The Salvation of Gabriel Adam (The Revelation Saga)

by S. L. Duncan

  A twittering of whispers rose from the gallery. Gabe watched men lean over each other’s shoulders, some of them smiling as if the notion of an apocalypse was far-fetched or fantasy.

  “And these are men of faith?” Gabe whispered to himself.

  His father looked over his shoulder to their row of four throne-like chairs and shook his head at Gabe, clearly dejected by the vote. Afarôt sat next to Gabe and Micah on his right. The seat beside her remained empty, signifying the loss of the Archangel Uriel. It was a symbolic gesture Gabe’s father had vehemently objected to out of respect for Carlyle.

  “Your book could not be clearer. But we are bound by our book,” said a man, rising to his feet in the first row, in front of the baldacchino.

  From what Gabe’s father had told him, they had expected a public objection from the president of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith. His was a position that had a tradition of stubborn attitudes toward change of thought or acceptance of sciences. Proof and evidence were regarded with little interest in light of protecting their sacred doctrines.

  Before Gabe’s father could counter the president’s argument, Secretariat of State Angelo Borelli spoke from the elderly pope’s side, a few yards away from where Gabe, Micah, and Afarôt sat. “And yet it is the Essene’s book that promised the Watchers. Here they are, standing before us all. And it is the Essene’s book that has foretold the signs. Signs we have seen. The Apocalypse of Solomon can no longer be disregarded. What is simply is. There is not time to debate traditions or commissions of error in the canon.”

  “But it has been weeks since the alleged menace in Axum, Your Holiness,” the man said, pleading directly to the elderly pope. “Or since the supposed sign at the Nile. Does it not run pure today? No proof is offered for the future. Our vote signifies that peace is upon us once again.”

  “Alleged? Supposed?” Gabe’s father challenged, cutting him off.

  “Is the Watchers’ existence not proof enough?” Borelli said. “And can you be so certain their cause has come to an end, President? Certain enough to wager our very existence? Have you seen signs that we have been too negligent to notice? Do you know God’s will better than His Holiness does? If so, perhaps new doctrine shall be needed that the president of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith has a communion with God that preempts even the pope.”

  Gabe watched as the defeated man slinked into his seat, unable to challenge the political maneuvering of Borelli. Gabe couldn’t help but laugh a bit under his breath. Immediately, he felt Micah’s sharp elbow.

  “If the Vatican will no longer act,” Gabe’s father said, “then we must gather the Nations immediately. The heads of all religions, too. This is not just our war. I motion to convene a Council.”

  “But the vote!” The president stood to object but was silenced by Borelli’s hand.

  “The vote still passes,” Borelli said. “Vatican City will not play host to preparations for the End of Days. However, the Holy Father seconds the motion. I will dispatch the secretary for relations with the states immediately. As I understand, the Nicaea Facility has recently been completed?”

  “No,” Gabe’s father said. He seemed caught off guard by the suggestion. “I mean, it has. But with respect, the Nicaea Facility is a poor choice, I believe. Iznik is too distant and too dangerous a move to risk transporting the Watchers. Further, the political climate of Turkey is far too turbulent. They have just suffered a coup d’état, as I’m sure you are aware.”

  “A peaceful transition, is what the media has reported,” Borelli countered. “I believe their new president is very amicable to the influence of the Western Alliance. I have spoken already with his vice president. Arrangements have been made.”

  “Still, the Watchers would be vulnerable to an easy attack and would be far safer within our walls. Any meeting should be held here inside Vatican City.”

  “The matter has been settled by vote. Besides, I fear that within these walls of our city they are exposed to much greater danger, my friend. That which is bred by apathy,” Borelli said and smiled gently to the congregation.

  Several men moved uncomfortably in their seats.

  Borelli continued. “This city is built to withstand any assault man could imagine to penetrate its sanctum, except the assault waged by ideas. Darkness can creep in, influenced by fear and hate. I look out upon this gathering, and I see fear. Much fear and misunderstanding.

