"The descent to Hades is much the same from whatever place we start."
--Anaxagoras

bowed my head over my hands respectfully all through morning devotions, effectively avoiding locking eyes with Nicolas. I could feel the brother's gaze upon me almost constantly, though I was not sure if I was actually attracting so much attention from the man, or if it was my own guilty conscience that was making me uncomfortable.

Whatever the cause, it made me work frantically through the day, throwing myself into my chores, leaving no time for him to question me regarding the night's activities. By dusk, however, it had become obvious to me that Nicolas had no intention of bringing up the subject, was in fact as reticent to discuss it as was I. When the time came for me to study my lessons, I had begun to relax, and I dared to dream about Isa, imagining what it would be like to share the rest of my life with such a girl. While the prospect seemed heavenly enough for any man, I had trouble coming up with a lifestyle that fit into the picture. All I really knew was reading and writing, and a few smatterings of languages; no small achievements, but not always lucrative in these times, when more and more men outside the church were educated in these things themselves. The average merchant knew enough to carry on his business without difficulty, likewise for the kings and nobles of the land, though these did still employ secretaries and interpreters to carry out the more mundane tasks that were part of diplomacy and trade.

And everything was changing. My ecclesiastical life was giving ground before the forces of disillusion and passion. Learning still held great power over me, but how could I trust in learning that was combined with the worship of a God that had proven to be as flawed as the men who deified him?

And as for Isa, I had tried unsuccessfully to deny my feelings for her, and had failed. My thoughts seemed to revolve around my fantasy, whatever its flaws, of a life with her. Someday, when all of this was over...

It was as I tripped over this thought that I at last came to myself. I scratched out the mistake I had just made on my lesson and threw the quill to the table in disgust. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. I had been poring over this problem for the better part of half an hour with no result, while these random musings drifted through my mind. I rose stiffly from my seat and went to the window, staring out over the darkened courtyard. The night sky was heavy with clouds. The air's moisture haloed the lanterns below, reminding me of a time as a small child, when I had gone with my father on a short boat trip across the harbor.

We had been returning as darkness fell and a light fog shrouded the port. My father had stood in the bow of the small craft, peering anxiously into the night. Then, with a sigh of relief, he had pointed out the dim haloes of the lanterns on the pier and said, "Look, Alix! It's the angels come to guide us home! Do you see their haloes?" I had felt so safe that night, there beside my father and before the angels...

I knew that there was little chance that I would lead the complacent life that I wanted so desperately to build for myself and Isa. The shadow of death and intrigue that dogged my steps showed no signs of subsiding. And to be truthful, I wasn't sure that I could give it up willingly were I given the opportunity. I had enjoyed the feeling of power that had filled me last night. For once I had not been at the mercy of everyone I encountered, and I had relished the feeling. This was power of the sort that every man dreamed of.

But it was a dangerous power. Could I trust it, considering the source? I remembered Lucien's entry in the journal, when he mentioned conspiring with "demons". He had shown a great deal of fear and regret over dealings with powers greater than he.

I saw that I was caught between a trio of seductions. No matter which path I chose, I would pay an enormous price.

Another storm came sometime early the next morning, bringing cold rain and sleet in a steady deluge. By the end of the second day, the river threatened to overrun its banks and flood the streets of the city.

I whiled my time in the mundane tasks given to me by Nicolas. My nights were filled with dreamless sleep, and I was thankful and did not wonder at the lack of interruption. I had decided to wait passively for the gods to make the next move (for I had come to think of Riothamus as a god too, of the old sort that the Romans and the Greeks had worshipped). When the time came, one of them would undoubtedly let me know what to do next.

In the meantime, I would enjoy this brief respite. Nor did I seek out Isa's company. Until I could come to some sort of conclusion about her part in all of this, I did not want to involve her any further. The God's intrusive reminder, at exactly the most inopportune of times, had served to warn me of the fragility of innocence as a shield against omnipotent power.

Nicolas and I were on equitable enough terms, although the brother carefully avoided any subjects dealing with dreams or with Isa. The high point of the three days of the storm was an animated discussion between Nicolas and an older monk named Damocles (the oddness of the name did not escape me-- I felt that it would suit me well these days), over the nature of God, Nicolas asserting that God must put love before judgment, and Damocles protesting loudly that the judgment of God was all that mattered, that His laws were absolute and therefore could not be tempered with love or any other emotion. Throughout this debate, I sat quietly in the corner and wondered if either of these arguments had any bearing on reality at all.

