The Immortals

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “No? In the old days—like the really old days, like pre-Olympian days—the Eleusis cult only allowed female hierophants. They worshiped only the Earth Mother, like all big ol’ labia and boobs and bellies, you know?” He mimed an enormous pair of breasts on his own hairy chest. “Demeter and Persephone tapped into those beliefs when they took the cult over.”

  “So? Why would Father, the King of the Gods, fear worship of an ancient goddess?”

  “Because Demeter and Persephone weren’t just coasting along, living on the cult’s burnt offerings. They were actually getting more powerful every year.” He paused to flick some ash from his joint onto the coffee table, not bothering to use the ashtray sitting a foot away. “Their new power came from their ancient connection to the Earth Mother, see, something completely outside the Olympian realm—outside Dad’s realm. He couldn’t stand that sort of challenge to his dominance, so he wanted to get rid of the cult. He couldn’t actually eradicate it, since it was mankind’s creation in the first place, and he couldn’t overtly threaten Demeter and Persephone, since he’s such a pansy around the women in his life. So he asked me to steal the cult from Persephone and Demeter, just as they’d stolen it from the Earth Mother, and then weaken it so it was no longer a threat. Of course, I’d do it all subtle-like, so they wouldn’t realize until it was too late.”

  “You? Subtle?”

  “I’ve got all kinds of talents, babe,” Dennis said, flicking his tongue lasciviously. Selene felt her stomach roil. He laughed, not bothering to wipe the drool from his chin.

  “Just keep talking before I do something I might regret,” she said stiffly.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t regret it, I promise.” He patted the couch invitingly. Selene just glared. He chuckled. “Your loss, babe. Okay, where was I before I started dreaming about finally popping that overripe cherry of yours?” Before Selene could punch him, he went on. “Right, I changed the cult. First I put in male hierophants and added my own hiera. Made them tell my story alongside Demeter and Persephone’s. Then I introduced this shit.” He lifted the Goya bottle. “Once they drank it, the mystai would do whatever their new hierophants told them to do. And the hierophants, of course, did whatever I told them to. Everyone still loved the Mystery—it’s amazing how many revelations come from hallucinogenic stupor”—he waved the Goya bottle cheerfully overhead—“but it no longer carried true power. Not since I told them to stop the original rituals.”

  “Original rituals… right. The ones Cora insisted she couldn’t remember. You mean human sacrifice.”

  “Oh-ho! The secret’s finally out! And you make it sound so distasteful.”

  “It’s the ultimate forbidden act! That’s what we were always told!”

  “But didn’t you make Agamemnon sacrifice his own daughter before you’d let the winds blow him to Troy?”

  “That’s a lie. I withheld the winds from the Greeks to stop the Trojan War, not so some idiot king would kill his virgin daughter. I am the Protector of the Innocent, not their destroyer. It was Homer who dreamed up the human sacrifice for the Iliad and everyone’s remembered it wrong ever since.”

  “Are you sure? You know our memories aren’t really our own.”

  “I’m sure.” But, of course, she wasn’t.

  Dennis stretched, looking bored, and took another swig of liquor. “Well, let’s just say our aunt and cousin weren’t quite as scrupulous as you. We can’t all be uptight virgins, right?”

  Selene ignored the dig. “So Cora did know about the sacrifices.”

  “She did once,” he acknowledged. “But not anymore. Dad didn’t want anyone knowing about the old rituals, so my hierophants made their initiates take an iron-clad oath of secrecy. One whisper of the human sacrifice and, sayonara, off with your head. So no one ever wrote about it, ever talked about it, or even thought about it, and mankind forgot. And you know how that goes—Persephone and Demeter eventually did, too. Funny thing about our memories of godhood, right? Unless we hold on to them for dear life, or the poets sing the tales, those memories just slip away. But I remember 1694 like it was yesterday. I spent the night floating in a fountain filled with five hundred gallons of rum punch and—”

  “Spare me the details. Are you sure there’s not some way, any way at all, to gain power from the cult without the killing?”