  “Here they are unsafe. The facility at Iznik is state-of-the art and offers protections equal to our own. And its purpose, for the most part, remains secret and unassuming. That would be in line, I think, with your original methods for keeping the Watchers safe, would it not? A Nicene Council to undo the mistakes made by Constantine would be a symbolic gesture to the faithful.”

  The Roman Curia seemed to murmur in agreement.

  “Further, the heads of the other religions would be more agreeable to gathering in a neutral location. With the Turkish government’s permission, we will call together a New Council of Nicaea and formulate an international strategy for enduring our enemy.” Borelli was no longer speaking to Gabe’s father but to the crowd, capitalizing on his political savvy.

  Gabe’s father stole a look at Afarôt for some more support. The look on the archangel’s face indicated that he agreed with the secretariat. Or that they were out of options. Gabe couldn’t tell which.

  Slightly deterred, his father turned and offered a final plea to the crowd. “Their abilities are not yet fully developed. Any disruption might put their advancement back weeks. Possibly months.”

  “My reports state that their abilities are progressing quite nicely. In fact, there are rumors that they have obtained unique, if not unorthodox, control over them. Movie butter flavor, was it?”

  A few among the crowd stifled their laughter.

  Gabe felt like his father was getting run over by Borelli. He sat on the edge of his chair, ready to object on his father’s behalf.

  Afarôt cleared his throat. He shook his head at Gabe with a serious expression on his face, as if to say, Don’t do it.

  “With your permission, Highnesses,” Borelli said, “we would ask for your blessing to call together the Council of Nicaea so that all the governments of the Nations can better understand our plight.”

  “We are agreeable to this,” Afarôt said.

  Gabe and Micah looked at him. He nodded, as if he knew something they didn’t.

  “Then it shall be done as soon as we are prepared.”

  The Curia stood, the forum now apparently closed, and waited for the archangels to leave first. Gabe recalled his youth when he attended his father’s church, and the congregation would stand after the service and wait for his father to exit first.

  The Swiss Guard moved into action with another blaring call from their trumpets, similar to the one that had announced their arrival.

  Gabe’s father followed Afarôt as he made his way down the nave toward the entrance, without an escort.

  Gabe jumped from his chair and tried to catch up to them before they walked off. One of the Swiss Guard dropped his scythe into Gabe’s path, halting him.

  “Highness, we are to escort you back to your quarters. For your safety.”

  “We’re following them first. Now move your weapon, Guardsman.”

  “Respectfully, Highness, I have my orders.”

  A distinct shift occurred in the atmosphere between Gabe and the Swiss Guard. It felt as if every particle and molecule floating in the space separating them had suddenly been electrically charged.

  Energy surged through Gabe’s veins. It felt hot, like anger incarnate. The Swiss Guard noticed it, fear spreading across his face.

  Micah noticed it, too.

  “Get out of my way,” Gabe said in a deadly serious tone, his fists clenched. “Or I will remove you from it.”

  The crowd hushed.

  “Gabriel Adam, how dare you!” Micah grabbed the scythe and pulled it away from Gabe’s f
ace. “Honestly, you’re like a child sometimes.” She turned to the Swiss Guard and said, “Wait here. You can escort us shortly.”

  Gabe stormed after his father and Afarôt, with Micah close behind. He heard the Roman Curia begin to disperse behind him, probably content to avoid any contact with him. He knew they would not follow. Nearly as many of them feared him as were in awe of him.

  “What was that about, Afarôt?” Gabe’s father shouted in front of him, finally able to stop Afarôt.

  Gabe and Micah got to their side before he could answer.

  “This is a discussion for a later time, my friend,” Afarôt said, motioning to Gabe and Micah.

  “The hell it is,” Micah said, gasping from the run across the Basilica. “If you have information that is relevant to our lives, then you had bloody well tell us right now.”

  Gabe gave her a puzzled look.