On the fourth day, the storm broke, leaving behind it a brisk wind and huge piles of white clouds in a brilliant blue sky. It was Saturday, and after morning devotions Nicolas proposed a ride along the river to look for herbs useful in soothing a nasty cough which had afflicted him from the onset of the storm. After being cooped up inside for several days, I readily agreed, and ran to saddle our mule and borrow another from the stable.

The animals seemed to be as happy about being out as were Nicolas and I. They trotted briskly into the wind, braying to each other on occasion. The air was ice-cold on our faces and hands, but the sun kept it from being too numbing. The road was slick with mud in spots where the swollen watercourse had overflowed its banks, but in most places was already beginning to dry.

We rode along merrily, taking turns reminiscing about various times of our lives. Nicolas did a greater share of the talking, and I was content to listen to the man's pleasant voice telling tales of distant places and times. Occasionally, I thought I heard the sound of hooves clopping upon the mud of the road somewhere, but, as I saw no one, paid it no mind.

After a while, Nicolas' throat grew weary from speaking, and we rode in silence, punctuated by his occasional fits of coughing. A flock of geese flew overhead, and later I saw a grey hare scurry from one bush to another. Dark storm clouds were piled on the wind coming from the northeast, and it seemed likely that another tempest was on its way.

Nicolas broke the silence abruptly. "There is much to be gained from the observation of the beasts of the field and wood and sky." He glanced sidelong at me, then continued. "One of the first things that comes to mind is the fundamental difference between them and us. We are endowed with a great gift, one which no other creature shares. Do you know of what I speak?"

I stared quizzically at the passing terrain for a few moments, then replied carefully, "I have heard it said that it is God's love that separates us from the animals, also that it is laughter. I would not swear by the first, and I have seen animals laugh. I saw a pair of squirrels in a tree, cackling at a cat on a windowsill, teasing it because they knew that it could not reach them."

"Well, I was not asking for a philosophical axiom, Alix. Those who use such devices often bypass the truth anyway. I believe that the truth is ever changing, that what is true today may not be true tomorrow. And God's love is with every creature, even the serpent in the grass, as Saint Francis would teach. What we have that is different is choice. We have free will, to make mistakes.

"Observe the hare that you pointed out earlier. It was probably out looking for food, undoubtedly driven from its burrow by hunger, since they do not often come out at mid-day. It has no choice but to do so, would not consider an alternative to it if one were presented, and would not look for any. Survival is a law in any species, but only man will take steps to disobey that law and bring about his own destruction. The birds of the flock will fly south, where it is warmer and foraging for food more profitable. Man imposes himself wherever he decides he wants to be, out of choice, and then goes about the task of making the environment conform to his needs, planting fields, domesticating the beasts, building shelter where none was to be found before.

"But with choice comes danger. We now push our beastly instincts to the rear in favor of reason, and therefore we become fallible. We become aware of what we do not have, what it is possible to have, and how to get it. This is dangerous."

He watched me struggle with his words until it seemed that I had absorbed their gist, then he continued. "Choice, then, and our ability to see various alternatives, is the source of our grace and of our sins.

"It takes a careful mixture of instinct and logic to make the right choices. Instinct to insure survival, and logic, a man-made science, to deal with the gift unique to man."

Nicolas waited patiently while I labored carefully through my thoughts, absorbing and digesting. I held the problem at arm's length, feeling wary. I sensed that Nicolas was attempting to lead me to some sort of conclusion, and I had a feeling that it had to do with Isa. "You imply that answers may be reached by some sort of formula, this much logic, this many choices, a touch of heart, like so. But how can a man, from his subjective position, do such a thing?"

"He cannot. You take me too literally, boy-- er, Alix. All I am saying is that these are the three elements of a decision, and that one must be tempered by the other two at all times. You could not hope to make any decision without any choices available to you. And it would be folly indeed to make a choice based on logic without taking into account the emotional effects-- whether or not it would satisfy you instinctively. And he is a fool indeed who is driven to one choice or another by his instincts alone."

