More out of frustration than expectation, Chrymos lifted up the glowing vial and looked around to see if there were any other exits. No.
She did notice that one wall was more pockmarked than the others. Lifting the vial as high as she could, Chrymos inspected the top part of the wall, seeing even more indentations further up. I think I could climb up there—perhaps I’ll see something I can use.
Chrymos set to work climbing the wall. It wasn’t easy with her injured leg, especially as her various medications were starting to wear off, but after a few minutes she had managed to climb up to what turned out to be a ‘shore,’ a ledge alongside the raging river.
From her new elevated position, Chrymos could see that at this junction the underground river split in two. Most of the water poured down into the depths below but a small portion continued flowing forward beside her, diverted along another channel carved into the rock. A few feet away from Chrymos, several small coracles stood empty alongside the waterway, paddles nearby.
Chrymos grinned for the first time in what seemed like forever. The lighter vessel!
She inspected the nearest boat, in search of any leaks. The wickerwork construction seemed sound enough, and the hull itself was covered in the skin of what must once have been a very large bear.
Without further ado, Chrymos lifted the coracle into the water and clambered aboard. Before she had even settled herself properly, the current began hurrying the boat forward to its next destination.
ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 3.40 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Chrymos had little idea how to steer the small boat, so was content to use the paddle primarily to ensure that she faced forward as she was carried along. She used one hand to hold tightly to the side of the craft whilst with the other she wielded the paddle. As a result, Chrymos had no hand free to hold the glowing vial so her journey was in darkness. In any other circumstance, she might have been terrified. Not this time. I’m really too exhausted to worry.
Fortunately, most of the energy of the river had been leeched off to feed the waterfall, so Chrymos’ journey proceeded at a much more sedate pace than she might have expected. She didn’t have any idea where she was going, but was grateful for a few minutes’ rest.
The boat floated quietly along through the darkness. Then, about ten minutes into her journey, Chrymos sat bolt upright. Up ahead, she could hear what sounded like a waterfall—and she was powerless to do anything about it. Are we about to sail off the end of a cliff? Chrymos gripped the edge of the coracle even more tightly.
She didn’t have to worry for long. The waterfall she could hear was actually a gentle flow of water pouring down from above and into the river channel itself. The boat and Chrymos sailed serenely through the curtain of water, which turned out to be simply a few inches thick. The boat rocked a little as it briefly absorbed the force of the water and Chrymos found herself a little damper, but otherwise her journey continued unimpeded.
Chrymos wasn’t able to rest quite so easily after that close call. Here I am, in an out of control boat, in pitch darkness, heading to some place I know will have more booby-traps. To her credit, she didn’t panic but her heart did race a little faster.
A short time later, Chrymos noticed a change in her surroundings. It’s getting lighter ahead.
Almost abruptly, as her boat entered what turned out to be a large cavern, Chrymos found herself bathed in soft white light. She looked around for the source of this light, only to find that the walls and ceilings of this cavern seemed to be glowing by themselves. It’s amazing—but what’s causing it?
Before she could worry too much about this puzzle, Chrymos was faced with another, more immediate concern. She could see that the watercourse was narrowing ahead.
Soon, Chrymos found that she had arrived at some sort of dock. A strip of wood stretched across the waterway, forming a barrier against which the coracle gently bumped and came to a halt.
Chrymos disembarked and then pulled the small boat out of the water. She left the coracle near several other similar craft on the dock. Hopefully, I’ll be able to use it for the return journey—if I’m lucky.
Chrymos checked her timepiece again. The hand pointed straight at the IV. It seems hopeless now—two hours left to find Adric, and somehow make a return journey in half the time it took me to get here. And Adric’s elixir has now officially run out.
Chrymos gave a deep sigh—and then realized that somewhere during the journey, the air had changed. She was no longer breathing poisonous gases. She took several long, deep breaths. There must be luminaria around here letting in fresh air, she decided. At least when my elixir runs out I won’t be instantly poisoned—and, if he’s in this part of the catacombs, neither will Adric. But we still have to get back through the gas to return to the surface.
She shook her head. There’s no point agonizing over matters that are out of my control. I need to find the fifth protection—the tomb with the ‘dolent’ inscription.
Chrymos limped away from the dock and began to explore what was clearly the entrance to a series of large burial chambers. The giant cross that dominated the back wall of the entranceway declared that this was an unapologetically Christian part of the catacombs.
Perhaps a dozen passages led off from the entrance chamber. Chrymos cautiously chose the nearest passage—like the others, handily lit by glowing walls and ceilings—and began inspecting the plaques mounted in front of the arcosolia, the burial rooms.
The inscriptions mounted near the first couple of arcosolia confirmed her suspicions. These were martyrs killed in Diocletian’s Great Persecution at the beginning of the fourth century. No wonder their graves were hidden behind so many protective layers—their families would have wanted the bodies buried in peace, in a place where believers could safely visit without being persecuted themselves.
