Plague of Angels (13 page)

They started by taking over a small villa in Byblos. By way of letting her earn forgiveness, Nyx sent Ishtar in ahead. By the time she and Persephone arrived, the very rich Romans who had owned the villa were in chains, cowering beside the other slaves, and ready to fall at Nyx’s feet when she came through the door.

For the next year, they relaxed, planned, scouted, and made love at every opportunity. Nyx forgave Ishtar after another month and gave her enough pleasure that it took her two days before she rose from their bed, and two weeks more before she sat without wincing and smiling.

When they reached the end of the first year, Nyx said, “Tell me what you have learned.”

They were in the baths, soaking in warm water, while around them the four prettiest of their slaves – two male and two female – were gently washing their bodies with soft cloths. Nyx had one of each, Persephone had the other male, and Ishtar had the other girl. Nyx stretched out, enjoying the feel of the cloths on her flesh and the gentle touches of the mortals. “What do we know?”

“We can’t get near them,” said Persephone. “None of the Apostles. Anytime we try to get close, we end up somewhere else. Ishtar decided to charge at them full speed and ended up in the Sahara.”

“Is that what the sand was about?” asked Nyx. “I wondered.”

“Took me a week to get it out of my wings,” grumbled Ishtar.

“We knew we weren’t able to directly interfere,” said Nyx. “Apparently that means getting close at all. What else do we know?”

“They are gaining numbers at surprising speed,” said Persephone. “All Jews. Mostly among the lower classes, though some of the wealthier are participating, too.”

“Herod?”

“Is suppressing them regularly. But not with much success.”

“Then he needs to be replaced,” said Nyx. “I’ll see to that.”
Besides, I still owe him for Tribunal’s death.
“What else?”

“My cult is still going surprisingly strong,” said Persephone. “Despite thirty years without miracles, my followers are still there, across the entirety of the empire. Even in Rome.”

“Even better,” said Nyx. “We need them.”

“Why?” asked Persephone. “You’re the one who needs to build followers.”

“I am,” agreed Nyx. “But we also need to keep the Christians from building their followers. And the easiest way to get them to do so is to keep your followers happy and expand your temples. As soon as my followers outnumber them, we can move onto the next phase of the plan.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Persephone. She sighed. “Pity about Dispater, though. He was wonderful for enacting the wedding night of Persephone in the underworld. Tall, strong, frightening, and huge.” She smiled, and one of her hands drifted below the water, while the other reached out to stroke her bathing attendant. He immediately grew stiff.

Nyx looked at him. “Impressive, for a mortal.”

“Isn’t he?” said Persephone. “Now imagine something much, much larger.” She moaned as she touched herself. “He used to do me so, so well. It was an annual thing and I am going to miss it.”

“Well,” said Nyx, standing up, “I’m sure we can come up with something.” Her body changed, stretched and grew, becoming the demon figure that had abused Judas so horribly. “Will this do?”

“Very nicely,” said Persephone, letting go of the human and reaching for Nyx. She stopped. “Though if you could take the scales off it?”

“Of course,” said Nyx, and with a thought, made the change.

“Delightful,” said Persephone, wrapping one hand, then the other around Nyx’s demon-phallus. “You’ll do fine.”

Around the three angels, the mortals began to shake in fear. None dared move, though all were terrified. Ishtar watched them, amused. “I wonder what that would do to a mortal woman?” she said, just for the expression on her bathing attendant’s face.

“Tear them open, I should think,” said Persephone. “I can’t even get my hands around it.”

“Because it would be a lovely addition to your ritual,” said Ishtar. “Have some of the mortal women take your part, after you, and learn the true pain of Persephone.”

“Tempting,” said Persephone. “But I still think it’s too large for that.

“One way to find out, isn’t there,” said Ishtar, grinning. She grabbed her attendant and bent her, face down, over the edge of the tub. The girl quaked with fear, but didn’t dare cry out.

“And once you’re done with that,” said Ishtar, “We can plan what your temple is going to look like, Nyx, my love.”