"Do you mean like the mating instinct?"

I watched in amusement as Nicolas' face froze in surprise. I had known that my words would have this effect on him. Nicolas always preferred an abstract exercise in logic, or a parable, to direct confrontation. He quickly recovered himself, however, and replied curtly, "That is exactly what I mean." He kicked his mule abruptly in the sides and trotted ahead, the mule braying petulantly.

By noon we had reached a hilltop several miles from the town, and were looking for a place to stop and eat when hoofbeats alerted us to horses approaching from two different directions.

The first party of riders crested the hill at our backs and drew rein sharply. I turned to see four men in various garb. They were rough looking, all bearded and poorly dressed against the weather, and heavily armed. As they trotted to a halt, they fanned out, blocking the road. my nerves jangled in alarm. There was trouble here, I had little doubt of that, and the five similarly dressed riders who appeared before us a moment later confirmed it.

We were now encircled on all sides, and my mule brayed nervously. Neither I nor Nicolas spoke, knowing that words would be of little use here. I could hear Nicolas' harsh breathing beside me, mingled with the nervous shuffling of the mules. One of the men spurred his horse forward toward Nicolas. I could see a short stabbing sword in the man's fist, held low, point forward.

At that moment, time seemed to slow down as a now familiar feeling came over me. I realized that other forces were at work here. Suddenly, I did not feel at all helpless. In an instant I had leapt from the mule and placed myself between the man and Nicolas, my hands held before me as if to ward a blow. His progress did not halt at all. He merely adjusted the position of his weapon for a swing at my head. Nicolas said something, but I was already moving faster than I could think. I stepped in beneath the sword stroke and struck the man's arm, sending the cut wide and giving me time to grab a stirrup and lift. The man toppled from the saddle, overbalanced by his own stroke, and in another instant I had pulled a longsword from the scabbard that hung from his saddlehorn. A sharp curse came from the direction in which the man had fallen, but he did not immediately rise. I spun in time to see Nicolas clinging low over his mule's neck, trying to urge it forward. Behind him were two of the ruffians, pulling at his cloak in an effort to unseat him. The rest were coming for me.

I could not escape the feeling that I was in a dream. Time no longer made sense, creeping along while I danced some bizarre, violent ritual. The sky overhead grew darker by the second. The wind's intensity increased. The first rider reached me and jabbed with his sword. I stepped aside easily and swung my weapon. I stepped past the man, who was now screaming and clutching the stump where his arm had been, and turned my attention to a medium-sized oak that stood near the road. I exerted some will, and an instant later the oak fell, taking with it two men and their mounts.

The air was filled with the screams of men and horses. The height of the power was upon me now, and I once again felt the calm self-assurance that went with it. The two men had succeeded in pulling Nicolas from his horse, but he had somehow managed to roll away from their grasp. I leapt to the back of the first man's horse and engaged the enemy nearest me. I had to somehow fight my way back to Nicolas' side, but my three remaining opponents had engaged me from three different directions. I parried an awkward thrust and slid from the back of the horse to the opposite side, putting the animal between me and two of the three. The man before me now was a better fighter than the others, and it was all I could do to keep from being cut in half by his rapid, well-aimed strokes. The other two had dismounted and were approaching hastily. I moved in under the man's swing faster than he could retreat, thrusting upward to the throat. I felt my sword bite, but did not wait to see the result, spinning instead to catch an arcing stroke on the edge of my blade and riposting with an effective body cut. That one went down clutching his side. The last of the trio glanced around him with a worried expression on his face as he realized that the two remaining of the company were too far away to offer him any help. I seized the opportunity to finish the job with a cut that all but severed the man's head from his neck.

I glanced around me, looking for Nicolas, and saw him running down the hill on foot, closely pursued by his two attackers. I ran after them. The two men were gaining on the older Nicolas rapidly, and I concentrated upon making the ground open up beneath them. Nothing happened. I realized that the power was leaving me, as my steps began to pound bone-shatteringly against the ground and my heart labored against my chest. I was still gaining a little ground on the attackers, but was certain that I would not overtake them in time. The leading of the two men reached Nicolas just as the brother slipped in a patch of mud and fell partially to the ground. He grabbed Nicolas' arm and swung him around before him, yelling something at the second man and gesturing in my direction. The man stopped, turned and stood poised in the road. I continued forward, my eyes locked on the ruffian who held my friend.

