Scorn of Angels

by John Patrick Kennedy

  Of course the writing ends there.

  “There is nothing beneath there,” said the imam. “You cannot see anything.”

  “All religions are built on the ruins of beliefs that came before,” said Arcana, putting her hand on the man’s shoulder. “Look again.”

  The man looked, and this time he saw the ancient faded mural that lay under the painted patterns. His jaw dropped and his eyes went wide at the graceful and vibrant artwork.

  “How… how did you…”

  He turned and realized he was standing alone.

  In the air over the Mediterranean, Arcana frowned to herself. Nyx as a goddess of plenty? And consort to Tribunal? By the name Tribunal, not Jesus? What was she playing at?

  And was she still doing it when she took Jerusalem?

  Arcana closed her eyes and let her mind go wide through the world. This time she was listening for the sound of Nyx’s name being called by a worshipper. To her surprise, she heard one immediately, in the north, then another to the east, and yet more in between. She stayed circling in the air, listening intently.

  By the end of the day, she’d heard Nyx’s name called thousands of times.

  She has her own cult, Arcana realized. Her own, huge cult, all over the world…

  Why?

  Arcana winged north. She would start there and find out what, exactly, was going on.

  A.D. 1110

  All roads once led to Rome, Arcana thought as she sat on the top of the ruins of the great Roman coliseum and looked down at the city. She had flown all over the world in the past ten years, and it had led her here.

  In her hands she held the strange pendant a Mongol warrior had given her. It was made of copper and hung on a braided leather band. The pendant was of three interlocked crescents, their edges trimmed with copper fire. The top one’s two sharp ends pointed skyward. The other two pointed to either side. It was, she had been told, the symbol of Nyx among the Mongols. Two crescents up representing her crown, two to each side representing her weapons and her instruction to expand ever-outward.

  It was a strange thing. It was something that was for Nyx and of Nyx. And Arcana had no idea what to do with it. She sighed and tucked it underneath her armor. She would find Nyx, and she would give it to her just before she killed her.

  The thought brought a slight smile to Arcana’s face.

  The Mongol tribes that had gathered under Nyx’s banner were not at all happy that their goddess had not come to them in ten years. The people were restless and had begun to return to the worship of their old gods. Arcana had encouraged them wherever possible. She had also dug through their knowledge of the winged goddess who had come before them, but found few legends and no references to Tribunal.

  In the Northeast, the Ruas, who had sailed down the Volga two hundred years earlier, had settled in, becoming farmer and kings. They had a more elaborate culture around the worship of Nyx as the founder of their people and their deliverer. They did not worship her alone, however. She was one of a pantheon of gods and goddesses, and they, like the Mongols, knew nothing of her relationship with Tribunal.

  So Arcana began investigating ruins.

  She’d started with the one on the Mediterranean Island where she’d found the Descended Angels. After the battle, however, what remained of the temple were mostly shards. It was possible for Arcana to reassemble it, she was sure, but it would probably take a hundred years. She decided to leave that as a last resort.

  So she’d cruised the entirety of what had been the Roman Empire, looking.

  The majority of the pagan temples had been destroyed. Others had been converted to different uses. None of them had the full inscription; none of them gave away more secrets.

  And the doors of Heaven were still closed to her, long after they were supposed to have been opened.

  There have to be records of Nyx’s religion somewhere. The Christians can’t have destroyed them all. There must be something…

  Arcana sent up a prayer for patience and winged upward into the sky

  A.D. 1119

  The House of Wisdom was considered the greatest library in the world, with easily a half-million volumes, whether scrolls, books, sheets of papyrus or old clay tablets. Daily, a thousand scholars labored in the House of Wisdom. Some were there to study medicine or astronomy or philosophy. Others translated the texts from Greek or Persian or Latin to Arabic. Still others tried to puzzle out the meaning of texts so old that there was no one left who understood the language they were written in.

