by Dan Simmons
Aenea appears as calm as she has through the entire incident. “I do not control it,” she says. “Your only safety is to leave this world in peace.”
The Cardinal is eyeing the Shrike. The man seems poised to leap away if the tall apparition flexes so much as a fingerblade. Nemes and her ilk continue standing between him and the Shrike. “What assurance have I,” he says, “that the thing will not follow me into space … or back to Pacem?”
“None,” says Aenea.
The Grand Inquisitor points a long finger at my friend. “We have business here that has nothing to do with you,” he says sharply, “but you will never leave this world. I swear this to you by the bowels of Christ.”
Aenea returns his gaze and says nothing.
Mustafa turns and stalks away with a swish of his red robe and a rasp of his slippers on the polished floor. The Nemes things back all the way across the floor while following him, the male and female clones holding their gazes on the Shrike, Nemes piercing Aenea with her stare. They pass through the curtain tent of the Dalai Lama’s private portal and are gone.
The Shrike stays where it is, lifeless, its four arms frozen in front of it, fingerblades catching the last drops of Oracle light before the moon moves behind the mountain and is lost.
Revelers begin moving toward the exits on a wave of whispers and exclamations. The orchestra thumps, clangs, and whistles as instruments are packed in a hurry and dragged or carried away. Aenea continues holding my hand as a small circle remains around us.
“Buddha’s ass!” cries Lhomo Dondrub and strides over to the Shrike, testing his finger against a metallic thorn rising from the thing’s chest. I see blood on his finger in the dimming light. “Fantastic!” cries Lhomo and swigs from a goblet of rice beer.
The Dorje Phamo moves to Aenea’s side. She takes my friend’s left hand, goes to one knee, and sets Aenea’s palm against her wrinkled forehead. Aenea removes her hand from mine as she takes the Thunderbolt Sow gently by the arms and helps her rise. “No,” whispers Aenea.
“Blessed One,” whispers the Dorje Phamo. “Amata, Immortal One; Arhat, Perfected One; Sammasambuddha, Fully Awakened One; command us and teach us the dhamma.”
“No,” snaps Aenea, still gentle with the old woman as she pulls her to her feet but stern of countenance. “I will teach you what I know and share what I have when the time arrives. I can do no more. The hour for myth has passed.”
My friend turns, takes my hand, and leads us across the dance floor, past the immobile Shrike, and toward the tattered curtains and unmoving escalator. Former revelers part for our passing as swiftly as they had for the Shrike.
We pause at the top of the steel stairs. Lanterns glow in the hallway to our sleeping rooms far below us.
“Thank you,” says Aenea, looking up at me with her brown eyes moist.
“What?” I say stupidly. “For … why … I don’t understand.”
“Thank you for the dance,” she says and reaches up to kiss me softly on the lips.
The electricity of her touch makes me blink. I gesture back toward the roiling crowd behind us, the dance floor empty of the Shrike now, at the Potala guards rushing into the echoing space, and at the curtained alcove through which Mustafa and his creatures have disappeared. “We can’t sleep here tonight, kiddo. Nemes and the other two will …”
“Uh-uh,” says Aenea, “they won’t. Trust me on this. They won’t come creeping down the outside wall and across our ceiling tonight. In fact, they’ll all be leaving their gompa and shuttling straight up to their ship in orbit. They’ll be back, but not tonight.”
I sigh.
She takes my hand. “Are you sleepy?” she says softly.
Of course I am sleepy. I am exhausted beyond words. Last night seems days and weeks away, and I had only two or three hours’ light sleep then because of … because we had … because of …
“Not a bit,” I say.
Aenea smiles and leads the way back to our sleeping chamber.
20
Pope Urban XVI: Send forth Thy Spirit and they shall be created.
All: Thou shalt renew the memory of Earth and the face of all worlds in God’s Dominion.
Pope Urban XVI: Let us pray.
O God, You have instructed the hearts of the faithful by the light of the Holy Spirit. Grant that through the same Holy Spirit we may always be truly wise and rejoice in His consolation. Through Christ our Lord.
