by Vox Day
I should go, I know, and unleash the famous wrath of our family, but I cannot leave you now. No, let me hold you in my arms for just a little while, as I held you in years long past. Let me hold you, until the last of your warmth is gone and with it the remnants of my dying heart. Ah, stay with me, dear little brother, for just this little while. The hounds of hell can wait; soon enough they shall be summoned.
Poor Matteo, I see that it has fallen to you to discover the broken body that was once mine. My poor brother. He is stricken with grief, and though I long to comfort him and assure him that all is more than well with me, it is forbidden. Do not despair, brother! Nor seek revenge, for that way lies the true death. Your heart is good, but already hatred eats away at you like a cancer, and now that I walk in the light, my concern is not for your mortal life but your immortal soul. How hard it is to watch you grieving silently, manfully holding back your tears for me, who need them least of all.
But beware, Matteo, for is that not my killer who steps from the depths of the shadows? You do not hear him, I see, lost as you are in your sorrows. The man of blood is cautious, as he silently moves towards you, and he has not yet shattered the glass blade that took my life, it is already in his hand. Your back is open to him, and in only seconds he will reach you. But you cannot die now, not now, when your name is not written in the Book of Life.
Almighty Father, I cry. Send me back, let me warn my brother of his danger. Do not make me watch, helpless, as he is lost to the Chorus of the Damned!
Time is of no meaning here. It may have been a moment or it may have been a century, I cannot say. But the Almighty answers, and though He does not speak as we do, the answer is clear. No.
I bow my head. The Lord has spoken. I cannot, will not, disobey. The Glory of the Lord is perfect, and all that are here, including myself, have been likewise perfected through the grace of Jesus Christ, for how else could we bear the ecstatic radiance of the One. But it is also written, knock, and the door will open. So again I cry out to the Lord my God, Father, my brother will be lost if you do not send me back to him. Let me warn him, the danger is near!
The answer comes again, more quickly, I think, this time. No. Have you not heard My Word? Many will be lost. And have I not said that if they will not listen, they will not be convinced even if one rises from the dead?
Again, the door does not open. But it is also written, ask, and you shall receive. Once more I cry out to the Lord my God. Father, I do not seek to convince him, only to give him another chance. One more chance, O Lord, for my brother. Just one more chance, and perhaps he will turn from his ways and be a man of blood no more!
The Lord is a great and patient God. He is just, but He is also merciful. The answer comes a third time, and this time it is different. Yes. Go to your brother, that he not perish at this moment. But only for a moment shall you go, and you shall not speak, not even one word, before you return. Your brother's fate shall then be as he chooses, for vengeance is mine and mine alone!
So speaks the Almighty. It is enough, though, and I am grateful. Praise the Most High, for His mercy is everlasting. Matteo, do not fail yourself now! You have heard the truth, this I now know for a certainty, but you have never lived it. How many times have you been tested and failed? But for this, the final test, you must find the strength within you. Not your own strength, that will never suffice, but that which comes through the grace of God.
My brother was dead. Of this I have no doubt. I have seen no few corpses in my day, and well I know what it means when the blood flows no longer, when the breath is stilled, and the skin grows cold, firm to the touch. Taddeo was no more, and I do not know how long I had been lying there in the shadow of San Stefano, holding his lifeless body in his arms when the miracle occurred.
I held him close to my breast, his forehead pressed against my cheek, and my arms were wrapped around him. I must have been there for some time, for there was a certain stiffness to Taddeo that had not been there at the first and the blood on my clothes was dark and sticky. It has been suggested that I might have heard something, a boot-heel on a cobblestone or perhaps there was a flash of movement caught my eye. But I assure you, this was not so. I was utterly lost in my grief, and in my rage-filled plans for vengeance.
No, what alerted me to the presence of my peril was something else, and although I know it is impossible, I swear to you that I felt what I felt. And what I felt was an unmistakable push, and not a gentle one, but hard and forceful, of two hands at my midsection. That startled me, naturally enough, and though I was both shocked and confused, I was not so confused that I did not recognize the danger that loomed suddenly before me.
It was Taddeo's killer, of that I am certain. He wore a beaked white mask and held himself in the balanced stance of a well-practiced fighter. His glass blade was clean, but even in the darkness I could see the dark smear where he had wiped my brother's blood on the edge of his scarlet cloak. I felt a dark and fey joy when I saw him, and I think I smiled because his appearance was like a gift from above, or more likely, below. It was as if the devil himself had found my brother's killer and delivered him unto me.
I drew my own dagger and prepared to kill him, as slowly and painfully as I knew how. He was a clever one, that I could see, and his plan to use his first victim to bait the trap for the second was audacious, perhaps even worthy of admiration. But glass knives shatter easily, whereas I have always relied upon the finest Damascene steel.
It was then that my brother saved me for the second time, this time from myself. When I glanced down at my brother, vowing silently to avenge him, I saw that something had changed. Taddeo's face had been surprisingly peaceful when I first came across him, especially considering his violent end. But now, I saw a faint smile on his lips that had not been there before, the same one that often graced his face when he rebuked me and my brothers for our sinful ways.
