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

by Carney, Michael

  “Long before we acquired the Medici manuscript, we were convinced that the body must be buried in the catacombs, which is why we set up the Academy nearby, here on the Capodimonte hill. What we’ve been able to establish from our translation efforts so far is that we are indeed correct. The Outcast Angel is buried somewhere in the oldest levels of the catacombs. What we don’t know is exactly where. And that’s what we need you to find out from the manuscript.”

  “Why?” asked Chrymos. “What could you possibly expect to learn from the body of a long-dead angel? It’ll only be bones anyway.”

  “That, Chrymos, is none of your concern,” said Carracci. “I suggest that you focus on the fact you now have less than forty-eight hours in which to help us locate the angel’s tomb. Otherwise, say your final prayers.”

  NINETY-TWO

  Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, early morning, Tuesday June 22 1610

  Chrymos had slaved tirelessly through the night, scribbling furiously, correcting the most glaring errors in the translations as she worked on the manuscript.

  One particular passage gave her pause. The translator had interpreted a key phrase as ‘which Almighty God finds amusing’. The description didn’t make sense, but Chrymos couldn’t fault the literal translation. But it just feels wrong.

  Chrymos stood up, stretched, and walked over to the balcony to admire the approaching dawn. Each day promises a new beginning, an opportunity to see Divine providence in action, she thought.

  And then she realized. Not ‘things that Almighty God finds amusing’. Rather, ‘Divine Comedy’. The unknown author of the manuscript was directing her to a particular passage in Dante Alighieri’s fourteenth-century masterpiece.

  Chrymos rushed out of Della Porta’s office, startling the two guards who had been stationed outside. She explained what she needed and one of the guards went to the Academy’s library to fetch a copy of the classic book by Florence’s most celebrated creator.

  Once Chrymos was alone again, she flicked impatiently through the pages of the Divine Comedy until she found the particular section referred to in the manuscript:

  “Languages diverse, horrible dialects, accents of anger, words of agony, and voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands, made up a tumult that goes whirling on forever in that air forever black, even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes.

  “And I, who had my head with horror bound, said: ‘Master, what is this which now I hear? What folk is this, which seems by pain so vanquished?’

  “And he to me: ‘This miserable mode maintains the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise. Commingled are they with that caitiff choir of Angels, who have not rebellious been, nor faithful were to God, but were for self. The heavens expelled them, not to be less fair; nor them the nethermore abyss receives, for glory none the damned would have from them.’”

  Unfaithful Angels, who were not rebellious but yet were expelled from Heaven. Is Dante describing the Outcast Angels?

  Chrymos noted down her thoughts and continued translating the document.

  Several hours later, Della Porta strode back into this office. He skipped past any pleasantries and simply asked “What have you found?”

  Chrymos considered her words carefully. “Some of this you will already know, from what has been translated so far. But I will give you the complete overview, to put everything into perspective.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Della Porta impatiently, “Go on.”

  “The initial goal of Bishop Januarius, according to the original author of the ‘book of the dead’, was simply to give the angel’s body a good Christian burial,” began Chrymos. “Januarius was from Naples so it was perfectly understandable that he would bring the body back here to be buried appropriately.”

  “But?” prompted Della Porta.

  “But,” she continued, “when the emperor Diocletian demanded to know where the body was buried, Januarius grew suspicious. He knew that the emperor had been raised with traditional Roman beliefs, and decided that it was too dangerous to allow Diocletian to get his hands on the corpse. The manuscript doesn’t explain what the danger might be, but I expect you already know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so obsessed with finding the body.”

  Della Porta ignored the jibe and simply motioned for Chrymos to continue.

  “Januarius issued orders for the angel’s burial chamber to be moved to a hidden part of the catacombs.”

  “You’re sure of that? Moved within the catacombs?” Della Porta asked anxiously.

  “Yes, according to the manuscript,” replied Chrymos. “By then, Diocletian had begun to persecute Christians. Januarius wanted to keep the body where he could still arrange to protect it.”

  “Go on.”

  “Clearly your Brotherhood spy realized that this was his opportunity to find out the safeguards put in place to protect the angel’s body, so he managed to convince Januarius to let him oversee the transfer,” said Chrymos.

  “The Brotherhood spy was a woman,” said Della Porta, “but otherwise your report rings true. So what did she discover?”

  “That there are seven ways in which the angel’s body is protected,” said Chrymos. “Firstly, there’s the entry portal itself. According to the manuscript, it’s on a lower level that was never documented anywhere, a secret section of the catacombs where many of the early church’s martyrs are buried.”

  “My father and grandfather spent months exploring the catacombs until they stumbled upon the level by accident, when the upper levels flooded and afterwards the water drained away somehow,” said Della Porta. “They dug great holes in various arcosolia—the larger family tombs—until they finally found a way down to the next level. Of course, that was before we had secured the manuscript.”

  “Secondly,” added Chrymos “there’s the main chamber, which is essentially a labyrinth filled with poisonous gases.”

  “Yes, we found that out the hard way,” said Della Porta. “We lost a few—volunteers—until we discovered an elixir that works. What else?”

