This Eternity of Masks and Shadows

by Karsten Knight

  “Because I was her best friend,” Cairn hiccuped between sobs, “and she shouldn’t have had to tell me.”

  The weight came off her back. Cairn remained sprawled on her stomach, quaking.

  Mercifully, Themis powered down the home movie. Ahna’s laughter still echoed in Cairn’s ears even after the walls went dark.

  “I have just one more question,” Themis said. “How long have you known that your mother was the Inuit goddess known as Sedna?”

  Cairn instantly stopped crying. As far as she’d known, her mother’s true identity was a closely guarded secret known only to a handful of people: her father, her grandparents, Delphine, and herself. Many gods had publicly revealed their identities in the past few years, but not Ahna.

  But Cairn was exhausted, and her mother no longer needed protection, so what was the use in playing dumb with this strange, omniscient woman? “Two years,” Cairn said. She imagined that day at the aquarium, watching in awe as Ahna pressed a hand to the tank and worked her magic. The way the fish had formed into rows, staring sentiently through the glass at her mother as they awaited further instruction. “I’m surprised my mother even trusted her shrink with the truth.”

  Themis had opened the dojo door—a different one that led directly out into the backyard. As she lingered in the doorframe, the early morning sunlight backlit her dramatically. “Your mother trusted me because, until her death, she had been working for me for twenty years,” Themis said. “And because I’m a god, too.”

  The Arboretum

  Themis disappeared before Cairn had a chance to ask more, so she chased her outside. She winced as she passed from the dim dojo into the bright morning light.

  The backyard was as opulent as the mansion, a sprawling parterre of landscaped hedges and flowerbeds that smelled of freshly mowed grass and the ocean beyond. Across the lawn, she saw Vulcan sheering a topiary with a pair of electric trimmers—apparently, he completed many odd jobs for the doctor. “What the hell do you mean my mom worked for you?” Cairn asked. “She was a marine biologist. She played with fish and whales.”

  “None of us are only one thing, Cairn,” Themis replied as she walked toward the giant windmill that stood atop the sea cliffs. The breeze blowing off the water effortlessly rotated the thirty-foot blades.

  Cairn struggled to keep up with the doctor’s swift gait, her body still sore from getting her ass kicked. “That’s adorably philosophical, but what could my fish doctor of a mother possibly do for an unhinged psychiatrist like you? Stock your koi pond?”

  “Do you want me to keep explaining or would you rather see?” After a beat, the doctor chuckled. “You have to appreciate the irony of me asking that.” She opened the windmill’s latticed door and gestured for Cairn to enter.

  On a rational level, Cairn wanted to resist, to turn and flee the premises, but she was caught in this woman’s gravitational pull, clinging to whatever she might know about her mother.

  As Cairn stepped inside the windmill, the interior walls flickered with light. At first, she worried that Themis was about to torture her with another home movie. When her eyes adjusted, however, she found herself surrounded by a series of ornamentally illustrated trees of various species, illuminated on LED panels that lined the walls.

  Cairn wandered over to the first projection, an olive tree against the backdrop of a Mediterranean coastline. Its many branches were punctuated with pictures of different faces—some of them professional portraits of smiling men and women, some candids taken with their subjects unaware. A few were criminal mug shots. Some were simply question marks over a faceless silhouette.

  They were all Greek gods.

  A man and woman identified as Chaos and Gaea topped the tree, and in a subsection labeled “Titans,” Cairn spotted a photo of Themis. When she reached up and touched the doctor’s picture, additional details expanded beneath it.

  “Themis, titan of justice,” Cairn read. “Rebirthplace: Thessaloniki, Greece, 1958.” Below that was another incarnation born in 1844, then a third in 1732.

  The earliest date listed was 2500 B.C.E. “You’ve traced your incarnations back to Ancient Greece?” Cairn asked incredulously.

  “I like to think I don’t look a day over four millennia,” Themis replied. “It’s fascinating how drastically reincarnations of yourself can vary. In one version, you might grow up to be a saint. The next, a ruthless warlord.”

