Moira #7: Natural Order

“This is a much nicer area than it was a few years ago.” Diana waves her hoofed fingers around. “All the paint is fresh, the buildings are clean, the sidewalks are spotless.”

“And about half the stores look like they put in new ramps recently.”

“Maybe Hazel’s been improving her neighborhood.”

Moira points across the street. “Well, whatever the hell she’s doing, it’s getting noticed.”

Diana follows the hare’s gesture. The building that had stood on that corner has been recently demolished, and it’s hard not to see the suggestion of heavy tire tracks in the wreckage. But the first thing you see is the old wall of the neighboring building, now exposed, and its newly painted two-story high mural of a beautiful pika woman in a gleaming, almost throne-like wheelchair. Light radiates from her like she’s the sun. Relatively tiny people, barely an inch high relative to her, sit or climb on her shoulders, in her lap, in her open hands. They’re mostly herbivores. Her expression isn’t mean, but it’s stern: she’s protecting all those people on her from the crowd under her wheels and paws, cops and riot police and men in business suits. They’re mostly carnivores. The ground in front of the mural has become a makeshift shrine, flowers and gifts lining the wall.

“Goodness. If, uh, if that was a scene from real life it’d have made the news, right?”

Moira shrugs. “She could get big enough for that scale difference, but I think it’s artistic license. Like I said, we’re all making the tabloids, but not the main papers.”

“I haven’t asked yet how you’re doing that. Or if it’s you doing it.”

“You all mostly do it for me. Mortals don’t like to believe what’s too far outside their worldview. They’ll rationalize it away. And in an age where myths stay safely in books and churches don’t ask for more than putting up with a weekly sermon and tossing a buck in the offering plate, what the hell do you do with stories about giant gods?”

“You pretend they’re something else as long as you can.” Diana tilts her head. “But they can’t do that forever.”

“They can do it until it becomes too big to ignore. Not literally. Well, maybe literally.” They turn the corner onto a slightly narrower street. The storefronts on the first floor change to one-car garages and front doors that must lead directly onto staircases. Almost nobody’s parked on the street, although bits of flattened car parts in the gutters suggest why. “But it’s not the mortals I’m worried about. Max didn’t know how to deal with an old god, but I don’t like banking on the rest of his crew being that unprepared for much longer. No pun intended.”

A block ahead, it opens up just a little. Still row houses, but they’re bigger, with enough space for the one-car garages and front doors to alternate with first-floor windows. “And I’m not an old god.” Diana hesitates a moment as she looks around, then crosses the street. Moira follows.

The sheep stops a couple doors down at a townhome, stucco walls painted a pale green. “This is it, isn’t it? I can feel it.”

Moira nods.

The real door has a wrought iron door in front of it, with a buzzer-style doorbell off to the side. Diana reaches for it, but her hoofed finger hasn’t touched the button before the wooden door swings open.

A tall squirrel woman, nearly Moira’s height, looks out through the grate, leaning on the door. She’s built like a ballerina and dressed like a bohemian: midnight blue patterned maxi skirt, off-the-shoulder white blouse, denim jacket, turquoise jewelry everywhere—necklace, bracelets, anklets. Unbound wavy black hair falls down almost to her midriff.

“So,” the squirrel says after a moment. “You’re Moira, and you are…?”

“Diana.”

“Huh.” The squirrel flicks her huge tail, as if weighing whether that was the right answer, then unlatches the iron door and leads them in. “We’ve been expecting you. Well, she has.”

“Are you, uh, Hazel’s high priestess?”

The squirrel turns around, walking backward for a moment. “Oh, you are a funny sheep.” She remains perfectly deadpan. Diana’s ears lower. Moira smirks. She thinks she likes this one.

The squirrel leads them through a small living room into a dining room that looks like a makeshift office. The table has two laptops on it and an external monitor, and a bunch of books. Hazel sits in front of one of the laptops, her wheelchair off to the side. She doesn’t look much different from when Moira last saw her: jeans, T-shirt, chopped hair, super cute in a slightly tough way. She looks over as the three enter, pushing herself up in the desk chair with her arms, and grins. “Finally!”

Diana smiles tentatively at the pika, then looks to the squirrel. “Ah, do you—does she—”

“Do I know she’s super-powered,” the squirrel gestures at Hazel, “that she’s super-powered,” to Moira, “and that probably you’re super-powered, too?” The squirrel sighs, crossing her arms. “Yeah.”