  “The third protection appears to be a series of passageways, most of which are booby-trapped. Your people have managed to translate most of that portion of the manuscript correctly. Where they’ve run into problems is in deciding which passageway leads to the tomb.”

  “Yes, yes, don’t you think we know that?” said Della Porta impatiently. “So which one is it?”

  “Whoever goes searching for the tomb needs to stop and listen first,” said Chrymos. “If they hear voices, strange noises that seem to come from nowhere, in one specific passageway, then that’s the path they should choose.”

  Della Porta looked at her, initially in disbelief, then took out a fresh piece of parchment and made some notes. “Noises to choose the correct passage. Right. What next?”

  “This is one section of the manuscript that I don’t yet fully understand. It talks about the Acheron River, gateway to Hades, but its meaning in terms of the fourth safeguard is unclear. Again, the manuscript quotes Dante. ‘By other ways, by other ports thou to the shore shalt come, not here, for passage; a lighter vessel needs must carry thee.’”

  “That will have to do for now, Chrymos. Tell me about the fifth protection.”

  Chrymos turned a few pages in the manuscript. “The fifth protection is finding the correct tomb. There are more than three hundred bodies buried in this section of the catacombs, some in simple graves, the loculi, others in more extravagant arcosolia. The arcosolium you seek belongs to ‘the bishop himself’, according to the manuscript, and is again referred to by a quote from Dante.”

  “And what exactly are the words?” asked Della Porta.

  “They’re surprisingly straightforward. ‘Through me the way is to the city dolent; through me the way is to eternal dole; through me the way among the people lost.’ Dolent means ‘sorrowful’—”

  “I know what the word means, Chrymos. What’s the sixth protection?”

  “The bishop’s
arcosolium, according to this section that your people don’t seem to have translated, is only the starting point. The tomb itself is even further within—and it’s protected, I gather, by what the manuscript describes as a prophecy rather than something that actually existed when the original Book of the Dead was written. According to the manuscript, that prophetic protection is known simply as the militum mortuorum, ‘soldiers of the dead’, whatever that may mean.”

  “Soldiers of the dead, very well,” noted Della Porta. “And the seventh and final protection?”

  “I don’t know,” said Chrymos, “or, rather, your spy didn’t know. Januarius wouldn’t let him—sorry, her—accompany the body into the burial chamber. In fact, Januarius himself moved the angel’s body from its original tomb to its new home. The spy never saw the actual body.”

  Della Porta made another note and then prepared to leave. “That will have to do. I hope for your friend Adric’s sake that your translation is accurate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, didn’t we tell you? We’re sending Adric down into the catacombs shortly. His powers still haven’t manifested themselves, so we can’t make much use of him up here. Adric will be following your instructions to try to find the tomb. If you’ve translated the text incorrectly, I’m afraid that he will be the one to pay the price for your mistakes.”

  NINETY-THREE

  Near the City of Naples, Kingdom of Naples, midday, Tuesday June 22 1610

  The carriage containing Sean, Niall, Lochloinn, Elias, Martin and Zophiel rattled over the hill near the imposing Castel Sant’Elmo fortress which stood guard over Naples. Sean, who was driving, pulled the horses to a stop so that the team could have their first look at the port city stretching out below.

  “Impressive view from here,” said Elias, “shame it’s wasted on a military fortress.”

  “Where’s the Academy?” asked Martin, keen to know their enemy. They looked over at Zophiel, who had been accompanying them since Dijon. Zophiel, in turn, mind-called Shamar and then reported to the others.

  “According to the information that the student Niccolo gave Shamar, the Academy is over in that direction.” Zophiel pointed off to the left. “It’s on the Capodimonte hill, not far from the Catacombs of San Gennaro.”

  “So what are we waitin’ for?” asked Lochloinn, always impatient to get started.

  “As you well know,” said Zophiel, “we’re waiting for Shamar and three new enhanced he’s bringing here from Wallachia. And of course we’re still waiting on Ravid. They should all be here soon. Ravid has asked us to find a hiding place near the catacombs and to do some preliminary scouting so that we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  Lochloinn grumbled but couldn’t argue. Sean encouraged the horses to change direction and head towards the catacombs.

  # # #

  None of them noticed Henricus, who had hidden himself in the shadows on a ledge near the top of the Castel Sant’Elmo fortress. He nodded to his companion, a Janus twin, who sent a quick mind-message to the Academy.

  NINETY-FOUR

  Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.30 p.m. Tuesday June 22 1610

  Chrymos’ head was spinning, after hour upon hour of trying to understand not just the words of the manuscript but also the cryptic pictures—and the hidden meanings behind both. Whoever put this together was a genius, she decided yet again.

  The debilitating pain from the venom had returned, but no-one would bring her more medication—the current shift of guards wouldn’t listen and would only say “get back in there and keep working”.

  Resigned to her discomfort, Chrymos returned to the desk and began to decipher the next section, which talked about angels and demons ‘falling from the sky’.

  Two hours later, by which time her whole body was convulsing at regular intervals, Chrymos heard rapid footsteps approaching. Della Porta and Carracci walked briskly into the office.

