The Edge of Temptation: Gods of the Undead 2 A Post-Apocalyptic Epic (31 page)

“I’ve got it,” Jack said, as he made himself another drink and then polished it off in a single long pull.

By the time they drove up to the gates of Vatican City, Cyn was ready for a second drink as well, only there wasn’t time. The roads had been cleared for them and they whooshed along, crossing a bridge, heading for St. Peter’s Basilica, its great dome easily visible, dominating the skyline.

Although it was still early afternoon and thus prime time for tourists and the faithful who make pilgrimages from all over the world, St. Peter’s Square, the tremendous open area just before the basilica, was completely empty save for a few clergymen going quickly about their business. As they entered the square, the lead and trail limos peeled away leaving their limo alone as they pulled right up to the front steps where a cadre of men, sweating in their heavy garb, greeted them.

“Ciao!” a man in a red cassock said. Though he spoke the word with enthusiasm, his eyes were sharp on Jack’s face and he seemed as edgy as a cat. “My name es Tarisio Onisto, Cardinal-priest of Santi Simone.” He paused, giving them a chance to bow at the waist, which they did, though somewhat stiffly. He then added: “I am Secretary of the State of The Vatican. I give you welcome. Let me introduce his Eminence, Cardinal…”

He went on to name the other seven men in the delegation, all of whom possessed long Italian names and even longer titles. Cyn was quite lost after the second name and by the time the last man was introduced, she had already forgotten the Secretary of State’s name and was glad she could get away with just calling him
your eminence
.

They bowed to each man as they were introduced, but no hands were shaken and no rings kissed. The situation felt awkward and forced and it didn’t help that after being introduced, each of the dignitaries would smile perfunctorily and then take their turn giving Jack a closer look, usually through half-lidded and suspicious eyes.

Jack did not bear the scrutiny well. His bows grew briefer with each person introduced, so that the last man: Pietro Cesarini, the arch-priest of the basilica received only a nod, a slight dipping of his head.

“This way,” Cardinal Onisto said, holding a hand out, suggesting that Cyn and Jack walk beside him up the stairs. “His Holiness, Pope Romanus the Second, is waiting inside. He understands that time may be an issue and so he has gone for the spear, personally. You should be honored at his attention.”

Captain Vance was quick to agree that they were. Cyn nodded along; however, her mind was mostly taken up by the basilica. She was in awe and gaped like a tourist, her eyes darting everywhere. The building was massive, over two football fields in length, supported by tremendous columns that stretched up to the ceiling, which was hundreds of feet over their heads. Cyn felt altogether tiny, as if she was nothing more than an ant.

Jack let out a low whistle of appreciation as he spun around in a slow circle, not once but three times. There was so much to see that it would take a person years to take in every wonderful detail.

“This is some cathedral,” he said. “It makes St Patrick’s Cathedral back in New York look like a shack.”

“And yet, this is not a cathedral,” Cardinal Onisto explained. “It is but a church. It is not the seat of the Diocese of Rome, that distinction goes to the Arch-basilica of St John Lateran. But yes, this is very nice as well, grazie.”

They walked through the empty building, the ceiling and walls too far away for their steps to echo back to them. It wasn’t until they entered a staircase going down that the concept of proportion came back into being, and yet the stairs were as grand as everything else. Rails of finely worked brass, marble steps, pictures and paintings and carved reliefs everywhere.

They went down two levels where the ceilings were actually a bit lower than expected, just a few inches over Jack’s head. Here they found more of the Swiss guards standing with their machine guns at the ready. They were guarding a room of red. Everything was red, from the carpet to the plush velvet curtains hanging on every wall.

His Holiness, Pope Romanus, dressed as usual in sharp white, stood out, strangely, almost as if there was a glow about him and Cyn couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t one. He was young for a Pope, not quite sixty, and was hardy and virile. He was tall and thick through the shoulders. They called him the “Fighting Pope” however he seemed extremely gentle to Cyn.

She was still staring when Captain Vance went to one knee. Quickly, she followed his lead, while Jack was very slow to assume the subservient position.