  “I can see what you’re thinking.” He put on a prissy, high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like Selene’s. “‘Ooh, I’ll just steal my twin’s new cult, but I’ll make it all cute bear cubs and moonlight and happy lesbians and maybe we’ll shoot a stag or two. And then I’ll be stronger, but no one will have to get hurt.’ Well, forget it, sister.”

  “It’s not for me,” Selene growled. “It’s for my mother.”

  Dennis’s face softened. His mortal mother had been burned alive as she witnessed Zeus’s unleashed radiance. He’d never known her. “Look, I wish I could help you.”

  “I tried putting my mother’s attributes into a ritual,” she said tightly. “Veil, date palm, infants, lotus… they didn’t do anything.”

  “That’s because attributes alone don’t work. I mean, in the old days, all kinds of worship contributed to maintain our strength, but if you want to actually reverse millennia of decline? Sorry, babe. No human sacrifice, no dice. And you’ve got to do it right.”

  “And what exactly does ‘right’ mean?”

  “In Eleusis, the priestesses chose a new man to crown as their Corn King every year. They’d feast him, fuck him, make him bless their fields and flocks. Then, in the fall, the mystai killed the King during the climax of the Mysteriotides Nychtes. They plowed his blood and bones into the earth to guarantee a good harvest. Figured that when he was reborn in the grain, they’d be reborn in spirit. They used to say it gave them a deeper understanding of all kinds of shit—life, death, you name it. And here’s the really crazy thing: it worked. A few of the mystai even inched toward immortality. One lived to be a hundred and twenty, and might have lived longer if her jealous boy toy hadn’t stabbed her in the spleen. Another died at a hundred and thirty-three, but only because she fell off a rooftop during the Pannychis revelry.”

  “They were making thanatoi into Athanatoi?” Selene would never have thought her girlish cousin capable of such a feat.

  “Yup. Why do you think Eleusis was the most popular cult in the ancient world? And Demeter and Persephone made themselves more powerful in the process. Oooh, I see that glimmer in your eye. Sounds tempting, doesn’t it? Just a few murdered innocents and you might never age again. Maybe bring your mom back to strength, too.”

  “My mother has spent her life as a midwife, bringing mortals into the world. She’ll never consent to sending them back out of it again—certainly not in her name. And neither will I.” But even as she spoke so firmly, a cold serpent of doubt slithered through her stomach. Hearing Dennis describe the ritual so matter-of-factly made it all sound so easy, so simple. Is that how Apollo felt? Just follow the steps, ignore your conscience, gain unlimited power?

  “If this is such a forgotten secret, how does my twin know about it?” Selene demanded. “Did you tell him about the Corn King? Or did Father?”

  “Fat chance. Me and Dad swore never to tell. Too dangerous—to everyone. Why do you think he’s in that cave? He knows he holds the key to bringing back his own power, but he can’t bring himself to do it, and it’s driving him, literally, out of his mind.”

  “Since when has he shown such restraint?”

  “True. The man’s worse than me when it comes to chasing mortal ass. And trust me, if it just meant the lives of a few thanatoi and Dad could be marshaling his storm clouds again, he’d be fucking the Corn King himself. But there’s a catch, see? After we changed the Eleusinian Mysteries, something interesting happened…” He took a long drag on his joint and then spread his arms as if drawing aside invisible curtains. “Civilization itself. Ta-da! The Golden Age of Athens, the whole shebang. Little
did we know, but if you take away mankind’s hope of ever gaining immortality through some primitive, bloody rituals in a hidden cave, they start to use their own intellects and talents to improve things in the here and now instead. They build beautiful temples for Dad, write some very dirty plays for me, compose some pretty rocking poems for Apollo. And as they changed, so did we. That vision you have of yourself all clean and perky in a neat white tunic, bouncing around Crete with your shiny bow? Well, before Eleusis got civilized, you were probably running around in half-rotten furs, ripping your prey apart with your bare hands. You don’t remember because it was a whole different life, one erased by the myths they’ve told of us since. But trust me, no one wants to go back to that. Then again… you are the Goddess of Not-Civilization.” He squinted at her through the haze of his own smoke. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. You might want to regress to blood and gore.”

  She shuddered. “The good old days are one thing. What you’re describing sounds a bit untamed even for me.”

