The theme is angels as a variant in the World of Darkness. This and similar stories of mine present angels more as mythological beings, and their relationship to Man, God, demons, and each other in a much more dark and cynical perspective than is typical for the subject. Thus the treatment is more in keeping with modern gothic themes, and has something in common with books like Good Omens, films like the Prophecy, and games like In Nomine. Therefore it might not be suitable or enjoyable for those with strong convictions and beliefs about angels. - This story is part of an ongoing chronicle at my web site (see profile) using a shared character. If you would like to contribute to this particular chronicle, please stop by. Otherwise, any helpful hints and critques are most appreciated. - Cheers, Sol.
Prelude
It was late summer. It was hot. The air was dead and dusty. Nothing moved. It was hot enough to choke and suck the moisture out of one's mouth until the desire for drink became a madness that drove out all other thoughts. But taverns were boarded shut. Even though afternoon naps had ended, and crowds, though small, should have been forming before evening meals, the streets were quite deserted. Furtive glances from half-closed doorways showed that people were about but none came outside, save a few unfortunate slaves, forced to do errands despite the oppressive heat. Buildings looked abandoned, empty, as if they had been reduced to dry husks, also dried of life and what life brings. Marcallus' footsteps fell hollow on the untended stone streets while small clouds of heavy dry soil puffed into dirty clouds that refused to settle nicely in the thin air.
The ground trembled slightly, ever so slightly. Marcallus felt it. So did the animals tucked away in shade and stall. Marcus could feel their unease all around him. In the distance, the mountain loomed, quiet once more. Marcus regarded it for a while then headed to the center of the city.
"I should have known I'd find you haunting the theatre, Narses."
Narses, who had been sitting, talking to another man, stopped when he felt the hand on his shoulder. He turned, squinting in the strong summer sunlight. His eyes had some difficulty recognizing who was speaking. But when he saw who it was, his mouth broadened into a smile that wrinkled his tanned face.
"Marcallus!" Narses got up and embraced the man. "When did you arrive?"
Not waiting for an answer, Marcallus was pulled to sit down beside him, motioning for the man who he had been talking to to move down on the wooden bench so his friend could sit down.
"We're just waiting for the first act to begin," Narses informed his friend. "The chorus has not come on yet."
"I can't stay."
Narses' face showed his disappointment. "You chide my love of the theatre, my friend, but it was you who showed it to me. How can you leave now? Terbonius from Syracuse is here! Didn't you know? I know he's past his prime but he's giving his last performance before leaving. He refuses to leave until his contract is done. I tell you, that is the mark of an artist!" Narses looked around at the near empty rows of benches. "Not that this place appreciates a true artist. You remember Terbonius, don't you? He played Scipio last summer. He was the best thing in that awful play."
Though Marcallus shared his friend's fascination with theatre and actors, he ignored the question. "I thought you had decided to take your family away. Haven't you felt the tremors?"
As if on cue, the amphitheatre shook and there were shrieks from the sparse crowd. About half the crowd ran for the exits, even though the rumbling had ceased. Marcallus looked at the mountain not so far away.
Narses, seeing his friend's gaze, told him in a voice that was strained, as if trying to sound braver than it felt, "Not to worry, my friend. I think we've seen the worst it can do. My neighbor, Silo, here... Oh, I should introduce you. Marcus Kirius Marcallus, meet Caius Norbanus Silo," Narses motioned to an older man whose grey hair and weathered face made him look older than his fifty years. Marcallus looked at the thick still muscular arms, noting the scars. He also noted the wooden hand, meaning that Silo's days as a legionnaire had been cut short many years before. Silo gave Marcallus a brief glance, as if to take his measure. Apparently, he didn't appraise Marcallus very highly, for he spoke while looking at the stage, not bothering to meet Marcallus' gaze.
Its not going to be like it was before." Silo's voice was rough and curt, as if his military days, and manner of speech, had never left him. He paused, like an actor, hoping to give weight to his next words. "I was here, seventeen years ago when the mountain roared. Many fools fled. They came back to find their homes looted, their goods stolen and their slaves run away. We who kept our heads though didn't suffer near as much. Trust me, I've been through it before. It will be nothing like the last time."
"You're right," Marcallus agreed. "This time you won't be so lucky."
Silo's only response was to spit on the ground, grinding his spittle in the sand with his sandal. "Your words are the same as those other fools I just mentioned."
"What do you mean, worse?" Narses was confused, but he had calmed down and was craning his neck, waiting for the chorus to appear.
"Narses, you must flee. You must take your family and flee while you can." Marcallus decided to just state what he knew. "Tomorrow, the mountain will vomit death unlike anything you can imagine. Anyone who stays here will die."
