Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series Read online

  Academy of Secrets

  From the Outcast AngelsTM

  Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction Series

  Michael Carney

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  Outcast Angels Stories by Michael Carney

  Time Loop

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  Academy of Secrets

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  PROLOGUE I

  The Ice Pits of Hades, April 27 1605

  i

  “Tāwʾālep kāphē mēmhē tāwḥēt hērēšhē”

  As it slammed its pickaxe into a thick vein of frost-crystal deep within the Ice Pits of Hades, the Outcast Angel known only as Prisoner Eleven silently chanted the phrase that could mean either freedom or eternal torment.

  Eleven had overheard a demon recite the spell five hundred years earlier. Fearful of forgetting, it repeated the words to itself many times each and every day. The same agonized thought followed every repetition. What if these words are wrong?

  There was only one way to find out. Get to the portal and try to use the spell to escape.

  But that prospect seemed as impossible as ever.

  # # #

  Eleven—no Outcast Angel captives were permitted names, by personal order of the leader of the Darke Warriors, Lord Hurakan—was the only living prisoner on Hades. Every other prisoner had died at least once and been resurrected to suffer the eternal damnation of the netherworld.

  Eleven’s appearance was indistinguishable from that of the humans around it. All heads were hairless—condemned Ice Pit workers had their heads shaved once a week as a simple identification measure. And each worker wore a tunic fashioned from the hides of helldragons. The toughened skins were a practical solution to the harsh conditions of the Ice Pits, but did little to protect the wearers from the bitterly cold environment that was Hades.

  The excavation of the Ice Pits continued for hour after hour, as it did every single day. There was a brief pause during Hour 15, when one of the workers was crushed in a rockslide. “Get that body out of the pit,” snarled one of the demon guards, “and add another thousand years to its sentence for clumsiness.” Those whose bodies died on Hades were simply resurrected there—but then their new bodies had to be retrained, reducing their productivity for many weeks, which the demons hated.

  After twenty hours, Eleven’s shift was over for another day. Four hours of rest before tomorrow’s shift begins. Eleven joined the thousands of human workers swarming from the pits and making their way up the roughly-cut paths to the higher levels. Eleven was halfway to the top when most of the demons began shouting and cheering.

  ii

  The Darke Warrior Nekhbet, sitting alone in her palace office on the top level of Hades, allowed herself a brief smile of satisfaction. The pope has been killed. She had already sensed the resulting probability changes, minutes before the confirming mind-message had arrived from Rome.

  It was the 27th of April 1605 on Earth and the new Roman Catholic Pope Leo XI, formerly Alessandro Ottaviano de’ Medici, had just died. He had served as pontiff for less than a month before unexpectedly passing away, ostensibly as the result of a cold. Nekhbet knew better. As a cousin of the Queen of France, Alessandro would have kept the peace between France and the Papal States in the coming war. That future possibility has now been wiped from existence.

  Nekhbet was beginning to examine the new probability implications when she heard loud noises outside. Frowning, she strode across to the main window with its panoramic view of the city of Tartaros, home to the millions of demons that inhabited Hades. What’s happening out there? Despite all her prophetic powers, Nekhbet was usually oblivious to the going-on of the ordinary demons around her.

  Row after row of two-thousand-foot-high buildings stretched out as far as the eye could see. They were usually so grim and silent, but now dozens of helldragons circled over the city, their riders crying out to each other. Furious at the disruption, Nekhbet tuned into some of the thousands of mind-messages flooding across the city, and then relaxed. They’re celebrating the killing of the pope, she realized. I suppose it’s about time. There hasn’t been much to party about lately, especially since our failure with the Spanish Armada.

  Nekhbet returned to the battered stone table that served as her desk. If you think this little success is worth celebrating, she thought before turning her attention back to her calculations, wait until we win the Lost War.

  iii

  Eleven reached the surface of the Ice Pits and looked around in amazement. Everywhere, demons were running amok. They haven’t been this crazy since they caught that other Outcast Angel and dragged its newly-resurrected body through Hades.

  That cruel event was the catalyst that had triggered Eleven’s determination to escape, thirteen hundred years earlier. The memory of that same event prompted Eleven now. There are nearly four hours until the next shift, that’s how long until they notice that someone is missing. With the demons all distracted, there’ll never be a better chance to try to escape.

