by Diane Nelson
If it comes down to it, which will you choose?
A voice intruded, "Father, if you'll come with me, please?"
Andreas rose reluctantly and followed the cleric into Council Hall.
The mathematician scribbled on an antique whiteboard, leaving streaks of oily silicone polymer where the side of his hand brushed the slick surface. Residual solvent flavored the air with memories of youth and foolish choices. Andreas wrinkled his nose with pleasure. Before the day was out he'd be immersed in the stink of antiquity in a way none of the Council or their scientists could imagine.
The man completed transcribing the formulas, then stood back and surveyed the information with a mixture of pleasure and dismay. The probabilities, the portents, were so compelling that they had the ring of inevitability. It was their gift and their curse, this ability to predict within a narrow margin of error, a margin so small it practically reeked of being error-free. But that was a hubris the council carefully avoided for it would negate plausible deniability and undermine their authority.
The Council embraced a certain level of fallibility, allowing for Fate and divine intervention when the situation suited. Fear of the unknown no longer functioned to keep the narrow-minded cabals in line. Self-serving rationality and the pursuit of reason provided sufficient purpose and meaning to maintain the peace.
Or it had until everything changed…
Matteo rose and thanked the cadre of scientists, then bid them leave. When the room had cleared, he scanned the upturned faces of his fellow members, waiting for acknowledgement to proceed. Andreas realized he was going to hear analysis suitable for one far above his pay grade, as the lab techs would joke.
Kneeling at the lectern, Andreas bowed his head and waited.
Matteo stepped down from the dais and approached the whiteboard, considering the complex computations before launching into a summary of what they'd inferred from the perturbations in the timeline.
"We've all had time to examine the extrapolations. There are now four antagonists, three prepared to go nuclear, and one prepared for mop-up duty." A Council member chuckled. "Yes, Lucas, that would be us. However, it's not in our best interests to reside over yet another nuclear winter. One was enough."
The Council murmured their agreement.
Andreas looked up with interest. He'd no idea any of the cabals had access to weapons of mass destruction. That alone gave added import to halting the degradation of the timeline.
Ruefully, Matteo continued, "As good as our analytics are, we cannot predict with certainty who or what in the distant past interferes with or precipitates these catastrophic events."
Matteo picked up a marker and circled the final equation. He waved Andreas to come forward.
"This probability boils down to two branches." He tapped at the sigma sign and raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunately the outcomes appear diametrically opposed."
Andreas asked, "How so?" as he struggled to comprehend the intricate zero sum calculations. His grasp on the fundamentals was intuitive and that made it useful in the field. But in a laboratory, or in this situation, he was at a loss.
Matteo paced before the dais, one hand kneading his temple, the other clenching and unclenching his phantom beads. Ceremonial garb precluded the comfort of their tora as the clacking noise was deemed too invasive for Council proceedings. That his lover exhibited that weakness in front of his peers was a measure of the seriousness of their position … and the urgency for his own intervention.
"Holy Father," Andreas employed the formal term of respect to refocus the tall man on the task at hand: to bring him up to speed on events that had unfolded while he'd rehabbed and regained his strength. From an almost infinite number of possible outcomes to only two indicated a radical paradigm shift. What in god's name could have happened to warrant such a collapse?
"Yes … yes, forgive me." Matteo pointed to a heavy-set, swarthy figure and said, "Salvatore, if you please…?"
The man cleared his throat and spoke with the authority of a university lecturer, his voice booming through the narrow chamber. "We have had some unexpected developments. When you left, all the principals were positioned," he fingered a universal remote, aimed at a screen suspended toward the rear of the room that displayed a map of the Mediterranean region, "here, here … and here."
Andreas took a proffered laser pointer and flicked it quickly over Florence, then the Iberian Peninsula. He knew Tonio pursued his younger brother and the Sisterhood operative. He also surmised Tonio would employ his doppelganger brother Nicolo in whatever scheme they'd devise to secure the woman and return her to Cosimo. Reasonably sure of the outcome of that confrontation, he'd predicted that all but Nicolo would return to Florence where he could reengage with Veluria, using her to run point while he figured out how to neutralize the key: Antonio de' Medici.
Salvatore nodded his agreement and said, "And under normal circumstances you would have been correct. However," he tapped the desk with irritation, "apparently your Sisterhood operative managed to join her powers with the Demon de' Medici." He paused at a hiss from one of The Three and nodded agreement, "And, no, none of us believed that to be even remotely possible."
Andreas exchanged a glance with Matteo. Even living a daily existence with the impossible did not preclude having a few surprises thrown into the mix. He hadn't been wrong. For once he'd have preferred it otherwise.
He listened with interest, and increasing dismay, while the stocky prelate related the reconstruction of events, ending with the death of the Demon. While they could never know exactly what had transpired, the one thing they knew for a certainty was that the man they'd all regarded as 'the key' was no longer a player on history's stage.
Removing the zucchetto, Matteo slapped the cap against his cassock. "We have two possibilities, gentlemen. One, Antonio de' Medici was the key and his death sets off a series of events that have yet to occur. Or two, we were wrong and he is not the key."
