Winter of the Gods

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  She reached for the bag, weighing it in her hand with a scientist’s puzzled frown. “This feels like a pound of cookies. All for me?”

  “It’s just two. Two enormous cookies. When I hire the goodie depositor for my nighttime ritual, these are going to be the kind I request. I wanted you to partake in the dream.”

  A single chocolate chip cookie filled her entire hand. She took a tentative bite, the chocolate smearing across her chin, and her eyes widened. Today, Theo noticed, her red cardigan turned her pupils a warm shade of olive green. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “This is … like … I don’t …”

  “Like you’ve arrived in the Elysian Fields?” Theo asked. “Like Saturn himself is there to welcome you to a world without pain or work or suffering? That’s what I felt the first time I tried one.”

  She could only nod. “Not sure what you mean. But it sounds about right.”

  “Here.” He pulled a circle of filter paper from the box on her worktable and dabbed the chocolate from her chin. Ruth turned a brighter shade of pink, and she wiped furiously at her face.

  “You’re fine!” he assured her, laughing. “It’s physically impossible to eat a Levain cookie and not be drenched in chocolate. It’s a scientific law—so really you should already know it.”

  Ruth giggled, and her face returned to its normal color. Theo forgot how much he liked spending time with someone who always laughed at his jokes—someone whose emotions he could not only predict but, to some extent, influence. When Ruth was sad, he could cheer her up. When she was happy, he knew why.

  “Speaking of scientific laws,” he went on, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. He’d spent the morning trying to remember his pledge to let Selene solve her own problems. But his first good sleep in days had assuaged some of his anger and resentment, and he’d found himself staring at the crime scene photos again. Whatever issues they were having with their own relationship, the lives of all the gods hung in the balance. If Theo could help discover the truth behind Hades’ killing, he had to try.

  “I have yet another favor to ask you.” He flashed Ruth his most charming smile. “I know I’ve already worn out my welcome in about a million ways—”

  Ruth paused with the cookie halfway to her mouth. “Anything.”

  Theo was a little taken aback by her alacrity. He was used to bargaining, cajoling, convincing. It felt odd to have someone so willing to help. He opened a photo on his phone and handed it to Ruth. “I need you to do a little anatomical analysis for me.”

  Ruth put down the cookie. “Is that a liver?”

  “See? Brilliant already. It’s from the dead dog found beside the Charging Bull statue. There was also a crow, a snake, and a scorpion.”

  He swiped the picture of the animal’s innards aside and called up a website featuring the image of a bronze, liver-shaped artifact covered in inscriptions. “This is the Piacenza liver, a tool from the second century BC. Think of it as an instructional diagram for ancient Roman haruspices.”

  “Haruspices?”

  “Literally ‘gut-starers.’ Priests who used animal livers for divination.”

  Ruth’s eyebrows rose. “You think a dog’s liver is going to tell you the future?”

  “Nope. I haven’t turned into a pagan believer quite yet,” he lied. If Mars was indeed the Pater of the cult, then perhaps he could still send omens to his followers. Such a supernatural ability was unlikely—considering how far most Olympians had fallen—but not impossible. He’d given up on impossible somewhere around the time he’d found out Selene remembered hanging out with Amazons. “But I do think the cult members might think a dog’s liver will tell them the future. Why pull it out and examine it otherwise?”

  “How can I help? You’re the one who can read … whatever that is.” She peered skeptically at the writing on the bronze liver.

  “Etruscan. The language of the indigenous people of Italy before the Latins took over. For centuries, the Roman emperors hired Etruscans to act as their haruspices, divining the will of the gods from animal entrails, lightning patterns, bird flight—you name it. I can’t actually read Etruscan, but I don’t have to. Scholars translated the Piacenza liver a long time ago. See how it’s divided into different regions?” He traced the grid lines along the artifact’s bronze surface. “Each is labeled with the name of a different Etruscan god, most of whom are variations on the Greco-Roman pantheon. The haruspex would look for anomalies in the liver—swellings, striations, that sort of thing—and then associate their location with the labeled deity.” He looked hopefully at Ruth.

