by S. L. Duncan
The memory faded. It seemed like such a long time ago.
Though, by the wetness in Micah’s eyes, not long enough. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her.
“Gabe, look.” Micah wiped her eyes and snapped out of it, and pointed to a small desk holding a lamp and littered with paper. On the seat of the chair, a book lay open and facedown, its place saved. “It’s like he was studying. And there’s a notepad, too. It’s full.” She picked up the pad and thumbed through its pages. Her eyes narrowed as she attempted to read the scribble. “Of gibberish, apparently.”
“What’s in it?”
Her finger guided her reading until it stopped, pointing at one particular section. “You are,” she said. She looked around the desk. Underneath an old map was a stack of several notepads, all of them filled with ink. “And loads about the New Age of Light, whatever that is, and the balance of the pathways between the realms. Gabe, I think this is important.”
On the board hung a crude Chinese yin-yang drawing covered in Alois’s notes, as if Alois had been trying to flesh out an idea.
“Me? I’m in it? Does it mention the ring?” Gabe took the notebook from her. The scribble was manic, disconnected ideas circled and underlined and linked together with squiggly lines, like a children’s game. Words scratched in the margins were highlighted in yellow ink, one of them his name. But another name appeared with even more frequency.
Solomon. “This is all about my ring.”
“It’s like he’s obsessed with it,” Micah said, holding up an artist’s rendition of a pentalpha-engraved stone in the middle of a band, exactly like the one Gabe had on his finger. She held up another painting of a blond warrior holding a sword. His ring finger bore a familiar piece of jewelry. “Alexander the Great. Just like the painting in Carlyle’s office. This one is much less abstract.” She held it closer, touching the canvas before turning it over. “How odd. Who does it remind you of?”
Gabe realized his fingers were caressing the ring. He felt cold wash over him. Micah’s question barely registered.
“Gabe?”
“Yuri. It reminds me of Yuri,” Gabe said, staring at the picture. He looked around the room. Maps dotted with locations covered one of the walls, as if Alois had been searching for something, crossing out places that were false leads. This all was definitely the product of obsession but not in the way Micah thought. It was like the obsession of a doctor seeking a cure. Frantic and determined. Gabe read one note after the other. Words tore at him, Alois’s diagnosis describing the effects of the ring on the bearer. His heartbeat pounded in his chest.
Psychosis.
Physical deterioration.
Blending of the essences.
“Oh, my God,” Micah said. She was reading a notepad that had the word Conclusion written at the top.
“What is it?”
She held the notepad to her chest and seemed reluctant to tell him.
“Please, Micah.”
“Just because Alois thinks something doesn’t make it so.”
“What does it say? Please.”
“Septis is alive.”
“No. I saw it. The ring opened up, and . . . he’s dead, Micah.”
“Not dead. Not according to Alois’s research. The ring doesn’t destroy. It binds. Like, captures. Demons are trapped by its magic.”
“So, I have a demon on my finger?” It was an obvious attempt at a joke, but Micah did not smile. She continued to read.
“Once a demon is bound by the ring, so too is its essence. That essence becomes one with the power of the ring. A power that is a connected part of a chosen bearer.” She began scanning the pages, turning one after the other. “The notes keep referencing the key and the lock. ‘The key unlocks the Hellgate, releasing all it kept inside, and all the realms will be as one.’”
“What are you saying? What does it mean?”
She looked at the notes. “I think that means the essence of Septis is seeping into you through the ring.”
Gabe took one of the books from her. References to the key and the lock and the ring littered the pages. “So I’ll take it off.”
“You can try,” Micah said, reading. “But Alois seems to think your life force is now so woven into the existence of the ring that you can no longer be apart. Not for long, at least. And soon you will probably be unable to live without it.”
“So, that’s why I feel better when I take the ring off,” Gabe said. “And if I take it off, eventually . . .”
“You’ll go mad.”