One of The Three interjected, "If that man wasn't the key, then who the hell is?"
Salvatore offered, "Cosimo? He has the gift. He is, and always has been, the kingmaker."
Matteo shook his head vigorously against that assessment. "The man has never once taken the direct path. His is the power behind…"
Andreas interrupted, his brain doing the rapid calculations. He could almost taste the potential. "It will take place at the Habsburg court. Friedrich stands to become a member of the Reichstag, bringing as he does the goodwill of Florence—and undoubtedly Venice—along with a guaranteed Papàl blessing. Leo owes his position to his cousin. He'd consecrate a union with the devil himself if it fit Cosimo de' Medici's purposes."
Picking up the thread, Matteo continued, "I agree. My gut tells me that whatever the precipitating factor, it has yet to happen. We still have time. Cosimo will not risk his house with a personal visit to Friedrich's duchy. He's sent his son to act as his eyes and ears."
"So this boy is the key?" A disembodied voice from the far end of the dais quavered with age but the prelate's eyes had a hard, bold look.
Both Andreas and Matteo answered as one, "No!"
Andreas ducked his head quickly and murmured, "…Your Holiness." He'd almost forgotten himself, a fact his lover had reminded him of with a quick pinch to his butt. The pinch became a caress before Matteo moved away to address The Three in the center.
"We have two possibilities. We have validated that the Sisterhood's operative, this woman called Veluria, joined her powers with the Demon. It's possible she may have taken on some of the Medici's gifts. While our geneticists assure us that such transference is not only unlikely but close to the realm of unthinkable, I for one am not willing to forego any potential consequences of such a bonding. On the other hand, we do have some compelling evidence to indicate that Nicolo may have assumed his brother's fate based on field observations." He indicated Andreas should continue.
"I followed the man I thought to be Antonio de' Medici to the docks and watched
him board the ship that would take him back to Iberia. His signature energy, the way he moved and carried himself—everything spoke to me of the Demon. There was no one more vexed than I to discover that it was his brother, Nicolo. No one, including myself, had believed the rumors to be true. But I assure you, I do not make mistakes." He stared at each of The Three in turn. "Not about this."
Salvatore spoke quietly, "Do you have a way forward, young man?"
"Yes, Holiness. I need to know what Cosimo knows. All information passes through his house. I can use my contact with the Monsignor to pave the way. Between him and the elder Medici I will have the excuse I need to enter Friedrich's court legitimately. And from there, I will await developments."
Matteo agreed, "This is a reasonable plan and well within mission parameters. I suggest we move on this immediately." He turned to Andreas and spoke softly, "Go to the chapel and begin your meditations. I will join you shortly."
As Andreas proceeded down the aisle toward the rear door, he heard one of The Three say, "I hope to hell you know what you're doing, Matt."
"So do I, Tom. But right now we've got three sets of guns to our collective heads. Whatever we do isn't likely to make matters any worse than they already are."
Andreas slipped into the hall and padded silently to the chapel. After carefully locking the outer door he knelt at the altar and began his prayers, readying mind and body for the difficult journey ahead. The only thing that made traversing dimensions tolerable was knowing what awaited on the other side.
That, and the man approaching from the secluded sacristy to his left. He smiled when a rough hand stroked his neck and whispered, "Come back to me in one piece, Andy, or by God…" Matteo lifted him up and led him to the small room where vestments and sacred vessels had once been stored but now contained only a narrow cot and bedside table.
Andreas sank onto the mattress and sighed with contentment. He would leave the clacking beads and monotonous repetitions of meaningless words to the true believers. Unlike them, Matteo understood his needs.
Slipping his woolen robe, he murmured his passion as his lover prepared his body to ease through the gateway on a sigh of pleasure.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Veluria paced uncertainly about the small cabin. Movement had been ill-advised for hours as she lay prostrate, braced against the violent yawing of the vessel as they raced on a downhill slide toward Roma. Nico had used his considerable resources to secure a craft, compensating the captain for lack of cargo at usurious rates. The thought of another ship, another time and place, had her quaking in her boots but she'd numbly acquiesced, knowing full well they had few options.
Time seemed irrelevant now. She had little memory of its passage, only that they flew at a punishing pace to the coast, her mind blank to all but her grief. She was not the only one to retreat into a shell. Nico rarely spoke and when he did it was to address Paulo, commands issued tersely and always just out of range of her hearing.
His man had tended to her needs, little as they were. Now he was gone, tasked to safeguard his commander's position at Carlos' court, to offer the explanations and assurances that might forestall the inevitable questions and opportunism of men tuned to the misfortune of others.
Each retreating behind their barricades, they avoided close contact though she was ever aware of the man's presence as he moved about the vessel, joining the crew in the mundane tasks of piloting a ship through shallow, dangerous waters. It was a phantom presence, unsatisfying in ways she could never explain, as if they'd been conjoined twins, now severed, the parts diminished and so much less than the whole.
