Peter tried to set the manuscript back down on the display case, but the man stopped him, pushing the book back into Peter’s hands. He pursed his lips and asked, “How much?”
The man shook his head, pointed at the book and then back to Peter.
“Free? You want me to have it for free?”
The man nodded affirmatively and smiled.
“You don’t speak English and I don’t speak Italian—I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
Again, the man pointed to the book and then to Peter. He was unequivocally signaling for Peter to keep the old manuscript.
Peter cast a wary glance to the strange man. “Do you own this store with Edda? Are you her husband or son or something?”
The man pointed to the upstairs, in the general direction of the front room and nodded.
Peter thought about it for a moment and turned the manuscript over in his hands a few times. It was a great find and would make a wonderful souvenir. After all, his wife was treating herself to things that were not nearly as interesting as this book. “Well,” Peter said, “I guess I’ll take it then.”
The man nodded approvingly.
Peter unslung his daypack and stowed the book safely inside. “I really appreciate this. It’s the best thing I’ve gotten on this whole trip.” He motioned to the upstairs. “Should I let Edda know on our way out?”
The man shrugged and shook his head.
“Thank you very much. I can’t wait to share this with my students,” Peter said, donning his daypack and turning to climb the staircase. As he was about to disappear above the line of the floor, Peter gazed back at the strange man and saw him smiling contently as if everything would be fine.
From the front room, Peter could hear his wife calling his name. “What is it?” he answered, weaving through the narrow aisles of antiques.
“It’s about time,” Renée scolded. “Haven’t you been listening to me? Where have you been anyway?”
“Well, I was—”
“I don’t care,” Renée interrupted. “I’m ready to go.” She shifted her attention back to Edda. “Thank you for the beautiful bracelet.”
“You’re welcome, my dear Renée.” Edda met Peter with a warm smile. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Yes, thank you and your—”
Renée tugged on Peter’s arm. “She doesn’t need to hear anything from you—we’re short on time as it is,” she said, guiding her husband through the front door and out of the store.
Peter, no longer able to contain his anger, burst out, “I was trying to thank her!”
“Look, not everyone wants to listen to your history lessons. Everywhere we go it’s the same thing—can’t you just give it a rest already?”
Peter pointed to the bracelet Renée purchased. “How much did you save us buying that thing?”
“I don’t have to tell you,” Renée replied, turning her back and walking in the direction of the downtown area.
Peter strode after her. “We’re working on our communication, remember?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes—yes it does.”
Renée hesitated, but kept her deliberate pace. “A hundred and twenty-five Euros—and it was a bargain at that price.”
“It’s probably not worth half that,” Peter argued.
“I don’t care—I like it and that’s all that matters.”
“Whatever,” Peter grumbled. “I don’t feel so bad now.”
Renée stopped. “What do you mean? You did something back there, didn’t you?”
Peter unslung his daypack and took out the ancient manuscript.
“You stole it!” Renée snapped. “I can’t believe you. That’s really low—stealing from an old woman.”
“It’s not like that—her husband—”
“Edda told me she wasn’t married.”
“Okay—son then—employee, I don’t know.” Peter held up the book. “He gave this to me. It was just down there with all the broken junk.”
“It looks like more than junk to me. Is it worth anything?”
“It could be worth quite a bit—if it’s real.”
“If it’s worth money, why would she give it to you? I mean, it’s not like she has a ton of customers in that place.”
Peter searched for a flaw in his wife’s logic, but found none. The antique store was off the beaten path and did not seem to be very prosperous. His joy faded.
“You see? You are a thief,” Renée said, storming off down the street.
“It’s not like that and you know it.”
Renée ignored her husband and maintained her defiant gait.
Peter chased after her. “Do you want me to take it back? Will that make you happy?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Renée said, waving her hand through the air. “We came here to see Europe and work on our problems.”
“Yeah, so?” Peter said, keeping pace, stride for stride with his wife.
Renée stopped. “Don’t you see?”
Peter cocked his head and scanned the immediate area. “See what?”
“Nothing,” Renée said, bristling at her husband’s ignorance. “We’ll talk about it later.” She pivoted away from her husband and continued her walk as if trying to outrun a predator.
Peter returned the book to his daypack and followed his wife from a distance. Confrontation never worked well for him and there was no use in trying to reason with her when she got into one of her moods. His best strategy was to play deaf and dumb.
As Peter and Renée neared the end of the old-town area, the sidewalks and surrounding buildings became more contemporary and utilitarian looking. The cozy cobblestone street came to a halt at a busy, three-way intersection with a modern road. To the left, traffic moved down the hill, curving back underneath old San Cielo toward the newer portion of the city. To the right, the road led out of town to the surrounding rural areas. With the addition of merging lanes to allow traffic to cross in three directions, the intersection was substantially wider than most.
Peter caught up to Renée as her progress was impeded by a small crowd gathered on the corner of the intersection. A group of elderly people, led by a young female tour guide dressed in a navy-blue uniform, pointed and gestured to an old church on the far side of the roads’ confluence.
