Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series

by Carney, Michael

  Shamar was blessedly quick to reassure her. “Your mother is fine, just fine. She is safe in Sanctuary—the new Sanctuary.”

  Chrymos was delighted. “Is that—”

  Shamar stopped her with an urgent mind-message.

  Out in the harbor, the battle between the pirates and the French navy simply fizzled out. The New Phoenicians, vastly outnumbered, quickly abandoned ship, many throwing themselves into the water, and attempting to swim to shore. Ravid and Zophiel flew aboard to oversee the difficult task of transferring the ship’s plague-ridden passengers back to a safe location, where the healers could attempt to help them.

  Chrymos could see the anxiety on her father’s face as he exchanged mind-messages with Ravid.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked when he had finished his mind-discussion.

  Shamar paused a moment, and then answered her with a question. “What do you know about the Academy’s Plague project?”

  “Nothing,” said Chrymos, “except that the children were somehow involved.”

  Shamar switched to mind-messaging.

  Chrymos looked over at the children, happily chatting away to Adric.

  Shamar followed her gaze and nodded.

  Chrymos was horrified.

 

  He looked at his daughter with enormous pride.

  ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT

  The Road from Naples to Rome, late night Thursday June 24 1610

  Chrymos flew high above the carriage ferrying Madalena, Sirus and Olivia—and Madalena’s mother, Caterina—to an LOA safe haven in Rome. From time to time, the carriage’s driver, Sister Maria Benedetta, would look up to reassure herself that Chrymos still accompanied them. I can’t believe that they all took it so calmly that I’m an Outcast Angel. The nun, yes, she’s used to dealing with heavenly things, but the children? They should have been running away terrified. Instead, they treat me the same as they always have. She sent a prayer skywards. Whether You are listening to me or not, Lord, I simply want to say thanks.

  It had been a whirlwind couple of days. The plague-hosts had been successfully transferred from the galleon and were, for the moment, back at the Academy and being examined by the healers. Father Carracci was being taken to Paris under close LOA and Quarante Cinq guard, to answer for his part in the assassination of Henri IV. And the four wretched creatures in the labyrinth were being kept under close observation and given regular food and water until some more permanent solution could be found.

  Perhaps the hardest part for Chrymos had been saying goodbye to Adric. He had agreed to join the LOA and would shortly leave Naples for Stonehenge and the LOA training facility.

  “It’s not goodbye, C, just ‘til we meet again’,” he had told her brightly.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t—” Chrymos started, but couldn’t finish.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Adric had replied. “Me too.”

  There didn’t seem to be any more that could be said. They had shared a final hug and then went their separate ways.

  There were still a few loose ends. The Tower had been cordoned off until the LOA’s experts could attempt to defeat its protective enchantments. The Contessa and Doctor Odaldi had simply disappeared. And Della Porta had managed to climb down from the bell-tower and slip away before Chrymos could return. “We’ll find them again before they can cause any more trouble,” Shamar had said hopefully, though Chrymos wasn’t convinced.

  And, of course, Ruben, dear Ruben, my little brother, you are out there somewhere, with that pathgem. I fear for your immortal soul. But I swear this. I will do everything that I can to save you, to break you free from the curse that has you in its grasp. I will find you and bring you home.

  EPILOGUE

  Four and a half years earlier:

  Under the Houses of Parliament, England, late morning, November 5 1605

  The man known as John Johnson smiled as he heard the steady buzz of conversation and debate in the rooms above. The English Parliament was now in session and the despised Protestant king himself, James I, was presiding.

  Johnson had been standing outside amongst the cheering crowds when the king arrived to open this long-delayed session of Parliament. Only after the king had been escorted into the Chamber did Johnson slip back down to the cellar and its carefully-hidden dangers.

  As he rolled some of the thirty-six gunpowder barrels into the position where they would do the most damage, Johnson reflected on the last couple of weeks. It had been a very close call on two occasions, and only the active intervention of—pinch me, I’m dreaming—an actual angel had kept the conspiracy on track.