Nyx smiled at her. “I want you to take over for Isis.”

“What?” Ishtar was horrified. “That mewling little mother goddess? She has no strength! She doesn’t do anything except… except…”

“Listen to the prayers of all,” said Persephone. She grinned. “From slaves to aristocrats, she is considered universally kind. The ideal mother, the source of growth and plenty, and the goddess of magic.”

“She’s a wimp!”

“She’s you,” said Nyx, and this time her tone brooked no argument. “Her religion is just as successful as Persephone’s, so we need to propagate it. You will give them the miracles of Isis, and you will keep the faithful, faithful.”

“Let me build up my own followers again,” said Ishtar. “The followers of Isis will just worship Isis.”

“As I want them to,” said Nyx.

“But I want to be worshipped myself!”

“What difference does it make?” demanded Nyx. “They will worship Isis, you will be Isis, and in a thousand years, we will have Paradise again!”

“You’ve never been worshipped,” said Ishtar. “You have no idea.”

“Let her do both,” suggested Persephone, seeing Nyx’s anger rise. “She can try to rebuild her cult as long as she maintains the cult of Isis at full strength.”

Nyx glared at Ishtar. “Fine. Do both, but don’t let Isis’s cult fail. We need as many kept away from Christianity as we can.”

“This is going to be fun,” said Persephone. She stroked Nyx a bit harder and batted her eyes at her. “Speaking of which, you’re not really going to waste this on that mortal, are you?”

Nyx grabbed Persephone and bent her over the tub beside the slave girl. Persephone cried loud in pleasure and grabbed the girl’s hand, nearly crushing it as Nyx thrust hard into her. Nyx laughed at Persephone’s noise, even as her mind moved on to the years ahead.

I will make myself the greatest goddess Rome has ever known,
she thought
. And then we’ll see who gets the most followers.

Chapter 6

31 A.D. – Capri

Tiberius Julius Caesar
August dreamed of Rome collapsing around him. The city was on fire; earthquakes tore open the streets and the building tumbled down. The pious prayed to their gods and received no answer. And through the chaos, walking without a care for the falling rubble and screaming crowds was a woman with skin and hair the color of alabaster and snow, jet-black wings, and the eyes of a serpent. She turned those glorious and deathly eyes on him and hissed. “You have abandoned Rome!”

Tiberius cried out and woke in the bedroom of his villa on Capri. The young boy whom Tiberius had used before sleeping scuttled back under the linen sheet. The old Emperor ignored him and rose to his feet, calling for wine and clothes. Tiberius was not a young man and the urge did not come on him more than once a day anymore.

The servants came and helped him dress, then brought him his wine and took away the boy. He paced the room for a time, muttering to himself about the dream, about the unfairness of it all. Tiberius had never wanted to be Emperor of Rome. And now that he was old, his plan had been to retire and let Sejanus take the reigns of state. The man was set up to be his heir anyway. It was all going to be simple.

Then the nightmares started.

Rome burning, Rome falling to the barbarians, Rome being washed into the sea, Rome, Rome, Rome, always collapsing, always falling, always his fault.

Tiberius stumbled out onto the balcony. Years of leading the armies had taken a toll on his body, and every step ached when he first woke up, especially when he woke in the middle of the night.

The night was clear. A full moon hung in the night sky, casting its beams over the earth. The stars around it were dimmed by its brightness, and it was only by looking away from it that he could see the constellations. He could hear the sound of the night animals and birds, and if he watched closely he could see the small, black shapes of bats flittering after insects. The world was at it should be, save that he, Tiberius, was old and tired and could not sleep. He sighed and leaned against the rail. He would go back in soon and summon a boy or two to warm his bed as he slept. It would not take away the pains, but it would make them more bearable.

The world around him fell silent.

Tiberius straightened. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and the part of him that was still a soldier whispered,
Something is wrong
. He peered out into the darkness, looking and listening for whatever had made the world go quiet.

