Chapter 35

KHAOS

Selene had never thought much about the birth of the universe until death stared her in the face. Now, standing at the top of the Cosmic Pathway that spiraled through the Earth and Space Center, where men had so carefully explained their own understanding of creation, she closed her eyes and recited the version she knew, as if remembering her origins might help her understand her destination.

First there was Khaos. Then came Gaia the Earth and Ouranos the Sky, and from their union sprang the Titans: Kronos and Rhea, who bore Zeus and his siblings. To be king, Kronos sliced the manhood from Ouranos with his curved sickle, and Zeus usurped his father’s crown in turn, ushering in the Age of Olympians.

It was a simple story. Only four generations until she herself sprang into existence. As for the science behind it, she’d never examined it too closely. She suspected she shared such willful ignorance with most mortals. To each person, the universe was only as old as his own perception of it. It would end when he did.

When the legionary at her side prodded her in the ribs, Selene opened her eyes. The sign to her left read, “13 billion years ago: The Big Bang.” As the two soldiers led her down the spiral pathway, another exhibit placard caught her eye. “Each step you take,” it read, “is 100 million years.” If only that were true, she thought. Instead, I have fewer than one hundred minutes left on earth.

She slowed her steps; if these were her final moments, she might as well make them last.

She couldn’t help feeling like the exhibition had been meant for her alone, a belated lesson in her own insignificance. She wondered if the Pater ordered her down the pathway as an essential component of his ritual, or just to further weaken her will to live. For so long, she’d stubbornly believed that man’s Big Bang and the gods’ creation myth could exist in conjunction. Now, she felt the two realities collide like the crashing galaxies shown on a nearby panel, exploding with a burst of light too bright to bear.

She’d taken thirty-six steps before reaching the sign that read, “Disk of Our Milky Way Galaxy Appears.” It took thirty-seven more before “Microscopic Life Forms on Earth.”

Does Paul feel as small as I do? she wondered. He’d already completed his procession and now stood at the ramp’s base with the Pater and the two initiates in red robes and silk masks—one of them the hawk-faced man. Like his companion, he carried a whip at his side, but he also bore Paul’s bow and a quiver of silver arrows slung across his back.

While the guards had given Selene back her flannel shirt and leather jacket, they’d traded Paul’s modest toga and laurel wreath for his full regalia as Phoebus, the Bright One—a brilliant tunic that glowed with each successive color of the sunrise: yellow, orange, red, and purple, interwoven with strips of bright magenta like clouds illuminated by the dawning sun. On his head perched a golden seven-rayed crown. In his youth, he’d worn a similar diadem with ease; now it pressed heavily on his brow. His head hung down, his shoulders slumped beneath the draped fabric of his tunic. He wouldn’t look at her.

Theo walked somewhere behind her, escorted by another pair of men, one in a crow’s mask and the other veiled. He might understand how science and myth can coexist, she thought. How my old life may be a paradox, but it’s still real to me. Yet as she neared the base of the ramp, she wondered if she was fooling herself. The Age of Dinosaurs lay only a dozen feet from the end, a faded painting of a Tyrannosaurus rex battling a velociraptor that covered a mere four feet of the three-hundred-foot-long path. At first, she didn’t even see where humans fit into the timeline. But there, at the very end: “History of Human Art and Creativity.” All within the width of the single human hair displayed in a tiny glass case.

She knew, despite the genealogy she’d grown up with, that Artemis the goddess could not have existed until mankind dreamed her up. If the entire history of human civilization was only a hairsbreadth, what did it matter that she’d lived for three millennia? Why was her own death more important than anyone else’s? In the greater scheme of the cosmos, they’d all existed for less than the blink of an eye. The thought was oddly comforting.

Her guards brought her to stand before the Pater in his robes of white silk and mask of beaten gold. “This is the Procession of the Sun-Runner,” he announced in Latin. “The Sun bows before the Almighty.” He turned to the hawk-faced man and his red-robed companion. “Heliodromus Primus. Heliodromus Secundus. You may begin.”

They guided Paul to the base of the ramp they had just descended. Selene tensed. Then the hawk-faced man—the Heliodromus Primus—pulled a silver arrow from the quiver.

“What are you doing?” she shouted. She spoke in English, unwilling to dignify their ritual by using their sacred language. “You said he’s not to be harmed.”

The Pater shook his head. “He is not to be killed. But the Sun-Runner pursues the Sun. From the Host’s beginnings, so it has been. If you try to stop us, we’re happy to kill your twin, no matter what our arrangement.”

