The creature dragged itself over towards the woman.
First, it sniffed her, up and down, like a dog. What it could smell in the midst of the poison gases was a mystery. At any rate, the creature seemed satisfied with what its nose told it about its prey.
Then the creature reached out and touched a finger to one of the glowing spots of red powder on the woman’s hand. Some of the powder transferred to the creature’s finger.
The creature lifted its powder-stained finger close to its eyes and stared at it, frowning intently. Then it touched the powder to its tongue and quickly spat it out again.
Next, the creature turned its attention to the woman’s face. It reached out and held her chin, moving her face around so that it could be examined from various different angles.
It hesitated at one point. Perhaps it recognized her from the classes they had taken together at the Academy a few months earlier. More likely, it remembered seeing her a short time earlier, when she had released the curse that would otherwise have resulted in its death.
For whatever reason, the creature paused before attacking—just long enough for a figure to rush into the room, sword raised, hollering a bloodcurdling war cry.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 7.40 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
The creature jumped backwards, away from Chrymos, which was exactly what Adric had intended.
Wielding his sword expertly in his right hand, Adric prodded and poked at the creature, forcing it further backwards, towards the right-hand doorway.
“Get out of here,” he shouted. “Leave her alone!” The words probably went unheeded but the constant pricking of the sword had the desired effect. The creature kept backing into the passageway, and then turned and made its escape.
Adric offered up one final piece of advice from the safety of the doorway. “Don’t come back or—I’ll slice you up,” he finished weakly.
Once he was satisfied that the creature was indeed gone, Adric crossed back to Chrymos and squatted down beside her. “Sorry, C. I thought you’d be quite safe here.”
Chrymos gave no sign that she had noticed either the activity or the apology. She continued to sleep serenely.
Adric breathed a deep sigh of relief. No harm done, after all.
He settled himself down not far from Chrymos, this time determined to wait until she woke up.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE
Outside The Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 7.45 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
It had been a frustrating couple of hours for the LOA team. Every attempt to breach the Academy buildings had so far proven fruitless.
The tornado had finally dwindled away about thirty minutes earlier, which Shamar guessed was because its creator had run out of energy. “It seems that the Alchemae potions only last for a limited period,” Shamar told the others. “I gather that the Academy bosses don’t want their underlings to have too much power.”
Even so, the LOA team was still pinned down. Occasional musket volleys, though not coming close to their position, kept the two angels earthbound. And a series of bitter blizzards—despite the crystal clear summer sky above—drove back any land-based attempts to storm the nearest building.
The team hadn’t been idle. Doamna, who could transform soil into stone, had been hard at work building up a defensive wall. And Mircea—his Wallachian colleagues had affectionately nicknamed him the Mole—was equally industrious, with his bare hands digging out a trench behind the wall to serve as a shelter for the team. I suppose it beats doing nothing, but I doubt he’ll get very far with that trench before the Academy finishes whatever it is they’re doing.
At some point during this lull in the fighting, Martin had asked how the first team had escaped the trap in the woods. “It was quite easy,” admitted Shamar. “As soon as the Academy men fired their muskets, we knew where they were—and we also knew that their vision would be restricted because of all the smoke from the musket fire. So Zophiel used his power over the air currents to gently push the crows out of the way directly above us, creating just enough room for me to fly Sean over near the attackers. Then we used the same tactics we used later at the main gate—I struck up a friendship with them all and then Sean paralyzed them.”
“The only annoying part,” added Zophiel, “was that one of the Academy men could make the trees grow by touching them. Sean couldn’t get close enough through all the branches to paralyze him. That took ages, which is why we weren’t able to help you at the main entrance.”
Once that particular mystery had been solved, there wasn’t much more to be said. The team members all retreated into their own thoughts while they considered what else they might do. In the end, that decision was taken out of their hands.
It was inevitable that the Academy tactics would eventually switch from defense to attack. That transition was marked by a series of explosions that impacted against Doamna’s newly-built stone wall.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-TWO
Outside The Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 8.10 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
The explosions shook the stone wall but had little direct effect. Behind the wall, however, the attack was more damaging. Some of the piles of soil and rocks—created by Mircea as a side-effect of his digging—were dislodged by the force of the blasts, and began raining down on the team members in the trench. They scrambled to avoid the falling debris, and in doing so nearly fell victim to the next phase of the Academy’s attack.
Musket balls ricocheted off the impromptu stone wall as the guards fired yet another volley at the would-be infiltrators. Because of their unpredictable nature, the deflected missiles were even more dangerous than deliberately-aimed shots. Most careened safely away from their intended targets but a small number bounced off the wall at just the right angles to pose a threat to the LOA team. Both Martin and Elias suffered minor wounds as musket ball shrapnel tore at their flesh.
The third phase was far more concerning. Behind the wall, the LOA team members could hear a number of shouted commands, followed by the sounds of people moving about. Shamar and Zophiel exchanged mind-messages.