Nicolas' expression was one of pure terror. I ignored the man who stood between myself and my goal as I attempted to close the distance. At the last instant, as he stepped to block my way, I dodged and circled, missing a low cut at my legs by inches. I was now only ten feet from Nicolas and his assailant.

I locked eyes with the brigand that held Nicolas as I progressed toward them, issuing the warning with a look that my laboring lungs would not allow me to voice. He grinned evilly as Nicolas' face contorted in a grimace of pain. A sword's point abruptly jutted from the front of his grey monk's robe. He slumped forward and was silent.

I screamed incoherently, then stood frozen in shock. Every tree, every rock, the very air itself vibrated with menace. The sound of thumping footsteps behind me brought me to action once more. I spun and crouched, bringing my sword up in a thrust under the wild head cut of my attacker. My arms were jarred painfully, but I impaled the man's rushing form to the hilt on my blade. I struggled vainly to pull my weapon free, but it was thoroughly jammed between his ribs, and his weight bore down upon it. I scrambled for the dead man's sword, found it, then whirled to face the last, whom I was certain would be upon me in seconds. Instead, the man stood staring up the hill at the carnage that I had wrought. His eyes slid back to me when I approached him, but he stood his ground warily, his bloodied weapon at the ready. I stopped just outside sword range and stared down at the body of the man who had been like a father to me for years. Nicolas lay at an unnatural angle, one arm twisted beneath his back. His trunk was arched toward the sky, at which his eyes gazed with the tattered stare of one who had died before he was ready.

The remaining attacker stood as if rooted to the spot, eyeing me cautiously, sword half-raised in readiness. His eyes flitted to the hilltop at the sound of hoofbeats, but they were retreating, not approaching. Certainly the one that I had unhorsed earlier. His eyes returned to meet mine. His tongue darted lizard-like back and forth over his lips. I did not move, savoring the uneasy shuffling of my enemy. Within me, my momentary despair was being filled rapidly with a predatory anger that was like nothing I had ever experienced. Here was power of a different kind, not supernatural but still effective, and I would use it.

Without warning I leapt over Nicolas' body and aimed an arcing stroke at the man's head. Something animal escaped from my throat and gorged itself on his fear. My adversary fell back and parried wildly. With each sword stroke, he fell back another step, never attempting a riposte. My weapon crashed down repeatedly, weakening his guard until, at last, his blade was pushed aside. He attempted to bring his sword back into defensive position, but his arm must have been wearied by my onslaught. I brought down my weapon in a final unimpeded arc, splitting the man's head in two.

I stood panting, drenched in sweat and gore, my face twisted into a grimace of hatred mixed with triumph. I thought that I had never felt so elated.

Nor empty. I walked the six paces back to the body of my mentor and friend, and picked him up gently in my arms. The old man weighed little more than a child to me. His body had lost all of its substance with his death, as if his intellect had been all that kept him rooted in the earth. I turned, still clutching the blade in my free hand, and walked numbly up the hill toward the animals that waited patiently in the failing light of day.

White, and cold. A shroud of mist hung everywhere about stunted trees and tall grass. I was hunting. A small rodent darted between my feet, and I skewered it unthinkingly with the sword and ate it.

Darkness.

Then light again, some trees, a hilltop that seemed familiar... Why was the earth so red here...?

Darkness.

Lying in a pool of water, shivering, knowing that I must move, and soon... But why? Oh, yes, my father. I must bury my father. But I should pray first, shouldn't I? But to whom? God would not listen. To logic? To instinct? I gave up.

Darkness.

Still lying in a pool of water, and soon I would die. A decision must be made... Instinct said that I must rise. Logic said nothing. I rose. The large black horse with the corpse slung over its saddle followed. Instinct...

Darkness.

A flapping of wings as the creature settled into place atop the stone monument. It looked as if it belonged there. It was blue and feral looking, vaguely manlike but with tufts of hair at the elbows and knees, and huge black bat wings that twitched nervously as if ready to burst into flight.

It spoke. "Ah, what have I found today? You are new here, I think, and that earns you a question. You may ask me anything."

"Would you be better roasted or baked in a pie?"