“Moira, this is Rhiannon, my roommate—”

“My full title is ‘beleaguered roommate,’” the squirrel corrects.

“Rhiannon, this is Moira. She’s the goddess of love and war.”

Rhiannon studies Moira skeptically. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Moira gestures to the sheep. “This is Diana.”

Rhiannon crosses her arms. “Goddess of…?”

“Well, uh, I don’t… hmm.”

“Stomping,” Moira says. Diana makes a choking noise and she narrows her eyes at the hare, who just continues with a shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know if Hazel and Diana need to be goddesses of anything. We were always aspects of something mortals needed gods for, but I don’t know if those old traditions hold up.”

Rhiannon sighs melodramatically. “So I’ve gone from being in a house with one super-powered crazy woman to three. What even is my life now.”

Hazel grins. “Exciting.”

Rhiannon rolls her eyes, then takes a seat by the other laptop. “So. What do you two know about Celestial Capital?” Both she and Hazel look at the other two expectantly.

Moira tilts her head. “What do you know about them?”

Hazel answers. “They wanted me to come in for an interview for a financial services job I’m not remotely qualified for. They said my background—I was a part-time webmaster at a nonprofit before this—didn’t matter. They said it was my ‘essential nature,’ and while they never used the words ‘goddess,’ I couldn’t miss the subtext.”

“You’re not a goddess,” Rhiannon singsongs, “you’re a supervillain.”

“Last week you said I was a superhero!”

“That was before you rolled over an ice cream truck.”

“It was an accident!”

“No one was hurt, were they?” Diana asks, eyes wide.

“It was gruesome.” Rhiannon looks up at the sheep with exaggerated horror. “Creamsicles and Choco Tacos splattered all over the pavement, waffle bits and rainbow sprinkles everywhere…”

Hazel groans. “Everyone was fine.” She waves at the computers. “We’ve been researching this Celestial group. I’d heard the name before, always connected to some terrible company they’d funded like Presage, or to some financial meltdown they’d had their paws in. But I didn’t know how big they were. Under Celestial Capital, there’s Celestial Ventures, Celestial Private Equity, Celestial Public Equity, Celestial Consulting, Celestial Logistics.”

“And when you trace out from them, which they make really difficult to do without digging through shell companies and offshore accounts and shit,” Rhiannon picks up, “they own a piece of everything. News organizations, banks, web hosts, television networks, streaming services, and outsourced government services. They’re big into that. Schools, police departments, prisons, road maintenance, even water treatment. Everything.”

Moira runs a hand through her hair. “Rule the way modern gods do.”

“Yes, that’s a way…” Hazel stops and stares at Moira. “You’re not being metaphorical.”

Rhiannon crosses her arms, looking skeptical again. “I’d have thought ‘modern’ gods would have much better firewalls.”

“Firewalls?” Moira looks blank.

“Computer security?” Rhiannon gives her a doleful look. “Don’t tell me, you’re an old god and you don’t know anything about technology. Okay. I said I was digging through shell companies and offshore accounts, and I did that by breaking into their systems. Every superhero team has the sidekick with no powers who’s great at something. I guess I’m your hacker.”

Hazel pumps her fist. “Superheroes again!”

Moira pulls an empty chair around and sits down by Rhiannon. “Who runs Celestial?”

“The CEO is Darren Nunwick, a lion who’s excellent at staying out of the spotlight. They’re a closely held private firm, they’ve been around about forty years, and their mission statement uses a lot of words to say nothing.” She taps on her keyboard, bringing up a web site, and reads from it, dropping her voice to mimic the deep, blandly reassuring voice of financial service company television ads: “‘From our founding, we have held to the conviction that there is a different way for an investment firm to create value. Our commitment to create lasting impact means that we work differently, tenacious in our desire to unearth the fundamentals that drive businesses and markets over the long-term. And it means that we partner differently, aligning our interests with those of our investors for lasting impact.’”

“That is some bullshit.” Moira leans back, crossing her arms. “Another lion god. Figures. Why are male lions like this?”

Hazel pushes herself up to a standing position, hops into her wheelchair, rolls over. “Daranu comes across as pretty hands off in the myths. Celestial is anything but.”

“Oh, Daranu wanted to do as little as possible with mortals, but he’d do whatever it took to enforce his idea of the natural order Herbivores under carnivores. Women under men.”

