Plague of Angels (19 page)

313 A.D.

As the sun set, Nyx screamed in fury and hurled herself again at Milan. Once more, the divine wind caught her, and when she crashed to earth, she was in a forest in Western Gaul. She rose and charged forward again, not heeding the bruises and lacerations on her body, or the missing feathers on her wings. Faster than sound she winged forward, determined to reach Milan and stop Constantine.

Fucking Constantine!

It was the first time in the 280 years that she had been fighting the rise of Christianity that she had not been able to reach an Emperor. It was the first true reversal in close to 150. Nyx had been guiding emperor after emperor, urging worse and worse persecutions. Septimus Severus had begun executing Christians and encouraging the same across the provinces. Maximus the Thracian continued the tradition, cutting them down whole communities and burying their corpses in pits. Decius and Valerian had continued, killing even more and driving the movement underground.

And Diocletian—Ah, Diocletian, thought Nyx—had been a true follower. He had set out to exterminate the Christians, and Nyx had encouraged him all the way. She had even let him fuck her in her temple as reward for all he had done. Christians were slaughtered by the hundreds: crucified, burnt, thrown to the animals. She had actually been making progress.

Then along comes fucking Constantine,
snarled Nyx to herself.
And fucks up everything!

Constantine’s mother had been Christian, which made him lenient. He had been raised in the East, away from Nyx’s direct influence, and had become ruler in the West. And then, as his armies marched on Rome, Constantine had a vision.

Vision!
Nyx thought.
Hallucination! Mindless stupidity!

Constantine had emblazoned his army with the Christian’s Chi Rho, and he believed that is was what had led to his victory. Nyx had not even been able to approach him. In horror she watched as the successful persecutions of the last 100 years fell away as Constantine’s armies advanced from Gaul to Rome.

Now the fucker is in Milan,
she thought,
talking to the fucking Christians about legitimizing their fucking fake fucking religion.

“I WON’T HAVE IT!” Nyx screamed. She forced herself forward even faster, heedless of the pain she was in.

Ishtar and Persephone swooped in from either side, each catching an arm in her hands and wrapping her legs around one of Nyx’s. Nyx screamed in fury and tried to shake them off. She was stronger than they, a better warrior and filled with power from her couplings with Tribunal. On any other day she would have kicked their asses. This day, with her body battered by the divine winds, her strength was not nearly what it had been before.

Persephone and Ishtar forced her to slow down, steered her southward toward Piscae. She fought them every inch of the way, ripping at their flesh and trying to bite, claw and kick them for nearly an hour until they reached the city. Together Persephone and Ishtar slammed her to the earth, bringing her down on the roof of her own temple, and pushed her inside.

As soon as they let her go, Nyx attacked the Angels with claws and feet, bruising and breaking them. Ishtar and Persephone fought back just as hard, scoring flesh and breaking bones in return.

The humans within the temple ran as the walls shook with the fight. The people in the area fled as the noise of the battle echoed through the neighborhood. For three days the Angels fought, until they all lay exhausted and hideously wounded, on a floor smeared with a mess of silver blood, scattered feathers, ichor, ripped flesh and torn hair.

Nyx lay in the middle of the floor, gasping and shaking, tears leaking from her eyes.
Oh, Tribunal…
she thought.
I’ve failed you.

“Now,” said Persephone, her voice strange and nasal from her broken nose, which now bent sideways across her face. “Are you through being stupid?”

Nyx looked up, her red eyes flashing with rage. She drew herself slowly to her feet, ignoring the pain of the leg she’d broken against a pillar when she missed a kick at Ishtar.

“Give it up,” said Persephone, pulling herself to her own feet. The movement brought silver blood streaming from a dozen wounds. Her stomach, legs, breasts and face were a mass of slashes and gouges. Her armor was rent through in a hundred places. “We lost this one.”

“We… haven’t… LOST!” screamed Nyx, and the sound of it would have shattered any mortal’s eardrums, had they been in hearing range.

“He’s a Christian Emperor!” screamed Persephone back. “He’s untouchable! Leave him alone and get ready to fight the next one!”

“But the Christians will increase a thousandfold!” Nyx grabbed her leg and forced the broken bone back into place, gritting her teeth as it slid back inside her flesh. She willed it to heal and felt it slowly responding.

“So what?” demanded Ishtar, pulling herself upright from the floor. Half her face was gone, and her left arm was flayed open to the bones and inverted at the elbow. Silver blood oozed from her crotch where Nyx had managed to plant one particularly vicious kick. Both her wings were broken in at least two places. “You’ve been going against them for 300 years. You’ve never gotten ahead.”

“My temples are across the Empire!”

“The Empire is dying,” said Persephone. “Rome is lost.”

