Falcon's Angel (11 page)

Carlo took a deep breath to calm his impatience. To be found out now would have disastrous results.

They were standing in the midst of a hundred lost souls. His pistol would not serve as adequate protection against this throng. Tarcisio had been right. There was danger involved. Not only for the two of them, the only Christians present, but there was danger to the entire town as well.

They finally made it through the stone archway. The cavernous room was much warmer than the drafty corridors.

With Tarcisio by his side, Carlo exercised supreme effort to continue the slow march on his way to the front of the procession. He wanted a clear view of whatever was to take place.

He kept a few rows of brown robed figures between himself and Baldoni, who stood above them on a stone ledge. Behind the mad leader was a twenty-foot golden statue of
il Dragone
. The idol sat on its haunches as if ready to lunge at the crowd.

Carlo stiffened at the sight. What was beneath the ledge made bile rise in his throat.

A pit of fire about twenty feet in diameter glowed. Orange tentacles lashed out towards the crowd.

The brown robes appeared to be unconcerned with the heat of the blaze that bathed them with just several feet to spare.

From his vantage point, Carlo could not see to the bottom of the pit. There was no way to tell how deep this cursed symbol of paganism was. The way the flames roared and grasped at the air above gave the impression that it was a living, breathing thing climbing up from the bowels of Hell.

There were rumblings of excitement now. The group sensed something was about to happen.

“
Il Dragone
, hear me.” Guiseppe Baldoni’s command reverberated off the stone walls. All fell silent. “This is a night of celebration. For many years, we have struggled with those who live in ignorance. And forced to live in the shadows, but no longer. The Master has spoken to me. Brethren, He has commanded us to take what is ours by right—the place where the remnants of San Mercuriale lay. And with His perfect guidance we will take our rightful place in society to spread the True Religion throughout His land.”

Exclamations of joy rose among the worshippers.

Carlo prayed that Tarcisio would not react to Baldoni’s promises.

Tarcisio stood next to him, his expression unyielding. With burning eyes, he stared into the conflagration.

He has heard this wickedness before. By God, this is where Tarcisio got the signet ring, in one of these blasphemous ceremonies!

Carlo glared up into the fanatical gleam in Baldoni’s eyes. The man was insane. He actually believed the Master, a fabled dragon, was buried beneath Tarcisio’s establishment like some sainted relic.

“This is also a night of revelation,” Baldoni continued.

The crowd quieted. The ensuing silence was charged with expectant energy. All eyes were riveted on Baldoni.

“It has come to my attention that there are those among us who do not believe.” Baldoni’s reverential tone ended in sharp accusation. He paused for emphasis, piercing the congregation with a scowl.

Carlo tensed, moving his hand to the pistol hidden in the folds of his robe.

Tarcisio inclined his head in reproach.

Umberto’s words came back to Carlo.
A trap.

He had been a fool to trust Domenico Tarcisio. The boy-man had brought him here as a sacrifice, and was part of this. Well, Tarcisio would go to Hell before him tonight.

This is truly a night of revelation, Carlo thought.

Over the past year, he had often thought it would not be such a terrible thing to give up this life and join his beautiful angel in the hereafter. Margaux had come to warn him of this night’s madness.

Will she return to usher me home?
He had been ready to die in her arms last night when she was adamant that he stay and endure this … life. Well, he was determined to live through this
for
her now.

Though he no longer had a heart, there was still a glimmer of hope for the future in his spirit, and it was getting stronger under duress.

Carlo stared into the flames and a vision of the cherished one came to him. Just as swiftly as in the nightmare, Margaux danced into the blaze before him, disappearing into the pit.

The instinct of survival was too strong to ignore. He slowly spread his legs apart. With his arms down at the sides of the robe, he was ready to draw his pistol.

Tarcisio shook his head, apparently saddened by his decision to die fighting.

“Luciano, bring your offering forward,” Baldoni commanded.

Chapter Five

Carlo slid the pearl-handled pistol out from under the robe. A bullet to the center of Tarcisio’s forehead would be the only satisfaction he would receive before the crowd took him.

Five figures came out of a dark entryway above them to stand with Baldoni on the platform. Two of them were dressed in white robes, their hands shackled with chains, and each arm held by a brown robe.

The larger brown robe in the middle must be the one called Luciano. He dragged the white-robed men on either side of him forward.

The men did not struggle, and their expressions were exact copies of Tarcisio’s, peaceful acquiescence. Their shaved heads made it difficult to tell their ages, but they were neither young nor old.

Staring at the group assembled on the ledge above, Carlo put the gun back in his robe.

The scene before him did not belong here in this enlightened century. Yet, here he stood, transported back to the medieval era amidst the dark religious fervor and idolatry that had a stronghold in the rural villages and hamlets of that time.