All: Amen.
Pope Urban XVI blesses the insignia of the Knights of the Equestrian Order of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem.
Pope Urban XVI: Our help is in the name of the Lord.
All: Who made Heaven and earth and all worlds.
Pope Urban XVI: The Lord be with you.
All: And also with you.
Pope Urban XVI: Let us pray.
Hear, we pray You, O Lord, our prayers and deign through the power of Your majesty to bless the insignia of office. Protect Your servants who desire to wear them, so that they may be strong to guard the rights of the Church, and quick to defend and spread the Christian faith. Through Christ our Lord.
All: Amen.
Pope Urban XVI sprinkles the emblems with holy water. The Master of Ceremonies, Cardinal Lourdusamy, reads the decree of the newly appointed Knights and of those promoted in rank. Each member stands as his or her name is mentioned and remains standing. There are one thousand two hundred and eight Knights in the Basilica.
Cardinal Lourdusamy lists all honorees by rank, lowest to highest, Knights first, followed by Priest Knights
At the conclusion of the reading, the Knights to be invested kneel. All others are seated.
Pope Urban XVI asks the Knights: What do you ask?
The Knights answer: I ask to be invested as a Knight of the Holy Sepulchre.
Pope Urban XVI: Today, being a Knight of the Holy Sepulchre means engaging in the battle for the Kingdom of Christ and for the extension of the Church; and undertaking works of charity with the same deep spirit of faith and love with which you may give your life in battle. Are you ready to follow this ideal throughout your life?
The Knights answer: I am.
Pope Urban XVI: I remind you that if all men and women should consider themselves honored to practice virtue, so much the more should a soldier of Christ glory in being a Knight of Jesus Christ and use every means to show by his actions and virtues that he is deserving of the honor which is being conferred upon him and of the dignity with which he is invested. Are you prepared to promise to observe the Constitutions of this holy Order?
The Knights answer: With the grace of God I promise to observe, as a true soldier of Christ, the Commandments of God, the precepts of the Church, the orders of my commanders in the field, and the Constitution of this holy Order.
Pope Urban XVI: In virtue of the decree received, I appoint and declare you Soldiers and Knights of the Holy Sepulchre of Our Lord Jesus Christ. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
The Knights enter the Sanctuary and kneel while the Pope blesses the Jerusalem Cross, the emblem of the Order.
Pope Urban XVI: Receive the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ for your protection, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
After kneeling in front of the Jerusalem Cross, each Knight responds:
Amen.
Pope Urban XVI returns to the chair placed on the altar platform. When His Holiness gives the signal, the Master of Ceremonies Cardinal Lourdusamy reads the decree of each newly appointed Knight. As each Knight’s name is called, the newly appointed Knight approaches the altar, genuflects, and kneels in the great space before His Holiness. One Knight has been chosen to represent all of the Knights to be invested and now that Knight approaches the altar.
Pope Urban XVI: What do you request?
Knight: I desire to be invested a Knight of the Holy Sepulchre.
Pope Urban XVI: I remind you again, that if all men should consider themselves honored to p
ractice virtue, so much the more must a soldier of Christ, who should glory in being a Knight of Jesus Christ, use every means never to sully his good name. Finally, he ought to show by his actions and virtues that he is deserving of the honor which is being conferred upon him and of the dignity with which he is invested. Are you prepared to promise by word and in truth to observe the constitutions of this holy military Order?
The Knight puts his folded hands into the hands of His Holiness.
Knight: I declare and promise by word and in truth to God Almighty, to Jesus Christ, His Son, to the Blessed Virgin Mary, to observe, as a true soldier of Christ, all that I have been charged to do.
His Holiness, Pope Urban XVI, places his right hand on the head of the Knight.
Pope Urban XVI: Be a faithful and brave soldier of Our Lord Jesus Christ, a Knight of His Holy Sepulchre, strong and courageous, so that one day you may be admitted to His heavenly court.
His Holiness hands the golden spurs to the Knight saying: Receive these spurs that are a symbol of your Order for the honor and defense of the Holy Sepulchre.
