Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series

by Carney, Michael

  Hundreds of demonic creatures poured out from the cave like swarming bats and soared into the night sky, their terrifying armored bodies illuminated by the half-moon. Demon after demon flexed black, leathery wings and flew into the sky, branching out in all directions, searching for some mysterious prey. Their collective wingbeats created an intense angry buzz as they circled round and round.

  One of the demons flew down to the mountains and hovered near one poor shepherd. The nightmarish apparition raised a flaming sword—and shrieked with delight as the shepherd ran for his life.

  Two of the shepherds, afraid that they could not escape without being spotted, hid behind some large boulders high on the side of the mountain. From that vantage point, they could see large numbers of demons flying around far above, blanketing the sky, whilst small groups combed the mountainous landscape.

  Then the shepherds heard a new sound cutting through the buzz.

  The sound came from what the shepherds decided must be an angel, white wings beating furiously as it fought through the layer of demons and plunged down through the sky, down towards the water below, at an incredible, impossible velocity.

  Many of the demons broke off from their formation and chased after their angelic quarry as it continued to increase its speed, heading towards what must surely be a fatal collision with the Mediterranean Sea.

  Before the angel could come anywhere near its intended destination however, two fireballs struck its feathered wings. The wings burst into flames.

  Like a modern-day Icarus, the figure plummeted from the sky.

  PART ONE

  ONE

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples [Italy], 9 p.m. Monday January 18 1610

  “Don’t let her escape!” shouted Henricus, as he watched the young woman scrambling across the badly-damaged top floor of a derelict building in the residential quarter of Naples. Several of the Alchemae, Academy graduates with enhanced powers, closely pursued her. A handful of hired thugs, whose not-so-unique talent was primarily brute force, joined in the chase.

  The two groups were effectively herding the young woman towards the most unstable corner of the building, where large sections of the floor had collapsed into the darkness below. Even Girardus, whose acrobatic abilities were unmatched, proceeded carefully across this hazardous surface.

  The woman suddenly checked her headlong flight—not because of any concerns about the void into which she might have plunged, but rather because a ten-foot-tall, double-headed monster had just blocked her path. This terrifying creature—conjured up by the Alchemae’s master of illusion, Apollinaris—breathed out great torrents of flame. Its two heads—on the left a hissing serpent, on the right a snarling lion—were poised, apparently ready to strike the woman at any moment.

  “Excellent,” Henricus remarked to his Academy colleague, Zulian, “Apollinaris has outdone himself tonight. His latest creation looks like a cross between a hydra and a chimera, if I remember my Greek mythology correctly.”

  Henricus and Zulian stood on the far side of the building, close to a bonfire which the Academy’s men had lit earlier in the evening with the goal of attracting the lazzaroni, Naples’ teeming masses of beggars, poor and homeless. It was a cold, wet night and the bonfire had proven an effective lure. Unfortunately, as Zulian’s nose told him only too clearly, the lazzaroni might be better described as the non lavato, the unwashed. He could smell their choking stench everywhere, especially as the bonfire liberated the odors from their wet clothing. Zulian, for one, hoped that this recruitment mission would swiftly conclude so that he could escape the horrific smell.

  When the Academy’s trap was sprung, several of the lazzaroni had drawn their swords—only priests or the most wretched of paupers would go around unarmed in seventeenth century Europe—but the supernatural powers of the Academy’s enhanced had quickly discouraged any significant opposition. Some had sought to run but only the young woman had successfully eluded the Academy’s grasp. It seemed, however, that her freedom would be short-lived.

  “She’s trapped,” smirked Zulian, “nowhere to run. Even if she has the nerve to get past Apollinaris’s monster, she’d be crazy to try to jump the gap—it’s a very long way down. We’ve caught her now.”

  And so it seemed, until their quarry appeared to notice that the creature in front of her had done little more than look threatening. Then she thrust her hand directly into the path of one of the bursts of flame that the monster spat out.

  “Amazing,” said Henricus. “She’s much braver than I would be. Most of the lazzaroni would be shaking in absolute terror if they came face to face with one of Apollinaris’s monsters. Not this one, though. Now she knows for certain that the monster is an illusion.” Before he could instruct his men to close in, the young woman made her own move.

  She plunged straight through the creature’s false image and rushed over to the collapsed section of the floor. Before anyone could reach her, she leapt across the vast gap, somehow made it almost to safety, and then could be heard scrabbling desperately for a handhold as her grasp slipped on the rain-splattered bricks at the edge of the abyss.

  Henricus and Zulian could no longer see the young woman, because of the darkness enshrouding that section of the building. The crescent moon now hid behind rain clouds and the corner itself was too far away to be illuminated by the bonfire.

  Henricus squinted into the darkness, fearing the worst. He could hear the occasional impacts of a few dislodged fragments of rock, but no sound of a body crashing down to the lower floors.

  Then one of the searchers shouted out. “She’s made it to the stairwell! She’s going to get away!”

  There was a brief, torrential rain-burst directly over the stairwell down which the woman was fleeing—conjured up by Tranquilo, who despite his name was one of the Alchemae’s more powerful members and could manipulate the weather—but the tightly-focused downpour merely served to delay the young woman, not to stop her.