  Wordlessly, Cairn wandered from tree to tree, taking in all the faces. A goat willow overlooking a deep fjord that detailed the identities of the Norse gods. A palm on the banks of the Nile for the Egyptian pantheon. Shinto deities on a cherry blossom in the shadow of a pagoda. There must have been forty trees, each decorated with countless faces and names.

  “We call it the Arboretum,” Themis explained. “It was your mother’s brainchild, but Vulcan built it. Exactly how much did she tell you about the gods and goddesses?”

  “That all the deities from every world mythology are reincarnated every century or so with no memories of their previous lives. That they bleed and die just like us—it’s just less permanent.” Cairn suddenly felt foolish for not asking her mother more questions while she was still alive. “I guess I don’t know much more than the average Jane.”

  Themis traced her fingers over one of the Braille readouts beneath a Norse fire giant, who Cairn recognized as a tight end for the New England Patriots football team. “For thousands of years, our kind lived in obscurity. Sure, a god would make a mess now and then, but as the old polytheistic religions died out, no one truly believed that powerful, supernatural beings walked the earth among them. Several years ago, all that changed. A violent clash between the gods landed on the public stage, and in an era where photos and streaming video spreads like wildfire, humanity as a whole was forced to swallow a difficult truth: that the gods they’d only read about in history textbooks were real. Ever since, more and more gods have decided to publicly identify themselves.”

  “Not my mother.” Cairn paused in front of a white spruce, solitary against the Arctic tundra. The other faces on the tree blurred when she spotted Ahna, who smiled as digital snow fell silently around her.

  “Sedna walked the seam between both those worlds, between the light and the shadows.” Themis appeared behind Cairn, placing a hand on her shoulder. “She was the very best of us.”

  “Then why is she dead?” Cairn asked bluntly. “And why did she build a secret lair in my house?”

  “Wasn’t the suit a dead giveaway? Sedna was a vigilante.”

  Cairn tried to laugh at the preposterousness of those four words, but it sounded hollow. “A vigilante fighting whom? Dolphin poachers?”

  “Rogue gods, mostly. Every pantheon has its own troublemakers. With awesome power unfortunately comes an escalated potential for corruption.” Themis led Cairn over to a tall Saguaro cactus growing in a desert. She touched the picture of a handsome young man with tan, chiseled features. “Kokopelli, Hopi trickster,” the label read. A series of photographs and videos appeared depicting chaos and destruction. A street in Miami decimated by explosions. What looked like the bloody aftermath of a grisly attack in a redwood forest. Cairn recoiled when she saw a bloody corpse that had been torn to shreds by a wild animal.

  She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Why is it always the sexiest ones who have the longest rap sheets?”

  “For better or worse,” Themis continued, “our abilities come with an enhanced sense of purpose—of importance. I tried to channel mine into stopping atrocities like this before they could happen. To that end, I assembled a group of gods two decades ago while I was teaching at the university. Your mother was the first to enlist. We called ourselves ‘the Pantheon’ and made it our mission to seek out others like us, to let them know they were not alone, that they didn’t have to live in isolation.” Themis produced a picture from her pocket, a creased 5x7 faded with age. “When I learned you were coming, I had Vulcan dig this out of the archives.”

  Cai
rn immediately recognized the younger version of her mother. In college, Sedna could have passed for Cairn’s twin, albeit with bangs and regrettably 90s fashion. Themis was in the picture, too, beaming proudly at her recruits in front of the college gates.

  There were several other students in the picture, but one in particular stood out: a debonair Egyptian man whose charm was undeniable even in a still photograph.

  “Holy shit,” Cairn said. “Is that Senator Ra?”

  Themis nodded, her face emotionless.

  Ra was one of the deities who had publicly embraced his mythological origins. It had been a risky gamble for a politician, but one that paid off: the Massachusetts public had elected the Egyptian sun god to the United States Senate. His approval ratings had soared ever since with liberals and conservatives alike.