  And in that library, there was one man who made it his job to preserve the writings of the infidel religions.

  His name was Salim Tarek Junaid Karin, and he had been at the library for twenty years when he met the tall, blond, beardless stranger called Arcana. It was a strange name, Salim had always thought. He kept meaning to ask after it, but always forgot to do so when in the stranger’s presence.

  The stranger visited the library several times a year and had for the last four. She (Salim always thought of the stranger that way when she wasn’t there, though he couldn’t say why) asked for the same things every time: information on an obscure Roman goddess called Nyx and the legends of her consort Tribunal.

  Salim had always loved stories, even as a child. The ancient stories were the best ones, filled with gods that interfered in human affairs and monsters that sought to destroy mankind. They were wild flights of fancy, and they made Salim’s imagination soar.

  So once Arcana told him what she knew of this Goddess Nyx, who had a consort named Tribunal, it was natural for him to go looking for more. And where better to look than in the greatest library in the world?

  He had other duties, and he carried them out in exemplary fashion. But when they were done, he would wander the stacks, like so many others, looking for more stories.

  One day, Salim wandered down into the crypts below the library. And from there he found a door to the under-crypts. Curiosity, not the expectation of finding anything, made him venture down below. He expected to find some empty, moldy rooms, not knowledge or stories. To his surprise, he found several shelves of scrolls, many of them quite old. Being very daring, he tried opening one. To his surprise, it unrolled easily. The cool and the small amount of moisture in the air had helped keep the papyrus intact and supple. He looked it over, realized it was Latin, and put it back. There were a hundred or more scrolls in the room, and they looked as though they hadn’t been touched in a hundred years.

  It took him three days to receive an appointment to speak to the head of the library, another week before the actual appointment, and then two more weeks before they would lend him the assistants to bring the scrolls up.

  When Arcana visited him that autumn, Salim was beaming.

  “Arcana, my dear friend!”

  They embraced, Arcana towering over him. “Salim,” Arcana said, smiling in a way that lit up the room. “Have you had a good summer?”

  Salim shrugged. “It is Bagdad. It is so hot in the summer we hide in the day and pray the desert winds cool us at night, when they are not throwing sandstorms at us. And you? Have you still been travelling?”

  “I have,” said Arcana. She held up a box. “And I bring a gift for you. Fables of a man called Aesop, translated from Greek to Latin by Phaedrus, copied by Rufus. This is a copy of Rufus’s manuscript and is at least three hundred years old.”

  Salim’s eyes went wide as Arcana handed him the box. “My friend, I cannot thank you enough.”

  “You have helped me for four years,” said Arcana. “You have taught me more stories than I could ever have learned on my own. It is the least I could do.”

  “It is a wondrous gift,” said Salim, beaming. “And I know that we should go drink tea and celebrate it, but there is something I know you will want to see first.”

  Arcana’s perfectly shaped brows rose high on her forehead. “My friend, you do not mean…”

  “I do!” Salim practically danced. “It is amazing, I tell you
. I found them deep in the crypts, in the basement below the basement. I got permission to bring them up, and they are now in the library, in the rooms where documents wait to be translated to Arabic.” His grin went wide. “I have found stories of Nyx!”

  Arcana embraced him again, the strength of it nearly crushing Salim. “You are an amazing man!” Arcana declared. “Please, yes, if you would. Let us see them now!”

  Salim proudly led Arcana into the library, through the great stacks of books, and into the back rooms where other, much more untidy stacks sat before scholars who were carefully translating the words of the texts. At the far end, under a window, sat Salim’s table. Like the others, it was burdened with scrolls and books, and on the top of them, in a box, was a neat pile of scrolls. Salim picked the first one up and handed it to Arcana. She scanned it slowly, her brow furrowing.

  “Is it not what you were hoping for?” asked Salim, cautiously.

  Arcana nodded. “I think it is, Salim,” she said. “It is what I was looking for…” but it was not what I was expecting.