Wings flapped and it rose into the air for a moment, then returned. "You jest well, but this would be a waste of a question. Ask another."

"Who is God?"

Laughter.

Darkness.

My father sits behind a cluttered desk, a grimy man in grimy clothes. His eyes stare into space, his mouth is slack, and one arm hangs at his side, hand wrapped around a bottle of expensive Italian wine. I cross the room and stand before him. After a time, the reddend eyes focus, and he lifts his head to regard me.

"I am being visited by a shade. Begone." He stares at me belligerently. His chest rises and falls too rapidly from his labored breathing. "Begone, I said. Leave me to die in peace. I have told you before, I didn't know. I didn't..." His voice trails off into vague mumbling.

"Father it is me, Alix. Don't you recognize me?"

"Dead. You are dead. I am dead. You're mother, she is dead. I didn't know. You hate me. It doesn't matter. Leave me."

Darkness.

Nicolas slid from the coffin lid and crossed the tiny room.

"Nicolas... How... Nicolas, you are alive...?" The face melted away, reformed, became that of Riothamus.

"Not alive, but here. Here always, now."

"But... how...?"

"You are asking the wrong person. Ask yourself."

"Are you Nicolas, or Riothamus?"

"Yes."

Darkness.

I awoke sitting upright against a tree. The horse grazed nearby, making snorting noises. Nicolas' body lay stiffly over the rump of the horse, lashed there by thin cords which dug deeply into his wrists and ankles.

My mouth was dry with thirst. I rose unsteadily, shivering against the cold. It had rained recently, and my robe and cloak were soaked through. I found a rivulet of water nearby and knelt, placing my lips to it, drinking greedily.

I found the horse and tried to climb to its back. I almost made it, but my hand slipped from the saddlehorn and I fell roughly to the ground, screaming in pain as my wrist snapped beneath my weight.

Darkness.

I was riding. I could not remember how I got onto the horse's back. My left hand was concealed in my cloak, my right frozen around something cold. I opened my eyes to see that I was on the edge of the town. A drizzling rain fell from the sky. A door opened to my right and a face peered out for a moment, then the door slammed shut. Someone rounded the corner ahead, then turned and went back the way they had come. Another turning of the street and others were there, lining both sides of the street, staring with gaping mouths or muttering amongst themselves. I knew the university was nearby, but where?

The horse wandered through the streets aimlessly. Everywhere I was surrounded by ghostly, whispering shapes. Everything was growing darker, and I thought at first that I was going to faint again, until I realized that the light of the day was waning. Then the horse turned and I was in a courtyard that I recognized. Brethren of the Church ran to help me, and I half fell, was half lifted from the horse.

"What has happened? God in heaven, look at the boy!"

"Who is this... It's Brother Nicolas, the instructor!"

"What's his name? Alan? Alix. Alix! Can you hear me, boy? Look at how he stares, I think he is on the verge of complete exhaustion."

"Where do you suppose he got that sword? Did he kill the old man with it? Someone pry that thing from his fingers, it makes me nervous."

"Let's get him in out of this weather, can't you see that the boy is soaked to the bones? Feel his forehead, it's hot as a poker."

I was carried gently, across the courtyard and between two dimly haloed lanterns. "The angels...?" I muttered.

Darkness.

"I did not call you."

"I came here of my own will. I have questions."

"As always."

"Who are you?'

"You know already."

"That's not true."

"I am your lord and creator."

"I have my doubts..."

"You are a very foolish boy to have come here like this. I sense an illness of the mind, therefore I will not punish you."

The shroud rose from the slab. The face of a man was imprinted upon the fabric. It solidified, became a statue of the virgin, grinning malevolently, speaking.

"I am waiting for you, Alix, sooner or later you will do my bidding only." She thrust her arms to the sides, straight out, and enormous rusted nails appeared, thrusting through her palms. Turning my eyes back to the face, I saw that it had become that of Jesus, smiling. He looked down at me with compassion. "Have no fear in your heart, my son, for none may take my devout from me." Then the face twisted into a grimace of anger, and He said, "And none of those whom I have chosen shall turn their backs on me!"