The Knight Master of Ceremonies Cardinal Lourdusamy hands the unsheathed sword to His Holiness who, in turn, holds it before the newly appointed Knight and returns it to the Knight Master.
Master of Ceremonies: Receive this sword that symbolizes the defense of the Holy Church of God and the overthrow of the enemies of the Cross of Christ. Be on guard never to use it to strike anyone unjustly.
After the Knight Master of Ceremonies has returned it into the scabbard, His Holiness hands the sword to the newly appointed Knight.
Pope Urban XVI: Bear well in mind that the Saints have conquered kingdoms not by the sword, but by faith.
This part of the ceremony is repeated for each candidate. His Holiness the Pope is given the unsheathed sword and touches each Knight’s right shoulder three times with the sword, saying: I appoint and declare you a Soldier and Knight of the Holy Sepulchre of Our Lord Jesus Christ. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
After returning the sword to the Knight Master of Ceremonies, His Holiness places around the neck of each the Cross, the emblem of the Order, saying: Receive the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ for your protection, and for that purpose repeat unceasingly: “By the sign of the Cross, deliver us, O Lord, from our enemies.”
Each newly invested Knight arises, bows to His Holiness, and goes to the dignitary highest in rank to receive the cape from him. He then receives from the Knight assistant, the beret, which he puts on immediately. He then goes to his place in the pews.
All stand as His Holiness begins the following hymn, which is continued by all present.
VENI CREATOR
Come, Holy Spirit, Creator blest,
And in our souls take up Your rest;
Come with Your grace and heavenly aid,
To fill the hearts which You have made.
O Comforter, to You we cry,
You, heavenly gift of God Most High,
You, fount of life and fire of love,
And sweet anointing from above.
You, in your sevenfold gifts are unknown;
You, finger of God’s hand we own;
You, promise of the Father, You
Who do the sword with flame imbue.
Kindle our senses from on high,
And calm the hearts of those to die;
With patience firm and virtue high
The weakness of our flesh supply.
Far from us drive the foe we dread,
And grant to us Your wrath instead;
So shall we not, with You for guide,
Allow the victory be denied.
Oh, may your grace on us bestow
The Father and the Son to know;
And you, through endless times confessed,
Of both the eternal Spirit blest.
Now to the Father and the Son,
Who rose from death, be glory given,
Before You, O Holy Sword and Shield,
Be all in Pax and Heaven driven,
His Holiness Pope Urban XVI: And all the foes of Christ must yield.
All: Amen.
Exit His Holiness and the Master of Ceremonies.
Instead of returning to his apostolic apartments, the Pope led his cardinal to a small room off the Sistine Chapel.
“The Room of Tears,” said Cardinal Lourdusamy. “I’ve not been in here for years.” It was a small room with brown floor tiles aged to a black hue, red flock wallpaper, low, medieval-vaulted ceilings, harsh lighting from a few gold wall sconces, no windows but heavy and incongruous white drapes along one scarlet wall. The room was barely furnished—an odd red settee in one corner, a small, black table-cum-altar with a white linen cloth, and a skeletal framework in the center upon which hung an ancient, yellowed, and somewhat unsettling alb and chasuble, with two white and absurdly decorated shoes nearby, the toes curling with age.
“The vestment belonged to Pope Pius XII,” said the Pontiff. “He donned it here in 1939 after his election. We had it taken from the Vatican Museum and set out here. We visit it upon occasion.”
“Pope Pius XII,” mused Cardinal Lourdusamy. The Secretary of State tried to recall any special significance of that long-dead Pope. All he could think of was the disturbing statue of Pius XII done almost two millennia ago—in 1964—by Francesco Messina, now relegated to a subterranean corridor beneath the Vatican. Messina’s Pius XII is shown in rough strokes, his round glasses as empty as the eye sockets in a skull, his right arm raised defensively—bony fingers splayed—as if trying to ward off the evil of his time.
“A war pope?” guessed Lourdusamy.
