, but still the same in all the important ways. No one knows who carved it out or why. But it has always been here, and it always will be.”

  Bridget landed on the dusty trail, reaching down to feel the dirt between her fingers. A noise prompted her to look up. Near a curve in the trail a small cloud of dust floated, followed by a familiar form.

  “It’s an Indian!”

  Sure enough, a tall warrior rounded the corner, a copper spear in each hand and feathers in his hair. Behind him came a group of Indians, bare-chested and golden-skinned. The brave in the lead bore the tattoo of a wolf on his chest and a smaller wolf on his forehead. The others’ bodies also carried various tattoos, though none as vibrant as the leader. Hex whispered, “These are the Munsees.”

  The Munsees passed Bridget as she lay in the dust, making little sound with their soft moccasins. Hex’s voice continued in her ear. “This whole part of the continent, from the shores of Delaware Bay far to the south to the border of Connecticut just north of here, was once Lenapehoking, the land of the Lenape Indians. The Lenapes were broken up into three clans, the Unalachtigo, who took the turkey as their totem and lived far to the south by the ocean; the Unami, who took the totem of the turtle and lived along the Delaware River up to Staten Island and the mouth of the Hudson; and the Munsees, who took the wolf totem and lived here around the Hudson to the Connecticut line. These clans were made up of many tribes, many of whom warred with one another as often as not, but their language gave them a common bond. And gradually as their numbers dwindled, they mixed together until here in the north, only the Munsees remained.”

  “But they’re all gone now?” Bridget asked.

  “Yes and no,” Hex replied. “The Munsee people are mostly gone, forced to leave behind their homeland to the European invaders centuries ago. But their spirits, the souls of their tribes that were connected to the land, they remained. The island remembers them and gives them strength, even though they are without a living people. But now even the island can no longer feel them. Look out at the river, Bridget!”

  Bridget found herself lifted into the air, soaring up from the path to rise above the trees. The sparkling river lay out before her, and right down the middle of it floated a small ship, its sails flapping in the breeze.

  “Henry Hudson,” Hex said, “coming to ‘discover’ Manhattan. As if the Munsees hadn’t been here for a thousand years or more. Soon an idiot would sit some of the Munsees down and offer them trinkets in exchange for the island. And the Munsees would take them, and gladly. After all, in the Munsee world, there is no buying of anything, especially land. Only renting. In that sense, they really are the first New Yorkers. So the Dutch, see that’s them down there…”

  Bridget was flown to the south of the island, where small buildings were being raised inside a rough fort. Everything seemed so little compared to the skyscrapers of today. Even the people in their rough wool coats and dresses were shorter. She giggled at the thought that Rory could probably beat all of them in basketball, without really having to jump.

  “…the Dutch thought they’d bought the place, which they named New Amsterdam,” Hex continued. “So they built and they traded and then they turned around and wondered why the Munsees were still there. There were issues, some fights between the settlers and the Indians, but that didn’t stop the settlement from growing. By the time they sent in a governor to sort it all out, the small town had really started to take off, known throughout the world as a disreputable den of thieves and swindlers.”

  Suddenly, more houses sprouted up, and docks shot out into the rivers. Ships sailed into the harbor, one bearing the skull and crossbones of a pirate.

  “Look at that!” Bridget exclaimed. “Rory, there’s a pirate ship!”

  “Yes, there were even pirates,” Hex said. “There is said to be pirate treasure somewhere on the island, though I’ve never heard of anyone finding it. Anyway, the Dutch sent over a man named Willem Kieft to take charge and make the place respectable. He sailed in one bright morning determined to take the colony in hand.”

  Bridget flew in closer as one ship topped by a bright flag flapping in the breeze pulled into the dock. A tall, dark Dutchman with cold black eyes clomped down the gangplank and into the city.

  “He looks mean,” Bridget said.

  “He was much more than mean,” replied Hex. “He was a sorcerer, exiled to the New World in disgrace.”

  “Come on.” Rory’s voice sounded exasperated. “A sorcerer? That can’t be true.”

  “Listen to the tale, Rory. If you need any reminders of what’s real and what isn’t, just remember where you’re sitting. May I continu
e?

  “Kieft hated many things in this world. He hated his superiors for humbling him. He hated the settlers for reminding him of his exile. But most of all, he hated the Munsees. No one knows why, for sure. Some say it was because he attempted to learn their magic, and they looked into his soul and turned him away. Others say it was because he thought they should bow to him and they refused. For whatever reason, it was instant hatred—on both sides. The Munsees named him the Gakpitschehellat, and don’t ask me because I don’t have a clue what that means. But it wasn’t nice.

  “Kieft found reasons to fight war after war with the Munsees, often on the flimsiest of excuses. Finally, late one fateful night, he led a war party to attack a group of Munsees he claimed had come to murder the colonists as they slept.”

  The island went dark as the sun set, bringing out stars more brilliant than Bridget had ever seen. She floated above the fort as Kieft led a group of men on horseback out of the town, torches held high in their hands.

  “What he didn’t tell them was that those ‘murderous savages’ were in fact innocent refugees coming to beg for their protection. And so, in the dead of night, they fell upon the sleeping Indians and slaughtered them, every last one.”

  “They just murdered them all?” Rory couldn’t believe it.

  “It wasn’t until morning that they discovered that most of them were old women and young children. By then the attackers didn’t care. But the people of New Amsterdam did. They were horrified by what their leader had done. And some of the town elders were beginning to suspect that Kieft dabbled in the unnatural arts. So they exiled him from his exile, sending him home to Amsterdam to be tried for his crimes.

  “But it was too late for the Munsees. Neither the Dutch nor the English after them ever found a way to truly live in peace alongside the island’s original inhabitants, and gradually the Indians fled west. By the time of the American Revolution, almost all of the Munsees were gone, leaving their ancestral homeland to the invaders.