It was impossible, I know. And it was not much, admittedly, but it was enough for me. Perhaps not for you, but then you do not know my brother as I do. My saintly brother had saved me from certain death, and most likely, damnation as well. I cast down my knife and removed the mask from my face. Standing beside the body of my murdered brother, I raised my hand and forgave his killer.
“It is enough,” I told him. “You have slain a lamb, an innocent, but the guilt is not yours alone, nor your family's. It is also mine, and my family's as well. Let it end here, with this, my brother.”
The killer looked at me for a long time. I do not know what he was thinking, but surely he saw my empty hands and the thought must have crossed his mind that he could strike me down. It is even possible that he might have been right, although it would not have been hard to draw another of my blades before he reached me. Once a man of blood, always a man of blood, they say.
But we will never know, because my brother's killer did not strike. Instead he inclined his head briefly, then opened his hand and let his glass blade fall. It shattered against the stones of the narrow street with a crash that was thunderous in the silence of the night. Thus it was that in the shadows of San Stefano, without a word being spoken, the long, deadly war between Grimani and Morosini finally came to an end. There would be no more sacrifices upon the altar of our hate.
The Grimani are not our friends. They will never be, for there is little love between clans in the pearl of the sea, in this great city of my birth. But in every end there is also a beginning, and though the blood of the Grimani and the Morosini no longer flows in the alleyways, it will flow together in the children born of tomorrow's marriage between my nephew, Raffael, and Isabella Grimani.
I have no children of my own, nor will I ever, but in a sense, their children will also be my children, and Taddeo's too. And God's, to be sure, for without the grace of the Almighty, the Merciful, the Most High, I should never have stayed my hand from seeking the vengeance that was not mine. But we are all God's children, and it will be my privilege to remind both families of that tomorrow when I preside over
the wedding of Raffael and his lovely Isabella in the church of San Stefano.
And beneath my vestments I shall wear that holy shirt from the night of the miracle, the one with the marks of two blessed, bloody hands staining the front.
closing time
FANTASY
Awake in the Night by John C. Wright
Awake in the Night Land by John C. Wright
One Bright Star to Guide Them by John C. Wright
The Book of Feasts and Seasons by John C. Wright
A Magic Broken by Vox Day
A Throne of Bones by Vox Day
The Wardog's Coin by Vox Day
The Last Witchking by Vox Day
Summa Elvetica: A Casuistry of the Elvish Controversy by Vox Day
The Altar of Hate by Vox Day
The War in Heaven by Theodore Beale
The World in Shadow by Theodore Beale
The Wrath of Angels by Theodore Beale
SCIENCE FICTION
Riding the Red Horse edited by Tom Kratman and Vox Day
Big Boys Don't Cry by Tom Kratman
The Stars Came Back by Rolf Nelson
City Beyond Time: Tales of the Fall of Metachronopolis by John C. Wright
Hyperspace Demons by Jonathan Moeller
On a Starry Night by Tedd Roberts
QUANTUM MORTIS A Man Disrupted by Steve Rzasa and Vox Day
QUANTUM MORTIS Gravity Kills by Steve Rzasa and Vox Day
QUANTUM MORTIS A Mind Programmed by Vox Day
Victoria: A Novel of Fourth Generation War by Thomas Hobbes
NON-FICTION
On War: The Collected Columns of William S. Lind 2003-2009 by William S. Lind
Four Generations of Modern War by William S. Lind
Equality: The Impossible Quest by Martin van Creveld
Transhuman and Subhuman: Essays on Science Fiction and Awful Truth by John C. Wright
Astronomy and Astrophysics by Dr. Sarah Salviander
CASTALIA CLASSICS
The Programmed Man by Jean and Jeff Sutton
Apollo at Go by Jeff Sutton
First on the Moon by Jeff Sutton
AUDIOBOOKS
A Magic Broken, narrated by Nick Afka Thomas
Four Generations of Modern War, narrated by William S. Lind
TRANSLATIONS
Särjetty taika
Uma Magia Perdida
Mantra yang Rusak
La Moneta dal Mercenario
I Ragazzoni non Piangono
QUANTUM MORTIS Тежина Смрти
QUANTUM MORTIS Der programmierte Verstand
QUANTUM MORTIS Um Homem Desintegrado
QUANTUM MORTIS Gravidade Mortal
QUANTUM MORTIS Um Hombre Disperso
QUANTUM MORTIS La Gravedad Mata
Una Estrella Brillante para Guiarlos
Grosse Jungs weinen nicht
New Release Newsletter
The Castalia House New Release newsletter is sent out to subscribers several days before a new book is officially released. Subscribers who purchase the book in the specified period after the newsletter is sent out will receive either a) a free book that is offered as a bonus with the new release, or b) their choice of one of several free choices that are on offer as a bonus.
We do not spam our subscribers’ email addresses nor do we sell them to anyone. We average about one new release per month.
Click on this to subscribe to the Catalia House New Release newsletter.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Raj and Garou
The Lesser Evil
Demons in the Disk Drive
Contempt
Medal for a Marine
The Logfile
The Last Testament of Henry Halleck
The Deported
Bane Walks On
The Altar of Hate
Epic Fantasy by Vox Day
Science Fiction by Vox Day
Awake in the Night Land
Castalia House
New Releases