Pope Urban XVI wearily shook his head. There was a welt on his forehead where the heavy orphreyed mitre had rested during the long investiture ceremony. “It is not his reign during the Old Earth world war which interests us,” said the Holy Father, “but the complex dealings he was compelled to carry out with the very heart of darkness in order to preserve the Church and the Vatican.”
Lourdusamy nodded slowly. “The Nazis and the Fascists,” he murmured. “Of course.” The parallel with the Core was not without merit.
The Pope’s servants had set out tea on the single table and the Secretary of State now acted as personal servant to His Holiness, pouring the tea into a fragile china cup and carrying it to the other man. Pope Urban XVI nodded wearily in gratitude and sipped the steaming liquid. Lourdusamy returned to his place in the middle of the room near the ancient hanging garments and looked critically at his pontiff. His heart has been bothering him again. Will we have to go through another resurrection and election conclave soon?
“Did you notice who was chosen as the representative Knight?” asked the Pope, his voice stronger now. He looked up with intense, sad eyes.
Caught off balance, Lourdusamy had to think for a second. “Oh, yes … the former Mercantilus CEO. Isozaki. He will be the Knight in titular leadership of the Cassiopeia 4614 Crusade.”
“Making amends.” His Holiness smiled.
Lourdusamy rubbed his jowls. “It may be more serious penance than M. Isozaki had counted on, Your Holiness.”
The Pope looked up. “Serious losses forcast?”
“About forty percent casualties,” rumbled Lourdusamy. “Half of those irretrievable for resurrection. The fighting in that sector has been very, very heavy.”
“And elsewhere?” said the Pontiff.
Lourdusamy sighed. “The unrest has spread to about sixty Pax worlds, Your Holiness. About three million suffer the Contagion and have rejected the cruciform. There is fighting, but nothing the Pax authorities cannot handle. Renaissance Vector is the worst … about three quarters of a million infected, and it is spreading very quickly.”
The Pope nodded wearily and sipped his tea. “Tell us something positive, Simon Augustino.”
“The messenger drone translated from T’ien Shan System just before the ceremony,” said the Cardinal. “We decrypted the hol
o message from Cardinal Mustafa immediately.”
The Pope held his cup and saucer and waited.
“They have encountered the Devil’s Child,” said Lourdusamy. “They met her at the Dalai Lama’s palace.”
“And …” prompted His Holiness.
“No action was taken because of the presence of the Shrike demon,” said Lourdusamy, glancing at notes on his wrist comlog diskey. “But identification is certain. The child named Aenea … she is in her twenties, standard, now of course … her bodyguard, Raul Endymion, whom we had arrested and lost on Mare Infinitus more than nine years ago … and the others.”
The Pope touched his thin lips with his thin fingers. “And the Shrike?”
“It appeared only when the girl was threatened by Albedo’s Noble Guard … officers,” said Cardinal Lourdusamy. “And then disappeared. There was no fighting.”
“But Cardinal Mustafa failed to consummate the moment?” said the Pope.
Lourdusamy nodded.
“And you still think that Mustafa is the right person for the job?” murmured Pope Urban XVI.
“Yes, Holy Father. Everything is going according to plan. We had hoped to make contact prior to the actual arrest.”
“And the Raphael?” said the Pope.
“No sign of it yet,” said the Secretary of State, “but Mustafa and Admiral Wu feel certain that de Soya will appear in T’ien Shan System before the allotted time to collect the girl.”
“We certainly pray that this will be the case,” said the Pontiff. “Do you know, Simon Augustino, how much damage that renegade ship has done to our Crusade?”
Lourdusamy knew that the question was rhetorical. He and the Holy Father and the squirming Pax Fleet admirals had pored over combat action reports, casualty lists, and tonnage losses for five years. The Raphael and its turncoat Captain de Soya had almost been captured or destroyed a score of times, but always had managed to escape to Ouster space, leaving behind scattered convoys, tumbling hulks, and shattered Pax warships. Pax Fleet’s failure to catch a single renegade archangel had become the shame of the Fleet and the best-kept secret in the Pax.
