The Multitude
to the other.Enough. She headed back to the portal. If God wanted to be the only creator, why hadn’t he just told her so? A simple no would have been far clearer than His ridiculous signs.
“Ho!” A man’s voice came at her from the trees to the south. His green outfit blended so well with the forest, she didn’t see him until he stepped into the meadow. He carried a crossbow in his right hand and looked as though he’d leapt from the pages of Robin Hood. “Exspectata ut Sanctimonia,” he said.
Welcome to Sanctimonia.
Gabriella hadn’t heard Latin spoken outside a church or rectory in fifteen hundred years.
CHAPTER 4
The village of Aricia in western Virtus
Twenty-one days after harvest moon, 3414 (September 30, 2013, in our world)
Quintus trotted across a stretch of cobblestone marking the entrance to a dusty village. Several yards ahead, a golden-haired beauty in peasant dress hurried onto the road and threw an armful of palm leaves in his path. He reared his horse, nearly pitching himself off the saddle to avoid running her down.
His friend and escort, Bertramus, along with their small company of soldiers came up from behind with a clamor of hoofs on stone and shouts of “Whoa,” “Steady, girl.”
The beauty, a maiden of perhaps nineteen, offered a shy smile. She shaded her eyes against the sun. “Welcome, sire.”
“Sire?” What manner of foolishness was this?
The pretty young woman held her ground in his path like a siren luring her prey to an exquisite death. She offered no explanation for littering the road or addressing him as king.
Quintus averted his gaze from her ample bosom and focused his attention on her face. He had as much desire for women as any man, but he’d lately decided to deny himself a pleasure that always proved fleeting at best. Love and honor the woman first, do her right by marrying her, and then enjoy the fruits. A laughable motto in this savage land, but one he believed would bring greater happiness in the long run.
He kept that bit of wisdom to himself. Why open himself to ridicule by others, such as the men accompanying him who had already started chuckling over something? He ignored them and addressed the woman. “Your offering almost killed me. And for what? You can’t possibly think me a king.”
She bowed her head. “Oh, yes, I do, King Albus.”
The soldiers’ chuckles exploded into laughter.
Of course. The men had ridden through this village earlier on the way to retrieve him from his post. They must have spread the false news among the local populace. Quintus turned to their lieutenant, Bertramus.
The red-bearded scoundrel winked and laughed.
The woman reddened. An unintended victim of the prank, she now seemed ready to burst into tears.
Quintus dismounted and draped an arm over her shoulders. He summoned as regal a tone as he could invent. “You’ve honored me greatly, dear lady. Ignore these laughing fools. They’re jesters in training.”
She glanced up at them, then back down at the road. “Jesters in…?”
“Training. For a performance in the capital.” He led her away from the chuckling fools. “Enough about them. Let’s talk about you.”
“About me, sire?” She spoke to the cobblestone at her feet.
“Tell me your name.”
“Livilla,” she whispered.
Quintus lifted her chin with a finger. “Livilla, your blue eyes remind me of the great saint Gabriella. And your golden hair is ever more beautiful than hers. You’ve heard of Gabriella, yes?”
Livilla beamed. “The saint of the woods? Yes, sire, but Gabriella is a myth. No one in these lands has ever set eyes on the girl.”
“Oh, she’s real, all right. One must travel to Sanctimonia to find her, for she never leaves her cabin grounds. But why would anyone hazard such a journey when the proud village of Aricia boasts a woman as special as you?”
Livilla graced him with a smile.
Quintus helped her gather the palms from the road.
* * *
Twenty-eight years earlier, in Peace Memorial Park, Hiroshima, in our world
August 6, 1985
For the fortieth time in as many years, Gabriella planted a vibrant yellow flower at the approximate point where a circular gateway once hosted a swarm of butterflies. The memory of Asura’s demise brought fresh tears to her eyes.
A crew of groundskeepers lurked nearby. They’d pounce when they found the tulip in their azalea patch, just as others had done each previous year—rooting the flower out and bringing a fresh stab of pain to an angel’s heart. This emotional ritual of birth and death surely served as suitable penance for Gabriella’s misguided message to Herod, but did God even notice? His voice remained silent.
She trudged from the garden to the cenotaph, a white monument resembling a horseshoe standing on its legs. As always, she focused on the spot where Asura’s name should have been carved with the others, but the child’s death had gone unnoticed by the sculptors.
Not for the first time, hope stirred her heart. Perhaps the girl who knew all the secrets had survived the blast. Maybe she’d been an angel disguised as a human. But if so, why hadn’t Gabriella sensed the girl’s nature? And why had Asura never returned?
Oh, to block the fruitless meanderings of a lonely mind! Other victims had been left off the official record as well, their hopes, dreams, loves, and conquests vaporized into nothingness, just like Asura—a forgotten miracle worker who’d left only a burnt shadow on a marble bench.
Gabriella turned to the skeletal remains of the Industrial Promotion Hall in the near distance. The cylindrical portion of the crumbling stone complex remained intact, but the beautiful green dome it originally supported had melted in the blast. Only a metal frame remained to hint at the structure’s former grandeur.
How to reconcile the majesty of man’s architecture with the destruction caused by his darkest weapons? She’d once thought religion had been the principal cause of violence. Now she knew better. She’d inadvertently duplicated the universe when she whispered to the mad king, cloning a copy of earth without Christianity. Within