She rose before him, floating in the air, her black wings wide-spread, twenty feet across. Her silver-white skin shone bright enough to dim the moon; she smelled of flowers he had never seen, of unearthly skies. Her red-snake eyes glowed with a fire that threatened to turn into his brain into smoldering ash. He stumbled back, feeling his knees grow weak and threaten to give way.

“Hold, Tiberius,” said Nyx. “Hold and hear your fate.”

Tiberius forced himself to stop, to straighten and stand tall. He was emperor, whether he willed it or not, and he would die as one. “My… my fate?”

“Your successor, Sejanus, plans your overthrow. Even now he lies with your niece, Livilla, and plots with her to hand Rome to the Julians. Your death will come soon, and your Rome will be destroyed because of it.”

“Rome?” Tiberius shook his head. “Why would Rome be destroyed if I die? I am an old man.”

“Not so old as that,” purred Nyx, and Tiberius, who had little use for women, felt his flesh stirring in response to her voice. “Not so old as to be enfeebled. No so old as to be unable to change your fate.” She held out her arms. “Come with me, Tiberius. See your niece groan under this man, and hear their plans. They must be stopped, for the good of Rome.”

Tiberius, Emperor of Rome, climbed carefully onto the balcony rail, and into Nyx’s arms.

Sejanus, Consul of Rome, walked into the Roman senate and smiled. He still had to be polite and kind to these senators, but not for much longer.
Soon I will be Emperor over them all,
he thought.
And then it will be their turn to grovel to me.

“Gentlemen,” said Sejanus. “Tell me what brings us here today. I am a busy man.”

“Very busy,” agreed Senator Marcus Britannias. “Why, you’ve been rooting out so many traitors I worry there may not be an honest man left in Rome.”

A chuckle filled the room, and Sejanus frowned at that. These men were senators, true, but he was still Consul. He could add half of the senators to the list of those to be tried and they would not be able to do anything about it. They should speak to him with some respect. “Perhaps, gentlemen, we should get to the matter at hand.”

“But of course,” said Britannias. “Would you read the letter, Appias Claudius?”

“With pleasure,” said Appias, rising to his feet. He opened a scroll case, took out the scroll and broke the Emperor’s seal in it. “By order of Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus, let it be known that Lucius Aelius Sejanus is guilty of treason against Rome, of plotting against the Emperor, and of attempting his overthrow. He is to be taken from the Senate, stripped of his robes and sandals, and whipped naked through the streets to the shores of the Tiber, where rocks are to be tied to his arms and legs before he is to be thrown into his river. All his possessions are to be taken by the Senate and re-distributed to those the Senate deems worthy. Further, my niece, Livilla, who was his willing co-conspirator, is to be placed under arrest and delivered to my home in Capri, at which time I will attend her punishment personally.”

“What?” Sejanus stood, amazed, in the middle of the floor. “That’s impossible! I am no traitor! I am not!”

The centurions who seized his arms didn’t listen as they dragged him out of the Senate chambers. Appias Claudius continued reading. “Let it be further announced that, in reward for the visions that led to my investigations, there will be a temple constructed to she whose great power saved Rome… ”

Sejanus was dragged from the chamber and heard no more.

34 A.D. – Rome

“So,” said Persephone, looking at the large, empty chamber. “A little bare, isn’t it?”

“It is now,” said Nyx, feeling strangely defensive. It was stupid, because it was just a building, but it was her temple, after all. It just wasn’t finished yet. Outside, it was impressive enough. She’d had the workers build it in the Greek style, round instead of rectangular, with a large domed ceiling above. The city’s best artists had been working on the murals of the walls and ceiling, but they were only half-complete. The murals—of emperors and nobles, of feasts and hunts, of victory and celebration, of love and sex—would cover all the walls. And in the center, there would be a huge statue of Nyx herself, nude, with her wings wrapped around her body. “It isn’t done yet.”

She had inserted herself into the dreams of Rome’s finest sculptor. The next morning he had run in to pray at the temple.