His chin suddenly jutted toward the ceiling and a beam of searing light exploded from his eyes. A shattering sound was followed by a rain of razor-sharp shards of stained glass. They fell all about me, but I stood unmoving, and none of them touched me. When the last of the glass had shattered on the floor, I said, "I am not afraid of you. The last thing I had to lose was taken from me."

"That is what you think. You shall find soon how much there is to be lost by your brazenness."

"I await you, for you were right, I know the answer to my question already."

Darkness.

"He rests deeply now. I think he will live."

Darkness.

"Everything will be different now, you know," said Riothamus. "They will question you, and there is little future for you among them. The brothers of the Church will always see you as someone possessed. You are not a boy in their eyes, but a man who threatens the sanctity of their lives. There is no one to intercede for you now. There is even a chance that they may try to kill you."

"Do they think I killed Nicolas?"

"No, the bodies on the hill were found even before you made your way back here, and they have begun to piece the thing together. But what they cannot explain is your part in it, and how you escaped."

We were walking among the stones. I flopped down on a slab of granite and stretched out with my hands behind my head. The sky overhead was ablaze with a vast panoply of stars in a moonless sky. I felt a certain amount of peace here, so far removed from the problems of my life. Yet I always ended up examining the very same problems when I visited this place.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell them. If I say that God helped me, they might say that it was a miracle, or they might say that I am lying."

"Or that you were deluded by Satan, and that you are now marked by the devil himself."

I chuckled mirthlessly. "The inquisition is known for its inventiveness, is it not?" I sighed. "Riothamus, this may sound strange to you, but I really don't fear them. Any sane man would be terrified of the idea of being questioned by the inquisition."

"It doesn't sound so strange to me. Those of us with the breath of gods on our necks do not often take the doings of men so seriously. But do not rely on Him to pull you out of this, for it is quite probable that He will not. I have seen Him watch men squirm simply as an experiment into their nature. If you cannot survive this alone, He may decide you are no longer a useful tool. And those He discards come to an unsightly end.

"But come, now, Alix, I have some things to show you." Riothamus leapt quickly to his feet and strode purposefully between the gravestones. I looked after him bewilderedly for a moment, then sprang to my feet and followed. Riothamus entered the crypt and returned a moment later with two swords in his hands.

"It is time for a new phase of your education to begin..." He gave me a short, appraising glance. "Though were you the son of a noble, it would have started years ago." He handed one of the weapons to me and made two quick swipes in the air before him with the other. I examined the sword, recognizing it at once as the one I had used to kill the dream assassin I had met on the path. It had been cleaned up and sharpened since I had discarded it in the mausoleum, and the blade shone coolly in the starlight.

"You will have none of your previous advantages as you learn. You must come to rely upon your own resources, to recognize your strengths and weaknesses. You had the intercession of a higher power, and later fear and anger and determination in your last battle, but these things are false and can only mislead you in the end. To rely on something you cannot control is a deadly weakness. We begin."

As he spoke this last sentence, Riothamus struck a pose of readiness, both hands wrapped tightly around his larger bastard sword, which he held upright before him. A split second later, he leapt the five feet or so of space between himself and me, feinting a head cut and shifting neatly into a low, short chop to the side. At the last moment, the blade stopped short of its target. I stumbled clumsily out of the way, far too late to have done me any good had the attack been for real.

Riothamus' blade snapped immediately back into position for another attack and he said, "So now you see that the first stroke can be the most important in a fight. Speed and accuracy are the goods in trade of a practiced swordsman, but never hesitate to use the element of surprise. Now, I will tell you the four basic laws of swordsmanship..."

The hours fell away rapidly as I threw myself vigorously into the task of learning to fight. Forgotten was the pain of losing a friend as I struggled to keep up with Riothamus' lightning actions, and I actually began to feel a dizzy sort of elation. Never once did we stop for rest, nor was there cause. A sliver of a moon rose and set in the sky, and later a full one did the same. Finally, after an indeterminate number of hours had passed, Riothamus leaned on his sword and motioned me to halt. I was thankful for the rest, for my breath was coming in rasping gulps. Riothamus had barely broken a sweat. "I think some day you may learn to fight a little. For now, it is time for you to rest. Sleep now."

He extended a hand to my forehead. For a moment there was a sensation of ice on my brow, then darkness fell, bringing with it the blessing of dreamless sleep.


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