  Still, Eleven hesitated. If the escape failed and its body was killed by the demons in the process, Eleven would be doomed to eternity in Hades—its body would be resurrected in that hellhole and it would forevermore be under the mind-control o
f Lucifer and his demons.

  Will the spell work? That was the single question that mattered—and Eleven could only find out by somehow getting to the palace chamber which housed the portal, the one physical gateway between Hades and Earth. That means passing through the city, and several heavily-guarded checkpoints.

  Eleven agonized over its decision for another minute, but in the end, it had no choice. Eleven had already been imprisoned in Hades for more than ten thousand Earth years, effectively condemned to eternal torment. This was its best and probably only chance to escape.

  Eleven bent its shoulders and lowered its head. That pose was typical of the weary, desolate stance of the Barren—those resurrected humans that the demons considered useless for all but the most menial of tasks.

  In that uncomfortable position, Eleven shuffled its way out of the main gate that separated the Ice Pits from the city of Tartaros and headed for the first checkpoint.

  iv

  Nekhbet, in the midst of complex planning for the Lost War, sat back with a start. There had just been a change to one of the hundreds of individuals whose futures she monitored in the back of her mind.

  Unsure of exactly who that individual might be, and what the change might entail, Nekhbet spent several minutes sorting through the many possibilities. Eventually, she identified the source.

  Ah, Eleven, decided to try to escape after all these years, did we? That will cost you your soul, if not your secret.

  Nekhbet reached out with her mind, preparing to issue orders for one of the Ice Pit guards to stop the runaway—and then had a better idea. Let’s see how far you get, young Eleven.

  Nekhbet began to actively track Eleven’s progress, enjoying the brief distraction from the arduous task of planning the war.

  v

  Eleven shuffled slowly towards the first checkpoint. Here goes.

  “What do you want?” snapped the demon at the checkpoint. “Where are you going?”

  Eleven bent even lower, adopting the typical droning, listless voice of a Barren. “Lord Kasdaye requires a message to be taken to Lord Dalkiel.” Eleven deliberately named two of Hades’ most senior Darke Warriors.

  “What is the message?” demanded the demon.

  Eleven cowered. “Th-th-th-the Lord instructs that the message is only for Lord Dalkiel.”

  “That’s not good enough,” said the demon. “I need to know the message before I can let you pass.”

  “Th-th-then, you can m-m-m-mind-call Lord Kasdaye,” Eleven stuttered.

  The demon paused, and for a frightening moment, Eleven feared that the demon would call its bluff and mind-call the Darke Warrior. Surely, it won’t be willing to disturb such a senior Darke Warrior on such a minor matter?

  It was and it did.

  vi

  Eleven couldn’t hear the mind-conversation that ensued, but the demon’s facial expressions suggested that the chat wasn’t going well. After a minute or two, it was apparent that Lord Kasdaye had abruptly terminated the discussion.

  The demon turned back to the nervous Eleven. “Lord Kasdaye says that he is otherwise engaged and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. I don’t have time for this either, it’s Leo-day and I’m off-shift in a few minutes. Get out of here.” The demon waved Eleven through. “Go now, before I change my mind.”

  Eleven shuffled slowly past the checkpoint, wanting desperately to run but being careful to continue to act like a Barren.

  # # #

  That went better for you than I had expected, Eleven, thought Nekhbet, who had observed the proceedings through the eyes of the checkpoint guard. Let’s see how you cope if I make your journey a little more difficult. Nekhbet placed a quick mind-call, issued several instructions, and then leaned back in her chair to observe.

  vii

  Eleven shuffled through the Tartaros city streets, belatedly wishing it had adopted a speedier disguise. Still, there’s no doubting that this is highly effective—none of the demons are paying any attention to a Barren.

  The passing demons had other things on their mind—they were going to party, hard. Many of the demons scurrying past Eleven carried supplies of the usual brew, fermented manblood, harvested from mostly-accidental human deaths. A fortunate few had scored very rare basiliskblood from the palace reserves. Those demons definitely won’t be doing any work tomorrow, thought Eleven as it turned onto one of the main Tartaros thoroughfares.

  Eleven reduced its already slow pace. Something odd was happening at the checkpoint ahead. Three helldragons hovered nearby, their massive scaly wings flapping languidly as they maintained their stationary position above the checkpoint.