“Can you please leave us, Tarisio?” the Pope asked, his English enhanced by a light Italian accent. The cardinal bowed and shut the door, leaving the four of them alone.

The Pope went first to Vance and put out his hand. The captain wasted no time and kissed the ring, crushing it to his lips. The Pope then touched his head and said: “You are a good man. Fear not for the future because the Lord sees your works and is pleased.”

“Th-thank you,” Vance stuttered.

Next the Pope came to Cyn and stood over her in silence for some time, so long that she grew afraid and couldn’t lift her eyes from the floor. “I would like to hear your confession,” he finally said.

“Now?” Cyn asked. She was quite suddenly terrified, fearing that she was being put to some kind of test and was failing before she had been given a chance.

“Yes, now. When was your last confession?”

Cyn honestly couldn’t remember, but that was mostly because she was having trouble figuring out what day it was. Ever since Akron, her life had been a hectic swirl of battle, exhaustion, and plane rides to distant countries. “A week, I think.”

Next to her, Jack gave her a look of frank surprise. “I used to have Father Timmons as my confessor,” she explained feeling strangely guilty as if confession was a sin itself.

“Ahh, Father Timmons, the martyr,” the Pope said. “He guided you well, Cynthia. Now, for this brief time, it will be my turn. Begin your confession, if you can.”

If you can?
That sounded like a challenge and one that the Pope didn’t think she would be able to accomplish. From his kneeling position, Jack put a hand on the floor—he was about to stand and when he did, Cyn knew things would get ugly.

Quickly she began, starting by crossing herself. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been, uh, about a week since my last confession. And I…I…” She suddenly drew a blank. What were her sins? For some reason she was drawing a blank. Embarrassed and horrified she started to stutter: “I…I…I…”

Nothing would come. She put the Ten Commandments in the forefront of her mind as a guide and went down the list—and still couldn’t think of anything she had done in the last week that constituted a sin. The closest she had come was when she had
nearly
given in to the Mother’s temptations. But in the end she hadn’t. That wasn’t really a sin as far as she knew.

The Pope waited, expectantly and she blurted out: “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember my sins just now but whatever I did, I am sorry.”

“Do not be sorry for acts uncommitted,” Romanus chastised gently. “Perhaps you could tell me what you confessed to Father Timmons?” Her mouth came open and hung there as she remembered that she hadn’t been able to come up with a sin then either. Her look made the Pope smile as he explained: “This is why
She
wants you so very badly.
She
knows your innocence and your goodness and
She
is very jealous.”

Cyn knew immediately that he was referring to the Mother of Demons. “Who is she? She was human once, right?”

“Oh, yes,” the Pope said, suddenly sounding old. “She was human once with all the failings of our race.
She
was tempted and, unlike you, Cynthia, she gave in to her hunger for power and unearned knowledge. And it destroyed her.”

Jack had been on one knee with an arm across it, looking as though he was about to be knighted, but now he leaned back with a look of astonishment on his face. “You…you’re not saying that the Mother of Demons is Eve.
The
Eve, from the Bible?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Romanus answered. “She was the original temptress, the original sinner, the original liar and the original thief. She stole from the Tree of Knowledge and, seeing as she is immortal, we can assume the Tree of Life as well.”

“Tree of what?” Jack asked. “Wasn’t there just the one tree in the Garden?”

Romanus gazed sternly down at Jack. “And you call yourself a scientist? You are full of doubt, Jack Dreyden and yet you do so little research. There are two forbidden trees in the Garden and she stole from both. Adam’s death is recorded, as is Cain’s and Abel’s and Noah and everyone, except Eve. She never died.”

Cyn caught something in the way he had said
original sinner
. “If the Mother of Demons is the actual Eve, does that mean humans are demons?”

He didn’t hesitate or sugarcoat his words: “Yes. The Lord our Father created Adam in his likeness and created Eve from Adam. After that it was Eve who took to creating. Adam called her the Mother of the Living and the Lord never created another thing until he came to Mary in the form of an angel. Our original sin has nothing to do with the apple and the tree. It’s simply the sin of being born. It’s the sin of being created without the hand of God involved.”