  Never had her mother once mentioned that they were old friends.

  “The Pantheon was as close-knit as could be for a time. Young adulthood can be an isolating experience even for a mortal, but with the added pressure of developing strange abilities and coming to terms with a supernatural identity … Well, I think they were all just so grateful to be around others who understood what they were going through.” Themis frowned. “But shortly after the picture was taken, I sent them on a mission to a remote island in the middle of the Atlantic. They came back changed, and within a year, the team disbanded. Your mother was the only one who stayed with me.”

  A question had been simmering in Cairn’s mind since the psychologist first revealed the nature of her connection to Sedna. Hard as it was to think about, she had to ask. “Themis, do you know why my mother killed herself?”

  Themis hesitated. “No. But shortly before her death, Sedna was investigating a lead and I worry that she saw something that … troubled her.”

  Cairn began to tremble. Seeing “something troubling” was not enough for someone with no history of mental illness to take a one-way dive off a boat.

  But as Cairn stared at the picture of her young mother, a different question came out. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked quietly.

  “Technically you made an appointment with me,” Themis corrected her.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Themis spread her arms, indicating the room. “Because I think dipping into the world your mother was immersed in could be good for you. Because you need answers and this is your best chance to find them. Because the girl in front of me will self-destruct if she doesn’t have a productive outlet. To do something toward a common good.”

  Cairn rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. People are inherently selfish. Even gods. Especially gods. So why show me this?”

  The doctor sighed. “Because there are a thousand deities on these walls, yet I have few allies left. My gift allowed me to see patterns and premonitions, but at a price.” She pressed a finger to her milky corneas and didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t start out blind. But the more I sought justice, the more my earthly vision failed me, until there was nothing left. However, I still get glimmers in my dreams. I need someone to act on them on my behalf.”

  In a twisted way, Cairn appreciated the woman’s candor. “Out of all the people you could have asked for help, you chose the daughter of your recently deceased protégé?”

  “Who else would have more motivation to get to the bottom of her final days?”

  Cairn noticed the most unusual tree in the back of the Arboretum, a charred silhouette of a birch, leafless as the dead of winter. A dark wasteland loomed beyond, smoke drifting over the barren, craggy earth.

  Photos and details associated with these gods were visibly scarce.

  Themis, as always, had an uncanny knack for knowing where Cairn was looking. “They’re called the Primordia,” she explained. “With most pantheons, history has preserved names and stories in texts. But some deities predate even the invention of writing, the divine shadowy figures our early human ancestors first prayed to—first feared. The beings that would give them fire, or help them locate caves for shelter, or be their ally in the mammoth killing fields. Neither good nor evil, just the urge for survival incarnate.”

  Cairn shuddered. While she’d long ago accepted her mother’s supernatural origins, it was chilling to realize just how many of these beings coexisted in their world every day.

  “Sedna thought she had stumbled onto the trail of one of them right here in Massachusetts,” Themis went on. “Unfortunately, she died before she could complete the investigation.”

  “Then let me pick up that trail,” Cairn pleaded.

  “I can’t just toss you into the ocean without first teaching you to swim,” Themis replied. “But I can give you training. I have an old friend, a detective in the State Police’s newly formed Deity Affairs Unit. Nook—Detective Bedard—does similar work to what your mother did, just in a more … officially recognized capacity. You’re going to shadow him, effective immediately.” Themis grimaced. “Of course, he doesn’t know that yet, but he owes me a rather big favor, a debt too big for him to decline.”

  With Cairn’s adrenaline finally leveling out, the bruises she’d acquired during their sparring session had started to catch up with her. She touched her ribs and winced. “Any chance I could borrow an ice pack while I wait for this training to begin?”

  “I can do one better—there’s a steam room in the south wing. Your mother often recuperated there. I’ll call Nook while you’re gone.”