The guide’s scripted words droned over the group, “On the other side of the street, you can see the Church of the Monk Nicholas or simply, Nicholas’s Church. A knight, Raymondé de Villet, while on his way to the Holy Land, witnessed the monk commit ritual suicide on that very spot. Later, de Villet reported having strange dreams and visitations from angels. He took the visions as a sign from God and commissioned the church in the late twelfth century. It was finished some years later and now bears the suicidal monk’s name.”
Renée saw her husband’s interest in the presentation and rolled her eyes. “Let’s turn around. Maybe we can find something to eat on the other side of town, huh?”
“Wait, I want to hear this.”
“You said it yourself—we don’t have the time.”
Peter did not respond as he was becoming engrossed in the tour guide’s lecture.
“The initial cost of the church grew enormously, as the stone required to build the structure had to be quarried from sources not indigenous to this location.” The petite young lady made a gesture directing the group to see the detail work on the stone. “As you can see today, the building still harbors some of the original Templar influences, but it is in such poor condition, its grounds remain off limits for safety concerns.”
Peter studied the building. What remained of the old place of worship was in an appalling state. Once upon a time, the church had been a tall, single-story building with a grand steeple and a vestibule at the front. The beautiful stained-glass windows that had once adorned its hallowed walls were now only shards of glass jutting from broken sills. Heavy wooden doors hung unhinged and partially ajar from the main
entrance of the church. The roof was a web of dilapidated rafters, missing most of its slate tiles and allowing the elements to invade what was left of the old building’s interior. Tall grasses and weeds grew wild over the property and modern barricades warned prospective adventurers to steer clear of the dangerous conditions. In ancient times, the old church and its grounds would have commanded a view of the small village as a beacon of beauty to visitors and citizens alike, but now the building was nothing more than a curious ruin.
Peter, sympathetic to the misinformation that tour guides had to endure, noticed a glaring discrepancy in the approved monologue and raised his hand to ask a question.
Standing behind her husband, Renée audibly groaned.
“Yes?” the guide asked.
“You said Templar influence?” Peter inquired politely.
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, I don’t mean to interrupt, but there appears to be quite a bit of Hospitaller influence in the design as well as the exterior elements.”
Visibly annoyed, the tour guide lifted her cue cards to show the group. “I’m sorry, but that’s not what our research shows.”
“Please,” Renée pleaded. “Do you have to do this now?”
“Sorry, but you should check on your—” Peter trailed off, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the old church.
The tour guide smiled wryly and waited impatiently. “Sir?”
Irritated that her husband was making a scene, Renée asked, “What is it?”
“There,” Peter said, pointing to the entrance. “Do you see him?”
At the front of the church and behind the modern barricades, a small, dark-haired boy of about ten years old made his way out from the tall grasses and weeds that choked the grounds. He wore torn, knee-high breeches and an old-style linen shirt, but Peter did not notice the boy’s clothes as much as he did the child’s face. The youngster seemed familiar to him somehow and as soon as the boy emerged from the undergrowth, he locked eyes with Peter and never let go. Entranced by the little boy, he watched as the young man made his way to the edge of the sidewalk in front of the old building.
Renée, along with the assembled group, squinted through the sunlight in the given direction but could not see anything out of the ordinary. “What are you looking at?”
“There,” Peter said, pointing and gesturing at the gated entrance to the church grounds. “Right there—the little boy.”
Whispers of concern permeated the sightseeing group at the mention of a child. The members searched the indicated area and when no child could be seen, they looked back to Peter to see if he was attempting a cruel hoax.
Concerned, the tour guide asked, “Sir, are you feeling alright?”
“What?” Peter responded incredulously. “He’s right there.”
Several of the gathered individuals shook their heads and others simply shrugged as they turned their attention away from the annoying stranger.
Peter closed his eyes and took a moment to clear his thoughts. When he reopened them, the little boy was staring back and smiling as if he was being recognized or rewarded for doing a heroic deed. Peter looked for support amongst the tourist group, but no one appeared to notice the child.
Despite the distance, the youngster acknowledged Peter with a nod and tried to speak to him. The boy’s mouth moved, but Peter could not hear him over the cars on the road. The lad stepped closer to the street, moving his head back and forth as if he were gauging the speed of the oncoming traffic.
Cars roared along the modern highway into San Cielo. It was a dangerous stretch of road for pedestrians as there were no hardened dividers between the lanes and no crosswalk out to the old church.
Alarmed, Peter waved his hands in the air motioning for the little boy to stop. “The kid’s going to run into the street!”
“Peter,” Renée cautioned, “You’re scaring us—and you’re making a scene.”
“You don’t see him—the little boy?”
“Of course no one sees him, because he’s not there,” Renée replied.
A gap opened in the traffic. The young boy said something inaudible to Peter and darted out between the cars.