He remembered Tarcisio and tried to catch his eye. Although they stood next to each other, the man had distanced himself from the entire proceeding. His face was shadowed in profile.

“
You
, who were brethren of the fold, have shunned
il Dragone
.” Baldoni’s tone was once again that of a passionate zealot. “
You
have been swayed by the teachings of the Others.
You
are weakened in the eyes of
il Dragone
.”

There were angry rumblings among the members of the cult. They pointed to the white robes on the ledge. The clamor rose as Baldoni’s words incensed the followers. A hate-filled chant ‘
Not Worthy
’ rose in the cavern, echoing against the walls as Baldoni’s ruthless diatribe drove them on.

“
You
, who were once loved, now insult the Master with your disdain!” Baldoni had to shout above the din of the crowd as they hurled curses and insults at the two condemned men. “
You
are no longer
il Dragone
!
You
are no longer worthy to live among us!”

Baldoni held his hand out. “Their rings.”

The brown robes pulled rings off the men’s hands.

Carlo could not see the rings, but he had a feeling they contained the same symbol Tarcisio was so afraid of.

Baldoni held the rings up high. “Now
il Dragone
shall cast you aside. You shall return to the ashes from whence you came! The blood of
il Dragone
no longer protects you.” Baldoni threw the rings in the fire and then stepped back.

The brown robes walked the men forward.

The prisoners were in a trance. There was no light in their eyes, and it seemed they were already dead.

A strange, deep rumbling ran through the screaming crowd.

An earthquake.

No.
Something was rising up out of the earth.

The ground beneath them shook, and Carlo braced his feet.

Still, Tarcisio would not look at him.

The pit of fire blazed higher now, licking at the edge of the platform.

The two brown robes stepped back and Luciano led the white robes before him to the edge of the platform.

The fire swelled and changed shape.

Fiery tentacles merged into two giant, curling horns.

Shimmering red heat took the shape of eyes, which fixed on the white robes.

The dragon’s roar shook the cavern.

Luciano pushed both white-robed men off the platform and into the dragon’s mouth. The men never uttered a sound, but closed their eyes in submission as they descended.

The fire dragon reared up and swelled with the meal. It licked greedily at the sides of the pit.

Taking an involuntary step back, Carlo put a hand up to cover his face.

Cloaked in anonymity, the brown robes gyrated, emitting exultant screams and praises to
il Dragone
, even as it rooted for more flesh.

But not their flesh.

Il Dragone
knew these disciples, and its fiery tentacles were stretching, curling over their heads, coming closer.

Tarcisio’s cries roused Carlo. The man’s telling screams of anguish, so unlike the ecstatic cries all around, would mark them for death.

Carlo grabbed Tarcisio’s arm but became entangled in the melee.

The fiery tentacle reached for him but he managed to extricate himself from the frenzied gyrations of the bodies pressing in from all sides. Flames slapped at his shoulder as he grabbed hold of Tarcisio’s robe and pulled.

They stumbled over bodies on the ground. Two brown-robed bodies were coupling in front of them. The man grunted righteous babble with every thrust into the woman whose legs wrapped around him. Something glinted on her ankle, and Carlo tripped over Tarcisio’s robe, staring at the bejeweled dragon.

All around them screams of ecstasy escalated as couples celebrated the deaths of the two fallen townsmen. Men heaved against women along the rough-hewn walls, ground into them on slabs of rock around the cavern as the dragon roared.

At first, Carlo thought he saw the glow of the fire on a far wall, but then realized it was lamplight. It must be the entrance to the cave. He pulled Tarcisio through the orgy, glimpsing the symbol of
il Dragone
on an upraised ankle here, or a hand bracing a bared hip there as a man pounded into a woman.

They reached the archway and he dragged Tarcisio out into the cool, dark passageway.

“Domenico Tarcisio!” He shook Tarcisio by the shoulders. “Get yourself in hand!”

Tarcisio’s eyes were red-rimmed. He looked up at Carlo but did not see him. Tarcisio opened his mouth but before he could shriek, Carlo covered it with his hand.

Brown-robed figures ran out of the cavern.

Carlo dragged Tarcisio behind one of the stone effigies of
il Dragone
, pushing him up against the wall into the dark.

He stood in front of Tarcisio, praying the distraught man would keep silent. The stone dragon’s high haunches and part of a stone wing that jutted out to the side concealed them. He had a limited view of the group standing by the opening of the cave and could see only two of their brown-robed backs.

“One of them was grief-stricken and the other pulled him out.” The gravelly voice came from a heavyset man with his shoulder-length dark hair unbound. The man stood just several feet in front of Carlo and Tarcisio on the other side of the wing.