  Della Porta was blunt. “You’ve failed. Your translation must be faulty.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Chrymos.

  “We sent off Adric eight hours ago, armed with your instructions. He hasn’t come back.”

  Chrymos didn’t understand. “Perhaps the search is just taking longer than you expected, even with the instructions in the manuscript.”

  “It doesn’t matter why Adric is late,” said Della Porta impatiently. “What matters is that he hasn’t come back. We want you to go in there and find the tomb and bring back what it contains. You can bring back Adric as well, if you can find him.”

  “You’re joking. After everything that you’ve done to me, you expect me to help you?”

  “If you return successfully with what’s in the tomb,” said Della Porta, “we will give you the antidote for the snake venom and save your life.”

  “You already promised that to me if I translated the manuscript successfully,” Chrymos pointed out.

  “Adric had your translations but he hasn’t come back,” said Della Porta. “Therefore, you haven’t completed your task. I’m giving you another chance.”

  That would almost sound virtuous, if someone else had said it. “Why not send another one of your lackeys?”

  “None of the other students trust your translation,” said Carracci. “You can’t blame them, after seeing what you’ve let happen to a person that you say is your friend.”

  Chrymos protested angrily. “What? You didn’t even tell me that Adric was the one going inside until after I had completed the translation.”

  “Would it have mattered? Would you have changed anything?” asked Della Porta.

  “Well, no,” admitted Chrymos. “I’ve done the very best I can.”

  “Then you should have no problems following your own instructions,” said Carracci. Chrymos glared at him.

  “Enough, we’re wasting time,” said Della Porta. “Get your translations and let’s go.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” asked Chrymos, making no attempt to get up. She crossed her arms behind her head and leaned back in her chair.

  “Our enemies are almost upon us, so we need to prepare for their attack,” said Della Porta. Chrymos gave a silent cheer.

  “Not that you would care about our problems,” said Carracci, “but there is the missing Adric. As you know, the main chamber is filled with poisonous air, one of the safeguards mentioned in the manuscript. We gave Adric a special elixir, to enable him to breathe as he passed through that section.”

  “So?”

  “The elixir we gave Adric lasts for about twelve hours. He’s been down in the catacombs for eight, so his protection will wear off in another four hours. If he does not come back, or receive a fresh draught of elixir, he won’t be able to escape. If you hurry, there’s a possibility that you may be able to save him.”

  That hit home. “Can’t you send someone else in to rescue him?”

  “We could, but as I said, no-one trusts your translation,” Carracci pointed out. “And also we need to get ready for this impending attack. We still have plenty to do. Get moving.”

  “What, when I’m like this?” Chrymos had been struggling to contain her convulsions but instead allowed them to show. Her body twisted and turned in agony as the poison took its grim toll. “And I haven’t slept for more than thirty-six hours.”

  “We’ll get you some more pain relief,” said Della Porta, “along with medicine to keep you awake and some elixir to help you breathe down in the catacombs.” He seized Chrymos’ shoulder roughly and began to urge her to get moving.

  Chrymos started to gather up the translations, along with the manuscript itself, and stuffed the documents into her belt so that they lay flat against her body. At first, Della Porta tried to stop her.

  “Just take the translations, you won’t need the original.”

  “How do you know? You said it yourself, my translation might be faulty,” replied Chrymos. “If I have the original with me, I may be able to solve an
y outstanding problems on the spot.”

  Della Porta was reluctant but eventually agreed. “Very well. But be sure you bring back what you find in the tomb, with or without Adric, and we will spare those children that you profess to care so much about.”

  “What? But they left the Academy last night. I watched them being taken to safety by Sister Maria Benedetta,” said Chrymos.

  “Alas,” smirked Carracci, “you cannot always believe your eyes, especially when Apollinaris the illusionist is around.”

  Chrymos was horrified. Before she could respond, Della Porta spoke again.

  “We said we would spare the children, and so we have—thus far. But their final fate—and yours—is in your own hands.”

  NINETY-FIVE

  The Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, Midnight, Tuesday June 22 1610

  Della Porta, Father Carracci, and Chrymos stood outside the entrance to the Tower. “Please go and get Doctor Odaldi,” Della Porta instructed the priest. “Tell him what we need. Oh, and make sure he brings something so that she can see in the catacombs. She won’t be able to use a torch once she gets into the poisonous gas.”

  The pair waited while Father Carracci went to fetch Odaldi. Chrymos could once again feel the oppressive Tower enchantments, but they barely registered compared with the crippling effects of the snake venom.

  After a few minutes, Carracci returned with Odaldi. The teacher regarded Chrymos with hatred in his eyes. “You? The destroyer of my most precious possession? You’ll receive nothing from me!”

  Odaldi would have turned and gone back to his laboratory, but Carracci held the teacher firmly.

  “Time enough for revenge later, Doctor,” said Della Porta. “For now, we still need Chrymos. Give her the necessary protections. Make her functional—don’t try for ‘comfortable.’”

  Odaldi had brought along a large bag carrying various alchemic preparations. He proceeded to administer several different liquids to Chrymos.