  “What? I didn’t watch you nearly scare that man to death and then run all the way over here for nothing,” she snapped.

  “What man?” his father asked.

  “Never mind,” Gabe said. “What aren’t you telling us, Afarôt? Spill it. No more secrets.”

  A deep concern furrowed the dark skin on his brow. Afarôt rubbed the mark on the back of his neck and made sure none of the Curia had made their way close enough to eavesdrop. Only a very small contingent of the Swiss Guard remained near Bernini’s baldacchino. The rest had left behind the pope.

  “So be it,” he said, making sure to whisper. “But this information is not for others to hear. Can we agree?”

  Everybody nodded.

  “The sensibilities of this community have been strained to the point where such news might elicit an irrational response. Though perhaps the room could use a bit of the irrational.”

  “Whatever. Spill it,” Micah said.

  “In my search for Enoch, I came across several clues. Patterns.”

  “What do you mean?” Joseph asked.

  “The enemy has significantly increased activity in this realm. This much we know. That activity, it seems, is geographically focused around a specific place in this world. A place that is older than most all others.”

  “Where?” Gabe asked.

  “Constantine’s City.”

  “Istanbul,” his father said. “The seal still holds, does it not?”

  “It seems so. Though the separation of the realms is not uniform. You must think of it like oil layered upon water, separating it from the air. Always in motion. At times the oil is thinner in one place compared to another. The struggle of light against dark in this realm has always played a part in this interaction of the seal against the realms. Hatred and evil pull at the seams, as much as love and good strengthen them. Darkness wants to be with darkness. Light with light. Long ago, these weakened places existed in the land as the remnant of the connection that once held together the realms, like portals between worlds, though they were purged from existence by Enoch. It is possible that they have been somehow reestablished. If there exists such a place of opportunity, it would exist in the Earth’s darkest corners, where light’s struggle is the greatest. Perhaps the enemy has also found a way to exploit the weakness.”

  “The one who killed Enoch,” Gabe’s father said.

  “The Second of Four is in Turkey,” Afarôt said. “It can be no other.”

  Memories of Gabe’s first encounter with one of the Horsemen would forever haunt him. The fact that there might be another out there like Septis stole the air from his lungs. The room seemed to spin as he recalled the cold fear that had nearly frozen him that day in Axum. Victory had been a fluke, nothing more. Solomon’s Ring had entwined its power with his devastated emotional state and produced an effect that, despite Afarôt’s training, Gabe wasn’t certain he could call upon in the moment’s need.

  It was one thing to perfect the use of his own abilities, but if the ring had proven anything, it was that it had no master.

  A sharp twinge stabbed into the back of his head, where his birthmark told the world of his archangel lineage. He rubbed the spot, hoping the sensation would ease, but instead a sickly feeling crawled over his skin, like the onset of fever.

  He struggled to breathe, keeping oxygen flowing to his fluttering heart.

  Micah’s eyes narrowed, as if she’d somehow sensed his change in demeanor.

  “Until you have a full understanding of your abilities, we avoid confrontation,” Afarôt said. “The Nicaean Facility is the best option for such a strategy. And it moves us closer to Istanbul where the mystery of the enemy might be revealed.”

  “We should have discussed this prior to coming to a decision,” Gabe’s father said, as if Afarôt were just a teenager.

  Afarôt continued to give reasons why Turkey was their best option, but Gabe no longer heard the Ethiopian’s words. His lips moved, but the pain in Gabe’s head had turned into a ringing that drowned out all sound. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and his gut turned. Shooting pain traveled from his ring finger up his arm and into his shoulder, seizing every muscle along the way. His hand twisted and locked into a clawlike gesture as he grabbed at his wrist.

  The floor seemed to shift, the towering ceiling moving to meet the ground. Another sharp pain struck Gabe, this time above the eye, and he felt the cool sensation of the stone floor.

  Micah’s face hovered over him as consciousness faded into the falling night of his mind. In that last moment of light, he saw the beauty in her eyes and felt a longing for them to look upon him as they once had outside Yuri’s flat in Durham.