  She read closely.

  In the fifth year of the reign of Caligula Caesar, it came to pass that I met a woman who claimed to have met three goddesses in the desert. She had been a slave in a house in Byblos when the first of the three, called Ishtar, came and took over the house, turning the owners into slaves and then giving the house over to the second of the goddesses she saw, called Nyx, who arrived with the goddess Persephone. All three appeared as tall, beautiful women in black armor and black wings at first, though their wings later vanished. They would also take other forms—monsters, demons, men, or different guises of woman as the fancy took them.

  The goddesses were creatures of pleasure and vice, often engaging in congress with servants of both sexes and each other. They often flew away, separately or in a pair, though one always remained behind to ensure the house was not empty and that the slaves could not get up to mischief. Of the three, Ishtar was the most wicked, given to beating or torturing the servants for pleasure. The goddess Persephone was somewhat more gentle, though her sexual appetites were legendary. The goddess Nyx, while enjoying the company of the other goddesses, did not often partake in the pleasures of the flesh with mortals.

  It is said that servants listen to nothing and hear everything. This is how, as she and three others were serving in the baths, she overheard Nyx’s plans. She declared she would become the greatest goddess Rome had ever known, and that her followers would wipe out the Christians. Nyx ordered Persephone to strengthen her own followers to keep them from becoming Christians, and ordered Ishtar to disguise herself as Isis. Ishtar was most annoyed at this but did as Nyx told her.

  Arcana looked up at Salim. “There are more of these?”

  “Twenty,” said Salim, proudly. “All from the Roman period, all about Nyx. I think they were written by one of her followers.”

  “Do any of them mention Tribunal?”

  Salim grinned and picked the other scroll off the top of the pile, then the three beneath it. “They do indeed, my friend.”

  Arcana smiled nearly as widely as Salim. “You are truly a wonder. May I read them?”

  “Of course.” Salim pointed to an empty table. “There is no one using that table today. You may sit there and read all of them at your leisure.”

  “A thousand thanks, Salim,” said Arcana.

  Salim carried the scrolls over to the table. “I have duties this morning,” said Salim. “Shall we get together for lunch?”

  “We shall,” said Arcana. “And I insist on buying you the best lunch to be had in the city.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” said Salim.

  An hour later, Salim looked up from his work. Arcana was gone from the table. All the scrolls were there, spread out. Salim frowned, wondering what could have caused his friend, who wanted the stories so desperately, to leave so suddenly.

  High above the Earth, Arcana screamed in rage and launched herself at the portal to Heaven with every ounce of power in her body.

  “The goddess Nyx told the Emperor Caligula that Herod betrayed them…”

  The portal was there. She could feel it. In fury she threw a bolt of pure energy where it should be.

  “…And Tribunal and Nyx did meet in intimate congress many times, during which Tribunal revealed his plans for humanity.”

  The divine energy hit something, and for the briefest of moments Arcana could actually see the Gates.

  “And Tribunal was sacrificed and left the Earth for Heaven…”

  She hurled herself at the Gates and, for the first time in twenty years, felt the barrier that had diverted her before. Her body bounced off it like an insect off an iron door.

  “But Tribunal swore he would return and that on his return to Earth he would create a Paradise for Nyx and those other gods who chose to follow him…”

  In fury, Arcana threw more power at the door, and she screamed in the tongues of the Angels, “Open the Gates! Open the Gates! I must speak to God! OPEN THE GATES! OPEN THEM! OPEN THEM!”

  “For Tribunal would destroy the world the GOD had created, and would rebuild it in his own image. And he would rebuild this world for Nyx and those who followed her, to be Paradise for all eternity.”

  And when the last of the energy was drained from her body, the Gates of Heaven were still closed and Arcana fell back through the atmosphere to earth, a flaming meteor that crashed into the darkness of the ocean.