Human art was astonishing to Nyx. Human lives were so brief, and yet they spent hours, days, even years creating beauty, whether in the hopes it would live longer than they or just creating it for its own sake. The sculptor thought himself blessed by the opportunity to represent her in stone, and assured her the sculpture would be finished by the end of the year. She was more excited than she would ever admit. “I can see where you’re going with it, though,” said Ishtar. “You’re a goddess of plenty, of strength, of fertility and… what else?”

“Justice?” suggested Persephone.

“Vengeance,” said Nyx, a small smile curving her ripe lips. “All who worship me truly need not fear my wrath. All who betray me, or betray those who worship me, I will destroy. In my name there is health and happiness, and those who serve me know peace, pleasure and plenty.”

“Interesting,” said Persephone. She looked at Ishtar. “How long do you think Nyx will last as a Goddess of Peace?”

“Longer than I have to last as Isis, I hope,” said Ishtar. “Do you know how boring her rituals are? And every year they re-enact the death of her husband. It’s awful!”

“What,’s strange,” said Nyx, “is that I can hear them. I can hear the prayers of my worshippers.”

Persephone grinned. “I know.”

“What?” Nyx whirled on the other Angel. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because finding out is half the surprise,” said Persephone, dodging Nyx’s swat at her. “You can hear their prayers, and their thoughts of you. You can get into their minds and hear all they intend to do. It makes miracles rather easy.”

“Not if you can’t hear anything,” said Isis. “I’m not Isis so I can’t hear a thing. I have to walk among them as a mortal and listen in on their conversations.” Ishtar shuddered. “Mankind is boring.”

“How do I stop hearing them?” asked Nyx.

“You don’t,” said Persephone. “It becomes like a river of voices that flow through your head. It’s always there in the background. Then, when you pay attention to it, you can hear every individual thought.”

“Sounds… annoying,” said Nyx.

“When they worshipped me, I could hear them begging for my mercy,” said Ishtar. “Especially lovers whose parents wouldn’t let them be together. I give you a hundred years before it starts wearing on you.”

“I can last more than a hundred years,” said Nyx, feeling her irritation rising. “I can last as long as either of you!”

“A thousand five hundred years,” said Persephone, haughtily. “And counting.”

“So what will they sacrifice to you?” asked Ishtar. “Pigs?”

“Pigs?” repeated Nyx, her voice dangerous. “Why would I ask them to sacrifice smelly, disgusting filthy beasts to me?”

“Because bacon is delicious,” said Ishtar. “Morrigan and I used to get together at her festivals and the feasts were amazing.”

“How about doves?” suggested Persephone.

“Horses?”

“Bulls?”

“Virgins,” said Ishtar. “I always liked virgins.”

“Male or female?” asked Persephone.

“Both is best,” said Ishtar. “That way they don’t run out of people.”

“The Romans frown on human sacrifice,” said Nyx, glaring at them. “Now take this seriously.”

“All Gods have sacrifices,” said Persephone. She pointed her finger at Ishtar. “This one had temple prostitutes. All women were expected to enter into her temple and could not leave until they’d had sex for money once.” She frowned. “Must have been difficult for some of them.”

“There’s no woman so ugly that a drunk man won’t have sex with her,” sneered Ishtar.

“What about the women who liked women?”

Ishtar grinned. “It helped reinforce their opinions.”

“Anyway,” said Persephone. “If you don’t want to sacrifice virgins, just sacrifice their virginity.” Her form shifted and she became a very young woman, fresh and nubile, with perfectly formed small breasts poking at the gauzy fabric of a white linen shift that was just too short to cover her bottom. Her hands tugged down the front of the shift as her voice turned sweet and breathy. “Must I give the blood of my innocence to be initiated into the rites of Nyx?”

“What about the boys?” asked Ishtar. “What blood do you accept from them? Their foreskin?”

“Can’t,” said Nyx. “The Christians and Jews do that, and since that’s who we’re fighting against… ”