Chrymos limped from arcosolium to arcosolium, scanning each inscription and then moving on. Many of the arcosolia had obviously belonged to some of the most powerful Christians of the era—the tombs were elaborate and bore carefully carved plaques. Whilst many of the inscriptions told heartbreaking tales of lives snatched short in their prime by their Roman persecutors, they weren’t what Chrymos sought. She limped on, wincing occasionally from the pain.
The first passage, housing perhaps twenty arcosolia, proved unfruitful. Chrymos had no more joy in the second passage. The third passage was different. Only three arcosolia led off from this passageway—but each bore inscriptions claiming that theirs was the final resting place of Bishop Januarius.
One of these must be the arcosolium that Chrymos sought—but which one?
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 4.15 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Two of these arcosolia will be booby-trapped, Chrymos realized. So how do I choose?
She also knew that in reality Januarius’s body was nowhere near any of these tombs. San Gennaro’s body is buried in the Succorpo under Naples Cathedral. And his blood liquefies once or twice a year in response to the prayers of the faithful.
But was Januarius ever laid to rest here? I think the bishop’s body was moved to its current resting place. Did it come from here? That, Chrymos didn’t know.
She loosened her belt, removed the manuscript, and re-read the relevant passage. ‘Through me the way is to the city dolent; through me the way is to eternal dole; through me the way among the people lost.’
None of the plaques actually bore that inscription. That would be too easy.
The first arcosolium, on the left side of the passage, was marked with an inscription highlighting the saint’s role in hiding many Christians who were in danger of execution. It concluded by noting that Januarius was captured and sentenced to death as a result.
The second plaque, on the right, talked about the miracle of the wild bears at the Flavian Amphitheater at Pozzuoli.
The t
hird arcosolium, at the far end of the passageway, simply bore the name Januarius and the inscription ‘Gethsemane’.
Without hesitation, Chrymos slipped the manuscript back into her belt and limped inside the third burial chamber. There is nothing more ‘dolent’ than the Garden at Gethsemane, where Jesus Himself was overwhelmed by sorrow.
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 4.17 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
As soon as Chrymos entered the burial chamber, she saw Adric’s body lying on the ground. She limped over, knelt beside him, and shook him gently. “Adric. Adric.”
He didn’t respond. She laid her hand on his forehead. Still warm.
Just to be certain, Chrymos lifted Adric’s wrist and felt for a pulse. It’s beating, he’s alive, praise God!
She sat back and looked over Adric’s body. No sign of any injuries.
Adric was dressed in his typical manner—dark, knee-length cloak, loose white shirt, black breeches, leather boots with rolled-down cuffs. His sword-belt dangled around his waist, its usual occupant the schiavona lying on the ground a few feet out of reach of its owner’s hand. Adric, what have you been doing that required your sword?
Belatedly, Chrymos remembered the sixth protection. The soldiers of the dead? Did you meet them, Adric? Did they attack you?
She stood up and gazed down at the unconscious body of her friend. Sorry, I can’t do much for you right now, Adric, but I’ll be back.
The chamber in which Chrymos now found herself was very different in comparison to those that she had already visited. First, it was far larger. About forty varas high and fifty varas along each side, reckoned Chrymos.
Secondly, each wall had been intricately carved so that it resembled a series of temples, one on top of each other, stretching around the chamber. Each ‘temple’ included at least three doorways and perhaps a half-dozen windows, each leading to a possible angelic resting place. Chrymos did a quick calculation in her head. Fifteen temples, that means maybe fifty doorways and ninety windows. I’ll be long dead before I finish exploring all these.
Chrymos had been brutally reminded of her short life expectancy a few moments before, when she once again felt a stab of pain through her body. The snake venom. Of course. Because things couldn’t get much worse.
Then they did get worse. Chrymos heard clattering sounds—only a few at first and then a virtual avalanche. The noises came from all around her.
She stood still, not daring to believe her eyes, when a walking skeleton, clad in a Roman military uniform and brandishing a spatha, the standard Roman longsword, strode jerkily into view in one of the temple doorways. Then a second skeleton, similarly attired, made its entrance at a second doorway. And then a third, a fourth, a fifth—more and more, until perhaps fifty skeletons stood staring down, one each in almost all of the doorways, their swords pointed menacingly at Chrymos.
ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 4.25 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
The message was clear—‘come no further’—but it was not a message that Chrymos could heed. “Sorry,” she called out, “I need to find what remains of the angel.” Am I crazy talking to skeletons? But these must surely be the ‘militum mortuorum’ mentioned in the manuscript.
One, just one, of the so-called soldiers of the dead left its post and advanced on Chrymos, its sword raised. Chrymos could hear a low chant beginning in the background, but the words were too soft to hear. The other soldiers must be urging their champion to attack me.
Chrymos slowly backed away from the approaching skeleton, glancing rapidly backwards and forwards between the apparition and the prone figure of Adric that lay behind her.
When she had managed to limp close enough to Adric, she bent down and scooped up his schiavona.
“Now”, she said as she turned towards her skeletal opponent, “let’s see if the art of sword-fighting has improved at all since the days when you were alive.” If you ever were, she added to herself.
The skeleton was quickly upon her, lunging forward with its sword. Chrymos defended herself, content for the moment simply to parry the stroke, allowing herself room to remember at least some of the swordsmanship principles that she had learned at the Academy.