  Their riders, clearly annoyed at having to miss out on the festivities, were closely inspecting everyone who approached. There’s no way to get past there without being spotted as a fake, thought Eleven.

  Eleven lingered, pretending to consult instructions from its master, while it considered its options. Can’t go back and can’t go around.

  # # #

  Nekhbet, watching Eleven through the multifaceted eyes of one of the helldragons, was getting bored. Come on Eleven. Make your move, she demanded, making her helldragon-host uneasy but achieving little else. Your four hours are slipping away and I have a war to plan. If you don’t move along soon, I’ll have to send for Nemesis.

  viii

  Eleven was still one block away from the checkpoint. With few options ahead, it slipped into the last remaining side street. The street itself was effectively indistinguishable from all the other streets in the neighborhood, with tightly packed rows of two-thousand-foot-high apartment buildings. It was also, for the moment, empty of demons.

  A wild idea seized Eleven. It looked around in all directions. Nobody in sight.

  Without stopping to decide whether this was just a stupid idea or actually a really stupid idea, Eleven summoned its wings from the aether. The glorious, white feathered appendages, sixteen feet from wingtip to wingtip, shimmered into ectoplasmic existence on Eleven’s back. Eleven had not used them for more than ten thousand years—Outcast Angels were forbidden to use their wings in Hades, on pain of instant and prolonged punishment—but they felt as comfortable and familiar as ever.

  Driving the wings with its mind, Eleven launched into the air and quickly flew to the top of the nearest apartment building, two thousand feet up. It was a maneuver that should have been impossible in Hades—and would have been, on any other day but this. The demonic eyes that normally would have spotted and reported such a heresy were otherwise occupied.

  # # #

  Even Nekhbet didn’t know what Eleven had done. She knew that some factor had changed—the probabilities told her so—but the helldragon hadn’t seen anything, and Nekhbet didn’t think to redirect its gaze upwards.

  Before Nekhbet could determine what was happening, she sensed that Eleven had slipped past the checkpoint and was moving towards the palace chamber that contained the portal.

  Very well, thought Nekhbet, releasing her mental grip on the helldragon, I’ll do this myself.

  She headed towards the steps that led down to the portal chamber.

  ix

  Eleven scrambled across the rooftops, making short flying hops from one roof to another, bypassing the remaining checkpoints that stood between it and the palace. Once past all the guards, Eleven flew back down to ground level, rapidly dismissing its wings before they could be noticed. It then resumed its slow shuffle towards the cheerless grounds of the Hades palace that housed Lucifer’s most trusted Darke Warriors.

  Eventually, Eleven arrived at the palace and made its way down to the chamber containing the portal. The room was empty and unguarded.

  Eleven straightened up, discarding its Barren disguise. It walked over to the portal that occupied the center of the room. Hope this works.

  Eleven took a deep breath. Its entire future was on the line. “Tāwʾālep kāphē mēmhē tāwḥēt hērēšhē”

  Nothing happened.

  # # #

&nbs
p; Nekhbet, who had been watching from a hidden control room, almost laughed aloud. Fool. We change the portal spell every day. What else would you expect?

  Then she noticed a critical change that had just emerged in Eleven’s probability patterns. How very interesting. Your potentialities have now changed dramatically. If you escape from Hades now, you might well become the one who actually triggers the Lost War.

  She cast a quick spell.

  # # #

  Eleven was thrown into darkest despair. It didn’t work. The most likely outcome now was to be arrested and handed over to the Darke Warrior executioner, Nemesis.

  Then, belatedly, wonderfully, the portal flared into life—accompanied by a deafening series of alarm bells that filled the chamber and that every demon for miles around would have heard.

  Even Leo-day won’t be enough for them to miss those alarms. Time to go. Eleven plunged into the portal and was instantly translated to Alepotrypa.

  PROLOGUE II

  Alepotrypa, Morea [Greece], Midnight Wednesday April 27 1605

  Fireballs exploded into the midnight sky high above the Peloponnesian peninsula. The sole onlookers, a few shepherds tending their flocks on the rugged mountainside nearby, looked up in terror.

  What followed left the shepherds utterly convinced that the cave at Alepotrypa was indeed, as ancient tales suggested, the gateway to Hades.