Selene could do nothing as the Heliodromus Primus prodded Paul in the back with one of his own arrows.

“Run, Phoebus,” he growled. Paul did not respond. The other Heliodromus cracked his whip across Paul’s spine. A single line of scarlet sliced through the gleaming tunic—another cloud at sunset. As one, the twins cried out in anguish. Then Paul began to run.

The two Heliodromi chased him, but Paul could outrun any mortal. Yet the whip licked toward him, its black tongue striping his back, his calves, his arms. Up the ramp he went, rolling back time. No more humans, no dinosaurs, no primordial ooze. No earth. No Sun itself. How then could Phoebus Apollo exist? Yet still he ran. No Milky Way. No universe. No great burst of radiation and energy.

Only a singularity, smaller than the smallest atom, yet containing the energy of infinite suns.

Finally, Paul could go no further. He crouched at the top of the ramp, barely visible from where his twin stood below. The mortals who stood over him had no need to strike him further. She could hear his tears.

At the center of the spiral ramp stood the massive white sphere of the planetarium itself, representing the sun. The other planets hung in a ring around the cavernous hall, forever in orbit around the center of the solar system.

Yet the man who’d always been Selene’s Sun now cowered before mortals, the center of nothing.

From the back of the crowd, Theo could barely see what occurred on the ramp above him, but he could hear the crack of the whip and Paul’s tortured weeping. He searched the darkened corners of the hall for any sign of Gabi, Flint, or Captain Hansen and her police officers. Nothing.

He raised his bound hands to his temple as if scratching an itch and tapped out “planetarium” on the side of his glasses for the fourth time since the syndexioi had led him out of the mithraeum—blindfolded, gagged, and handcuffed—and through a series of what he assumed were abandoned subway tunnels.

The crowd parted for the two Heliodromi who descended the ramp, dragging Paul’s bloody body between them. The Pater nodded his approval, then led the procession into the great orb of the planetarium.

Plush seats ringed the space. A hemispherical ceiling arched far overhead, empty and white. He watched three of the higher-ranked syndexioi take their seats in the innermost ring like students on a demented field trip. Each bore a divine item that corresponded to his tutelary planet. The Perses in his Phrygian cap carried symbols of the moon: Selene’s bow and the quiver they’d stolen from her in Central Park, now holding seven gold arrows. The Heliodromus from the ice skating rink held Apollo’s silver weapon in homage to the sun. The Pater stood before them with Saturn’s sickle, its curved blade glinting. Only the lion-masked man—the Leo Primus, Theo had heard him called—bore a weapon that didn’t correspond to his planet. Rather than Jupiter’s thunderbolt, he carried Neptune’s trident.

After what Selene said about the earthquake, I’d rather deal with the lightning, Theo decided.

The Hyaena stood with the lower-ranked men. If she felt any sympathy for the only other woman in the room, her grinning mask hid it well.

“Ave, Syndexioi Secundi,” the Pater hailed his followers. Four of the men, including one of the Milites and the unfamiliar Heliodromus, snapped to attention and saluted their leader.

“Ave, Syndexioi Primi.” The remaining men saluted, one of each rank, each holding a divine item.

The Corvus guarding Theo drew a gilded, snake-twined caduceus from his robe. At least the winged cap is safe with Dash, Theo thought. How dangerous can a herald’s staff be? The veiled man, who had first met Theo at the mithraeum’s entrance, carried a bronze hand mirror, symbol of Venus. The others referred to him as the Nymphus, the “male bride.” The burly Miles beside Selene carried Mars’s golden spear, its shaft a full foot longer than the regular one held by the other legionary.

The Pater nodded in acknowledgment of his syndexioi’s salute and ordered the two Milites to lead Selene to the center of the room. When the initiates laid Paul’s limp body at her feet, she ripped free of her guards’ grip and knelt beside her brother. Both Milites went after her, but the Pater waved them away.

Selene dragged Paul’s body onto her lap, one arm under his neck, the other clasping his chest. Blood dripped from his back to pool onto the floor around them. Selene looked like the Virgin Mary—a mother cradling her crucified son. A Pietà in a temple to science, a Christian image among pagans.

A lion-masked Leo headed over to the planetarium’s control booth. The ceiling dimmed to a deep twilight blue. As it darkened still further, pinpricks of light popped into view. Soon, the entire sky glittered with stars.