The attack began slowly, a mild vibration that gently shook the ground around the LOA team. It was disconcerting, but not much more than that.
Then the vibrations intensified, the whole area beneath the Outcast Angels and their team starting to shake. They found it difficult to remain standing as the shuddering rolled on, growing stronger and stronger.
“Earthquake?” asked Martin, directing his query at the angels.
“A very tightly focused one,” replied Zophiel, pointing at the Academy buildings, which remained unaffected. He clutched tightly to one side of the trench to avoid being knocked down as the shaking around them grew worse. “The work of a very powerful Alchemae, I think. He—look out!” That last shout was a desperate warning as the stone wall, overstressed by the sharply-intensifying tremors, cracked down the middle and began to topple into the trench below.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE
Outside The Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 8.15 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
The LOA team members scrambled to get out of harm’s way as the two halves of the stone wall fell towards them. Niall had no problems stretching out of the trench and avoiding the wall. Lochloinn, his movements already restricted because of the shoulder wound he suffered earlier, wasn’t so lucky. He found himself pinned against one side of the trench by a large left-hand piece of the wall.
Acting together, Shamar and Zophiel stood firm and were able to halt the collapse of the right-hand wall segment long enough for Sean, Radu, and Martin to scuttle out of the trench. That left Doamna, Mircea, and Elias trapped on the
left-hand side, their exit blocked by the collapsed wall and by Lochloinn.
The tremors gradually subsided, leaving the LOA team dangerously exposed. Six of them were on the open ground, all cover gone now that the wall had fallen, while four were still imprisoned within the trench.
In the stillness that followed, the Outcast Angels could hear more orders being shouted out. Then came the ominous sound of triggers being cocked.
Shamar looked at Zophiel.
A split second later, a deafening volley of musket fire shattered the silence.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 8.15 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Chrymos finally stirred. She opened her eyes slowly. Mostly, she was surrounded by darkness. Then, on one side, she spied a red glow, accompanied by the anxious face of her friend Adric.
“C, are you okay?” he asked.
“I am, as it turns out, still alive despite my best efforts. And I feel much better thanks. Now please help me up.”
With Adric’s aid, Chrymos managed to stand up. She stretched, flexing her back. “Ow. That shield’s not as soft as the straw back at the Academy, I can tell you that. Still, at least I can breathe again, though it’s still not very pleasant in this stuff.”
She looked around, getting her bearings. “Where did we end up?”
“In the middle of the labyrinth,” said Adric. “We’re about halfway to the exit point.”
“Good,” said Chrymos. “Before we go any further though, Adric, you and I need to talk.”
“Sure,” said Adric, “go for it.” He stood back, ready to listen.
Chrymos came up to him and stared straight into his eyes. “You now know that I’m an Outcast Angel. And ever since we arrived at the Academy, Father Carracci and the other tutors have made it clear that the Outcast Angels are the enemy. I need to know, Adric, and I need to know now—do you believe that I am your enemy?”
Adric returned Chrymos’ stare unflinchingly. “I’ve known you for three years, C, ever since you first arrived in Naples. I’ve watched you parent those children who weren’t even yours. I’ve seen you look after the poor. I’ve seen you minister to the sick and help anyone with a hard luck story. So I can’t put it any more plainly than this.”
He paused for a moment, and then spoke with great passion. “I. Trust. You. If you are indeed an Outcast Angel—and those wings really were a bit of a giveaway, C—then I am more than willing to accept that the Outcast Angels are good, and that means that the Academy is not. And, frankly, given how badly Della Porta, Carracci, and the Contessa behave, I’m not that surprised. And in terms of whose side I’m on—did you ever doubt that?”
There was a moment’s silence and then Chrymos hugged Adric fiercely. “Thank you, Adric, that means so much to me.”
Adric returned the hug enthusiastically. “You’re welcome, C.” He coughed. “I think I’m ready for that fresh air, now.”
“Well, let’s get going again then. The sooner we’re out of this foul place the better. Ready?” With that, Chrymos summoned her wings, primed for flight.
Adric gazed at the wings in a mixture of amazement and puzzlement. “How do those wings stick to your back through your clothes and even through that shield?” he asked.
Chrymos struggled to explain. “They’re somehow linked to my body through what we call the aether,” she said. “They’re not true physical wings—they only look like they are. They draw on heavenly energy to help me fly. Or anyway, that’s how my father explained it to me when I was nine.”
“That’s as good an explanation as any,” said Adric. He bent down and gathered up his cloak, then positioned himself in front of Chrymos, back towards her. “I’m ready.”
That was all the go-ahead that Chrymos needed. She reached around Adric’s waist, grabbed him tightly, and launched into mid-air.
A few minutes later, she glided in for a soft landing at her destination. She released Adric and then dismissed her wings with a thought.
“That’s zooks,” said Adric, admiring the way that Chrymos’ wings simply vanished when she no longer needed them. “Now, follow me.”