“But that’s not fair,” Cyn said. 

“Fortunately for us, ours is a loving God and a forgiving one. His goodness is beyond question. Now, time feels to be spinning quick. I am anxious in my heart and fear we will all be tested soon in ways where right and wrong will be turned on their heads. For now, you are blameless, Cynthia Childs, I pray that you remain so.” He held his right hand out to her and she kissed the famous
Ring of the Fisherman
.

Romanus then came to stand before Jack. He did not offer his ring to be kissed and nor did he touch Jack, he only sighed in sadness. “You carry the mark of the Mother in your soul.”

“I do,” Jack answered, simply.

“Do you understand that the mark was always meant for you? The Mother is a sly deceiver. You have been tempted by her in the past whether you knew it or not, and you were victorious. She then tempted Cynthia and when that did not work either, she forced the mark on her, knowing that you would take it to keep your love pure.
She
is hungry for your soul, Jack Dreyden. You are important to her. Do not give in. Remember:
For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?
”

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Jack asked. “It’s my soul that’s going to be the death of me.” He meant it as a joke, but no one laughed, and his own smile was short lived. After a moment, he jutted his chin at the open glass case just behind the Pope. “Is that the spear?” Romanus nodded solemnly. Just looking at it, Jack knew. “It’s a fake, isn’t it?”

Romanus nodded again. “I am tempted to put it up for sale on Ebay or sell it at the next Vatican garage sale,” he said with a little grin.

“But you want to use it as bait, don’t you?” Jack asked, grinning right back. When the Pope nodded a third time, Jack said: “I was hoping you were going to say that.”

Chapter 30

Rome, Italy

Jack Dreyden

The meeting with the Pope went well right up to that point. After that the two began to butt heads over everything. For starters, Romanus absolutely refused to allow Jack access to the city’s cemeteries and catacombs. They went back and forth, each growing hot under the collar.

Cyn had to pull Jack away at one point. “You do realize that’s his Holiness the Pope! You don’t poke the Pope in the chest. It’s just not done.”

“You do when he’s not listening to reason. Did you hear him?”

She shrugged. “Yes, I did hear him. If you ask me, his plan is sensible and has a good chance of working.”

The Pope’s plan was to fortify each of the fourteen moderate to large cemeteries that were within a thirty mile radius of the Vatican, stationing two companies of Italian infantry and a score of priests at each. In addition to these forces, CaptainVance had offered the tattered remnants of the
Raider
squads and the Army
Knights
.

With the idea of luring Robert into a trap, Romanus was also secretly gathering as many priests, bishops and cardinals as he could and hiding them within the cavernous halls of the basilica. By sunset, he expected to have at least five hundred clergymen. In addition, he was bussing in another five hundred Swiss guards who were coming in dressed as tourists.

“Tell me how denying Robert access to the cemeteries is a bad thing,” Cyn asked. “It will surely mute whatever attack he’s planning.”

“Yes, he’s on the right track. I just think it makes sense to prepare helicopter landing sites at each just in case I need to raise my own army in a hurry. What’s wrong with that?”

She rolled her eyes. “To start with, it’s against his religion and my religion too, mind you, to desecrate the dead in such a way. I understand the necessity, but he doesn’t see any difference between what you do and witchcraft which is expressly forbidden in the Bible. And so your other idea of secretly stockpiling bodies here in the basilica is doubly wrong in his eyes.”

“Vance,” Jack said, dragging the captain into the argument. “Can you please tell the Pope what a contingency plan is.”

“No,” was all he said and then went back to coordinating where the supplementary American forces would be placed.

Cyn laughed at the soldier’s quick response. The laugh was genuine and full. She wasn’t laughing to hurt Jack, she seemed strangely giddy. “Come on, Jack, don’t be stubborn. It’s a good plan. So good that maybe you won’t be needed, which I think is wonderful. I never thought it was possible, but can you imagine, finally sitting out a battle?”

Frankly, he couldn’t. It might have been ego, but Jack was sure they were going to need him before all was said and done. Robert was just too slick to be caught in a trap and if he was caught, Jack feared that he was too powerful to be held for long.