  She raised her hands helplessly. “Theo, I dissect fish to extract enzymes from kidneys that regulate blood pH. I want to help, but …”

  “You can! You understand livers.”

  “As much as any biologist, I guess.”

  “That’s a hell of a lot more than me. I don’t even know what a normal animal liver looks like, so I’ve got no idea where the abnormalities lie. And the Piacenza diagram is of a sheep’s liver, because that’s what the Etruscans usually used for divination. I’ve got to translate the diagram onto a dog’s liver, and since you might recall that I’ve recently taken over the entire Classics department and am teaching twice as much as usual, I don’t have time to take a veterinary class.”

  From the pursing of her lips, Theo could tell Ruth thought he might be mildly insane. But it didn’t take long before she moved the vials on her counter aside and pulled an animal anatomy book down from the shelf above her head.

  “All right. But promise not to tell any of my colleagues about my dabbling in the occult. I’d get laughed out of the university.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of experience with people who think I’m a lunatic. I’ll show you the ropes.”

  The more Theo stared at the various highly detailed photos of dissected dog and sheep livers, the more he regretted eating an entire Levain cookie two hours before. He much preferred the stylized anatomical drawings, but Ruth claimed nothing compared to the real thing. She pointed to a series of small striations along a lobe of the sheep’s liver. “See all these markings? They’re subsidiary ducts that carry gall to the hepatic portal. No two livers have the same pattern.”

  “So different omens every time. Makes sense. Otherwise, the haruspex would just say, ‘Another brown, icky liver. Guess the omens are … status quo.’”

  “Exactly,” Ruth said with a grin, turning back to the photos. She consulted the Piacenza diagram. “So this big bronze pyramid sticking out is supposed to represent the processus pyramidalis, which is part of the caudate lobe, right? And the hemisphere beside it is the papillary process.”

  “Um-hm,” Theo agreed, as if he had any idea what she was talking about.

  “Here’re the same two organs on the dog’s liver.” She traced two wet lobes on the photo. “Normally, like in the sheep, the pyramidalis should be significantly bigger, but on the dog at the crime scene, the papillary is abnormally large.”

  “So a reversal …” Theo consulted the online text of Studies in the History of Religion. “It indicates an overturning of the natural order. Could mean a son is going to overthrow his father, or a servant becomes the master. Interesting. Anything else?”

  “Well, if you’re looking for asymmetries, the hepatic portal is longer on one side than the other.”

  Theo nodded, getting excited. “Which side?”

  “The right.”

  “Ha! The Romans saw the right side as a favorable sign, the left as bad. So a deformation like that is a good omen.” He consulted the text again. “Usually it would predict victory in battle. What about all those striations?”

  She rattled off a few locations, pointing out their corresponding placement on the bronze diagram.

  “Markings in those sections indicate a reference to Maris, Satre, and Tin.” Theo cross-referenced the Etruscan names with the Roman pantheon. “Mars, Saturn, Jupiter.”

  “So this is an astronomy thing?”

  The
o laughed. “You’re a scientist through and through, aren’t you? They meant the gods, not the planets.”

  “How do you know?” Ruth asked, looking more hurt than defensive.

  Theo felt bad for laughing at her. “I just assume, since the purpose of the divination was to know which gods to sacrifice to.” He wasn’t surprised by the Mars reference—it fit perfectly with Selene and Flint’s current theory. But he was unsure what to make of the indications that the cult might also worship Jupiter and Saturn. Then again, the ancient art of divination was inexact to say the least. Ruth might have a point: Modern scholars weren’t completely sure what exactly the inscriptions referred to.

  After a moment, Ruth swiveled her monitor toward Theo and read aloud. “‘Some scholars think the Piacenza liver was a planisphere—an ancient starfinder and calendar—rather than purely a tool for divination.’”

  “Shit. Why don’t I ever listen to you?” He scooted a little closer to the screen, his arm brushing Ruth’s.

