The Age of Apollyon Trilogy (The Age of Apollyon, Black Sun, Scorn)

by Mark Carver

  “She was a demon, wasn’t she?”

  Father DeMarco nodded slowly. His spine tingled as he remembered that hideous face on the hill.

  “I’m so ashamed,” Benito said. “She was as beautiful as an angel, so kind, so wise. I don't know how I could be so blind.”

  Father DeMarco felt righteous contempt simmering in his heart, but he quickly quelled it. He knew it would do no good to lecture the boy on his weaknesses. Instead, he reached out a comforting hand and placed it on his shoulder.

  A heavy, smothering silence blanketed the crypt.

  Benito coughed. “What is happening in the world, Father? How can Christians be pulled into darkness so easily?”

  Father DeMarco thought for a moment, then shrugged. “There have been periods in history where Satan’s power is strong. And we are all just weak, mortal humans. If we lack faith in God, it doesn’t take much to move our hearts.”

  “But why does God let it happen? Why doesn’t He do something?”

  The priest looked directly into Benito’s eyes for a long, painful moment.

  “I don’t know, my son.”

  An iron door creaked open behind them. The prisoners turned around slowly to avoid chafing their necks.

  A dark figure stepped forward into the crypt, his face hidden in shadow. Dull, rusty keys jangled in his hand. Father DeMarco and Benito gasped, and a moment later, the shackles were removed from their necks. The man who released them did not say a word, nor did they get a clear glimpse of his face.

  With an impatient grunt, he hauled them to their feet and propelled them towards the door. Father DeMarco and Benito felt their hearts freeze with fear but they were glad to be out of that dungeon of rats and bones. The instant they stepped into the corridor, the dank and musty air tasted delicious.

  Their surly captor shoved them up a flight of stone stairs which Father DeMarco assumed led up to the sanctuary. He was right, and a moment later, they found themselves beneath the gorgeous fanning arches of the Gothic nave. They didn’t have time to admire the architecture, however, since they were immediately pushed towards the circular apse behind the choir at the rear of the sanctuary.

  Benito’s eyes brightened. “Lorenzo! Donatella! You’re all right!”

  Lorenzo and Donatella were equally surprised.

  “Oh, praise God,” Donatella cried, embracing Father DeMarco. Lorenzo even seemed to forget his bleak attitude as he reached out to give Benito an enthusiastic hug.

  Father DeMarco’s relief dissipated when he saw a group of dark faces behind them. Along with Benito, the four of them clustered close together like frightened cats cowering before a pack of hungry dogs.

  “What do you want with us?” Father DeMarco demanded.

  The woman who had confronted them outside stepped forward. She wore a shapeless black robe, as did the rest of her comrades. Her attractive face looked stern but bore no malice.

  “My name is Adrianna,” she said. “You need not fear us, for we all serve the same master.”

  Lorenzo snorted. “You’re very mistaken, little lady. Our masters could not be more opposite.”

  Adrianna regarded the prisoners with a curious smile, then reached into the neckline of her robe and drew out a long gold chain. A brilliant gold cross swung back and forth, flashing in the soft candlelight.

  Donatella gasped. Father DeMarco took a step back, as if afraid that the cross would transform into a snake.

  The woman’s smile broadened, though a sinister shadow passed over her face.

  “The same side, yes?”

  “But…but…the bodies,” Father DeMarco stammered. “Those poor souls lashed to the fence out there…”

  “Satanists,” Adrianna replied simply, letting the cross fall against her chest. “Blasphemers against our Heavenly Father and the Blessed Virgin Mother.”

  Father DeMarco felt his knees grow weak, and he gripped Benito’s shoulder to keep his balance.

  “Sata…” He couldn’t even finish the word. It was as if the breath had been sucked from his lungs.

  “How could you do something like that? You are murderers!”

  Adrianna’s smile vanished, and she cocked her head.

  “Have you been living in a cave for the past twelve years, Father? What has been happening to us since the day the Dragon appeared?”

