Januarius stood firm. One by one, he inspected each of the dozen assembled guardsmen before turning a withering gaze towards the captain. Despite the deafening noise from the arena above, the bishop’s words, when they came, echoed through the very soul of every man present.
“Quintus Ostorius,” Januarius began, drawing a sharp intake of breath from the captain.
“How do you know my name?” demanded the bewildered captain.
“I don’t,” replied Januarius, “but my God does. On His behalf, I speak to you all. To you, Rufinus Silvanus, and to you Vibius Hortensius—” The soldiers stared in shock as one by one the bishop named every single one of the guards present in the stadium that day.
“To each of you and to all of you, I tell you this, not as a curse but as a prophecy. For what you have done here, killing innocent people merely because their beliefs are different from those of your emperor, none of you will find comfort in death. Instead, you will guard my tomb, all of you, for year upon endless year, protecting its contents, until someone finds it in their heart to forgive you.”
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 4.40 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
For the first time, Chrymos took a close look at the skeletons standing in the doorways overlooking the chamber. Why didn’t I notice earlier? That skeleton has no arms. The one over there only has one leg.
Many of the skeletons were maimed, with broken or missing bones. Just a few were wearing armor. Chrymos held up her hand for silence and the chanting ceased. It’s almost as if they’re holding their breath, she thought.
She turned to the skeleton with the missing leg. “Did you lose that leg when you died?” she asked.
“Yes,” came the quiet response.
“The bones don’t grow back?”
The skeleton shook its head.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes!” came the shout from many of those around her. “All the time,” added the soldier with whom she had been talking.
Chrymos shed a tear for the endless pain these men must have suffered. “And you want me to release you from this torment?”
“Yes!!” The shout was deafening.
“How?” Chrymos asked.
The response came from behind her, from the soldier that she had just defeated. “We are cursed to guard this tomb until we are forgiven.”
Forgiven? I may be able to do that. But first things first. “I can help you. But first I need to know which entrance leads to the angel’s tomb.”
The fallen soldier told her what she needed to know. “Go through the fourth doorway from the left, here on ground level. But you should be aware that the doorway is protected. Even we cannot enter there.”
“Thank you.” Chrymos crossed over to the door and placed the schiavona near the entrance, to mark the doorway and make it easier to find again. Then she returned to the center of the chamber and spoke to the skeletons. “Now let’s focus on the redemption that you’ve been waiting on for all of these years.” She raised her voice so that everyone could hear her. “Do you believe in God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ?”
“We have believed in your God’s power for many years,” said the fallen soldier, “ever since His bishop put this eternal curse on us, and it came horribly true.”
“Then, all of you, all those who believe,” said Chrymos, addressing all of the skeletons assembled in that place, “repeat after me, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned’.” Each and every one of the soldiers echoed her words.
Chrymos didn’t know if she had truly been raised a Catholic or not—though if I really am the daughter of the Black Knight and the Blood Countess, I guess not—but she had been to Confession on a great many Sundays over the past few years, in both Florence and Naples, and easily remembered the protocols and prayers that constituted the sacrament of penance. I am no priest, Lord, but I believe that if You so choose, You can act through me.
She led all of the men—she no longer thought of them as skeletons—through the confession process, inviting them to acknowledge their sins and then had them recite prayers of contrition.
Finally, Chrymos lifted her hands up to Heaven and pronounced the words of absolution that the Roman soldiers had waited so very long to hear. “Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace. I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
At the exact moment that Chrymos spoke the final “Amen”, every skeleton collapsed into its constituent parts. The assorted body parts of the fifty departed souls tumbled from the doorways and rained down on the unprepared Chrymos, burying her beneath a pile of bones.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE
Outside the Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 4.55 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
It was nearly dawn. Soon Naples would begin to wake up and it would no longer be safe to fly above the city’s streets and buildings.
For the moment though, Zophiel and Shamar could still fly through the city in the semi-darkness and not be seen. Or at least that’s what they thought as they flew above the lane that led to the Della Porta estate, accompanying their eight colleagues who were briskly striding along below.
Viewed from the sky, the Della Porta estate was shaped much like a raw peanut—two roughly circular ends joined in the middle by a narrower section of land. Most of the buildings were on the right hand side or in the center of the property, with the man-made lake, trees, and gardens dominating the left.
An eight-foot-high wall, surrounded the entire estate, with just a single entranceway. The wall might not have proven much of an impediment to angelic visitors but it certainly served to deter more-earthbound intruders.