Music began, a minimalist tick tock between discordant notes, like the breathing of an old man, or the sound of his plodding footsteps. Theo recognized the track: the fifth movement of Holst’s The Planets: “Saturn, Bringer of Old Age.” A fitting tribute to the sickle-bearing Pater. The constellations moved across the sky with the same deliberate rhythm. Theo watched Orion rise, eternally chased by Scorpius for his sins against womankind. Then Ursa Major, the nymph metamorphosed into a bear as punishment for breaking her vows of chastity. Corvus the Crow, its feathers turned black for its crimes. All placed in the heavens by the wrath of Artemis, the Long-Cloaked Marshal of the Stars. A deity light-years away from Selene, who still huddled on the ground, holding her bleeding brother in her arms, looking as powerless as any mortal woman trapped in grief’s grip.

The Pater’s voice boomed out above the music. “Diana believes she created the stars themselves, but instead, the stars created her. For we are all dust, birthed at the dawn of time, forged in the furnace of the heavens, fused together by the power of the universe. There is only one God, and He kindled that first spark of energy that started it all. From Him came the planets, the sun, the galaxies themselves, the spheres spinning in perfect harmony, dancing to the celestial music.”

As the symphony moved to a climax of blaring brass and pounding timpani, the stars spun in fast forward. The moon rose and set, then the sky lightened once more as the sun made its ascent. With the planetarium bathed in light, Theo could clearly see the tableau before him. Selene stood face to face with the Pater. Paul’s body lay at her feet, his chest heaving.

“Let my brother go as you promised. Now,” she said, her face expressionless. “Or I will not go willingly.”

“Take the Pretender down to the street,” the Pater told the Heliodromi. Then he looked back at Selene. “You know he won’t escape us for long.”

She nodded stonily. All she could give her twin now was time. Theo knew that the wounds on Paul’s back would heal. But it would be too late for Selene.

As the Heliodromi dragged Paul’s limp body out of sight, the sun plunged once more below the horizon, and Theo could barely make out his lover’s face in the gloaming, but her voice was calm as she said, “Do it now. While I still desire it.”

Theo tried to shout, but the gag in his mouth muffled his words. He stomped on one guard’s foot and swung an elbow into the gut of another, but they held him fast. The Pater lifted his sickle, ready for his harvest. The Hyaena took a step forward as if she would protest, and Theo felt a moment of hope—but then she halted, her masked face unreadable.

“As the sun rises and sets, so will our God rise again,” the Pater intoned, tilting his blade so its curved edge caught the starlight. “For He is the true sun.”

Theo twisted in his guards’ grip, nearly breaking free. The Leo Primus, a heavyset man with the hint of a double chin beneath his lion mask, rushed toward him. He pressed the tines of Poseidon’s trident into the back of Theo’s neck. “Keep struggling and you’ll die,” he said, his Queens accent identifying him as the doughboy cop who’d arrested Selene at Rockefeller Center. “You’ll be no help to her then.”

The Pater gestured for Selene to open her leather jacket and the flannel shirt underneath. Only a thin tank top stood between her heart and his blade. She closed her eyes and tilted her face heavenward.

The light show had cycled back to dawn. The moon set, the stars faded, and the sun rose to turn the sky from black to azure.

“Ashes to ashes,” chanted the Pater. “Dust to dust. Stars to stars.” He brought the sickle arcing toward her chest. Theo forced himself to keep his eyes open, to watch his love leave the world.

And then, as if to spare him the sight, the room plunged into darkness. The soaring classical music stopped abruptly. In its place, a heavy metal guitar riff blared through the speakers, drowning out the astonished cries of the syndexioi.

In the dim blue light emanating from the control booth, Theo saw Gabriela’s head bent over the soundboard. Behind her, the Leo Secundus stood thrashing in Flint’s grip. Philippe pierced the man’s heart with a tiny dart. Suddenly, the ceiling rained stars, as if the room itself sped through space, galaxies zipping by on either side. The effect was dizzying.

In the starlight, Theo watched Flint rush forward, titanium leg braces steadying his stride and a massive hammer clutched in two hands. Philippe followed behind with his small bow raised. Theo cheered through his gag as Dash darted forward from a side entrance, a gun in each hand and the wings on his golden cap streaming behind him.

Theo had to help, but the trident in his neck promised certain death if he turned in any direction. He bent forward at the waist instead, kicking back at the pudgy Leo Primus while swinging his bound hands into the kneecaps of his other guard. Both men stumbled away from him. He lunged forward, unarmed, thinking only of Selene, when the trident’s handle smacked him on the skull and sent him to his knees. He watched the battle unfold through blurred vision.