  Cairn buzzed with excitement. She wasn’t sure what insight she’d gain from following this detective around. But at least now she was doing something, and by immersing herself in this underworld of gods, maybe she could get a glimpse into the alter ego her mother had so carefully cloaked in the shadows all those years.

  As Cairn exited the Arboretum and closed the door behind her, she heard Themis whisper four last words:

  “Sedna, please forgive me.”

  Sable Noir, Part I: Black Sands

  Nineteen Years Earlier

  The ship lurched through choppy waters. Sedna sat on the floor of her cabin’s claustrophobic bathroom, legs splayed out like a discarded doll. She stared blankly at the plastic pregnancy test, which she’d miraculously found in the infirmary’s first aid kit.

  Two lines.

  Two lines.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Seasickness my ass,” Sedna muttered.

  On cue, the boat bucked, and another bolt of nausea lanced through her. She lunged for the metal toilet and purged what little remained in her stomach.

  When the spasms abated, she collapsed against the door. What would Emile say when he found out? She’d only been dating the nerdy geologist for three months now, most of it long distance, since the day he’d walked into that remote sub-Arctic village and disarmed her with his stupid heart-melting smile.

  Her reverie was interrupted by a piercing cry from above-deck. “Land ho!”

  Sedna regained her composure enough to stumble out of her cabin and up the metal stairs, hands gripping the rails to sturdy herself as the ship crested another swell. Up on deck, she found Nagual curled up in a hammock, snoring with his mouth open. The Aztec jaguar god could sleep through a hurricane—literally as she had learned the second day of their voyage.

  Sedna found the rest of the passengers clustered around the prow. Ra, the beautiful Egyptian sun god, looked like a J. Crew model in his linen shirt and seersucker shorts. As usual, he had a giant grin plastered to his face and his arm draped over the shoulders of Njörun, the Norse goddess of dreams. His fingers played with her golden hair. At over six feet tall, Njörun boasted several inches on all of them. The sea breeze billowed her flowing white dress around her—with her sylphlike limbs, it was a miracle the sea breeze didn’t blow her away.

  Sedna spotted Tane, the Māori forest spirit, hunched over the railing, as queasy and miserable as ever. He’d been away from the wilderness too long. There wasn’t so much as a potted plant onboard the Dreadnought to revitalize him, unless you counted the pre-made salads in
the galley refrigerator, which he most certainly did not.

  Dr. Leopold Sibelius, the pale perpetually anxious mortal scientist, was trying to coax his six-year-old daughter to go downstairs for her daily injection. Aether resisted, shaking her head vigorously and clinging to the railing like a koala.

  The rest of them were all gazing toward the inkblot that had appeared on the horizon.

  After a four-day voyage, they had finally arrived at L’Isle du Sable Noir.

  The Island of Black Sands.

  As it grew larger, Sedna could see why it had earned its name. With its dark obsidian beaches, it could have been a lump of coal floating in the otherwise pristine blue waters. Farther ashore, the island erupted into a dense rainforest that blanketed the lower slopes of the volcano. The caldera at the top smoked faintly, a deceptively harmless gray ribbon fluttering off into the cloudless sky.

  “Because that’s not ominous at all,” Tane muttered.

  Having spent most of her early life in Atlantic Canada, Sedna didn’t care for the sweltering warmth of tropical getaways like most people, but she couldn’t deny that there was something serene about this island.

  Underneath its idyllic veneer, Sable Noir housed a terrible, deadly secret they had been charged with uncovering.

  Despite being in the middle of the ocean, a suspicious number of boats had vanished in its vicinity over the past several months. “The new Bermuda Triangle,” Themis had called it. Their fearless leader had surmised that the disappearances were the work of a misguided god. Their mission: to extract him.

  Or, if necessary, to neutralize him.

  Ra flicked his cigar into the sea. “It will be like a tropical vacation, Themis said. The volcano will definitely be dormant, she said.”

  Njörun ruffled her boyfriend’s hair. “Don’t be a wuss. By nightfall, we’ll be roasting s’mores over that lava.”