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

by Carney, Michael

  Well, a deep breath was what she intended to take. That breath turned into a nasty hacking cough as Chrymos inhaled her first lungful of the poisonous gas. After the inevitable coughing fit that followed, Chrymos switched to taking very shallow breaths. It seems that the elixir does work, but the experience certainly isn’t pleasant.

  Chrymos now found herself in complete darkness. While she was coughing, the slab had closed completely. However, despite the coughs racking her frame, Chrymos hadn’t moved and she certainly hadn’t let go of the vial.

  Moving her right hand very, very carefully, Chrymos slowly withdrew the vial from her pocket. She brought her hand in front of her face and with great patience gently shook the vial. She was rewarded with a faint red glow as the powder reacted with the small amount of air within the vial. Chrymos was just about to open the vial to make the powder glow more brightly when she realized that there might be a problem.

  What if the gas makes the powder stop glowing? What will I do then?

  Chrymos decided not to take any chances. She gave the vial a slightly more vigorous shake but kept the cork lid firmly closed. The powder glowed a little more brightly, but not much.

  Chrymos began to head down the steps towards her next destination, the labyrinth. She tried desperately to dispel the thought that had stabbed through her. If the red powder doesn’t work in this gas, I may have already doomed both Adric and myself.

  ONE HUNDRED AND TWO

  Certosa di San Martino, City of Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 1.45 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610

  The monks of the Certosa di San Martino monastery, gathered for a midnight service to commemorate the Sollemnitas Sacratissimi Cordis Iesu, looked at each other in horror. Their monastery, perched high on the Vomero hill overlooking Naples, began shaking uncontrollably, accompanied by what appeared to be rumbling thunder. Several monks rushed out of the service to the nearest balcony. They looked towards Mount Vesuvius, expecting another eruption.

  The monks quickly realized that the disturbance was not coming from that direction. Instead, it seemed to be centered on—no, below—the water fountain that sat in the middle of the monastery’s gardens.

  The noise and the shaking grew and grew in intensity and then—the water fountain split into two sections, each piece sliding aside to reveal a deep chasm below. Transfixed, the monks stared in shock as first one carriage and then many more emerged from the very bowels of the earth. As one of the watching monks would later describe the scene to his superior, “these were carriages crawling with demons, pulled by unearthly creatures from Hades—their heads glowing balls of fire, their bodies unnaturally wide and covered with armor, their legs stripped of their flesh and gleaming like metal.”

  That monk was one of the braver ones. Most fled as soon as the first carriage began to emerge, without stopping to observe the arrival of the rest of the carriages through a tunnel entrance that had never previously been used for such a purpose.

  New Phoenicia had sent five carriages, each carrying six warriors, to aid the Academy in the impending clash with the Outcast Angels and their enhanced colleagues. Most of New Phoenicia’s fighters were pirates, drawn largely from the most bloodthirsty and battle-hardened of Peter Easton’s pirate crews. Nekhbet had specifically requested their presence when she met with New Phoenicia’s leader Sir Robert Killigrew two months earlier.

  The carriages clattered out through the main gates of the Certosa di San Martino and headed towards the city.

  ONE HUNDRED AND THREE

  The Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 1.50 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610

  Chrymos emerged from the stairwell, greatly relieved to find that, for once, her worst fears had not been realized. I can see red powder numbers marked on the walls. My plan does still work.

  The manuscript had described a bewildering number of crisscrossing passages and doorways in this part of the catacombs but had offered up a simple solution—“keep right.” The accompanying illustration, of a man with the head of a bull, had given Chrymos her inspiration.

  In her translation notes, she had repeated the injunction to “keep right.” But, borrowing an idea from the story of Theseus and the Minotaur that the illustration had referenced, Chrymos had suggested that whenever the searcher—who has turned out to be Adric, thought Chrymos regretfully—had to make a choice about which way to go, he should use the red powder to mark his chosen route with the number 1. Then if had to retrace his steps at any point, or if the labyrinth took him around in circles and he found himself in the same area again, Adric could simply make a different choice, this time marked with the number 2.

  It seemed like a good idea, but did it actually work?

  Chrymos began tackling the maze, taking her own advice—she kept right wherever possible and she followed the numbers. There were a gratifyingly large number of 1s, with only a few 2s indicating where Adric had been obliged to retrace his steps—and just a single 3. It must have taken Adric a lot longer to get through here than it’s taking me, but the plan seems to have worked.

  Soon enough, Chrymos found herself in what appeared to be a large, open area filled with row after row of stone sarcophagi, blatantly decorated with Christian symbols. The final resting place of the Christian martyrs, decided Chrymos, and a glance inside several sarcophagi confirmed her suspicions—each housed at least one set of skeletal remains, some two or even three skeletons. It was a sobering sight, even more than a thousand years later, and Chrymos paused for a few moments to offer up prayers for their souls.

  She was, however, conscious that the hours were passing too quickly. She retrieved the timepiece from her pocket and squinted at it in the dim red light. The hand now pointed to the II. I need to get moving.