The entrance to the estate was blocked by two imposing iron gates, patrolled by what appeared to be at least a half-dozen armed and armored guards. The walls nearest the buildings were also well covered, lit by a number of strategically-placed metal baskets filled with brightly-burning logs. In stark contrast, the walls around the left-hand side of the property were dark.
The two Outcast Angels flew quietly above the estate. Zophiel attempted to fly close to a tall dark tower, only to be warned away by voices inside his head.
Despite the early hour, it was evident that plenty was happening at the Academy. The courtyard outside the main building streamed with light from many flaming torches and dozens of servants were hard at work loading supplies onto carriages. People were bustling in and out of buildings, clearly getting ready for something.
Shamar and Zophiel flew back up the road to meet up with their teams, who were still several hundred yards away from the estate itself. They both landed quietly and then proceeded to report what they had just seen.
Lochloinn was inevitably the most eager to get started, but Mircea—one of the three enhanced that Shamar had brought from Wallachia—counseled caution. “There are very few of us,” he pointed out, “and we know that we are facing supernaturally-powered opponents. Perhaps we should wait until Ravid can join us.”
“It’s already nearly too late today,” said Zophiel. “Dawn will be upon us in a few minutes. If we don’t go now, we won’t be able to sneak onto the property while it’s still dark enough. We’d have
to postpone our attack until tomorrow. And, based on what we saw, I don’t think that any delay is a good idea.”
Zophiel’s sentiment carried the day. “Shamar and I can each carry two of you,” he told the group. “We’ll fly over the top of the wall near the forest, get past the sharpened stakes, and drop you amongst the trees. Then we’ll come back for the others.”
Zophiel linked arms with Lochloinn and Niall while Shamar did the same with Radu and Sean.
“Okay, hold tight,” said Shamar, struggling to launch with such a heavy load, “this won’t be easy.”
Slowly but surely, both angels managed to lift off the ground and head towards the estate.
They had just cleared the walls and were starting to fly over the sharpened stakes when a voice rang out from far above.
“Now!”
A split second later, from somewhere within the estate’s woodland area, a dozen musket shots fired as one.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-TWO
The Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 5.10 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Muskets are very unreliable weapons. That assertion, made by Archimedes during a training session that seemed so very long ago and far away, replayed itself again and again in Lochloinn’s head as he fell out of the sky, his shoulder burning from the pain of a musket ball tearing through it a moment earlier. Aye, unreli’bl—but if’n dey hit de arm you’re usin’ ter hold onter an angel, muskets kin still kill ya.
Lochloinn twisted and contorted in mid-air, well aware that he was falling towards a bed of sharpened stakes. It’s doubtful that he would have survived the plunge if Niall hadn’t stretched out an arm and managed to pull Lochloinn over into the bushes. It wasn’t a comfortable landing—the bushes were wiry and their leaves were prickly—but at least it wasn’t fatal.
Niall’s heroic stretching caused problems for himself and Zophiel as well, pulling the angel off-balance, and causing the pair to crash heavily into one of the trees on the estate. Neither suffered serious injuries but scratches and bruises weren’t helpful.
Shamar, Radu, and Sean were more fortunate. All of them avoided the musket-fire, and if their landing amongst the estate’s trees wasn’t easy, at least it was controlled.
Shamar quickly mind-messaged Zophiel.
Whatever reply Zophiel might have made was lost when hundreds of crows suddenly filled the sky directly above the Outcast Angels, effectively grounding them both and leaving half of their team on the other side of the wall.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THREE
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 5.00 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Silence returned to the Catacombs of San Gennaro—in stark contrast to the thunderous clatter of a few moments earlier, when so many skeletal human remains had come cascading down, forming a large mountain of skulls and bones. Of Chrymos, there was no sign.
Then came a gentle rustling from deep beneath the pile of bones. That turned into a frantic flurry of activity as Chrymos fought her way to the surface, pushing aside skulls and limbs and emerging relatively unscathed. Painfully, her injured leg hurting more than ever, Chrymos pulled herself out of the mound that had threatened to bury her and slid down the side of the heap of broken bones to rest for a moment on clear ground.
She coughed, attempting to clear her throat of the centuries of dust that had accompanied the dislodged skulls and bones—and was immediately reminded of the snake venom ravaging her body. Chrymos doubled over with the pain, shuddering in agony.
A minute or more passed, and then Chrymos straightened up. Again, she took out the timepiece. Five o’clock. One more hour until my elixir runs out. Time is running short for Sirus and Madalena, and Olivia as well. If I don’t get back to the Academy before they’re exposed to the Black Plague—she couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
Chrymos pulled herself upright and then limped over to check on Adric. Still breathing, but no closer to waking up. I hope he’s okay.