At Cyn’s urging, he did his best to keep out of the way of the preparations for the battle and he steered clear of the Pope, who seemed to be everywhere, overseeing every detail of his meticulous plan.

Jack tried to nap and he tried to relish the first rate food that was served to him by a friendly priest, who kept saying: “Es good, ay?” And he tried to tell himself that the Pope was a singularly capable man, but at the same time he could feel the coming storm just as the Pope could. Strangely, it built up but didn’t explode. At about five that afternoon, the urgency plateaued, neither increasing or decreasing. It was odd which only added to his nervousness. He was on pins and needled and took to pacing in the low-ceilinged room that held the fake Lance of Longinus, striding back and forth in front of it.

After an hour of the pacing, Cyn fell asleep against the wall. With her belly full of carbonara and her cares lightened for the first time in a year, she was able to close her eyes and was soon breathing steadily. Jack watched her as she slept. He ignored the shotgun at her side and the black armor and simply concentrated on her face. Without the worry weighing her down, she appeared younger than when he had first met her.

She was so captivatingly beautiful that for a time he could ignore the oppressive sensation of doom hanging in the air. He wanted to kiss her and tuck her in and be a real boyfriend and live a normal life with her. He daydreamed about it for an hour and then the sun went down and the heavy feeling on his heart grew.

He got up to pace again and was in mid-pivot when the Pope entered the room, causing him to freeze. The older man carried a sheathed sword in one hand. They gazed at each other for a few moments and then Jack began pacing again.

“I feel the same way,” Romanus said in his light accent. “The waiting is always the worst part.”

It’s not the hot blood covering you from head to toe, going tacky, making your shirt stick to your skin?
Jack wanted to ask. 
It’s not the hacked up bodies and the smell of decomp?
“There are worse things.”

“And you have seen them, no doubt,” Romanus stated, not mentioning the fact that Jack had not knelt or used any of the customary honorifics in his presence. Fighting Pope or not, Romanus had yet to be tested in a true knockdown drag-out fight. He had a mass of power; it radiated off him in waves, and yet, until he was tested, Jack would view him as an equal, and that was for his own good.

When someone amassed so much power that people were afraid to contradict him or point out his flaws, it invariably led to trouble.

“I’ve seen too much,” Jack allowed and began pacing once more. “So, have you come for some pointers on how to fight the beasts?” he asked gesturing to the sword.

Romanus found this amusing and smiled easily. “I do not need a lesson in demons, thank you. I have been studying them and you for the last year and a half.” Once more Jack was brought up short, making the Pope’s smile that much wider. “That surprises you I see. It might surprise you even more that I received daily communiques from every priest who has ever worked with you. Father Timmons thought highly of you. He found you to be a wonderful human being.”

Jack had trouble believing that about Timmons, especially after all the scorn and abuse Jack had heaped upon him. “He must have been more forgiving than I gave him credit for.”

“He was,” the Pope agreed, a shadow of sadness passing across his face. He opened his mouth to say more, but just then Captain Vance, armed for battle came into the room. He stopped at the sight of the Pope and immediately dropped to one knee.

“Stand good Captain,” Romanus said. “And let the soldiers know that until the battle is won, no one will genuflect in my presence. Fighting men fight best on their feet. Would you agree, Captain?”

“Yes, I would, your Holiness.” He stood and then gave a half bow to the Pope. After a few seconds of silence, Vance turned to Jack and said: “I’m, uh leaving. I’m heading up a new squad of
Raiders.
We’re going to be stationed over at a place called the Catacombs of Domitilla. I can’t say I’m all that excited about a subterranean assignment. That place is creepy beyond anywhere I’ve ever been.”

“Do not be afraid,” Romanus told him. “You go with the Lord’s blessing.” The Pope had a silver flask tied on a white cord about his middle; he unstoppered it, filling the room with a sweet scent of flowers. First dabbing his fingers to the top of the flask, he drew a cross across Vance’s forehead. He then went to where Cyn was sleeping and, with one finger drew the cross on her head as well.