  The next destination, the next hurdle, was the passage. The manuscript provided a less-than-helpful guide in the form of a complex illustration of a plant with three overlapping roots. My best guess is that I’ll find the three passageways at the far end of this chamber.

  Chrymos began to move forward and then stopped. She fancied she’d heard a noise.

  Is that Adric? Is this as far as he got?

  She tried calling out. “Adric? It’s Chrymos! Are you here?”

  Chrymos listened for a response. Nothing—at least, not at first. Then she heard another slight noise, coming from behind her.

  She turned around. At first, she could only see the faint glowing red of the powder vial in her hand. Then, as Chrymos concentrated, she thought she could see a pair of eyes over to one side, staring at her. The whites of those eyes seemed to reflect the red powder.

  Adric? Chrymos almost called out again, until she saw another pair of eyes, and then another and still another. All four sets of eyes were watching her, unblinking. How is this possible? How can anything survive in these poisonous fumes? And, if any of these creatures do live down here, why weren’t they mentioned in the manuscript?

  Slowly, those eyes—and whatever creatures lay behind them—began moving directly towards Chrymos.

  ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR

  The Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 2.00 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610

  The creature gazed hungrily at its next meal.

  It—he—had, twenty years earlier, answered to the name of Vittorio. He had been a promising student at the Academy of Secrets, still a year away from graduating. Then one day the Master of the Academy, the great and powerful Giambattista Della Porta, had sought out Vittorio and proposed a fine adventure—a hunt for buried treasure in the nearby Catacombs of San Gennaro.

  “What you will be searching for,” Della Porta had told the young student, “is a weapon that we can use against the English and their vastardo queen.”

  Della Porta had found an eager participant. In 1590, many young men of Naples were still burning with rage over the treacherous defeat of the Spanish Armada two years earlier. Any quest that promised to avenge that defeat would be vigorously championed.

  And so
it was that, a few weeks later, Vittorio and four other classmates broke into the catacombs—the connecting tunnel from the Academy had not yet been dug—and began their search for a mysterious tomb. All they knew, all that Della Porta knew in those long ago days, was that a white shield marked with blood had been buried with the body. It was a slim clue but Vittorio and his friends were confident that they would be able to find the body and recover any weapons that had been buried in the same tomb.

  “One more point,” Della Porta had told the five students before they left the Academy. “We understand that there is bad air that lingers in some parts of the catacombs. This—” Della Porta handed several vials of elixir to each student. “—will enable you to breathe freely if you do encounter such air.”

  The adventurers had set off with several weeks’ supply of food and water—they did not intend to return to the Academy until they had secured their prize. Days went by as they explored the upper levels, opening each and every tomb and searching in vain for the white shield. Their enthusiasm dimmed as tomb after tomb yielded nothing but bones, but still they persevered.

  Eventually, the students came across the sarcophagus which led to the labyrinth. They, like Chrymos two decades later, were greeted by foul gas flooding towards them. They too hastily resealed the sarcophagus until they were ready to descend. They swallowed their first vials of elixir and then gingerly began to make their way down the steps. They too inadvertently triggered the switch that resealed the sarcophagus behind them.

  What Vittorio and his friends lacked was any means of illumination. They had brought along flaming torches, but these spluttered and went out, extinguished by the deadly gas. The students found themselves in total darkness, uncertain dangers below, escape blocked above.

  What happened next was predictable. One of the students panicked, slipped, and tumbled down the stairs. The others, navigating by feeling their way slowly, carefully downwards, arrived at the bottom of the stairwell in due course and almost tripped over the dead body of their former colleague. He had broken his neck in the fall.

  For the next six weeks, the students divided their energies between cursing the Master and exploring the stairwell by touch, trying to find something that would release the slab that stood between them and freedom.

  As food and water supplies ran low, they began to fight amongst themselves for the last remaining rations. Their elixirs ran low but by then their bodies had adapted somewhat to the poisonous fumes. They became more beast than human, the gases warping both body and mind.

  Finally, all supplies were exhausted and the four became three and then two and finally one. The lone survivor, Vittorio, was forced to choose between death and cannibalism.

  # # #

  Vittorio’s living death evolved into a regular routine. Every few months, the Academy would send a fresh batch of students to search the catacombs. Some made their way downward through the holes in the arcosolium floor that had been dug by Della Porta’s father and grandfather. Several discovered the secret passageway and entered through the sarcophagus. Whichever route they took, most ended up suffering the same fate as Vittorio’s colleagues, becoming a food source for the creature within. A mere handful proved sufficiently hardy to transform themselves into near-dead creatures like Vittorio. Their eyes adapted—a side-effect of the elixir, perhaps—so that they could see in the near-total darkness but their bodies withered away through lack of proper sustenance.

  And they had all become more animal than human. Their body hair had largely fallen out, their muscles had wasted away and their skin was deathly pale and clammy to the touch.

  By the time that Chrymos entered the tomb Vittorio had three bestial companions. Each relied on consuming human flesh and blood to survive.

  ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE

  The Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 2.00 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610

  Chrymos attempted to back out of reach but was only partly successful. Whatever these creatures are, they aren’t stupid, she noted, as the four moved to surround her, blocking off her exits. Then, at a signal from the one she gathered must be the leader, they began to close in.

  Surprisingly, Chrymos brightened as the four creatures attempted to catch her. This is a game I very much know how to play. She had been chased many times when she lived on the streets of Florence and Naples, usually because a local shopkeeper had been robbed and any nearby lazzaroni were automatically suspects. Chrymos usually escaped without being captured. This should be no different.

  Chrymos’ first move was to gain a height advantage on her attackers, which she achieved by climbing onto one of the sarcophagi nearby. While the sarcophagus she scaled did have a cover slab on which she could stand, she couldn’t stay there. This area is too vulnerable.

  Instead, she stretched across to the next sarcophagus, this one without a cover, and stood with one foot on each stone side as she considered her options. Meanwhile the four creatures reoriented themselves and began moving towards her again. First thing I need to do is to get beyond their immediate reach.

  Chrymos leapt from sarcophagus edge to sarcophagus edge, dodging outstretched hands, until at last she found herself on the far side of the creatures’ perimeter. She looked back as best she could, relying on the dim light generated by her vial of red powder. The four had not given up their pursuit, even though they shuffled along at a far slower pace than she did.

  Two more leaps and Chrymos decided it was finally safe enough to get back to ground level. With a final surge, she jumped down from the sarcophagus—and landed heavily, twisting her right ankle as she did so. Chrymos had protected the vial of powder by sheltering it within her right hand, so that at least was undamaged.

  A few choice words escaped her lips but she dared not linger—the four creatures were still close behind her. Chrymos limped in search of her next goal, a passageway filled with voices.

  Here’s where I find out if the clue about voices makes sense, she realized. If it doesn’t, I could be in big trouble.

  Actually, she reflected, risking another glance behind her, I’m in big trouble already. I still need to find my way past these creatures to get out of the catacombs—and now I’m moving at about the same pace as they are.

  ONE HUNDRED AND SIX

  Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 2.15 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610

  Chrymos had subconsciously hoped that the third protection would be relatively straightforward. I was wrong.

  In the dim light generated by her makeshift torch, Chrymos could see that she faced a wide range of options. Instead of perhaps three or four entrances from which to choose, the back wall of the chamber was riddled with passageways—at least a dozen, if not more. Some were at ground level, enticingly easy to enter, but most were at least six feet above ground level, with no obvious access. This could take hours.

  Chrymos didn’t have hours. She glanced back, confirming that the creatures were still shuffling towards her. She had a minute or two, at most, to escape them.

  Moving as fast as her injured leg would permit, Chrymos went to the closest ground floor passageway and poked her head inside the entrance, listening. Not a sound.

  Chrymos’ next choice was nearly her last. She limped over to the second passageway and, stooped over because of her injury, leant inside to listen. Her forehead pushed against a rope that had been strung chest-high across the entrance, triggering the release of an arrow that whooshed past, mere inches over her head.

  Chrymos could not spare the time to admire her narrow escape. She limped on to the next passageway and, far more tentatively, listened just inside the archway. Still nothing.

  Despairingly, she looked over at the two remaining ground floor entrances. Those are highly likely to be booby-trapped as well. She glanced back at the creatures, still moving inexorably towards her. There’s probably only enough time to try one of the higher passages. But which one, Lord, which one?

  Chrymos stepped back a pace,
so that she would be better positioned to select the most promising possibility from the many passages on the second level. But how do I judge from down here?

  As Chrymos swept her gaze along the wall, her eye registered a faint red glow. Is that what I think it is?

  One of the entrances had been marked in red powder with the number 1. Adric, you made it this far!

  Chrymos scanned the other passageways, in case any of them bore a higher number. As best she could tell from where she stood, the others were unmarked.

  Well, Adric, if you’ve made the wrong choice, then I guess we’ll both share the same fate.

  The creatures were now less than ten feet away. There were no easy paths for Chrymos to climb to reach the chosen passageway directly, but a few cracks and indentations showed promise. And there was a narrow ledge, which should enable her to cross over to the entrance that Adric had marked.

  Tucking her precious vial back into her pocket, Chrymos began climbing for her life. She had almost reached a safe height when she felt a bony hand grab at her left ankle.

  ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN

  The Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 2.20 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610

  “You’re out of time. You need to get those plague-hosts out of the Academy now, before the Outcast Angels attack.” Killeen, speaking via Janus-twin, was typically blunt.

  “But we’re almost there,” argued Della Porta. “Odaldi is promising a protective pill in a matter of hours.”

  “Too late,” said Killeen. “If we lose those hosts, then the Lost War may be over before it’s even begun. Get them out of there, that’s an order!” The Janus twin shouted that last sentence, no doubt mirroring the manner in which his counterpart in New Phoenicia had been addressed.