The larger questions of who and what they'd become seemed irrelevant. It was the trivial iotas of living she missed now. She no longer recalled the flavors and odors of food, eating mechanically, if at all. She missed taking a bath, soaking in steaming hot water, relaxing away the cares of the day. Would she ever again know that exquisite pleasure of feeling clean, scrubbed free of doubt and self-recrimination? Would she never again know her true purpose, the fulfillment of her fate, her service to the greater good?
I have lost my way, Reverend Mother.
It is the ennui, child. The beginning of the Little Death.
Then bring me home.
It is not yet time.
I grieve. Why do I suffer so?
Who is it you grieve for, child?
I … don't know.
The light tapping on the cabin door broke her reverie. She wanted to ignore it, preferring to stay cocooned in her despair, out of sight of the man fate had dictated as the savior or destroyer of them all. With Tonio she'd been convinced of the rightness of that choice—that his destiny and hers would unite to do what Reverend Mother decreed: salvage enough to save both worlds.
The man who waited outside the door was both a stranger and a collaborator, a man she feared like no other.
"Madam?" Nico's voice was tight, insistent. Waves of displeasure, anger, confusion assaulted her senses. Pummeling her with power.
Dear Holy Mother, what manner of demon had they unleashed that night?
Veluria backed against the bunk, calling out, "I wish to be alone," yet her voice quavered, broadcasting her fears. She sat heavily on the cot, curling reflexively in a ball, the rough clothing stretched across raw open wounds as the willow stick flicked with precision. Air curdling with a sensuous whoosh, time slowed, skin stretched taut to receive the offering. Edge brittle and slick with blood, slicing like a sword tip, stripping each layer to reveal the woman beneath the mask. Enduring. Her gifts perverted. Powerless.
She opened her mouth in silent supplication.
For me, Reverend Mother, I grieve for me…
****
Nico rubbed his scalp with frustration. He understood the woman's need to be alone, he shared that, as he shared far too many things with her. But he had questions and they would soon be home, with Cosimo, bearing news no father should ever hear. Only this woman could help him make sense of the images and thoughts that consumed his being now. It was a waking nightmare, his head filled with Tonio and the woman's combined knowledge, dangerous and inexplicable. He'd been led down the path of madness his brother followed, with regret to be sure, yet that seemed of little consequence given the threats to their worlds.
Worlds.
How was he to wrap his mind around such a heretical thought? He'd been raised on two realities: heaven and hell. This life, this shadow existence, was a mere stepping stone to another, authentic reality. Realities bartered, bought and sold on the whims of men whose concerns had little to do with the hereafter, and everything to do with securing advantage in the now.
That he believed in neither mattered little. That he could believe in a reality that mirrored his own, with a life force, a history, inextricably linked to events in the here and now … that defied his understanding, yet he accepted it as truth. What truly troubled him was why he cared about either future.
And the one person with whom he could explore the hidden messages buried in the confusion lay dead in a shallow grave, dead by his own hand. What he'd done was out of love, not mercy, for he had none in his soul. If he were to employ his skills in the service of history, mercy would play no part.
He would do what he must and if that meant selling his soul to a devil he did not acknowledge, then it was a small price to pay to exact revenge. And to save the one thing he and his brother should never have shared, the one thing he'd foresworn he'd never do again … give his heart to a woman.
Feeling ten kinds of foolish, he approached the cabin door and tapped softly, hoping against hope she'd be asleep and would not answer.
Dammit, I can't continue on this way. I need to see her. Now.
"Madam." The single word came out harsher than he intended, the formality feeling strange on his tongue. Before he could soften his tone and try again she confirmed what he already knew and he quailed at the distress he heard. She suffered as did he, yet he needed to know why and how it was so.
/> She said she could love his brother. He needed to know what that meant, for reasons that he would surely regret. He felt her grief like a living thing, felt his own need and hers, felt a kernel of hope blossom when it had no place in his soul.
The silent scream split his skull, reverberating and echoing, a long drawn-out susurration that left him staggering. He bolted through the door only to stop abruptly when his eyes found the source of the mental din. Waves of pain and terror boiled and bubbled around the tiny figure curled on the bunk, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped about her head. She lay still, deathly still, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in an 'O' but no sound emerged. It was as if she'd turned to stone, forever damned to an eternity of denial and fortitude, yet all about her the air danced in fevered vortices.
In that instant he understood who and what she was, and he cursed the Order who'd taken such a thing of beauty and corrupted it into a vessel to use as they pleased. They'd filled her with purpose and convinced her of its moral rightness. They'd taught her love, then denied her the means, convincing her that the divide between could and would was unfathomable, with no promise of a hereafter to console and sooth the harsh reality. At least in his world, men of faith offered lies and empty promises. His world was cruel, ruthless … but hers? It spoke to a brutality he failed to comprehend.
Now they both walked in the shadow of history, condemned to repeat its mistakes. Nothing changed. Nothing ever would. Not unless he did something about it. She and his father had called him 'the key'. He hoped to hell they were right.
Sitting on the bunk, he lifted Veluria into his arms, gently cradling the still form, rocking her as he would have done with the daughter denied him for all time. She lived, though barely, the breaths coming shallow, slowing imperceptibly and he feared she willed her life force away.