  She moved self-consciously aside and turned back to the crime scene photos on Theo’s phone. “I hate to rub it in,” she said after a moment, “but I think I’m right.” She showed him one of the photos—an overview of the entire scene with the dog, snake, and crow surrounding the bull statue.

  “I bow to your brilliance, of course, but you want to explain how?”

  “Didn’t you say there was a scorpion too?”

  “Yeah, on the other side of the bull.”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have thought of it if we hadn’t just seen how animals, or animal organs, could represent both gods and celestial bodies at the same time, but the way all the sacrifices are arranged in a circle reminds me of an orbit. And they’re all constellations. Taurus the Bull, Canis the Dog, Hydra the Snake, Corvus the Crow, and Scorpius the Scorpion.”

  Theo just stared at her.

  “What?”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “What did you think they were?”

  “Attributes of a god. Selene thinks it’s a Mars cult, and once she brought it up, it made sense: Poisonous animals like asps and scorpions are common Mars references, and the Roman legions used big dogs like that one to attack their enemies.”

  “And the crow?”

  “Well … that’s more of an Apollo symbol. I figured it meant—Uh, to tell the truth, I never bothered to come up with a theory. Selene was so convinced about Mars that I just let the inconsistencies slide. But if you’re right …” His voice trailed off as his mind spun through the possibilities. If this is about astronomy, then Mars the god may not be involved at all—only Mars the planet. Which means Selene is chasing down the wrong god, and the real Pater is still on the loose. Still, he had no real evidence yet, only a sinking suspicion that he’d accepted Selene and Flint’s ideas far too easily. Ruth was a scientist—she examined evidence for a living. As a scholar, he needed to do the same. Until all the pieces fit, he knew the mystery wasn’t solved.

  “What do those constellations even have in common?” Ruth mused. “And do they connect to Mars or Saturn or Jupiter?”

  “Despite my love of Star Trek, I can only answer that question mythologically. All the constellations are examples of catasterism—the ‘placings of the stars’ by the gods. So, for example, the crow is put in the heavens by Artemis as punishment for upsetting her brother Apollo. She puts the scorpion there after it hunts down her disloyal companion, Orion. And she turns Canis the Dog into a constellation because he’s Orion’s pet.”

  Ruth whistled. “Artemis sounds like a very hard woman.”

  Theo winced. “They called her the Long-Cloaked Marshal of the Stars because she sent so many people and animals to the heavens. I like to think it’s a reminder of her mercy—she punishes wrongdoers, but she gives them a semblance of immortality as well. She wants them to be remembered.”

  “Yeah, to teach us all a lesson, you mean.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And what about Hydra?”

  “Nine-headed water serpent killed by Heracles as one of his great labors. Later put in the sky by the goddess Hera, Queen of the Heavens. Taurus was another of Heracles’ conquests. He’s the bull sent by Poseidon so the queen of Crete would have sex with it and give birth to the Minotaur.”

  Ruth wrinkled her nose. “Your area of study is surprisingly icky, you know.”

  “You’re the one dissecting fish all day.”

  She laughed. “Then let me dissect this whole astronomy thing for you. Maybe the myths behind the constellations don’t matter. Maybe we should check out the science behind the stars instead. The ancients Romans were pretty good astronomers, right?”

  “Sure. They learned from the Greeks and Babylonians. They measured the size of the sun correctly, identified the stars of the zodiac, knew how to predict eclipses. Granted, they thought the sun revolved around the earth, not the other way around, but hey, nobody’s perfect.”

  “Then a cult based on ancient Roman practice could be incorporating some pretty sophisticated calculations.”

  Theo sighed. “Yeah. We’re going to need an astronomer. And I know just the woman.”

  “Then why do you look so worried?”

  He remembered Lars’s screams from the zoo as the bear bit off his hand. With all the distraction of Hades’ murder, they’d never found out how Minh had taken the news of her ex-boyfriend’s amputation. “Let’s just say Ursa Major isn’t the only bear we’ll have to discuss.”

