Michael Morley - The Venice conspiracy

'Like I said, lots.'

'The main area of initial settlement turned out to be Torcello. Venice itself didn't develop any real influence until malaria swept through the Torcello and people drifted down to what we now call the Rialto.'

'Seventh century?'

'Eighth. The Venetians chose their first doge – a strange sort of democratically elected quasi-religious governor – and set up their own regional government in 720-something. They went from strength to strength and never faltered until the great plague. That knocked them sideways. They got all religious, then, being typically Italian, went off into a period of massive sexual and artistic indulgence. Finally, Napoleon brought their endless partying and copulating to a rude end in the eighteenth century.'

'Impressive. You ever get bored with travel writing, you could probably bag a job as a city guide.'

'Thanks.' Tina wipes a white cotton napkin across her lips. 'Let's completely change the subject, now. And forgive me, because this is a bit personal – but do you know that you have about the worst dress sense I've ever seen?'

Tom laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. 'Mea culpa! I have no defence. I could plead that my suitcase was lost when I left LA – which is true – but the fact is, you're still right. It contained nothing that would have convinced you I could strut a catwalk.'

'You don't like clothes?'

'Sure, I like them. I like them – to feel comfortable, to fit – be clean – last a long time. Beyond that, I guess they do nothing for me.'

'Oh my God, you're a heathen! You can't walk around Italy with beliefs like that! I think you can even be deported for holding such views.'

They both laugh. The kind of relaxed laughter that inches people closer.

'Okay, listen, I'm gonna have to convert you. Make sure you see the error of your ways.'

'And can you do that on five hundred euros? Because that's about all I've got in funds to kit myself out with.'

Tina rests her hand on her chin and pretends to look thoughtful and serious. 'Hrrm, now let me think. That could buy you a beautiful Versace or Hermes tie. And I can easily picture you in that – just that. But it's not going to be any good for you once you step outside my bedroom. '

A stern-faced man in a dark suit and tie approaches their table. 'Buongiorno. Scusi, signorina.' The man looks across at Tina's guest. 'Signor – you are Tom Shaman?'

'Yes. Yes, I am. Why?'

The hotel clerk glances towards the doorway. 'Signor, there are two officers from the Carabinieri in reception. They wish to talk with you.'

Larthuza's Hut, Atmanta Teucer wakes in a makeshift bed on the floor. He's disoriented. He can feel the warmth of Larthuza's fire on his face but can see nothing. Pain prickles in every pore on his face, like nettles rubbed into livid wounds. Gradually, he becomes aware of the foul-smelling poultice stuck to his eyes.

He feels claustrophobic. Panicky.

Slowly, in his world of oppressive blackness, he starts to remember it all. The sacrificial circle, the oblong he'd cut in the clay, the strange snakes and figures he'd formed with his knife.

The revelations.

And then – the fire. The roaring fire he'd made for the gods and had flung himself into.

The memory scares him. 'Tetia! Tetia, are you there?'

His wife is huddled beneath a sheepskin in the far corner of the healer's hut. The shock of being choked unconscious by the man she loves has left her terrified. Too scared to answer to his voice. She puts her hands protectively over her unborn child. Had he really tried to kill them both?

'Tetia!'

Perhaps his violence was a result of his fever and his own desperate fight for life? Teucer had never tried to harm her before. She tries to reassure herself.

'Tetia. Are you there?'

She drops the skin – and her fears – and moves towards him. 'I'm here. I'm coming.'

Teucer spreads his arms.

She tentatively offers a hand to his outstretched fingers. 'Wait. Wait there, I'll get you water to drink.'

He grabs her hand. 'No! Don't go. I need you. I need to tell you something.'

She fights back her fears. He is changed. Maybe mad. And will probably never see again.

Teucer senses her apprehension and squeezes her hand. 'I need you to help me, Tetia. You must destroy the markings I made.'

She flinches. 'The ones by the fire, in the curte?'

'Yes. Go there straight away. Do not look directly at them. Just scrub at the land until there is no sign of what I made.'

She looks confused. 'Why? What troubles you so?'

'The markings are demonic. They signify the coming of something more awful than you or I have ever known.'

She can see how distressed he is and puts her hands to his damaged face. 'Tell me what you saw. Speak of it. Share it and let me help you.'

Teucer thinks it weak not to keep the worries to himself. But his blindness scares him and the soft touch of Tetia's hands dissolves his inner strength. 'Some demonic god spoke to me. Revealed three visions that will determine our fate, the fate of Atmanta and the fate of future generations.'

'What visions?'

Teucer imagines himself back in the curte, demons whirling around him. 'They all took place against some gates, giant gates made out of snakes.'

'Snakes?'

Teucer uses his hands. 'Some were dangling, some were sideways. They were all over each other, spitting fire and baring fangs.'

Tetia tries to comfort him. 'You need not speak of this if it pains you too much.'

'I will finish.' He dry-swallows. 'I realise now what the gates were – they were the Gates of Destiny, linking our world with the afterlife. In the first vision, they were guarded by an unknown demon of terrible power. It is part human, part goat. Horned with eyes as red as fire, he carries a trident dripping with human flesh.'

'Maybe it was Aita, or Minotaur, and you mistook-'

Teucer cuts her off. 'Please, Tetia – do not interrupt me. I can speak of this only once, and then you must never mention it. Do you swear?'

Tetia looks down at his desperate grip on her hand. 'I swear.'

His voice becomes hoarse and low. 'It is not Aita. Nor any monstrous form of bull. I am sure of it.' He tries to shut out the memory of his agony in the curte. 'He is the lord of all darkness and far superior to Aita. The demons and stolen souls of the underworld worship him. He is the font of all evil, the source of everything bad.'

Tetia is frightened. The child inside her moves awkwardly, almost as though it senses her fear.

'In the second revelation I saw a netsvis at the gates. He was full of doubt, empty of faith, like I feel now, and impaled upon his own lituus.' He lifts a hand to his bandaged eyes, and Tetia wonders whether beneath the soiled cloths he is crying.

Tetia puts a hand to his forehead. He is hot and, she hopes, hallucinatory. His horrendous ramblings may be naught but wild nightmares.

But perhaps not.

Perhaps a new god really has revealed himself. A singular, universal master greater than any known to man. 'You said three visions, Teucer. The third – what was the third?'

He fumbles for her hands. Not until he is holding both of them does he dare speak. 'I saw two lovers. Naked. Their bodies entwined, leaning against the gates. A small child sleeps near their feet.'

She glides her fingers over his and thinks for a second of their unborn child. 'This is not such a bad revelation. I should like very much to sculpt two lovers in just such a pose. And a child, the fruit of the womb – this is surely paradise.'

Teucer pulls his hands free. 'You must go now and destroy the markings as I asked. No one must see them.' He falls quiet, hands trembling on his lap.