The Corvus with the caduceus stepped away to block Dash’s charge. Dash fired, once from each gun, grazing the Corvus’s arm and shoulder. Despite his wounds, the syndexios raised his staff, swinging it forward as if to flick holy water off an aspergillum. Instead, the snakes themselves flew from the staff—no longer gilded figurines, but living, hissing serpents. They shot toward their former owner, tongues flickering.

Dash jumped, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, as if willing his winged cap to lift him into flight—but whatever magic the syndexioi had managed to awaken lay deaf to the Messenger’s call. He fell back to earth with a muted thump—right into the snakes’ path. They slapped against his neck like a living noose. Eyes bulging, face flushed, he slowly sank to his knees.

Theo watched in horror as the syndexioi advanced to block Flint as well. They moved in perfect, deliberate formation, as if they’d expected his arrival. Flint swung his massive hammer to keep them at bay. The Miles thrust Mars’s spear forward, but Flint knocked it aside with the head of his weapon, then struck the soldier hard in the ribs with its handle. Theo began to hope that the Smith might succeed where the Messenger had failed. But then the Perses holding Selene’s bow shot three golden arrows at once, and Flint foundered beneath the onslaught, his hammer rolling free as he clutched at the shafts in his stomach.

Philippe cried out and aimed his small bow at his stepfather’s attacker. Flint gasped a warning—the Miles had turned Mars’s spear on the God of Love. Philippe turned to fire at the new threat, but not before the solider rammed the weapon through his side.

The gods aren’t enough, Theo realized desperately. Come on, Flint, please tell me you called Hansen like you promised you would, he begged silently. The syndexioi might wield weapons like gods, but he doubted they could heal like them: If a SWAT team showed up with machine guns, they’d fall like any other mortal men.

Selene rushed toward her fallen kin, but a syndexios stepped in front of her. She kicked him soundly in the groin and kept running.

Then a golden arrow from her own bow sliced into her back and sent her sprawling across the floor.

Theo struggled to his feet, trying once more to throw off his captors, but the Leo jammed the trident’s tines against his Adam’s apple, growling to his comrades, “I know the plan is to capture the Pretenders alive, but surely I’m allowed to kill this prick?”

“I’ll take him,” a woman said from behind them. The Leo turned around, dragging Theo with him.

The Hyaena spoke again, her voice muffled by the grinning leather mask. “The Pater told me to remove the professor before he causes any more trouble.”

“You?” the Leo scoffed. “He’s stronger than he looks. You’re just an old woman.”

The Hyaena reached into her robes and pulled out a Glock. “If he tries anything, I’ll shoot him.”

When the other syndexioi looked at one another doubtfully, she asked, “You would disobey the Pater’s instructions? Go help your comrades with the Pretenders. This man is the least of your worries.” She raised the gun and pressed it against Theo’s temple.

As she led him away, Theo watched the Heliodromus Primus throw a small golden net over Dash, Philippe, and Flint. The mesh expanded to cover all three Athanatoi, falling in heavy folds to the ground. They groaned and bent beneath its weight, their flesh red where it pressed against them.

Selene lay unmoving on the other side of the clearing, an inky puddle forming around the arrow shaft in her back.

“Don’t even think about trying to run back to your girlfriend,” the Hyaena growled, pressing the barrel of the gun more firmly against his head.

She led him out of the planetarium, down an escalator, and into the gift shop.

“It’s all over for you,” she said, digging in the pocket of her robe. Theo wondered what new weapon she’d produce. Something to kill me quietly, he decided with surprising calmness.

Gabi’s curly head popped up from behind the cashier’s desk.

“Oh, thank God!” She ran toward Theo. “She got you out!”

The Hyaena pulled the key to his handcuffs from her pocket.

Gabi stepped between them and ripped the gag from his mouth, talking all the while. “She dragged me out of the planetarium and told me to hide, and then I told her she had to help you get out too. Wait, where are you going?” she begged as he moved toward the escalator.

“Selene’s still in there!” He turned to the Hyaena. “Unlock the cuffs.”

The woman folded her fingers around the key. At the edge of her mask, her jaw clenched. “Not if you’re going back in. She’s not your concern.”

“Then I’ll go back in cuffed. I’ll bash your Pater two-fisted if I have to.” He took another step toward the escalator. He didn’t see her swing the butt of her gun at his head, but he crumpled beneath the blow, falling against a metal shelf full of astronomy books.

“Hey!” he heard Gabi protest. Before he could regain his balance, the Hyaena had produced a pair of plastic flex cuffs and secured his metal restraints to the side of the bookshelf.

“I can’t let you do that, Professor,” she growled in his ear.

Then, with the smell of cigarettes on her breath, Theo finally recognized her voice.