  “Oh, good. Because if Dad found out I told you, he might finally leave that cave and bring down some thunder and lightning on my ass. Or not. Whatever. Seems Apollo knows the secret anyway, so it doesn’t make much sense to keep it quiet anymore.” He flipped one of the young women over with his foot and ran his toe up her bare thigh. “Did I unravel enough mysteries for you, babe? ’Cause if you don’t mind, I’ve got more pressing matters to attend to.”

  The sight of the naked girls, the noisome smell of old food, and the musk exuding from Dennis’s robe made her want to vomit. This at least was one thing she had no moral ambiguity about. “Clean those girls up and put them back where they belong.” Selene’s knuckles were white on the knife handle.

  “Take it from He Who Unties—it’s time to loosen up.” He snorted at his own pun.

  “I said put them back.” She brandished the knife once more. “Do as I say. I am still your elder.”

  “You were always stronger than I, Artemis, but I know how little homage mortals pay to hunters these days. You look pretty good for your age, but you must be weakening.” With a speed she didn’t realize he possessed, Dennis sprang from the couch and grabbed her wrist, his fingers like a vise.

  “Get off me,” she demanded. His eyes were no longer clouded. She should’ve remembered drink could have no effect on the God of Wine unless he willed it to. He looked at her almost quizzically, daring her to prove herself. Her arm was beginning to hurt. He twisted her wrist violently and the knife fell from her numb fingers.

  Selene grabbed his arm with her other hand and pulled. Nothing. He only smiled. Their strength was perfectly matched.

  “Give me back that wallet,” he said. “Being a perpetual grad student doesn’t pay very well.”

  “Too bad.” She lashed out at his chest with all her force. He remained upright, unmovable. They stood there in silence for a moment, glaring at each other. Then she heard slow footsteps on the stairs. She knew the sound of Theo’s tread, even when he was stumbling with drink.

  “Ah, here he comes again, the fucker,” Dennis said, looking toward the door. “I should’ve known he’d show up someday with one of my irritating siblings. Trust a Makarites. We can never stay away from one of his kind, can we?”

  Selene felt her jaw drop.

  “Oh! You didn’t realize what he was? Always so blind, babe!” Dennis threw back his head and laughed. She seized the opportunity. In one fluid movement, she spun and kicked, nailing him hard in the groin. He screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his legendary balls.

  “Selene, are you okay?” Theo panted, staggering into the apartment. “What was—”

  She pushed him back out the door and grabbed his hand to drag him down the stairs. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Did you get it? I heard—”

  “Keep moving!”

  She pounded down the steps, forcing herself to go just slow enough so Theo could keep up. From somewhere behind them, she heard Dennis’s ragged scream: “Artemis! Artemis!”

  Chapter 37

  ARTEMIS

  They dashed down the subway entrance. Hearing an uptown train approaching, Selene jumped the turnstile without missing a stride. Theo, on the other hand, stopped to fumble in his pocket. Before she could drag him bodily over the turnstile, he’d found his MetroCard and swiped through. Together, they jumped through the subway doors just before they slammed shut.

  Panting so hard he could barely speak, Theo sat with his head slumped between his knees. Selene was breathless, too: not from the exertion, but from Dennis’s revelations.

  Theo finally looked up. “Artemis, huh?” He smiled a little.

  Selene felt a strange rush in her veins. She realized with a start that she’d never heard her real name on Theo’s lips before. It terrified her that she liked it.

  “I don’t know what gave him that idea,” she said lightly.

  “Maybe the fact that you’re six feet tall, run like the wind, carry a bow, and look like a goddess.” Theo smiled tipsily. “There’s power in naming, you know. That’s why the gods had so many epithets. I think I’ll call you Artemis, the Eater of Much Pork, the Owner of Scary Mutt, the Protector of Professors.” He was flirting with her, she realized. She felt the heat in her cheeks and watched a corresponding flush creep up Theo’s neck.