Horrified, Peter leapt off the sidewalk and ran toward the child. As he closed the distance, he could see the blissful, almost playful expression on the young boy’s face. The child showed no sense of danger or fear. After the first few strides, a light ringing began to rise in Peter’s head. He tried to shake off the sensation but could not. The nearer he got to the little boy the more the noise invaded his senses. His head throbbed in harmony with the incessant sound, and each stride forward heightened its intensity until the sensation became cacophonous. Peter’s mind blurred. A feeling of lethargy took over his body and his breathing became labored. He tried to focus on the small child but could not. He broke out into a cold sweat and stumbled forward. Peter lunged the last few feet and grabbed at the small boy but came up empty. He fought to stay upright, hazily scanning the street for the child, but the lad was nowhere in sight. A car horn startled Peter as it raced past. He knew his life was in danger, but he could not move. He staggered a few steps and then collapsed on the roadway to the fading din of screeching tires and angry shouts.
Chapter 3
Lucifer sat atop a rocky outcrop, gazing across a sea of dunes. Broken only by an occasional crag of stone, the bleak, unrelenting sand of the planet’s surface stretched to the horizon in every direction. Above, the sky roiled as if it were a pot of boiling oil stirred by an unseen deity. The contrast between the peaceful sand and the turbid sky made for a striking and surreal landscape.
Lilith sat a few yards away. She was smaller in stature than Lucifer and possessed a striking array of distinctly feminine features that set her firmly apart from her masculine-leaning brethren.
Angels were, by the act of Creation, androgynous. They changed their outer guise at will to take whatever form suited them best for the task at hand. This made them the perfect beings for adapting to the harsh physical environments they may encounter while traversing the wonders of the Universe. As time progressed, some angels diverged from their given state and evolved. They began displaying features that any observer would categorize as distinctly masculine or feminine. These angels acted appropriately for their gender-based gravitations, but unlike their even-tempered brethren, they tended to have intense feelings that permeated their personas.
Lilith’s violet eyes focused on the bizarre movement of the heavens above.
“Do you like it?” Lucifer asked.
Lilith kept her attention fixed on the sky as it swirled and twisted like thick and viscous goo. Grays and blacks were the sky’s dominant hues, but short-lived splashes of reds, blues, and greens were also present. The varying colors would flare into existence and bleed out into nothingness as if being consumed by the heavens itself. “This world is bewildering.”
“I have always thought it was quite beautiful, actually,” Lucifer said. “Something else—did you notice?”
Lilith searched the horizon for anything out of the ordinary. Next to the surreal sky, the landscape was barren. The rocks and sand were all too commonplace. “I see nothing.”
“No star—yet there is light.”
Lilith scanned the heavens and took notice of the hot breeze, wafting through her ginger hair. The clouded, turbid sky would surely block any light from a nearby star, yet this world was near scorching in temperature and aglow as if lit by several suns. Curious as to the solution, Lilith looked to Lucifer for an answer.
With a coy smile, Lucifer responded, “We stand outside of Creation.”
Lilith nodded. The muddy sky above was the shadowy reflection of the Universe. Its seemingly random, and varying perturbations were a reverse image of the movement that came from within Creation. Illumination, even without a star, was possible due to the excess and ongoing energy present at the time of Creation’s formation. The energy permeated the surrounding area and manifested itself as visible light. St
raightforward enough, Lilith thought, but there was still the issue of how this world came to be. If it existed outside of the physical confines of the Universe, that could only mean one thing. “You created this world?”
“Yes,” Lucifer acknowledged, trying to gauge Lilith’s temperament. “Are you surprised?”
“You are a bold one, Lucifer—you know this is forbidden. Do you openly seek the Creator’s wrath?”
“He is blind to all that transpires here,” Lucifer knowingly answered. “Besides, he looks elsewhere for comfort.”
“He could be watching and neither of us would be any wiser.”
Lucifer opened his arms wide to the surrounding plain. “As you noted, this world is a clear violation and retribution would be at hand—especially by now.”
Apprehensive, Lilith scoured the area as if the Almighty would immediately appear and exact a terrible punishment for what Lucifer had done, but after several moments, she let her unfounded fears subside.
“You see? Our well-being is no longer of interest to him,” Lucifer said. “Besides, he has no power here.”
“His power is everywhere.”
“Is that what you believe?”
“Of course I do.”
“Transform for me then,” Lucifer said, gesturing in the female angel’s direction.
“What?”
“Transfigurations are still your specialty—or am I misremembering?”
“They are,” Lilith responded, unsure what game Lucifer was playing.
“Anything will do—a bird, an insect, some sort of inanimate object—I care not.”
Lilith was adept at all things physical. She prided herself in holding conjured visages longer than any other angel and relished in her ability to hide in plain sight. She was confident that Lucifer’s test would be for naught.
Lilith rose to standing and majestically waved her arms through the air. Her facial expression was one of absolute concentration as she looked inwardly to her physical form. After several long moments, her power failed to reveal itself. Uncertainty swept through her. Lilith sneered at Lucifer’s attempt to deceive her and fought off her doubt. She took a deep breath and composed herself. Calmly, Lilith tried once more to tap into the vast reserve of energy she knew she possessed, but to her dismay, nothing happened. She could neither use her might nor sense its presence. “What did you do to me?”
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