  She turned and pointed towards the front of the sanctuary.

  “That out there is a reminder to all who would dare to blaspheme against the name of the Lord God that His children on earth are rising up, and we will purge this world of sin.”

  Father DeMarco could feel his heart withering in his chest. For the first time in many years, he felt pure, desperate panic sweeping over him like an avalanche.

  “You are animals.”

  The words hung in the dead air of the sanctuary, hovering like mist. No one moved or breathed. Father DeMarco locked eyes with the woman, challenging her to make the next move.

  Her eyes flamed, and for a moment, Father DeMarco half-expected her to pounce on him. But instead, she merely bowed her head and stepped to the side.

  Before the priest and the others could react, a large figure moved past her and stood before them. He was a man and he wore a black robe with a hood that hid his face.

  Father DeMarco frowned and leaned forward. The figure seemed familiar. Almost like…

  “Giacomo!”

  The man raised his head. His eyes were dark and his face was grim as death.

  “Giacomo,” Lorenzo exclaimed, “what are you doing?”

  “The Lord’s work,” Giacomo answered simply.

  “The Lord’s work? Murdering our fellow men and stringing their bodies up like trophies? At the house of God? Have you lost your mind?”

  Giacomo threw back his hood and stepped forward, his fist raised as if ready for a fight.

  “You all didn’t see her. You do not know the power in her words. She is an angel…”

  His voice dropped low.

  “…The voice of God.”

  It was all Father DeMarco could do to keep from tearing out his hair.

  “Giacomo! This is insanity! This is blasphemy!”

  “No!” Giacomo roared. “Blasphemy is hiding in the shadows, and fleeing like rats when evil approaches. But it ends here, now. This woman…this angel…she has given us courage, and power. She is the Virgin Mother herself…”

  With a bloodcurdling shriek, Benito launched himself into the air and knocked Giacomo to the ground. He seized his collar and began pummeling his face.

  “Blasphemer!” he screamed. “Heretic!”

  Tears poured down his face as he rained blow after blow down upon Giacomo, who was too stunned to react. Flecks of blood spattered across the stone floor.

  Father DeMarco jumped forward and grabbed Benito’s wrist.

  “Stop, Benito, stop!”

  Benito spun around and glared at him with brimming eyes. “You heard what he said! It is blasphemy!”

  The priest pulled him back, and the boy kicked and slashed at Giacomo as hooded figures dragged the wounded man away. He was semi-unconscious and blood gushed from gashes in his cheeks.

  “She’s a demon!” Benito shouted, thrashing wildly in Father DeMarco’s arms. “She speaks lies! She is from hell!”

  “She is the voice of GOD!” Adrianna snarled as she stepped in front of Giacomo and the others.

  “Where is she?” Father DeMarco demanded angrily, throwing Benito aside and stepping up to the woman. His face was just inches from hers.

  “Let her show herself,” he spat. “If she is truly sent from God, then let her give proof, for we are children of God and we declare that she is a liar!”

  Adrianna’s lips were so tight that they almost disappeared. Veins throbbed in her neck but she said nothing.

  Father DeMarco looked at the others standing behind her.

  “Why do you follow this false angel?” he called out. “Can you not see what she is? Are all of you so blind that yo
u would commit these atrocities at a demon’s request?”

  “She is not a demon!” Adrianna snapped. “Our little town was locked in darkness for years. Our beloved church was overrun by the Satanists years ago, and night after night we watched them defile this sanctuary with their rituals and orgies and sacrifices. But they were strong; they ruled our town. There were only a few Christians here and we were too afraid to profess our faith in public. So we hid in plain sight. We did not attend the black masses but we did not hold communion together. It was just too dangerous.

  “But then news came that the Voice of Satan had been killed in Paris, and the town turned to chaos. The Satanists went from house to house, demanding that everyone inside declare their allegiance to the devil or be killed.”

  She fell silent for a moment.