“And if I leave it on, Septis’s essence will . . .”
Micah looked again at her book, slammed it shut, and then threw it across the room in a burst of anger. “It’s not fair.”
Gabe adjusted the ring on his hand. The room filled with an unbearable silence until something inside rose up and burst out of him.
He laughed. And then laughed again until his eyes were watering and he couldn’t catch his breath. He leaned back, his hands resting behind his head and let out a long sigh.
Micah’s brow furrowed. “Oh, God. You’re already mad.”
“Might as well laugh, Micah,” he said, catching his breath. “Do you know what other kids our age are doing? Studying for biology exams. Learning algebra. I have a demon strapped to my finger like a Pet Rock of Evil.”
“No. It’s killing you.”
“Probably. We don’t know that for certain. Whatever’s happening—we’re connected, the ring and I. For better or worse. Besides, we need it.”
“Until we don’t need it,” Micah said, the determination back.
“Right. Until we don’t need it.”
“If you’re connected, then maybe you can be disconnected.”
“I don’t think it can be destroyed.”
“Sure, it can,” Micah said. “Nothing lasts forever. And if there is a way, we’ll find it here.”
Nothing lasts forever. Gabe picked up another book. “Then let’s look.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I can’t find a bloody thing about breaking the hold of the ring over its bearer,” Micah said. “How do you feel?” Her head popped up above a book like a gopher from its hole in the ground.
“Better if you’d quit asking. No luck here, either,” Gabe said with a smirk as he flipped the page on one of the notepads. His fever had gotten worse over the last few minutes, his shirt damp with sweat. A discomfort in his muscles had set in, an ever-present dull pain that had faded into the moment, like the ambiance of the room.
“What time is it?” Micah asked, her attention turned back to the nest of books and notes she’d made on the floor.
Gabe looked up from his scroll at the clock on the wall in Sergeant Alois’s private office. “Probably too early to get back unnoticed.” He put the scroll in its place, careful to keep everything in order, exactly as they’d found it—disheveled but not in a way that might indicate a trespass.
“Ever heard of something called Legion?” Micah asked. Her face was practically buried in the book, and she bit at her little finger, reading. A strand of black hair had fallen in front of the page, and she brushed it away, tucking it behind her ear. She looked up, waiting on an answer.
Gabe felt the need to clear his throat and look busy. He turned a page in a book that was upside down in his hand. “Yeah. I mean, sort of. As much as my dad used to make me study my Bible courses, I should probably know more. Legion is like a group of demons, right? Responsible for possessions in some of the stories of the Bible?”
Micah flipped a page. “That’s what I thought. That’s what Constantine wanted everyone to believe, apparently. Legion was a group that opposed the early Roman church. It says in these notes that they were separationists or isolationists. Not only from the emperor but from the other realms, too. Like . . . human supremacists. And they worshiped archangels,” she said, pointing to a section of the book Gabe couldn’t see.
“Sounds a lot like Septis and friends, wanting to live on earth and hav
e human wives.”
“The Fallen and Legion? They were definitely not allies, not according to this. Not at all. This says Legion stood against the Fallen. And that would be Septis, right? The Fallen?”
Gabe shrugged. “I guess.”
“Which would make them on our side.”
“Does it say that?”
“Not exactly. But the enemy of our enemy, right?” Micah said. “So here’s the thing. According to his notes, Alois thinks Alexander the Great was part of Legion. Like, way before Constantine. That’s his connection.”
Gabe was paying attention now. He closed the book and set it down. “Which means Legion once had control over Solomon’s Ring.”
“That could mean the ring chose Alexander and chose Legion.” Micah’s finger followed the words on the page, tracing the sentences as she read. “I think there was a war for the ring. Between Legion and the Templars, who were supposed to be protecting it. But I thought the ring was in the Ark of the Covenant and guarded by Afarôt. And isn’t it weird that the ring might choose one from each side?” Micah asked. “All these notes say stuff about the worthiness of the one who wears it, not necessarily if they’re good or evil.”