“I won’t lose Rome!”

“You already have!” screamed Persephone. “Look around! The East rebels, the West rebels! Even Constantine won’t be able to stay here forever!”

“She’s right,” said Ishtar.

“How the fuck would you know?” demanded Nyx. “Either of you?”

“Because we’ve seen it before!” snapped Ishtar. “You were too busy playing in Hell and fucking with individuals. You never paid attention to the empires. I was worshipped for millennia! I watched my worshipers grow and I heard all their voices and then I watched Babylon die! I heard my followers screams as they were killed.”

“Well it isn’t happening to my followers!”

“It is!” shouted Persephone. “Empires fall! And right now, Rome is the empire falling!”

“Fuck you!” screamed Nyx.

“You know we’re right!” shouted Persephone. “Otherwise you would have fought with your sword!”

Nyx looked down at her hands, coated with the ichor of Ishtar and Persephone, then up at the ruined bodies and faces of the other two Angels. None of them had drawn weapons for the last three days. In fact, it had not even occurred to Nyx to do so.

“Fuck you,” said Nyx again, though there was no anger left in her. Despair washed over her. “Fuck you both for being right.”

Nyx collapsed to the ground again, the last of her energy spent. Ishtar and Persephone waited a moment, then slowly sat down themselves. None of them said anything for a time. Each was wrapped in their own world of pain as their bodies began the slow process of healing.

Nyx finally looked up from the floor. “Do I look as bad as you two?”

“Much, much worse,” said Persephone, grinning. “But then, we were always prettier.”

Nyx managed a laugh, and felt her broken ribs grating together as she did. “So now what, my counselors of all things mortal?”

“First,” said Ishtar, “We heal.”

“Then, we fuck,” said Persephone. She grimaced as the bones of one win popped back into place. “After a good fight, you need a good fuck.”

“And then,” said Nyx, “We get revenge.”

“No,” countered Persephone. “First we build your new cult and then we get revenge.”

Nyx grinned, and the pain of it made her realize both her cheekbones had been broken. “Now that sounds like an idea.”

“And no more taking on the Christians head-on,” said Persephone. “You’re the Queen of Hell. Why stay here and fight in their territory when there’s a whole world of possible followers for you?”

“True, that.” Nyx thought about it. “But I can’t go far. I have to have an army ready to wipe out the Christians when the time comes.”

“There’s a large amount of territory to the east,” said Persephone.

“India is already full of Hindus,” said Ishtar. “ They’ve got so many gods you can’t tell which one they’re worshipping. And the Christians have already started working there. Further east is China. Half of them worship their ancestors and the other half keep talking about the Buddha.”

“Which Angel was the Buddha, anyway?” asked Nyx. “He wasn’t one of mine.”

“I don’t think he was an Angel,” said Persephone. “These humans have a knack for worshipping their own.”

“Figures,” said Nyx. “What about north and west?”

Persephone nodded. “There’s a whole big area out there, filled with tribes and raiders who haven’t even heard of the Christians.”

“And there’s certainly worry and dissent in the North about the Romans,” said Ishtar. “Maybe it’s time to start using them.”

Nyx stretched. More bones popped into place and she let herself revel in the agony. It had been a good fight, and it had been three hundred years years since the last time she’d had a challenge like that. “Right, then. Healing, fucking, and then fucking over the Romans.” She grinned again, her broken cheekbones flaring up with pain. “Let’s make it so their empire isn’t even remembered anymore.”

Chapter 7

For seven years,
they flew.

As Angels, they could speak and understand every language in God’s creation, and so Nyx, Persephone, and Ishtar, sometimes together, sometimes apart, crisscrossed the world. They visited nations, empires, tribes and villages on mountains, plains and islands; in forests, deserts and fertile river valleys. They learned a thousand different customs and beliefs, and watched hundreds of religious rituals, from grass-hut villages where a new child was carried to every house in the village to be kissed and blessed, to cities of stone where enemies were laid out on an alter, and their still-beating hearts pulled from their bodies. Some of it made them laugh; some of it made them wonder where where humans got their ideas. And always there was art, music, blood, sacrifice, hope and despair.

The Angels disguised themselves as men and rode into battle or walked on hunts or sat in circles of elders, listening. As women they sat by fires, made pottery and tended children – save Ishtar who flat out refused. Persephone delighted in the role-playing, and took to each new bit of acting with vigor and imagination. Ishtar found it all incredibly distasteful, and would disappear for days at a time, coming back with the stench of blood on her breath and a cruel smile on her face.

Nyx played each role, listened to all the stories and watched all the people. She was charming and polite when she needed to be, strong and persuasive when she wanted to be, and underneath it all, she was seething with rage.