  Johnson smiled to himself again as he began to run the fuse cord from the barrels to the front door of the chamber. If ever I had any doubt that I am doing God’s work, that angel absolutely confirmed for me that this is the right thing to do.

  Just over a week earlier, the conspirators had been horrified when a late-night caller came hammering at Thomas Wintour’s door. The caller, a manservant of Baron Monteagle, revealed that the baron had received an anonymous letter warning him about the gunpowder plot. Before Monteagle could alert the king, however, an angel had appeared—An angel? We didn’t believe that at the time. The angel seized the letter and killed the baron with a single thrust of his sword. Then the heavenly creature had turned to the manservant and spoke, calmly and clearly. “Tell Thomas Wintour about this—but tell him it is still safe to proceed, his secret has not been revealed.”

  Johnson dragged another barrel into position, panting from the effort. Only one more. He started to wrestle with the last barrel of gunpowder as he thought back on what he had told his co-conspirator Thomas Bates earlier that morning. “I doubt that you will believe this. I’m sure I wouldn’t if I hadn’t been there. Last night, in this very room, an angel appeared to me. In person. I know he was an angel because he appeared from nowhere and had glorious dark grey wings. His clothing was simple but he worn a wristband with a glowing blue gem. The angel spoke directly to me, saying ‘I have just stopped a demon from warning the king. You are safe to proceed with your plans tomorrow.’

  I said to the angel, ‘Wait, who are you and why are you helping me?’

  He smiled and said, ‘My name is Ruben and I am helping you because it is my glorious destiny.’ I don’t know what he meant by that. I probably never will.”

  Johnson prepared to make a hasty exit. He bent down, lit the fuse, made certain that it had ignited properly and then closed and locked the door. As he walked briskly away from the Parliament Buildings, he thought about his p
lace in history.

  The time for false names is over. No more John Johnson. He turned the corner to safety, just as the explosions began. I want people to remember my real name. I want them to be saying ‘Guy Fawkes saved us all.’

  King James I, and almost all of England’s leaders, lost their lives that day, when the Houses of Parliament were blown into oblivion. They were just the first casualties of the Lost War.

  Thank you for taking the time to read ACADEMY OF SECRETS.

  If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.

  Many Thanks.

  Michael Carney

  THE OUTCAST ANGELS WILL RETURN IN

  THE LOST WAR

  http://TheLostWar.com

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  Other Outcast Angels Stories by Michael Carney

  Time Loop

  A contribution to the “Realms Of Our Own” multiverse

  It’s the last few minutes of Millennium Eve, December 31 1999. But whilst the rest of the world is celebrating, Outcast Angel Jesse and a ragtag bunch of genetically enhanced trainees are desperately trying to save a Russian politician from an unknown assassin.

  The crowd is counting down the last few seconds till the new millennium—and then suddenly everything changes. Time turns back on itself. What just happened, will it happen again and is there anything that Jesse and his team can do to prevent the assassination?

  http://bit.ly/timeloopbook

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my darling wife Celia, obliged once again to become a writer’s widow while I wrestled with this manuscript.

  To my wonderful sons Matthew and Paul.

  To my Lord and Savior Jesus, for everything.

  Grateful thanks also to Google and to Wikipedia for enabling me to turn slight imaginings into useful historical realities upon which to build a tissue of possibilities.

  More about the Academy of Secrets and its founder, Giambattista Battista Della Porta, can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Academia_Secretorum_Naturae

  The Battle of the Margus River, between rival Roman imperial claimants Diocletian and Carinus, is described (with a few notable omissions) here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Margus

  The 15th century Medici manuscript is better known today by its more recent title, the Voynich Manuscript, but remains an enigma: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voynich_manuscript

  The Catacombs of San Gennaro are amongst the oldest underground burial chambers in Naples, dating back to at least the third century of the Christian Era and perhaps even earlier. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catacombs_of_San_Gennaro