He sat down, relieving some of the pain in his legs. “Don’t take offense. I’m sure it had its reasons for choosing me.”
Micah’s expression went blank. “I wasn’t, you twit. You’re just jealous I have a bloody flaming sword. So please do enjoy your jewelry. It’s quite pretty.”
Gabe tried to read over her shoulder. Two symbols stood out on the page. The familiar red cross of the Templars and, beside it, another. It was circular, with a sword crest in the middle that, if he blurred his vision, he might mistake for the birthmark of an archangel, similar to the one he had on the back of his neck. The summery smell of Micah’s shampoo distracted him.
She turned to look at him and frowned. “Hello?” she asked, snapping her fingers. “I asked you a question. How else did the ring get removed from the Ark? Has to be Afarôt, right?”
He felt his cheeks flush and was thankful for the low light of the small room. “Afarôt. Right. I don’t know.” He recalled the first time he’d had a vision about Alexander. The ring was presented to him by a peasant. “Maybe he just took it to them or something.”
“But if Afarôt was the guardian of the ring and the Templars were his protection, wouldn’t he be betraying them if he turned it over to Legion?”
Dread fell over Gabe. They really knew little about Afarôt. “I don’t think he’s like Yuri. But he isn’t exactly an open book, is he? What if he has some, I don’t know, plan?”
“Maybe he was hiding the ring from Legion and the Templars.” Micah shook her head. “It has to be something like that. I don’t get the feeling that he’s hiding anything . . . like, evil.”
“But he is hiding something. You have to admit that. And to be fair, neither one of us picked up on Yuri’s intentions, either. What a complete creeper and a bastard he turned out to be.”
“More than a creeper and a bastard, I think.”
“Well, you didn’t see him drunkenly fawning all over me, calling me some other girl’s name at that party that night. Not to mention he was as handsy as a baker. See? The definition of creeper. The bastard bit is self-explanatory.”
Gabe felt a phantom pain in his knuckles as he recalled the satisfying memory of punching Yuri in the jaw.
“Anyway,” Micah said. She turned back to the notebook and rubbed her forehead, somehow looking frustrated and tired and beautiful all at the same time. “These are just clues. Parts of a puzzle. There’s no way of telling how any of this fits together. Not without help. Once again, we’re bloody clueless.”
“Would you expect anything less?” Alois’s shelves were stocked with a museum’s worth of weird objects, maps, and trinkets.
One map caught his eye. A small word at the top read Iznik.
Turkey, he thought, remembering the article on Carlyle’s wall about the Nicene Facility. On the border of a body of water was the outline of some sort of building. But what drew Gabe’s attention was a smaller red dot near the facility. It seemed to be in the middle of what looked like higher topography. Beside the dot two words had been scribbled: Kakósdaimōn Minor.
“Hey, what do you suppose Kakósdaimōn Minor means?” he asked.
“Never mind. You’ve got to look at this,” Micah said. Her face seemed to have lost its color. She held up the book to show a picture of an old tapestry.
A story.
At the top of the tapestry was a shape he’d never forget. A gateway, adorned by gold angels bowed toward each other, their wings outstretched and touching. Below, a being of light. His dark features surrounded by blues and white, adorned in a very familiar archangel symbol. Afarôt, Gabe realized. Standing at his sides was a soldier bearing the Templar Cross on a shield and another soldier holding a downward pointed sword. On its hilt was the crest of Legion.
“That doesn’t look like they’re fighting each other, does it?” Gabe asked.
Micah shook her head. “Not at all. One the shield, the other the sword. And that’s who I think it is, isn’t it?”
“Afarôt.” He looked at the clock. “Time to go.”
Micah nodded.
Gabe took her hand and helped her off the floor. He felt the electricity of her touch and its absence as she let go. She took the notes and stuffed the loose pages into the book.