It was worse at nights, when she was alone and could hear the voices of her worshippers. There were fewer of them with every passing year. More and more people were drifting away from her temples, embracing Christianity and calling on Jesus – who would never answer them because he could not hear – instead of Nyx.

It made her angry, knowing they were worshiping her love by the wrong name, knowing that they thought of him as a creature of love and peace, who cared and would save them. Tribunal had hated them all, hated what he was supposed to represent to them, and hated what they did to themselves, each other, and to him.

Every time she thought of her Tribunal, she felt his hatred of humanity rise up inside her.

And every night, when she listened to her followers, she struggled to understand why He hated them so much. Some of them were awful. A few were so bad she dispatched them to Hell herself, rather than wait for them to die of natural causes. Other who were just as vile she had let live because they were useful to her, knowing they would meet again in Hell where she could give then their just deserts. But the many who were good, or fairly good, who did their best, perturbed her. She shouldn’t care about these tiny lives. And she didn’t, individually, but as a whole they… moved her.

She could never understand what it was like to live so briefly, to know one had at best a few decades. She wondered if that was part of what made Tribunal what He was, part of why He hated them so much.

At the end of the seven years, the three Angels met at Isis’s temple at Philae, taking over the inner sanctum and declaring it theirs alone. The priests, seeing what they thought was their goddess in the flesh, acquiesced and evacuated the temple immediately Daily they delivered tribute to Angels in the form of food, wine, and young men and women to be their entertainment. The Angels used the humans as they liked, but spent most of their days creating and then pouring over a map of the world more detailed than any other in existence. Rome was at the center of it, of course, but the world they laid out was far larger than the world the humans knew existed. Persephone wondered what one of these maps—the round earth with its mighty oceans—would do to the thinking of a human. But even the wisest scholars, even the most experienced sailors, would not believe it even if they saw it.

Nyx stared at the map for five days.

Constantine and Licinius had broken off their talks in Milan when Maximin had crossed the Bospherus and invaded Licinius’ territory. Licinius had fought Maximin off and gained control of the eastern Roman Empire. The year after, Constantine and Licinius had started in on each other again. It had become a vicious, deadly bicker that cost lives and was helping the empire disintegrate. Christianity was becoming the preferred religion of the empire, though others were still tolerated. It was only a matter of time before that changed, though.

I hope Constantine falls off his horse and impales himself through his ass on a splintery stump.
Nyx sighed. It was unlikely, and she wasn’t able to do it herself. Constantine would live and die in his own time and eventually would (if there was any justice) end up in Hell where she would enjoy punishing him for a few thousand years before turning him over to someone else for the rest of eternity.

Besides, she had other plans.

In the North, the there were tribes who had never heard of Christianity. In the East, past the Goths, were others. The Goths were close enough to Rome that half of them were Christians already. Still, they were uneasy neighbors, and there were other, even fiercer tribes around them.

It would take very little to send the Goths into Rome…

Nyx blinked for the first time in five days. Then she stood up and called the others to her.

“About time,” complained Ishtar, coming out of the bed where she and Persephone had been lounging, enjoying a list they’d compiled of all the sexual phrases in the world’s many languages. “I thought you were going to turn to stone, standing there.”

“Are we going to travel more?” asked Persephone. “It’s boring here.”

“Please, no!” said Ishtar. “Can’t we just kill something?”

“Yes to both of you,” said Nyx. “Come look.”

She pointed to the areas north and east of Roman territory. “Who lives here?”

“Varengians,” said Ishtar, pointing to the north. “Suiones, Geats.”

“Huns,” said Persephone, pointing to the east. “Alvars, Alans, Goths.”

“Many of whom have nothing to do with Christianity.”

“The Goths are Christians,” said Ishtar.

“But they are Arianists,” said Persephone, “Which should put them in direct conflict with the Romans, who are Trinitarians, should they cross the Danube.”

“And all they need to do that is a little push,” said Nyx, tapping the map. “From the Huns.”

“Oh, let me,” said Ishtar. “I know what will push them to move.”

“Not you,” said Nyx. “Persephone is going to start working on the Huns. You, have a much more difficult task.”

“I do?” said Ishtar suspiciously. “What is it?”

Nyx grinned. “Rome.”

“Rome?” the distaste in Ishtar’s voice was echoed in her twisted expression. “Rome is falling apart.”

“Yes, it is,” said Nyx. “And your job is to see to it that it keeps falling apart, until it ceases to exist.”

Ishtar’s face slowly untwisted until she was smiling, her whole beautiful face lit with glee. “Now, that I can do. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow,” said Nyx. She took each of them by the hand and led them to the bed. “Tonight, my pretties, we eat, drink and be very, very merry.”