  Salim Tarek Junaid Karin sat up in his bed. Beside him, his wife slept peacefully. He started to roll over and go back to sleep when he sensed someone in his house.

  There was no fear in the realization, no sense of worry of theft or murder. There was only the knowledge of someone in his house and that he should rise and speak to them.

  He dressed quietly in the dark and made his way from the bedroom to the living space where he received guests. In the darkness, he could make out a shape, not a human one, but a large, lumpy one, as if someone had tossed a blanket over a pile of something.

  Still, Salim felt no fear. He lit an oil lamp, then looked again and realized that he wasn’t looking at blankets. He was looking at wings. Long feathers of the purest white shone in the light of the lamp. Each wing was easily ten feet long. Both were folded over, creating a shelter for whatever lay in the middle of it.

  “H…” his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. “Hello?”

  There was no response for a moment. Then the wings rustled, and slowly unfolded themselves from their shelter and spread until they touched the walls. Beneath them, a being sat, its arms around its knees, its head bowed low and its face hidden. Like the wings, its garments were pure white. What Salim could see looked like armor, and it had a long, straight sword that stuck out from its body.

  Other than the wings, it did not move.

  An Angel? Here? What would an Angel want here? And why does it not move? Salim was unsure what to say. To address an Angel of God was surely not permitted, unless the Angel spoke first. Yet it was sitting in his home, and it was not sitting like one with a message, or with a mind toward divine retribution or reward. It was sitting like… Salim frowned and gently asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I despair,” said the Angel.

  Salim’s mouth dropped open. He worked his jaws silently for a time before he managed, “Arcana? Is that… are you…Arcana?”

  Arcana brought her head up. Tears were rolling down her face. “Oh, Salim, my friend, I fear the world is to be destroyed, and I cannot reach God to warn him.”

  Salim felt his legs start to shiver and the strength flow out of his body. He sat down cross-legged on the floor.

  Arcana folded her wings and crossed her legs as he had. She sat up straight and wiped at her eyes with her forearm until the tears were gone. When they were, she said, “I know you love stories, my friend, and I desperately need to tell you mine. Will you listen?”

  Salim saw all the pain and pride and despair in Arcana
’s face. For a moment he wondered if he would be able to hear an Angel’s tale and remain sane. He wondered if he was permitted to say “no” to an Angel of God.

  Then he looked closer and saw the face of his dear friend who loved stories so much that she had visited him twice a year and heard the stories he had to tell, both those he had found and those of his own life.

  “Oh, Arcana,” he said, “my friend. Of course I will listen to your story. Would you like some tea?”

  “Very much,” said Arcana. “And while we make it, I will tell you the story of Nyx, of who she was before she became a goddess on Earth.”

  A.D. 1120

  Arcana sat on the Dome of the Rock, watching the sunrise and waiting.

  Nyx must have seduced Tribunal, Arcana thought. She must have convinced him of how hateful and disgusting the humans are, and have turned him away from humanity. That is why Tribunal wanted to destroy them all when he came back. And when God refused, Nyx must have convinced him that it could be done without God.

  I will kill her, when she comes. If I cannot reach Heaven and tell God of Nyx’s plan, I will kill her the moment she comes back to Earth. Then maybe Tribunal will come to his senses.

  I hope so.

  And as the sun rose higher, Arcana closed her eyes and began praying.

  Chapter 5

  Lucifer was slowly tearing a soul in two, taking pleasure in its screams of agony and the horror of the other souls watching. Lucifer’s victim had been a nobleman, given to excessive torture and brutality, with a habit of executing his victims by hanging them upside down and sawing them in half. Once the man split apart, Lucifer planned to have him sawn in two, slowly, for all eternity. Given the speed at which souls healed, Lucifer could arrange it so that, as one saw reached his skull to cut it in two, the second saw would be ready to rip open the man’s healed nether regions. That, as well as keeping the man’s head in a trough of Hellfire, would serve nicely.