  But that was another life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the darkness, Gabe heard whispers. Voices, many of them, drifting through the black, speaking in tongues. One cut through the rest. Melodic and airy, but with the cold tones of worry and concern. Syllables formed, followed by the clarity of words.

  “He’s awake,” Micah’s voice said.

  “Gabriel?” Gabe’s father asked.

  Gabe felt the warmth and squeeze of a hand on his arm. Soft skin, uncalloused fingers.

  Micah.

  A surge of warmth traveled over his body. His eyelids fluttered, and the shock of light revealed a medical room filled with monitors and instruments. Micah was by his bed. His father next to her. Gabe looked down, happy to see he was still wearing the ridiculous outfit from earlier instead of a hospital frock. A doctor stood in the corner, squinting at a tablet computer. Beside him, Sergeant Alois wore a peculiar expression. Curiosity, Gabe recognized.

  “What happened?” he asked. A tingling itch began under the ring as the warmth of Micah’s touch faded. He tried to twist the band on his finger to relieve the sensation, but it barely moved.

  “Fainted,” his father said. “How do you feel?”

  “Just tired, is all.” Gabe sat up, pulling the sticky monitor pads from his chest. He buttoned up his shirt. “Afarôt has been training us hard.”

  “A little too hard, it seems,” his father said.

  Sergeant Alois’s eyes narrowed. He turned his back to the bed and spoke to Gabe’s father in a tone too hushed for Gabe to hear.

  “What did you see?” Micah whispered, her eyes wide.

  “What?”

  “Your vision. You’re not exactly the type of guy who just passes out without having some kind of look into the future or destiny-confirming revelation. It’s a fair question. So?”

  Gabe chuckled under his breath and closed his eyes.

  “Well?”

  All he saw was darkness. Emptiness. “Nothing.” He shrugged.

  “What do you mean, nothing?”

  He was a bit surprised himself. All he remembered was endless blackness, and now that he hadn’t, he missed hearing Coren’s voice or being transported to the café by New York University. Some kind of encouraging visit, telling him that all he needed to do was believe in himself or that the future was his for the taking.

  Yet it was all gone.

  As if he’d been abandoned. Left behin
d.

  The dizziness returned, and he tried to breathe against his anxiety. His eyes fell to the ring on his finger, and he noticed, just at the edges of his hearing, a high-pitched ringing, just barely distinguishable from the beeping and whirring of the room’s medical instruments.

  He looked at Micah and shrugged, watching the hope fade from her eyes. She must have seen the sadness and confusion he felt, because she nodded, offering a sympathetic smile.

  “Me too,” she said. “Haven’t had one since Durham.”

  “I’ll escort them back to their apartments,” Alois said, his voice rising. “Perhaps they both need some rest.”

  Micah looked as though she was about to object to Alois’s accusation, but Gabe put his hand on hers, stopping her. “Thank you. I think we both could use a little time off.”

  The doctor nodded and then quietly said something to Alois and his father as they all looked at the tablet. The doctor looked confused and frustrated by whatever was on the screen, but Alois dismissed him with a wave of the hand.

  His father nodded, relieved by the explanation. “Good. I’ve got some work to do in the meantime, to prepare for the Council in Nicaea. Sergeant? Can you see them back to their flat?” He was up and halfway to the door before he turned around, walked back to Gabe, and hugged him. He smiled as he slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Get better, yeah?”

  Gabe felt the momentary sting of embarrassment from the spontaneous show of affection. Before Gabe could get off the medical table, his father had disappeared from the room. “That was weird,” Gabe said, rubbing his cheek.

  “That was sweet,” Micah said, pouting her lip out and smiling in a mocking way.

  Gabe ignored her and felt his body’s weight on his legs for the first time since he’d passed out. They were weak, his muscles struggling to hold him upright as if they’d just been overexerted in a workout but without the endorphin payoff.