  Dennis had called him a Makarites—“Blessed One.” In ancient times, the Athanatoi used the term for heroes who earned the gods’ favor through extraordinary deeds of bravery, such as Theseus or Heracles. Since the Diaspora, a Makarites earned the title not through battling supernatural monsters but through his or her own ability to understand the gods on a profound level—whether through study or artistic endeavor. Besides a brief surge in the Renaissance and another in the Neoclassical period, when artists brought Greco-Roman mythology to life for a new audience, Makaritai had been exceedingly rare. With her penchant for avoiding mortal entanglements, she’d never even met one before. But she knew that when they did appear, the gods were irresistibly drawn to them. It would explain how Theo wound up with an Olympian for a roommate, she realized, and why I can’t seem to stay away from him either. Last night in the park, perhaps I let him hold me not because of who he is, but what he is. And was his attraction to her equally involuntary? Of course he desired her—no thanatos stood a chance when a goddess came into his life. Maybe he doesn’t actually like Selene DiSilva at all, she considered, fighting back a surprising pain in her chest. Maybe, like Acteon and all the others, he’s just blinded by Artemis. Last night, I commanded him to come to me in the waterfall. What choice did he have?

  She let out an exasperated groan, and Theo looked over at her quizzically. Then the blood drained from his face. His smile vanished. Selene followed his gaze to the livid welt encircling her wrist like a tattoo. “He hurt you,” Theo said, his voice tight. “I know Dennis is dangerous. I should never have let you come with me to his place.”

  “You didn’t let me, remember? It was my choice. It’s fine. It’ll fade.” Sooner than you think possible, she thought, and for reasons I can’t bear to admit. She crossed her bare arms so her wrist was hidden beneath her armpit. But would she prefer to be weak again? Could she bear it? She looked around at the subway car as if she’d never ridden in one before. The mortals sat, half-asleep or jittery with energy, despondent or ecstatic but mostly apathetic. Above their heads, ads for light beers and teeth whitening competed for space. Ways to make a temporary existence a little less painful. To improve the constantly deteriorating human form. What would she give to save herself and her mother from such a fate? For an instant, she imagined herself at the riverside, watching Helen Emerson pray for justice to a goddess who refused to hear her pleas. Then she imagined slicing through Helen’s soft flesh. A wave of nausea rushed from Selene’s stomach to her throat. She leaned her elbows on her knees and swallowed, hard.

  “Selene, are you okay?” Theo’s hand, warm on her upper back, rubbed in gentle circles.

  “Yeah.” Sh
e straightened up, her decision made. “Just making sense of everything.”

  Theo withdrew his hand and gave her a wry smile. “Good luck. I feel more confused than ever.”

  “That could be because you’re drunk.”

  Theo laughed sheepishly. “Have you forgiven me?”

  He asked so easily. He couldn’t know that forgiveness did not come easily or often to the Punisher. And yet even as she started to say she couldn’t, she realized she already had. She looked away and nodded.

  “Good.” He held his arms out straight before him. He looked absurd: The cuffs of her flannel rode high on his wrists, the buttons strained across his chest, and her belt did nothing to hide the stain on his still-damp trousers. “You didn’t happen to grab my shirt while you were up there? As a peace offering?”

  “No. Sorry.” But she wasn’t. Somehow she liked seeing him in her shirt. “But here.” She handed him his satchel and pulled his wallet from her pocket.

  “Thank God,” he said, checking over the contents of his billfold.

  “You certainly have interesting taste in friends.”

  “Dennis is a real asshole. Always was. I should probably report him to the cops, but one case at a time, right?”

  “Well, at least we learned something from him.”

  “About my own stupidity?”

  “We already knew about that. But now we finally know exactly why the cult’s using human sacrifice. They’re not just translating symbols into literal acts. They’re actually following a more ancient version of the Mystery. When I went back, Dennis told me all about it. Turns out the priestesses in Eleusis used to kill off a yearly Corn King to appease the Earth Goddess.”

  “A Corn King? You mean a man chosen to represent the fertility of the harvest? Fascinating. None of the extant sources mention that—then again, Dennis was always uncannily good at this sort of thing. It fits into an old theory by James Frazer in The Golden Bough—that most Greek myth is derived from cult ritual involving the annual killing of a king.” Even drunk, Theo still sounded like a professor. “It’s an early version of what becomes the Christ story. The king takes on the sins of the community and dies in their stead so that everyone else can prosper. The theory’s been widely discounted, though.”