320 A.D.

The Sarmatian raiders rode on as fast as they could. The scales of their armor, made from the hooves of horses cut thin and sewn together, rattled and jumped as their horses galloped flat out.

Their leader rode magnificently, in turns driving his raiders forward, then wheeling back to give battle to the cavalry that pursued. Hour after hour, he fought against the Romans, and his sword and armor were soaked with their blood by the time they reached Issacea, where they had crossed into Constantine’s territory in the first place.

The rearguard was still there, surrounding the fort and keeping the guards imprisoned. The legion that had held it was the one now pursuing.

Right. Now to make sure they follow.

The leader of the Sarmatians shouted a command and as one the entire raiding party – eight hundred strong—wheeled and charge the Roman cavalry. Blood flew in all directions as hundreds of men clashed and cut and mutilated and killed each other. Horses died or went mad with pain, bucking and twisting over the battlefield. Men who fell off their mounts were trampled or dodged desperately through the crowd of animals, trying to avoid hooves and charging beasts even as they sought to pull enemy riders down. Most of the men on foot died. Some escaped the battle and ran into the hills around them.

The leader of the Sarmatians shouted again and the raiding party broke off and headed for the Danube. Men died as their horses wheeled away, but it didn’t matter. The leader let the rest of his men stream past so the pursuing cavalry could see him raise his prize:

The legion’s eagle, held high above his head.

The legion’s cavalry shouted and charged. The leader of the Sarmatians laughed as he rode past Issacea and into the Danube. The town of Issacea was one of the few places where the Danube was low enough to be forded, and the Sarmatians wasted no time in doing so. Their leader, captured eagle still high in his hands, raced through his troop, looking behind.

The legion’s cavalry didn’t hesitate to follow them, right into the river.

And on the other side is Licinius’ army,
thought Persephone, She had killed the leader of the Sarmatians two months before in single combat, then took his place to lead the tribe. They’d been incredibly successful ever since. She swung the eagle back and forth over her head again to make sure the Legion wouldn’t give up.
And Licinius not going to be happy at all to have Constantine’s legions on his soil.

This is really too easy.

326 A.D.

Crispus’s body was a pleasant one to wear, Ishtar decided. Constantine’s oldest and favorite son was in very good shape, strong, and pleasantly endowed, all of which Ishtar approved. He was also a true Christian, fanatically loyal to his father, and a brilliant and successful soldier. His victories on land and sea were the stuff that rebuilt empires, and that wouldn’t do at all.

Crispus was currently lying asleep, alone, in a very, very expensive brothel where his men had paid for his pleasure as a gesture of thanks for his leadership. Ishtar had borrowed the form of the young maiden that Persephone so liked and had serviced him long, well, and repeatedly, plying him with wine in between each act. The man was dead drunk, asleep, and unlikely to wake any time soon.

She had taken his form and clothes and slipped out the brothel back door, walking the back streets of Constantinople to the palace. She acted like someone who did not wish to be seen, though she made certain that she was. She reached the palace, entered through a servant’s door, and went in search of Fausta, Emperor Constantine’s wife.

Fausta did not approve of Crispus’s relation with his father. In fact, she had actively campaigned against it, trying to bring her own three sons to prominence, which would be much better for Nyx’s plans, since none of them were the commanders their half brother was.

Constantine had left the palace two days before to conduct business.

Ishtar found Fausta’s chambers and stepped inside. Tall, blond Fausta was lying on her bed, attended by two dark-haired women singing and playing the cithera. Wine and sweetmeats were laid out on a low table. Ishtar went directly to the bed, looked at the servants and said, “Get out.”

“They will stay,” said Fausta, eyes blazing. “You do not come in here and order my servants!”

Ishtar pulled out a knife and pointed at the servants. “You will get out of this room and go into the Empress’s dressing chamber. Now!”

The two girls scrambled to obey, and Ishtar locked the door behind them.

“What is the meaning of this, Crispus?” Fausta demanded. “How dare you come into my chambers and…”

“How dare you say to my father that we had an affair,” said Ishtar. “How dare you try to besmirch the memory of my mother and how dare you attempt to take away my throne!”

“I have done nothing of the sort!”

“Liar!” Ishtar tossed the knife aside and pulled the thick leather belt from around her waist. “I’ll teach you to lie, you bitch!”

Fausta started screaming when the first lash struck the side of her face and didn’t stop until Ishtar was done with her. Ishtar, knowing they would not be disturbed, stripped Fausta and whipped her thoroughly, leaving welts down her back, backside and thighs. Then she raped Fausta, sodomized her, and made her take Crispus’s soiled cock in her mouth to finish.