Now to tackle the seventh and final protection. Chrymos steeled herself for the challenge. Let’s see exactly what else the good bishop has in store for me.
Chrymos dragged herself over to the doorway where she had left Adric’s sword as a marker. She prepared herself as best she could and then stepped inside.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOUR
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 5.05 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
The instant that Chrymos limped across the threshold to the burial chamber, an invisible force held her in its grasp. She could neither move nor speak.
She felt her very essence being scanned. It feels like I’m being stabbed with pins and needles, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.
Then, a moment later, it was over. Chrymos found herself able to move again.
That can’t be all there is, surely? Is this a test, a trap or perhaps the first part of a more complex protection scheme? Chrymos didn’t know. For now, all that mattered was that she was finally inside the tomb. I’m the first one to get inside for more than a thousand years, if this dust is any guide.
Chrymos saw nothing at first. There’s no glow inside here—I guess whatever makes the glow can’t get inside either.
Chrymos reached into her right pocket for the vial of red glowing powder, only to find her hand touching fragments of glass. The vial had shattered. Probably when the bones fell on me, she decided. I guess now’s the time to use that brightly-glowing metal instead.
Chrymos pulled her hand out, intending to reach into her other pocket for the jar that contained the metal strip. She quickly realized that her hand, coated in red powder, was actually casting its own glow, enough to check out her surroundings.
Chrymos held the powder-covered hand high and used it as a torch to explore the tomb. There wasn’t much to see, just a single sarcophagus at the very back of the burial chamber. The stone slab covering the sarcophagus looked very heavy, yet Chrymos was able to push it aside with surprising ease.
In doing so, Chrymos disturbed the layers of dust covering the slab. As a result, she sneezed violently, triggering another round of venom-induced convulsions. They’re getting worse, she admitted to herself as she grasped the side of the sarcophagus tightly, coughing and spluttering.
Only once she had recovered did Chrymos look inside the sarcophagus. Something gleamed in the darkness below—an unearthly blue-white light.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIVE
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 5.06 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Outside the tomb, the arcosolium remained undisturbed.
Adric’s body was all but motionless. He might have been dead, were it not for the occasional rising and falling of his chest.
A few moments passed. Then a figure appeared at the entrance to the arcosolium. Its head darted from left to right as it surveyed the scene before deciding on a course of action.
The new arrival moved quickly, lifting Adric’s prone body and carrying it out of sight. Quiet rustling could be heard.
A short while later, the newcomer, now wearing Adric’s cloak, returned to the place where Adric’s body had rested—there was an outline in the dust where Adric had been lying. The interloper carefully lowered himself to the ground, positioning his body to match the outline almost exactly.
There was a flicker, contrasting oddly with the white glow that illuminated the arcosolium.
Then, to all intents and purposes, Adric’s body once again appeared to occupy the same position.
The whole exchange had taken less than two minutes, while Chrymos was busy exploring the inner tomb.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 5.08 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Because it w
as so dark in the inner chamber, Chrymos could clearly see the faint blue-white glow. Surely, that must be the pathgem?
When Chrymos reached down and touched the gemstone it flared brightly, illuminating a perfectly preserved body lying within the sarcophagus.
That’s not possible! This body is more than a thousand years old. It can’t still be flesh and blood.
And yet, that’s what Chrymos saw—a body that appeared as fresh as if it might have just died in the past few hours. It bore a bloody wound on its shoulder that looked as if it could have been inflicted mere moments ago.
But the biggest surprise came when Chrymos looked into the face of the corpse. I know him! I don’t understand how, but I’m almost certain that I recognize this angel.
In her shock, Chrymos lost her grip on the pathgem. Instantly the jewel dimmed, plunging nearly everything in the chamber into darkness. Only the red powder coating Chrymos’ hand remained as a source of illumination.
Chrymos held her glowing hand over the body in the sarcophagus and looked more closely. It had a kindly face, unmarked by the passage of time. How do I know you? She had no answer.
Chrymos moved her hand further down above the sarcophagus so that she could inspect the rest of the body. There wasn’t much to see. The corpse wore a light mail shirt, undamaged except for the brutal gash at the shoulder, over a long brown robe. A belt that ran from shoulder to waist carried an empty sheath that presumably had once housed a sword.
Under the body, Chrymos could see some type of shield strapped to the corpse’s back. She reached out to touch the shield, only to find it pulsing with an unknown energy. That feels very much the same as the mystery force that stopped me when I tried to enter this chamber. Is this shield the protection that’s been preserving you in here, angel?
Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series Page 29
