Jack of Ravens

16

The guards propelled Church to the Forum Romanum, which swarmed with life, though only a few paid any attention to his passing. Church bided his time in the hope that an opportunity for escape would present itself.

After a few minutes he was herded down the Argileto, the ancient road between the Basilica Aemilla and the Curia Julia where the senate had met for more than 250 years. There, in a walled compound, stood a temple built of wood, which signified its great age even in a city as ancient as Rome. Two gates at the entrance to the compound stood open, and between them was a bust with four heads.

‘Kneel before the god of gods!’ One of the guards roughly shoved Church to his knees before the bust.

‘The gates are open,’ another said in a tone reminiscent of a ritualistic chant. ‘War has been loosed across the land.’

Church was hauled to his feet and thrust through one of the gates. The guards waited uneasily at the threshold. ‘Into the temple!’ one of them barked.

Church surveyed the small wooden building. It was almost insignificant against the grander stone constructions all around. Church hesitated, but he had no other place to go. The cracked, age-old door swung open with a juddering creak and Church stepped inside.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He was in a chamber with a floor of beaten clay, large and airy with several doors on each wall. A spot in the centre of the floor was illuminated by a thin beam of light from a small window in the roof. It was only then that Church realised that the inner dimensions of the room did not fit the building outside which he had stood. The chamber was much larger than it should have been and the doors suggested a complex that would have dwarfed the tiny wooden temple. Behind him, the entrance door was now shut, though he had not heard it close.

An oppressive atmosphere filled the gloomy space. Church sensed some sort of presence close at hand yet always out of view. The tension mounted as though a generator was being cranked, filling the chamber with a sense of impending arrival. A distant scratching rose up behind one of the doors, drawing closer, and behind another, and another, until it sounded as if a multitude was approaching every door.

Doors. Church recalled what the guard had said about kneeling before the god’s god and he knew where he was: in the Temple of Janus, the dual-faced god of doors and new beginnings. The cult of Janus pre-dated all others in Rome, and in the Empire’s list of gods he always came first and carried the surname Divom Deus, the god’s god. Church had always found it strange that Janus was unique: no god like him appeared in any other mythology.

The scratching had become the pounding of tiny feet rushing towards the doors. Church’s breath caught in his throat. One other thought came to him: Janus was also the god of departures, and all that entailed.

One by one the doors began to open. Church fumbled for a handle on the door behind him, but there was none.

The doors swung open with a single, echoing crash. From every opening flooded tiny creatures the size and shape of monkeys but with shiny skin as black as oil and eyes that glowed with a fierce green light. Tumbling and leaping, they swarmed around Church, tearing at his clothes and skin. The sheer weight of their numbers pulled him from his feet and carried him through one of the doors into an even larger hall made of stone.

Tossed and turned on tiny hands, Church occasionally caught sight of a sapphire light and realised it was his sword, hanging in the air, blade down, with no visible means of support. The monkey-creatures dragged him before it and held him tight.

There was movement in the gloom at the back of the chamber, which appeared to stretch on for ever. The apprehension that had been building since he entered the chamber now felt like a rock on his chest.

He’s coming, he thought.

Clouds appeared in the air, folding in on themselves before billowing out as though they were being pumped by an invisible machine. They were backlit by an emerald glow, and as they rushed towards him, Church made out a figure in their midst, either taking shape or moving through them.

The turbulent clouds came to a halt nine feet from Church. The emerging figure was dressed in long, flowing robes of what appeared to be black satin, shimmering as if a thousand stars were sewn into the fabric. One thin, long-fingered hand clutched an oversized gold key with a large loop for a handle, and in the other hand was an ironwood stick: one to open the doors and the other to drive away those who had no right to cross the threshold.

At first Church couldn’t make out the god’s features — they swam like oil and water as his brain sought to perceive something that was beyond perception. His grasping mind superimposed several images: a politician whose name he couldn’t recall; someone who resembled Aleister Crowley; Alexander the Great. Finally one set of features coalesced into relief: bone-white skin framed by lank, black hair, gaunt cheeks with an aquiline nose, slanted piercing eyes. The face remained that way for a moment before shifting to a negative image — sable skin, white hair — and then back again. It continued to shift disconcertingly.

‘I am the opener and closer of ways,’ he said in a voice like a knife on glass. ‘I oversee all beginnings. I am the daybreak and the twilight. I am the chaos that was prevalent when you all began, and the chaos when it all falls to nothing.’

Church felt sickened by the waves of power coming off the figure. It was not like the faint electricity he felt near Niamh, but something altogether darker and more terrible.

Janus fixed his dual gaze on Church, who felt it pass through his skull and into his brain. ‘You are the Brother of Dragons, the first and the last. The Daughters of the Night told me of your existence. Once I had chosen the path upon which I now walk, it was inevitable that you would arrive at my temple.’ He gave a satisfied smile. ‘So powerful for a Fragile Creature, yet here, in my temple. If proof were needed that the path of Existence is wrong, it is here.’

Church read the meaning in Janus’s words. ‘You’re on the spiders’ side.’

‘And here you are, caught in the web.’