“That’s not how we found it,” he said.
“I know. It’s coming with me. We could spend forever trying to figure out what all this means. But for me, this book says Afarôt knows something. I’ve had it with secrets and bloody lies. So he’s going to tell us what he knows. Everything.”
“I think we should wait.” Gabe leaned against the wall for support. His legs felt so weak.
“What? But the ring—it’s practically killing you. It’s not like time is our friend here.”
“No kidding. We don’t know what is going on, though, and if we raise their suspicion—those that are against us—we may lose our chance to find out anything. I can’t go on guessing who’s on my side. Right now, it’s you and my dad. You’re all I can trust. Trusting the wrong people has cost us too much already.”
The lines in Micah’s face seemed to pull tight, and Gabe instantly regretted the reference to Carlyle’s death. “That wasn’t your fault, Gabe. But Afarôt isn’t Yuri. So far, he’s done nothing but help us. And besides, he’s the only one who can teach us anything about what we can do.”
“Don’t forget, though. He’s got an agenda, too,” Gabe said and held up his ring. “He knows what this is doing to me but hasn’t given so much as a warning.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Another helicopter passed low over the building, shaking the remaining contents of the room. A single, carry-on backpack waited for him by the door. It would be his last thing to grab before leaving Vatican City for good. Gabe stared at it and chuckled to himself about how weird his life had become that everything he owned fit neatly inside.
With room to spare.
He walked back to the common room’s window overlooking St. Peter’s Square. “They know something’s up. That mob is getting bigger. Angrier, too, by the looks of it,” Gabe said. Rows of Swiss Guard and Italian soldiers separated the sovereign line of Vatican City from the rest of Italy’s Rome that was rising and crashing against the police shields. Dozens of world news satellite vehicles parked among the thousands of onlookers.
“Can you blame them?” Micah asked as she folded and tucked the papers she had lifted from Alois’s office into a pocket of her backpack. They looked well read; the pages Gabe could see were covered in notes and underlines. “The Nile turned to blood for a night. Calling it a red algae bloom? You just can’t cover that kind of thing up, you know? Half the planet must think the world is coming to an end.”
“Half the planet might be right. Do you think the governments will tell the people what’s going on?” Gab
e touched the cold band of the ring, running his finger over the contours of the engraved jewel. It was constantly cool lately, no longer warmed by the heat of his body.
“Don’t know, really. Haven’t thought much about it, I suppose. You presume they even know. And if they do, do you think they can even fully appreciate the situation? I don’t know. Maybe that will change in Turkey,” Micah said.
“Everything feels on edge. Like the streets of Axum did. Only, like, times a million.”
Gabe looked at the distant street. The crowd undulated like water about to top a levee in a storm. Anxiety rode the warmth of the day’s heat, sticking to the skin like sweat, fueling the desperation on the faces of those gathered below. Their expressions were similar to those of the men and women assembled in front of the Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion near the Ark of the Covenant and the Tabernacle of God.
“But if they don’t tell them and we fail . . .” Micah’s thought strayed into something unfathomable. “I think they should be told.”
“A person could be told. A person can be chill and rational. You go out there and tell that crowd, and they’ll just freak out and tear this city apart with their own hands before our enemy even has another go. Besides, I think deep down everyone does know or at least senses it. Only nobody’s saying it out loud. There’s a weight to the air now. Like there’s a bad storm on the horizon or something.”
“I know. I feel it, too.”
Gabe’s father knocked and entered the room. “Secretariat Borelli is coming with us. They’re having a press conference concerning the Vatican’s participation in a summit at the Nicene Facility to discuss the new government’s role in the Western Alliance and the roles of Christians, Jews, and Muslims in building a common world together. That, at least, is what they are telling the public.”
Gabe looked to the crowd below. “The people will want more than that.”
“I know. But it’s all they’re going to get. Are you both packed?”