  Zulian swiftly turned to Henricus. “Do we follow her? Or shall we let her go and focus on the other street people that we’ve already caught?”

  “Send everyone after her. Don’t bother about the rest of the lazzaroni. She’s the one we want.”

  Zulian stopped and stared at his colleague. “A woman student? In the Academy? Are you crazy? The Master will be furious. And can you imagine what Father Carracci will say?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just do it.” Henricus had no interest in debating the topic. “Once this woman receives her powers, the Master will finally achieve his greatest success in the forthcoming Lost War.”

  Zulian reluctantly gave the necessary orders and then turned back to Henricus. “Mannaggia!” It was most unusual for Zulian to swear, even so mildly. He came from a prominent local Napoletano family, which had already provided the Church with several nuns and three Jesuit priests. “What is it with you tonight? Where did that prophecy come from? Since when did you turn into an oracle?”

  Henricus possessed the potion-enhanced ability to identify people with powers, or those who had the potential to develop powers, but this latest pronouncement was far beyond his usual capabilities.

  “I haven’t,” admitted Henricus, “I’m simply repeating what the Contessa told me this morning.”

  Zulian didn’t know what to reply. One didn’t argue with the wife of the Master of the Academy.

  Meanwhile the Academy’s recruiting team, powered and unpowered alike, swarmed out of the derelict building to resume the hunt. Most of the lazzaroni—including three young children—slipped away as soon as their captors were out of sight, though a foolhardy few remained by the fire. Roving gangs, forcibly recruiting for various navies, were a commonplace hazard in a major port city like Naples, but a roaring bonfire freely available to the homeless on a cold, wet winter’s night? That was a unique and welcome event well worth the risk.

  # # #

  No-one noticed a shadowy figure observing from the rooftop of an adjoining building. As the Academy’s
men poured into the street in search of their prey, the unseen watcher summoned her wings with a thought and launched herself into the air, following the chase from high above.

  TWO

  At the same time

  High above Wallachia [Romania], 10 p.m. local time Monday January 18 1610

  The Outcast Angel Jesse, flying vigorously in pursuit of the fleeing Vlad Țepeș in the skies above Wallachia, gasped aloud. Wave upon psychic wave buffeted his mind as massive numbers of probabilities suddenly became fluid.

  Everywhere, future timelines were in turmoil.

  Some disruptive event was occurring at this very moment—some crucial trigger that would have profound implications for the future of a great many, people and nations alike.

  Jesse’s prophetic powers—his ability to determine the possible futures of specific individuals—could show him what would be the most likely outcomes if events continued along their current paths.

  Most of the probabilities that Jesse monitored had been fixed and largely favorable until a moment ago. Now they were almost universally grim.

  Some critical element was changing. Jesse could clearly enough predict the probable results if the changed circumstances actually became the new reality—but his powers did not allow him to identify the cause.

  Jesse paused in his chase long enough to send a prayer skyward.

  As had been the case ever since Jesse and his fellow Outcasts had been exiled from Heaven, there was no reply.

  THREE

  A few minutes later

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.05 p.m. Monday January 18 1610

  Chrymos—the young woman being sought so energetically by the Academy—raced through the narrow streets of Naples’ residential district, heading towards the port area. She wasn’t running as fast as she might, she had a different goal than merely to escape. She paused for a moment and listened to the clatter of footsteps on the streets behind her. Sounds like they’re all chasing after me. Hopefully that means the children will be able to get away.

  Chrymos ran on, slowing her pace even further to match that of her pursuers. It was a wise move. She could barely see a few steps in front of her in these narrow, unlit streets and the lava slabs with which the streets were paved—harvested from Mount Vesuvius’s occasional volcanic tantrums—were still slippery from the evening’s frequent showers. One wrong step and the chase would be over too soon.

  Her heart was still pounding after her encounter with the monster. Who are these people, Chrymos wondered, and how can they have such powers? When the monster breathed fire at her she was terrified at first, and mere seconds from surrender. She would have stopped running immediately, had it not been for her desire to protect the three children in her care. Now, she hoped to lure her pursuers away from the bonfire so that the young ones might be able to escape.

  Chrymos turned a street corner and ran downhill, towards the port. Her current position, surrounded by towering city buildings mostly constructed from dark stone, was in an area that she always considered grim and unfriendly, even in daylight hours. At this hour, the neighborhood seemed even more pitiless. Building after building showed no outward sign of life. Any doors or shutters that might face onto the street were tightly closed and barred, to keep out unwelcome guests and to keep in the heat—which also meant that no light escaped to guide passersby down the treacherous rain-glazed streets.

  As usual, the streets reeked of discarded human waste, though the evening’s wind and rain helped to disperse the worst of the odors.

  As she ran, Chrymos clutched Adric’s schiavona. She had picked up the broadsword when Adric had been knocked unconscious, intending to keep it safe for him until he awoke. Instead, she had found herself wielding the weapon, poorly but successfully, to defend herself and protect the children when the thugs ventured too close.