  Chapter 18

  SHE WHO BRINGS UP THE REAR

  Selene was convinced that Dash was making up for his lack of a winged cap by driving his newly purchased speedboat across New York Harbor at a brain-jiggling sixty knots. After a morning and much of the afternoon spent arguing over the best way to confront Mars, they’d decided to approach after sunset, when they were less likely to be spotted by the God of Bloodlust or any of his acolytes. Now, they were racing through the darkness toward Mars’s hideout, the boat’s hull pounding against the chop like a slow but unstoppable jackhammer. She’d nearly vomited three times already—the only thing holding her back was the sight of Philippe, perched on the bow like an elegant figurehead, looking perfectly at ease with a cigarette clenched between his teeth and his long cashmere scarf streaming behind him. I guess that’s what happens when your mother was birthed from sea foam.

  No one had commented on Theo’s absence. Paul had given her a brief, knowing look, filled with sadness. Dash seemed mildly disappointed that he’d lost a plaything. The others barely seemed to notice he was missing. It only made her realize how little mortals—even useful ones—mattered to the gods. She doubted Theo would forget the Athanatoi so easily. She’d picked up her phone a dozen times to call him then put it down again. Despite his anger, she knew he’d join them if she asked him to. But why drag him into such danger? Just so she could have the pleasure of his company? That would just be using him again, she decided, leaving the phone in her pocket. Another jolt of the hull drew her attention back to the challenge ahead.

  Even in the depths of winter, ships still plied the harbor. Despite the darkness, it was only five thirty in the evening: rush hour for the boxy orange Staten Island Ferry lumbering its way to and from Manhattan. Cargo ships heaved toward the Hudson. Tugboats plowed the waves. But only reckless Athanatoi would chose to cross the harbor in an open top speedboat with no running lights in the middle of December. She didn’t protest when Paul scooted closer to her, his natural warmth a blessing amid the icy salt spray.

  Flint sat across from them, immersed in pawing through his large duffel bag to check his hoard of mechanical and electronic instruments. When Paul and Dash had joined them at the hotel, the Smith had retreated inside his shell of surliness, and all sign of the affectionate stepfather disappeared. He’d barely spoken a word in the last few hours. Occasionally, one of his screens flashed a red warning signal, illuminating his face with an eerily volcanic glow. His crutches rested on the floor of the boat. Selene had been surpris
ed he’d chosen them over his titanium leg braces for today’s foray, but he’d grunted something about knowing what he was doing, and she’d left him alone.

  On the bow, Philippe listened attentively as Dash nattered away from the cockpit. The young Athanatos had made no mention of her outburst last night, nor had Selene bothered repeating her accusations to him this morning. They sounded absurd now—of course he no longer possessed the ability to inspire lust with the touch of his hand. She tried not to dwell on the injustice of her comments to Theo. They’d already kept her up all night, and she couldn’t risk losing focus now. She’d need all her wits about her if she came face to face with Mars.

  She’d fought alongside the Man-Slayer in the Trojan War, yet she’d kept her distance. Battle-Insatiate they’d called him, leading his troops with a bellow as great as that of ten thousand war-mad men. At his cry, warriors on both sides leapt into the fray, their armor clashing with swords, with lances, with darts. Spears plunged into flesh, and Mars drank his fill of blood. Beside him ran his sister Discordia, Goddess of Strife, her head and shoulders blood-splattered, her laughter peeling forth in maddened glee. Mars shouted in response, stirring courage in the Trojans and panic in the Greeks, whose reeling squadrons shook at the sound.

  Despite Mars’s fearsome reputation, Dash and Philippe chatted on, apparently unconcerned about the confrontation to come. Over the roar of the engine and the rush of the wind, even Selene’s keen hearing couldn’t pick up their conversation.

  “They look pretty confident,” she shouted in her twin’s ear. She herself had a knot in her stomach born of equal parts fear and seasickness.

  “They’ve got a decent plan.” But Paul didn’t look any more at ease than she. In fact, his perennial tan couldn’t disguise the gray cast to his skin.