“Because it’s a story,” Enkidu said, identifying the fundamental problem with the whole enterprise. If you believed hard enough, worked hard enough, could you make the stories real by force of will? Were the ancient gods and myths only metaphors, or was there something more behind them? Could they have it both ways? According to the story, Enkidu and Gilgamesh battled giant scorpions in the cedar forest, and what about any of that made sense?
But what if they really had?
My smile felt bitter, exhausted. “Except there’s really a Sun Wukong and Xiwangmu, because I’ve met them. And maybe they’re just really powerful people who called themselves gods and convinced everyone else that they were right. But in their case I’m pretty sure the stories are about them, not the other way around. They didn’t borrow their identities from the stories. Kumarbis is cobbling together whatever he can because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s making it up as he goes along, and Zora’s making it work because it gives her power. Where did Kumarbis find her?”
“She was telling fortunes in Istanbul,” Sakhmet said. “She had a reputation—she was real, she was the fortune-teller the creatures of magic went to for help. That was how Kumarbis found her and recruited her. Named her the avatar of Zoroaster. We don’t know where she’s from. We think she’s American, but how she came to be in the Middle East, practicing such powerful magic, we’re not sure.”
Another story I’d love to get on the show. I wondered what I’d have to do to make that happen. Pay with more blood, probably.
“What does Kumarbis expect is going to happen?” I asked.
Sakhmet said, “The final ritual will destroy Gaius Albinus, Dux Bellorum.”
The first ritual had worked—I knew it had worked. Why shouldn’t the second? And what would be the cost?
Enkidu said, “You say you have met gods. Real gods, not avatars. Chinese, yes? The Monkey King, the Queen Mother of the West.”
“You know some mythology.”
“I’ve read a few books,” he said, with a crooked half smile. The closest thing to a smile I’d seen on him. “Tell me, how is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Right place at the right time. Or wrong place, depending on how you look at it. But they had power. I believed.” I’d come to believe so much over the last few years, since doing the show and meeting people like Kumarbis. But I couldn’t believe him. Sun Wukong had inspired
me. This … this was something else entirely.
Enkidu’s gaze turned downcast, somber. “We’ve lost so much of the power that we had in ancient days.”
Sakhmet added, “Once, long ago, our kind were worshipped as gods. We were revered.”
“If we still had some of that power,” Enkidu said, “Dux Bellorum would not be as strong as he is.”
“And that’s why you’re here?” I asked. “To get back the power of the gods?”
They didn’t answer. They must have known what it sounded like from the outside. But still, they kept on, because … because what else could they do? If they had any hope that these rituals could defeat Roman, or at least give them the power to defeat Roman, they had to stay. That, I understood.
“You can’t do what Zora’s doing—you can’t work that kind of magic that pokes and prods at someone without drawing attention. Scrying, searching—it works both ways. We might have learned something about Roman, but you can bet he learned something about us. If we know where he is, he might also have discovered where we are and what we’re doing, and if he doesn’t, he at least knows that we’re looking for him. If he thinks we’re a threat, he’ll do something about it. He’s been studying magic for two thousand years, and I don’t care if Zora really is channeling Zoroaster, she’s not as powerful as he is.”
“We’re safe here,” Sakhmet said, soothing. “Zora’s put many protections over this place. We’re underground, hidden—”
“Any shield can be broken with enough time and effort,” I said.
“What do you know about magic?” Enkidu shot back.
“Nothing,” I said, a mad grin on my lips. “But I know some great magicians.”
Sakhmet gathered calm to herself, folding her hands before her, closing her eyes. “We will be watchful. I will speak with Zora about it.”
“Will she listen to you?” Enkidu said.
“I’ll speak gently.” The opposite of me, in other words. Giving me a sidelong look, she bowed her head to us and left through the tunnel to find the magician.
Enkidu studied me. The attention felt like a challenge. I was tired of meeting his challenges, but I did, because what choice did I have? I glared until he lowered his gaze. As if he wasn’t aware he’d been staring. He was just like that all the time.
I said, “The next time Zora works a ritual against Roman, he’ll be ready. He’ll strike back at us. We’re waging war, there’s going to be a battle.”
“We have to have faith that her magic will protect us.” The words came rote, without any belief behind them.
Faith. And what was that? “Because that’s what you do when you’re dealing with gods. Have faith. Right?”