These words had the effect of bringing Narses' attention back to Marcallus and away from waiting for the play start. Several other people in nearby rows turned to look and listen.
Silo was insulted and anger tinged his voice. "Listen young man, I don't know what stories you've heard, but I was here during the last eruption."
"So was I," Marcallus told them. "I saw what was then and this will be worse."
Narses and Silo looked at each other. Then they both laughed.
"Your friend makes a jest, and a poor one." Silo wiped his eyes nonetheless. "But he was so earnest, I almost believed him. I thought, what if he were a priest who attends one of the oracles. But not even priests are known to take a downy faced boy who has never shaved."
"I disagree, Silo. Marcallus' jest was a good one. He really told it well and had me frightened. And you must not judge him by his looks. He is blessed with a youthful complexion. I think he would have made a fine actor. He could have played womens' roles well, don't you think? Perhaps Helen in that play last season."
Silo wrinkled his nose with distaste. "I've never heard of your friends gens. What is Kirius? Is he, a freedman?" Without waiting for an answer, he added, "Really man, you must keep a better trade in company. Freedmen and foreigners? Even if they are entertaining, with strange tales, you should stick to your own kind."
"Actually, Narses is the freedman," Marcallus stated. "He only pretends to be a Roman, but he does it well. I think it is Narses who could have been an actor himself."
Narses' face paled. But he put on a brave face. "Oh, Marcallus' You've already tricked us once. Don't trying to fool Silo like that. Or at least pick a less transparent lie if you want to have another go at us." He laughed nervously and fanned himself. His quick glance was an obvious plea for Marcallus to stop.
Silo laughed. He addressed Marcallus. "Tell me, how can you know these things?"
"What I'm saying, it is the truth. I keep some truck with... seers. And I know things too, with just as much certainty. Tomorrow will spell this city's doom. You must leave now, Narses. And you as well, Silo, though I sense you will never heed me."
Narses swallowed. "Really, my friend? You've been to a seer?"
"Don't listen to your young friend," Silo warned. "If you do, you'll just come back to find you house looted and you'll be ruined." There's been looters at work already, growing fat on the goods of fools. You'll be another if you heed your rash friend. And that's all I am saying.
"Yes, of course," Narses mumbled. He offered Marcallus an embarrassed glance. "Marcallus, you must come to dine with me tonight.
"Perhaps, next time," Marcallus offered in empty agreement. He got up. "You've been a good friend, Narses. May your gods be with you.
Narses was too embarrassed to reply. He got up to walk Marcallus to the exit, but Marcallus waved him off. The chorus had just entered the amphitheatre and Marcallus did not want his friend to miss this last pleasure. Silo, true to his obvious nature, made a plain effort at discourtesy by ignoring Marcallus' leaving altogether.
Marcallus left the main street and entered an alleyway. In an alcove, he found an empty courtyard and blue water from a splashing fountain. The water rippled in clashing rings as the ground trembled once more.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Marcus ran his fingers through the fountain. In the air, he could make out scents from rosemary and lavender growing in simple pots on kitchen sills.
"Yes, all creation is beautiful." Eli's shadow, winged and magnificent, seemed incongruous to the man with a stooped back who waddled into view. Eli was dressed in the garbs of a field slave, muscular and dirty, dressed in course cloth and simple sandals made of rope and worn wood.
"Then why must it end?"
"But it isn't ending. It's just becoming something different, something beautiful in its own right."
"I do not see it. A field of fire and ash isn't more beautiful to my eyes than these crafts and passions of men. To allow all these things to be done away with due to capricious acts of nature, what lesson is there in this but to make man fear nature, and thus fear the name of God. Why must it be so? Why must our adoration come through fear more than love? I have seen the new order coming. This new religion that will give a man's name to our Mistress and give her one name instead of many, it reeks of fear. Throngs will worship Her that their souls be not burned. They come not out of willingness but as thralls fearing damnation."
"I can give you no answer that would satisfy you," Eli replied. "Come, we must be away. And you must do penance. You tried to save this man and his family. You knew this was wrong and yet you did it anyway. Why?"
"Because he was my friend. He taught me to love the arts of man, to love especially the art of performance. It is a magical thing, the creation of something from nothing, intangible yet real."
"Friend. I have heard the word so often, but have never understood it. Archangels have no friends. But perhaps, when your penance is done, you will explain this to me. Come Marcus."
Eli raised his wings and the sun darkened as a dark cloud of ash belching from the mountain obscured the sun. When the sun peeked out for the briefest of moments through a break in the cloud, the courtyard was empty. Then all was darkness once again.
story by Solanio