Stuart Slade: Pantheocide

“Your villa momma?” Naomi didn’t like the sound of that.

“I’m going to be a citizen of the New Roman Republic. I’ve even got my citizenship paper, look, it says here ‘In the year of the consulships of Gaius Julius Caesar and Jade Kim, Rose Matthews being a landowner in the New Roman Republic, is accorded all the virtues and privileges due to a Citizen of Rome.”

“Look Rose, we wanted to talk to you about this. When you died, the lawyers said you’d changed your will and left all your money to yourself.”

“That’s right John. Changed it myself. Saw the advertisements on television while I was staying in the hospice and thought, well that sounds like a good idea. So, I made some inquiries and decided it really was a good idea.”

“But, we thought we would be the executors of your estate.” McLanahan was trying to find a way of complaining about being left nothing without actually saying so.

“And you thought you would be inheriting everything when I was gone? Not going to happen. I’m sorry John but Mark and I worked hard all our lives to save for what we had. We owned our house free and clear, when Mark died, we didn’t owe a penny to anybody. He’s out here somewhere, maybe still in the Hellpit, perhaps he’s been rescued already and we just haven’t found each other. That takes time you know, even with computers to help out. But, when he is rescued or we do find each other, I want a nice home ready for him, just the way we left our old one, free and clear.

“Oh can I meet Julius Caesar?” Junior sounded awe-struck at actually meeting Caesar, it even beat the chance of meeting Jesse James.

“Certainly, the First Consul is always touring Rome, meeting the people. So does the Second Consul, you come to stay at my Villa Johnny and you’re sure to see them.”

Junior sat back, his eyes glowing at the prospect. Rose stared at her daughter and son-in-law, her eyes triumphant and just a little malicious. “How often have you two refinanced your house? To pay off credit cards, buy that new trendy in-thing you just have to have and then threw away as soon as you got bored with it? Well, you’d better change your ways because you’re getting nothing from me. All the killjoys were wrong, now we can take it with us and that’s just what I’ve done. So have nearly all my friends at the Hospice. There’s going to be a lot of disappointed kids who won’t get the windfall they’re expecting and serve them right. Mark and I made it on our own and now we’re going to enjoy it. I suggest you start to think about doing the same because when you die – when Naomi, it’s not an if – you’ll need everything you’ve saved as well. Or, you’ll spend eternity living in a little shack like this and working on a road gang to earn money.

There was a long silence. Then Naomi broke it. “What will you be doing in Rome mother?”

“Me? I’ll be going back to work of course. Sewing clothes, just a few hours now and then, enough to make some friends and keep boredom at bay. There’s going to be factories in New Rome as well and if I get my feet under the table now, I can grow with them. And I might even buy a few shares in them, nothing like owning things is there?”

Once again, there was a few minutes silence as the McLanahan’s digested the situation. They’d spent their lives working on the basis that they would be inheriting their family property in due course, now at least half of it had just gone. Probably all of it, John McLanahan thought, for it was unlikely that his father would do anything differently. Quite unexpectedly, his family had been hit with a financial crisis of unexpected proportions. Eventually conversation resumed but it was stilted and awkward until the time came for them to leave and catch the bus back to the Hellgate.

As the door closed behind them, Naomi clutched her husband’s arm. “Oh John, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know darling, I just don’t know.”

Sky over Acara, Brazil. December 2008

In the dark skies of night, illuminated only by the glitter of the stars, a great figure, black as obsidian in the darkness, glided on outstretched wings. Beneath it, the activity of the world appeared to slow down and its sounds muted as if the world and all who lived within it were pausing out of respect for the monstrous being that flew over its head. Yet Uriel was not deceived by the appearance nor did he expect respect for his person. Those who lived underneath were humans and they had defied the almighty will of Yahweh. Not just defied it, but broken it and cast the pieces back in His divine face. They had resisted His commandments, their armies had invaded the realm of the Divine Enemy and cast him down. “Blown him up to the max,” as Michael-Lan had put it.

Uriel did not quite know what to make of The Eternal General, Commander of the Armies of the One Above All. He had changed in the last millennia or so, there was a levity in his persona that had been missing from the grimly determined commander who had fought the Divine Enemy throughout the Great Celestial War and led the final charge that had broken the Enemy’s last great effort. Sometimes Uriel even questioned whether Michael-Lan was still loyal to the One Above All but he had always dismissed those doubts. He had not dared raise the matter with the others in the First Tier of Archangels. Gabriel and Raphael would have laughed at the very idea. Azrael would have taken the suggestion as a personal affront and even questioned whether the very suggestion was indicative of Uriel’s own lack of loyalty. Raguel would have demanded proof of the accusation as was his way and when it had not been forthcoming, would have dared to judge even Uriel himself. Zadkiel would have merely stated that mercy and tolerance were the primary virtues and Uriel might do well to practice them.

It caused great frustration and anger to Uriel that he, the sword and the scythe of the One Above All, the one whose very passing caused entire nations to weep bitter tears, could have doubts about Michael-Lan’s loyalty and yet be unable to voice them. Nor was that the only reason for his anger and resentment. For the fact was that the humans were shutting him out of larger portions of their world. He had told his acolytes that the industrialized, developed areas of the world repelled him and he abhorred its clinical acceptance of death as an inconvenience to be wrapped in legal paper and forgotten. He had claimed that the less developed areas of the world still knew how to grieve and has their primal connection to death and mortality. It sounded good and it had much truth in it but it was still a lie.

Uriel no longer haunted the developed areas of the world because it was too dangerous for him to do so.

The change had started some sixty years before, a small change then and beneath Uriel’s notice. The humans had invented something that made his skin itch and revealed his presence known to those below. From those small beginnings, the things had spread across the world, covering it with small spots where his skin had become uncomfortable. Then, the humans had linked those spots into great sheets that covered whole countries and they had built weapons that could threaten even Uriel himself. He had learned that when the humans had sent their great burning lances through the sky after him and they had sent those who flew their aircraft to hunt him down. They knew not what or who they were dealing with but they responded with violence as had always been their way only now their ability to destroy was growing at rates the Hosts could not comprehend. He had told the One Above All of the change for all the good that had done. Lost in the surrounding miasma from the praise of his choir, the warning had gone unnoticed. He had told Michael-Lan who had simply replied “don’t sweat it Bro.”