Cyn blinked up at him and then smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

“You are more than welcome, child of God.” He then turned to Jack, but as he did, he put the stopper back in the flask and hid it back beneath his cassock. “I rather fear that with the evil you carry about inside of you, a blessing might very well become a curse, tainting both of us. And yet I could not let you go into battle without a gift from the Lord’s servant.”

He held out the sheathed sword. Jack took it with some reverence. It was old, very old; it’s age seemed to radiate up from the hilt and into his palm. It was old, and yet the workmanship had never been bettered. Jack withdrew the blade part way and was shocked at how brilliant the metal was; it shone beyond what was physically possible. “What sword is this?”

Romanus reached out and touched the blade before saying: “The Vatican is filled with an amazing number of treasures and relics, and not all of them are strictly ordinary like the spearhead. This sword is called Almacia and at one time belonged to Tilipinus, the Bishop of Reims. It’s the brother of the sword Durendal, the sword of the paladin, Roland.”

“Roland? From the Song of Roland? That Roland?” Jack asked, pulling the sword completely out of its sheath. It was marvelously light and supple, and its balance was unlike anything he had ever held.

“Yes,” Romanus answered. “It’s said that this blade is unbreakable and that its edge will never blunt. I don’t know if any of that is actually true, but I do know there is something, I don’t know if it’s correct for a Pope to say this, but there’s something
magical
about the blade. I give it to you, Jack because I want you to use it. Put aside your sorcery. Father Timmons once wrote that you are a marvelous swordsman. For the sake of your soul, use the talents God has given you and trust in Him that they will be enough.”

He left them and, for a while, the three stood staring at the sword, until Vance asked: “So where’s your battle station?”

“Whereever the fighting is thickest, I guess,” Jack said, sheathing the sword.

“And what about raising an undead army?” Vance asked. “As much as I like a Pope in armor, it may still be necessary.”

The sword in his hand felt like it was almost begging to be used in battle. “I will do what is needed,” Jack answered. “But first, I will give his Holiness every opportunity to win the battle his way.”

“Seems fair.” Captain Vance nodded and then looked around awkwardly for a moment. “I have to get going. Take care of yourself, Prima donna and take care of Cyn, too.” He put out a hand, which Jack shook. Cyn hugged him and then punched him in the chest, her fist
thokking
off his armor.

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she declared wearing her impish smile. He agreed that she could and then with a last sad nod, left them.

The waiting had been bad before; now, it was a trial. The certainty of battle built up in the air and soon Cyn became antsy because she was weaponless. They went in search of the Pope; however, he was in a meeting of cardinals and so they asked the highest ranking Swiss Guard if they could find her a shotgun. He didn’t blink an eye that such a small woman could handle such a monster of a gun and in minutes one was fetched.

Then came more waiting. Jack and Cyn hovered close to the communications room, listening to the reports come in. There were three-thousand infantry men and hundreds of priests in place, ready to spring into action at the first sign that Robert was about to open a gate into hell. Twice there were false alarms and Jack was not reassured listening to the near panic in the voices coming over the radio as army units and untested priests rushed to the different scenes.

It was fitting that the first real sign that Robert was finally making his move came exactly at the stroke of midnight.

Jack was lounging on a five-hundred year old baroque couch, with Cyn cuddled to his chest when he
felt
the first word of the spell. They both sat up and stared at each other, their breath held, pent up in their chests, all their senses at full alert as if it were possible to hear Robert’s actual words.

But there was no way that was possible, not at that distance. When Robert spoke the second word of the spell, Jack leapt up and ran, sprinting through the cavernous great hall of the basilica. He ran out into the dark and stood panting on the steps. Now, he shut down his physical senses. His eyes and ears were useless. Robert was far, far away, just at the very edge of his ability to sense the necromancy in action.

Next to him, Cyn was on one knee, her eyes at slits as she too, tried to pinpoint the direction and the range. They were like statues.

“What is it?” a bishop asked, breathlessly. He had followed them out of the building at a run and was holding his chest with one hand as he gasped for air. “Can you sense your cousin? Where is he? Is he in Rome?”

“No,” Jack answered, his voice only a ghost of a whisper. “He’s south, far to the south and he’s waking the dead.”