  “…They killed my husband because he would not obey. Right in front of me and my boy. Then they…they took…”

  Quiet sobs choked her words, and she turned her face away. A middle-aged woman stepped forward and placed her hands on Adrianna’s shoulders. She whispered to her for a moment, then looked fiercely at Father DeMarco.

  “We were helpless,” she said. “We felt as if God had forsaken us. Then…”

  She looked up at the vaulted ceiling.

  “…She appeared. Like a candle flame at first, small and dim. Then she was an inferno. She blinded our enemies, and told us to rise up. And we did. We all felt something change in us, like electricity. It was the Spirit of the Lord, giving us strength.”

  “Blasphemy!” Benito spat.

  “We cleansed the town of the devil’s hordes,” Adrianna said. “It was like culling sheep. No resistance. They were too awestruck by the power of God and His angel.

  “The Satanists who had enough sense to flee came here and barricaded themselves in our church. They stayed in here for days. We cut off their water but we knew they had enough resources in here to hold out for weeks. Some tried to escape but we were waiting for them. The rest just stayed inside and kept away from the windows. We waited outside, praying for the Lord’s guidance.

  “The day before you came, the angel returned again. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even more lovely than before. Her face was like the purest snow, and her voice…it was music to hear her speak. She told us that our prayers had been answered, and our faith would be rewarded. Then she flew to the sanctuary door and touched it. It sprang open, just like that! We all ran inside and found the cowards. And then…well, you saw the judgment that falls upon those who defile the house of God. And I pray that their torment is multiplied ten thousandfold in the depths of hell forever.”

  “Amen,” the hooded figures intoned.

  Father DeMarco felt nauseous.

  “God have mercy,” he breathed, shaking his head with disbelief. “God have mercy on your souls…”

  The woman’s eyes flashed. “We do not serve a God of mercy! We serve a God of judgment and wrath!”

  “Then repent!” Benito growled.

  Father DeMarco held him back with his arm. “Giacomo,” he said, “you arrived after we did. How did you get sucked into this torrent of lies?”

  “I did not get sucked into anything,” Giacomo answered angrily. “I make my own choices and I follow the conscience that God gave me. And I know when I am in the presence of an angel.”

  “You saw her?”

  “I wouldn’t believe if I hadn’t. She appeared to me, on the road.”

  “On the road? You mean to you and Antoni?”

  Father DeMarco suddenly felt his blood run cold.

  “Where is Antoni?”

  Giacomo looked at him for a moment, then his eyes fell away.

  “Antoni...did not have faith.”

  The priest clenched his fists and his eyes blazed. “You mean he recognized the ‘angel’ for what it truly was?”

  “NO!” Giacomo shouted. “Antoni was not a true believer. He saw her, just as I did. He heard what she had to say, but his heart was hardened against her, and against the will of God.”

  “Where is he, Giacomo?” the priest repeated. “Where is Antoni?”

  Giacomo did not answer. But for the briefest moment, Father DeMarco thought he saw a tear sparkle in his eye. He turned away before anyone else could see it.

  Adrianna stepped forward again, impatient rage clouding her face.

  “We have no need to explain ourselves to you. The choice is clear: you are either with us or against us.”

  “What will you do to us?” Donatella asked with surprising strength in her voice, despite the fact that her face was wet with tears.

  “That is up to you,” the woman answered. “We are departing for Rome tomorrow. If you swear allegiance to our cause, you shall accompany us, under guard of course until we are sure you can be trusted.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  The woman smiled as she glared at Lorenzo.

  “What we do to you will feel like mercy compared to the judgment that awaits you after death.”

  Father DeMarco raised his eyes and his hands toward heaven.

  “Oh God, have mercy on these poor souls. Move their hearts to repentance.”

  Adrianna lashed out and struck the priest across the face. The stinging pain brought tears to his eyes but he didn’t cry out. He simply stared at her and swallowed his pain.

  “Do what you want to our bodies,” he declared. “You cannot touch our souls. We know what awaits us after death, and we rejoice.”

  Donatella let out a soft whimper as she clung to Lorenzo. Benito stepped forward to join Father DeMarco in his defiance.