The skeleton drew back its longsword, preparing for another thrust. Chrymos seized the opportunity to aim a sweeping blow at the skeleton’s legs but the creature jumped high into the air and her blade swept harmlessly under its bony feet. As the skeleton landed back on the ground, it raised its blade high, aiming to hack downward at Chrymos’ head.
Chrymos quickly raised her own sword and managed to deflect the attack. If the basket-hilt of the schiavona had not protected her hand, the ferocity of the downward assault would most likely have cut it to ribbons. Come on girl, lift your game, you’ve made it this far.
Chrymos limped out of the way as the skeletal soldier attacked again, sweeping its sword from side to side. Even with her limited experience, Chrymos could see that such a move was tactically ineffectual, leaving the soldier open to counterattack. That’s encouraging. I don’t think this soldier knows what he’s doing.
She took a closer look at her opponent. The creature wore classical Roman armor from its shoulders to its waist, on top of a simple cloth tunic that stretched down to its knee bones. Its arms, legs, and skull were unprotected—but Chrymos was unsure which, if any, of its bones were most vulnerable.
The skeleton lunged at her once again, its sword aiming straight towards her ribcage. Chrymos instinctively parried, her broadsword sliding down her attacker’s blade and bouncing over the small hilt of the longsword before slicing into the skeletal finger bones gripping the sword.
To Chrymos’ great surprise, her heavy broadsword cut straight through her opponent’s fingers. The bones fractured and the skeleton howled with pain. A moment later, its longsword fell to the ground—most of the fingers in the creature’s right hand had broken off and it was no longer able to grasp the sword.
ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN
Catacombs of San Gennaro, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 4.30 a.m. Wednesday June 23 1610
Chrymos stepped back, confused. She watched, trying to understand the situation, as the skeleton crouched down and scrabbled around with its other hand to pick up the fallen sword. What’s really happening here? How can I hurt a skeleton?
The creature stood up again, now holding the sword rather clumsily in its left hand. A few forlorn finger bones dangled from its now useless right as the skeleton advanced towards Chrymos.
She twisted her body aside as the skeleton attempted to slash at her head. The creature made a few more wild sweeps in her direction, which Chrymos easily dodged even with her injured leg. She hastily formulated a plan. Okay, let’s see if this works.
Chrymos positioned herself so that the skeletal soldier had its back to the nearest chamber wall. Then she went on the attack.
Her blade lunged at the skeleton’s chest, an attack that the creature instinctively if clumsily attempted to parry. It failed and the point of Chrymos’ blade pushed hard against the skeleton’s armor, forcing it backwards. Chrymos repeated the maneuver several times until the skeleton’s back almost touched the wall of the chamber. Then she struck in earnest.
Chrymos slammed her broadsword against her opponent’s longsword, pushing it against the wall and then holding it there so that both swords were temporarily out of play. Then, ignoring the pain as she balanced on her right leg, Chrymos raised her left foot and kicked out at the skeleton’s right knee.
Because of her carefully-chosen position, Chrymos succeeded in crushing her opponent’s bones against the back wall of the chamber. The bones splintered immediately and the skeleton again cried out in anguish.
Chrymos limped back two paces. The skeleton simply slid down the wall, its ruined leg no longer able to bear its weight. The creature’s sword fell noisily to the ground.
Behi
nd Chrymos, the chanting that had been a low buzz throughout the fight now grew louder.
Finally, Chrymos could hear what the skeletons were saying. Each was repeatedly chanting “meque his exsolvite, ignosce me.” And, thanks to her new language skills, Chrymos knew exactly what the words meant. They were begging “release me, forgive me.”
ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN
Thirteen hundred years earlier
Flavian Amphitheater, Pozzuoli [Italy], Idus Augustus (13 August) 303AD
The lone figure stood quietly in the middle of the Flavian arena. The crowd, which had been cheering and baying for blood a few seconds before, fell deathly quiet when the wild bears began backing away instead of attacking.
Silence turned to urgent whispers when several in the crowd recognized the person in the arena as Januarius, the Christian bishop who had been defying the authorities in neighboring Naples. Most of the onlookers simply wanted their afternoon’s entertainment to continue and began shouting at the guards. A few, however, whose Christian friends or family had previously been saved by the bishop, prayed quietly but fervently.
The stadium guards, fearing a revolt, tried to appease the crowd. The soldiers prodded the bears with long pikes, attempting to push the beasts forward to attack. But even though the bears continued to snarl and roar, and lunged out at the guards with their powerful claws, they simply would not move towards Januarius.
Finally, as the crowd continued to make its displeasure loudly known, the guards acted. They dragged Januarius out of the arena and tossed in several criminals instead. Only once the bishop was completely out of sight did the bears move menacingly towards their new quarry.
Januarius, back in the rooms that stretched under the arena, found himself hauled in front of a clearly-shaken captain of the stadium guard. “What dark magic is this?” demanded the captain. “How did you enchant those bears? And do you think you will escape your fate with those tricks?”
Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series Page 28