  Now Chrymos needed to secure the schiavona so that her hands would be free. She eased the sword into her belt, wincing slightly as she was obliged to use her left hand—badly cut and bruised from desperately grabbing the jagged bricks a few minutes earlier—to push the intricate basket-hilted sword into place.

  Her headlong journey soon took Chrymos to an intersection. The cross street was slightly wider, which enabled the crescent moon to illuminate her limited choices. She stopped. Left, right or straight ahead?

  Chrymos looked to the left, spotted the elaborate façade of one of Naples’ most respected convents and smiled bitterly. If I had been seeking sanctuary right now, that convent would never let me in. Those nuns come from some of Naples’ wealthiest families. They don’t want any lazzaroni befouling their bedsheets.

  Imagine how they would react if they opened their shutters and saw me. They would shudder in well-bred disgust. This ragged coif, a simple cap that barely covers my head. A cloak that might have looked presentable once but which is now both dirty and shredded beyond repair. No fine jewelry, only a plain neck chain—and this bronze ring from little Olivia.

  She smiled ruefully, inspecting her injured hand, crowned by chipped nails edged in black. They definitely won’t think much of these filthy hands. And as for my cord sandals, I can hear the nuns now—‘My dear, those will never do!’ Well, my tunic dress is modest enough, even by convent standards, and at least it’s clean—mostly.

  She could hear her pursuers growing nearer, which prompted Chrymos into action. She opted to ignore the left and right options and plunged straight ahead, into yet another tight street—but this new passageway began narrowing almost as soon as she had entered it. In less than a dozen feet, the passage became too constricted for her to force her way through. It’s not a thoroughfare, she belatedly realized, it’s a small and shrinking gap between buildings.

  Chrymos turned, intending to retrace her steps, but came to a sudden halt. Her pursuers could be seen coming down the street that she had just left. They would soon be at the intersection—it was too late for her to change direction without being seen. I can’t go back to the crossroads or they’ll catch me for sure. I’m trapped.

  FOUR

  Moments later

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.10 p.m., Monday January 18 1610

  Chrymos quickly dismissed the notion of simply trying to hide in the narrow passageway. Most of those searchers are carrying flaming torches so the darkness won’t protect me for long.

  She turned back to examine her current surroundings more closely, not an easy task in the cloud-shrouded moonlight. I can’t get any further forward down this alleyway and I can’t see any doors or windows at ground level. How about further up?

  She looked up, squinting, searching for possibilities up above. That could be a shutter up there, on the third or fourth floor. But can I even get all the way up there? And dare I hope that the shutter will be unlocked?

  Increasing noise levels from behind Chrymos, as the searchers arrived at the intersection, suggested that whatever she decided to do, she needed to get moving, fast.

  She pushed herself forward into the passageway until both of her elbows were touching—constricted by—opposite walls. The walls on both sides were constructed of large stone blocks, with just enough mortar between blocks to provide regular footholds for climbing. I must be pazzo to do this, thought Chrymos as, using her forearms and her sandal-clad feet, she began to leverage her way up towards the shutter she hoped she’d seen far above her. The blocks were slightly wet, but the direction of the prevailing wind and the narrowness of the passageway had limited the amount of rain that could reach the lower walls. That’s some good news.

  Up one block, two blocks, three blocks, four. The presumed shutter still seemed almost as far away as ever, but Chrymos could hear footsteps coming closer so she redoubled her climbing efforts, cruelly scraping her elbows and forearms as she did so. Five, six, se
ven, eight, nine blocks. Keep going, just keep going, almost there.

  Finally, she reached her intended destination. It was indeed a shuttered window. Bracing herself, Chrymos tried to yank the shutter open from the outside but it was firmly bolted shut, with no light or even noise evident within. Now what?

  Before Chrymos could even start to construct a new plan, there was a shout from below.

  “There she is!”

  Chrymos looked down. Several of her pursuers had ventured into the alleyway, armed with torches, and at least one of them had thought to look up when it became obvious that the street led nowhere. One of the thugs ran back to the cross-street and called out. “Get Girardus, we need him. She’s here.”

  Chrymos had already seen the man they called Girardus in action, back at the bonfire. He was like a human frog, jumping easily from one spot to another, bouncing off walls or any available surface. If anyone can easily reach me up here, he can.

  Chrymos looked upwards. She was now closer to the roof of the building than the ground, so she made the inevitable choice and resumed shimmying up the walls. Her elbows and forearms were now bleeding steadily from the climb, and her toes were badly stubbed as well, but there was no time to worry about the pain. Girardus will bounce up here far faster than I can.

  Up, up, up—and then Chrymos ran into a major problem. The wall on the left abruptly ended—it was about ten feet shorter than the wall on the right. Should I go left here?

  A quick glance changed her mind. That building stood on its own at the end of the row, a long way from any other building except the one on her right. If I climb onto that roof, I’ll be trapped.

  She glanced down. Although there was still no sign of Girardus, the other searchers had begun to scale the walls using the same method as she was, urged on by their colleagues. I’m running out of options.