“Bring them back, Luciano.”

The disembodied command echoed in the vaulted chamber and came from someone of authority. It was not Baldoni. This man’s tone was deeper. It was the voice of an older person.

Even while he tensed in fear for his life, Carlo wondered who these people were. He wanted to see their faces. If by some chance he made it out of the catacombs alive, he wanted to be able to identify these members of
il Dragone
.

Curses and shouts came from somewhere on the other side of the stone dragon and several sets of footsteps came closer.

“This one did not get far. The other one has gotten away,” someone said.

Carlo edged towards the stone wing.

A brown-robed individual emerged from a dark portal with a lamp. Two other disciples came next, holding a limp, brown-robed figure by the arms. They dragged the man across the hard-packed dirt toward the entrance to the ceremonial chamber. The man wore only one boot. There was no life in the exposed foot as it scraped against the ground. The brown-robed figures dropped the man and his hood fell off.

Umberto Dell’Acqua’s sightless eyes stared up at the vaulted ceiling.

* * * *

Damn you to hell!
Carlo turned his head toward the stone, away from the pitiful Umberto and his murderers.

Umberto must have followed them to the inn. He should have known the old man would. His father was to blame for this, for sending Umberto with him on this terrible journey, to his death.

Stubborn old fool.

“He is hiding somewhere,” the deep voice said. “Like a rodent, he scurries. Find him.”

The brown-robed figures moved swiftly out of sight towards the three archways to the left of the statue.

Carlo leaned out from behind the wing but could not see which corridors they entered. He caught a glimpse of a pale, wrinkled hand resting on the stone wing on the other side, and he retreated into the gloom. He gave the subdued Tarcisio a warning look.

There was shuffling and footsteps as the brown-robed men dragged Umberto out of sight.

Carlo waited for what seemed an eternity for more activity from the other side of the wing. The only sounds he heard were the disturbing grunts and moans of rapture coming from
il Dragone
’s ceremonial chamber. There were shouts of praise to
il Dragone
, and the dragon’s awful roar.

Poor Umberto had been fed to the fire devil.

Understanding came to him then. Baldoni’s accounting at the meeting in the inn … the four girls who had gone missing from Forlì’s prolific fields … and how many more sacrificed to that thing in the pit.

Carlo’s world had changed when he had met Margaux and seen what she could do, so much so that no ordinary woman would ever be enough for him. Margaux had used her powers for good. The beast that Baldoni worshipped fed off life. Though Carlo never imagined he could be so naive as to think evil did not exist, his world had changed once again.

It is you who must take care, my love.
Margaux’s words whispered around his head, eddying with the cool current flowing through the central chamber, and preventing him from sinking into absolute despair. She had come to warn him the other night. That had to mean they had a chance to survive.

Finally, Carlo slid his back across the cool stone of the dragon’s haunches once more and leaned forward to see if the old one was still there. When he could not discern a shadow from the entryway, he decided. They had better take a chance now and try to escape before the brown robes came back from their futile search.

Which gallery should we try, and where will it lead us?

Carlo turned to Tarcisio, who leaned against the moss-covered stones with his eyes closed, a living statute with an ashen face.

“Signor Tarcisio.”

Tarcisio’s eyes flew open. He looked around the murky hall as if expecting to be dragged back into the devil’s den.

When Carlo was sure Tarcisio was listening, he asked, “Is there another way out of here?”

The dragon’s roars still echoed in the cavern, and Tarcisio was lost in misery. He took a cloth from within the folds of his robe and wiped his face with shaking hands. “Th-there is a passage … once used by my grandfather when he was younger. But it is surely sealed off after so many years…”

In his distraught state Tarcisio might lead them down the wrong path into the waiting arms of the brown-robed men, or something worse.

Carlo had no other choice. These tunnels were like a maze and unknown to him. Even if they chose the right path there was the danger of doubling back on their route to find themselves here in this hellish cavern once again.

“Which way is it?”

Tarcisio ventured out of their hiding place to stand next to him, taking an anxious look around. “There.” He pointed to an archway.

Carlo remained silent. He had not been able to see which corridor the brown-robed men had gone down. They could have split up to cover all three passageways on that side. There was no sense in frightening Tarcisio any further with the unknown. The man was already witless in fear, which would certainly hinder their escape. If their fate was to die this night, so be it.

He had his pistol. Though its discharge might end the celebration and set the hounds of hell upon them, he would shoot anyone or anything they met on sight. When there were no more bullets, he would use his strength to fight to the death. It was best to keep this information from Tarcisio.

He gave Tarcisio a terse nod. “We walk with our heads bowed out of this den of devils. Look at no one who comes our way. Clasp your hands in front of you as if in prayer; you are shaking like a leaf.”