“I’m going to guess he wasn’t big into LGBT rights, either,” Rhiannon says.

“Nope. I probably didn’t care enough then, either. There’s a lot I got wrong.” Moira trails off.

“There’s a lot you got right.” Diana crosses her arms. “That order needed to end.”

“And a couple thousand years later, here we are.” Moira slouches in her chair. “I thought even if I’d lost the battle, I might win the war. I thought mortals losing their faith in us was—well, good. But despite all your progress, you baked that damn ‘natural order’ into your society. And now somehow new gods are showing up to make everything even worse.”

Rhiannon shifts uncomfortably. “You’re really committed to the idea of being a goddess, aren’t you?”

Moira straightens, looking annoyed. “I bet you’ve seen Hazel do miracles, and frankly she doesn’t know half of what she’s capable of. You’ve seen the shrine a couple blocks away. I’m going to guess there’ve been worshippers here. And you know this is all supernatural, impossible. You can rationalize superheroes, but not gods?”

“Yes. Ever since you did whatever the hell you did, I’ve had a supporting role in a very dark comedy and I can’t figure out if my roommate’s the plucky heroine or the cosmic horror. Thanks for all that.” She takes a ragged breath. “You want to know why no gods? Because if there were gods, it’d mean they let the world get this way.” She fixes her gaze on the hare. “There’s so much beauty and so much ugliness. Maybe you can’t have one without the other. But through all my short, mortal life, the balance has been tipping. There’s always been corruption, but it’s getting more open. Our leaders are calling laws against discrimination the real discrimination, the anti-fascists the real fascists. There are too many places people like me might be arrested—or worse—for just using the restroom.”

She pushes back from the table, standing up, voice rising as she glares down at the hare.. “So no, I can’t explain what Hazel can do now, or what I guess you and the sheep can do. But as insane as believing you’re superheroes is? If I believe that you’re a goddess and you’ve been here a thousand years just… just watching, that you didn’t help us, that you didn’t stop us?” Her words drop to a broken whisper. “That’s so much worse.”

Hazel fidgets. Diana looks like she wants to protest, but she’s watching Moira for cues. And Moira—

Moira freezes for an eternity or two in the space of a second. Oh, the irritation and anger from having a mortal challenge her is there. It’s strong. At most points in those thousand years the squirrel’s impudently lecturing her about, this would end with Rhiannon’s pretty little legs kicking futilely as they disappeared down Moira’s throat. But there’s more beyond that, feelings she can’t—no, just doesn’t want to—give the power of names to.

Her expression hasn’t changed, but Diana and Hazel both step back, cringing. Rhiannon clearly feels it too, feels something. She trembles, ears lowering, but stands her ground.

“When I rebelled, I’d thought I was ready for anything,” Moira says curtly. “Daranu listening and changing his ways, one of us being exiled, one—or both—of us being killed. But what I wasn’t ready for was indifference. No one stood with me. No one spoke for me.” She sighs, looking up into the squirrel’s frightened eyes, speaking more softly. “You’re… right, Rhiannon. You’re right. I felt abandoned by the other gods, and I abandoned all of you. I don’t know what I could have done. Maybe nothing. But I only felt sorry for myself, the last immortal bit of magic left in a wretched world. Now I’m starting to feel for all of you again. I don’t like it, but I think maybe I need it.”

Moira takes Rhiannon’s hands gently in hers. “I wish I could tell you I had a grand plan, that I know the reason I’m here with all of you, specifically. I don’t. But I know there is a reason. I don’t know what’s coming, and I don’t know how to be ready for it. But maybe I can figure it out, with three young goddesses keeping me in line.”

Rhiannon’s eyes widen, and she makes a soft, hiccuping chitter noise, lets out a nervous, weak laugh. “No, no, not me. Give me power and you’ll have… uh…” She pulls away, and her voice trails off in a high squeak. She looks at her hands as if she’s just seeing herself for the first time. In a way, she is. “Have… a major supervillain on your paws…” she finishes in an uncertain whisper.

Moira smiles slightly. “I’ll take the chance.”

Diana bounces on her hooves, suppressing a squeal. Hazel watches her roommate, blinking rapidly.

“What now?” Rhiannon whispers, looking at Moira with a bewildered expression.

Hazel sits up and cracks her knuckles. “I think we introduce the natural order to some long overdue chaos.”