With Adric in the lead, the pair walked up the remaining distance to the entrance to the next level. “This section has been deliberately blocked off with fabrics and heavy planks,” said Adric, “to stop the gases befouling the upper levels.” And to keep the creatures from escaping, thought Chrymos.
With both Chrymos and Adric pushing with all their might, they were able to move the heavy planks far enough apart to create an opening. They slipped through the gap, quickly replacing the planks as soon as they had passed.
Finally, Chrymos and Adric had left the poison gases behind. They had emerged into one of the larger arcosolia in the upper catacombs. There must have been luminaria in the passage outside, because some light shone into the room through the doorway at the other end. In the shadows, they could see a half-dozen sarcophagi standing in a line down one side of the chamber whilst a single, massive sarcophagus dominated the other side.
“Be careful C,” warned Adric. “The floor of this chamber is riddled with holes—Della Porta’s men did plenty of digging in here before they found a way down to the level below. Those sarcophagi may look sturdy enough, but at least some of them are probably going to collapse through the floor if there’s another flood.”
The pair gingerly tiptoed through the room until they reached what appeared to be a relatively safe spot. They stood for a moment, taking in welcome breaths of the fresh air.
“Free at last,” said Chrymos.
“I don’t think so,” said a voice from behind them.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 8.20 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Chrymos and Adric both spun round, to see Ezequeel entering the chamber and striding towards them, his armored feet clanging with every step on the stone floor.
The demon was an imposing sight, clad in black armor from his neck to his toes. For the moment, his sword was sheathed and his axe secured to his belt. He wore no helmet, which accentuated his cruel, scarred face and greasy black, shoulder-length hair.
Ezequeel did not look happy. His voice rang out, echoing through the room. “I have been coming to these catacombs year after year after endless year, attempting to break into that tomb to retrieve my pathgem.”
Adric drew his schiavona, indicating to Chrymos that she should get behind him. Chrymos shook her head. Instead, she removed the shield from her back and brought it round to the front. She slipped her left arm into the straps, preparing to defend herself.
Ezequeel continued to move towards the pair. As he grew closer, Chrymos could smell the mixture of mixture of brimstone and putrefying flesh that was uniquely Ezequeel’s. Maggots and cockroaches scurried across his armor. “You had the pathgem in your hands,” he said, “but now I can sense that the pathgem is gone. After all these centuries, Eleven, you gained the prize only to let it slip through your fingers. Tell me what has happened to my precious pathgem and I may even be merciful.”
Ezequeel came to a halt about an arm’s length from Adric and Chrymos. He glanced dismissively at Adric and then turned to his attention to Chrymos, staring intently at her through his demonic red and yellow eyes. “Well? Where is the pathgem?”
“It’s safe from you, Ezequeel,” said Chrymos. I hope.
“Leave—” began Adric, raising his sword and stepping between Ezequeel and Chrymos. Without even looking, certainly without drawing his weapon, Ezequeel casually raised his arm and swatted Adric away like a bothersome insect.
Adric went flying halfway across the chamber, ending up crashing into one of the sarcophagi. His sword clattered noisily to the ground beside him.
Chrymos dashed over to Adric and knelt down beside hi
m. He was dazed but otherwise seemed okay. She whispered, “Stay here,” and then stretched over and grabbed Adric’s fallen sword.
Ezequeel hadn’t bothered to move. He waited for Chrymos to return and then offered up a disdainful comment. “Touching, Eleven, the way you look after these little humans. Anyone would almost think you cared.”
Chrymos, a good six inches shorter than Ezequeel, looked up at his sneering face. “The pathgem is long gone from here. I suggest you do likewise, demon, and crawl back into your hole.”
Ezequeel laughed. “The pathgem may be gone, but you’re still here. And Nekhbet isn’t finished with you yet, Eleven. She wants you back in Hades—and this time she would prefer you dead.”
Now, Ezequeel did draw his sword. The vicious barbed blade still bore flecks of dried blood from a previous victim.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX
Outside The Academy of Secrets, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 8.22 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Shouts and screams rang out across the Della Porta estate—but they came from the Academy’s men, not from Shamar or Zophiel or any of the LOA team.
To the Outcast Angels’ surprise and relief, they and their team were unhurt. Their enemies had not fired the muskets. Instead, the shots had come from the main gate, which was currently shrouded in gun smoke.
Even before the smoke began to clear, six armed soldiers, clad in the distinctive red and blue livery of France’s Quarante Cinq royal guardsmen, rushed through the gate and took up defensive positions facing the Academy buildings. Their arrival went unchallenged—any potential opposition now retreated inside the buildings.
A few moments later, the long-absent Ravid strode into the Academy courtyard, accompanied by another twenty or so French guardsmen carrying weapons, ammunition, and other supplies. Ravid spotted Shamar and Zophiel and came over to join them. The three angels embraced each other warmly before helping to extract their colleagues from what remained of the trench.
Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series Page 34