  “You shall pay for what you have done here,” he proclaimed, “in this life or the next.”

  The woman turned her back on them, motioning carelessly towards them.

  “Bring the priest outside,” she commanded. “Put the others back in the crypt.”

  “No!” Benito cried, springing forward.

  Giacomo immediately knocked him down with a solid fist to the jaw. Benito crumpled to the floor, and Donatella shrieked.

  “Giacomo!” Father DeMarco gasped with shock. “What are you doing?”

  Giacomo made no reply, but fires of wrath burned in his eyes. Two men brushed past him and seized Father DeMarco by the arms.

  “Let him go!” Lorenzo demanded as he and Donatella picked Benito off the ground.

  Adrianna said nothing, nor did she turn around. Father DeMarco was dragged after her by the two men, while the others were kept back by several hooded figures.

  “Father!” Donatella cried out.

  “I’ll be fine,” Father DeMarco called over his shoulder. “Stay together! Guard your hearts!”

  “Silence!” Adriana hissed. “Bring him outside.”

  White-hot pain split Father DeMarco’s skull like an ax. He made no resistance as he was led out of the sanctuary. Adrianna threw the doors open wide and he squinted with surprise. Though the sky was still gray and heavy with clouds, the landscape seemed bright, as if glowing with its own luminescence. Father DeMarco turned his eyes away for a moment, clenching his teeth against the multiplying pain.

  Adrianna stepped out onto the weeded courtyard. The rotting bodies were still lashed to the iron fence that circled the church, and several crows had descended upon the skulls, pecking at the cheeks and eyes.

  She turned around and stared at the priest. She did not take any notice of the airborne scavengers or the pungent stench of death that hovered in the air. Instead, there was a strange sadness in her eyes.

  Father DeMarco was almost faint with exhaustion. He gasped for breath but couldn’t summon the strength to heap words of condemnation upon her head. He slumped in his captors’ grasp and stared at the dry, stony ground.

  “I am not a monster,” Adrianna said quietly, as if she didn’t want her voice to reach the dead ears of the corpses.

  “Only God can judge who we are,” Father DeMarco panted, unable to raise his eyes.

  The woman nodded sl
owly. “Indeed. But I want you to see who I am as well. All of this...”

  She gestured expansively.

  “This is just a statement against the darkness that has gripped our continent for so many years. Perhaps it was dramatic and even excessive, but we are invigorated. Our faith surges like a tidal wave, and we are emboldened like we have never been. The church lives again.”

  “No!” Father DeMarco wailed, tears gushing from his eyes. “Don’t say another word. Everything you say grieves the heart of our Father. You are all an abomination to God’s creation! I am disgusted to breathe the same air as you!”

  The woman exhaled slowly through her nose and stepped closer.

  “Listen, Father.”

  She pronounced the word as if it tasted like vinegar.

  “I really don’t care what you think of us,” she continued, bending down so she could see his face. “You can sit on your throne of self-righteousness all you want, but the fact remains that we have been ordained with an important task and we are going to see it come to fruition. Your condescension is just wasted breath.”

  “What…what task?” Father DeMarco panted.

  The woman stood up and looked at the grim church building looming before her.

  “A great man will rise up to lead and guide us,” she declared with a sparkle of excitement in her voice.

  Father DeMarco raised his eyes and squinted at her.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The angel,” she answered. “She said that a new leader would come forth and unite us in the name of God.”

  The priest felt his heart wither in his chest.

  “When? How?”

  “She did not reveal the time, but she told us it would be soon. The faithful have been preparing to converge upon Rome and we will take back Vatican City for Christ.”

  “The…angel…she told you this?”

  The woman nodded.

  “You see, Father, we’re not just crazed fanatics lashing out against our oppressors. We are purifying this country, this continent, and soon, the world. The forces of Satan are scattered and confused, and we will not waste this opportunity. This is going to be one of the greatest moments in the history of our church.”

  Father DeMarco’s body shuddered with a wave of nausea.