25. THE NEW CHURCH OF PHILADELPHIA

Oh my Lord take this soul,

Lay me at the bottom of the river,

The Devil has come to carry me home,

Lay me at the bottom, the bottom of the river

(Blues Saraceno, The River)

At 11:45 on Wednesday the 17th of May, the exquisitely educated and most humble example of a human being, formerly called Sakuya Sumeragi, was ready to leave.

He fixed the gold cufflinks and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt to let them show—as per good etiquette—a couple of inches out of the hems of his jacket. His eyes trailed down the full-length mirror that reflected his well-shaped figure. He had rarely worn a suit in the last few years, but it fit him just right.

His build was athletic to the point of being manly and yet lean enough to complement the elegance of his finely crafted, total-black outfit. His hidden muscles had been molded by years of Aikido and Krav Maga practice. The Japanese martial art—the way of harmonious spirit—had granted him gentle, smooth movements and a still mind, while the close combat, Israeli fighting system had earned him beyond perfect self-defense skills.

The man tightened the high topknot that kept his long, raven-black locks from falling to the front, enhancing his formal look. His features were the quintessential marriage of East and West—sharp lines artfully smoothed at the edges. A small beauty mark under his left eye embellished the flawless, pale skin and full lips a geisha would die for. His silky hair held the shining darkness of a clear, summer night. Yet, his gleaming cat eyes were the most striking detail, their color being the otherworldy mélange of aquamarines, jades, and sapphires.

He could've easily been a model or a Hollywood actor.

"The car is ready, Father." The rancorous nuance in Mark's familiar voice bothered Sakuya's blessed ears.

In the mirror, the man searched the face of his personal attendant—a sweet-looking, dark-blond boy of college age, eyeing his superior with the self-assured glower of an old grump. Sakuya's reflection gave Marcus a sly smile, while the man adjusted the white collar under the neck of his black shirt.

"What a miraculous accident," he quipped, turning around. "So am I."

Holding his stare, the boy didn't bat an eyelash. After nine years of service, he didn't even bother to reply anymore. Well, he clearly never got Sakuya's humor to begin with.

Studying Marcus' poised expression, the man drew a couple of steps closer. "You seem rather relaxed," he teased, daunting the stillness in the boy's crystal-clear eyes.

"I'm not." Marcus' delicate features hardened as he stepped back. "At the moment, the thief is our only lead to the ring's location, but there's a chance he already made the necessary arrangements to have it disappear before being cornered." He shook his head and a few dark-golden strands fell to the front, yet failing to hide his cold stare. Marcus tucked them behind his ears before he spoke again, words rolling off his tongue as the freezing breeze of a living ice sculpture. "However, since you're willing to negotiate, Father, we will have to comply with his illogical request."

Sakuya turned on his heels, ignoring the boy's criticism. Even if his pride had been stung, his status wouldn't allow him to start a petty fight over it. He reached for his black cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders before he glanced at the mirror one last time, smirking at his reflection. As soon as the boy huffed in displeasure, the priest walked past him and headed out of the master bedroom.

Stepping in the huge waiting room—in which Marcus never waited—Sakuya peeked through the open door of his studio at the pile of documents lying on his desk. His right brow arched at the realization that his personal attendant had just dropped them there—even knowing there was no time to check them out before the flight. He clicked his tongue and his pace sped up, his long legs allowing him graceful and confident strides that Marcus couldn't possibly match. He wouldn't start a fight, but nothing stopped him from harassing the boy in some other way.

Satisfied with his little revenge, his eyes trailed over the splitting line of the half-painted, white and dark-purple wall, meeting the dining hall's door on the other side of the room. He envisioned the large rectangular table, relief filling his chest at the idea of being spared another secluded dinner. Keeping his fast pace, he took the left exit.

His cheeks pleasantly warmed by the artificial tropical weather, he crossed the magnificent indoor garden, strolling along the perimeter of the eight-shaped pool that was part of his private quarters. His gaze took in the lush green of palm leaves and the delicate white of frangipanis flowers—some of them had been placed in a little island floating in the middle of the light-blue—before it was caught by the water's shimmering reflection on the stained glass of the ceiling. The sound of his footsteps was muffled by the wooden-plunks of the dock surrounding the right side of the pool—where the sunbeds were placed and a walkway led to the luscious changing rooms and showers—he refrained from looking back to check on his attendant, whose movements were barely audible from behind. He took a deep breath instead, relishing the sweet scent of frangipanis. Sakuya was mostly creeped out by the absolute quietness constantly enveloping Marcus.

He could sense the boy's cold stare piercing his back.

As usual, his attendant stalked him like a silent watchdog. If nine years before, the choice had been up to Sakuya, he would've picked a noisy child. He'd heard a saying in Rome: barking dog never bites. It was probably true. Also, a bit of racket once in a while wasn't half bad.

At the time, he had been assigned a personal secretary too, but after eight years of honorable service, she lost her position to her immoral behavior. Eight months had already passed since the council had banned her and had chosen Marcus as her replacement. There was no way Sakuya could've saved Lucille's reputation. Still, he missed her cheerful presence.

Entering the next set of rooms, he walked through his main office, leaving behind the imposing, mahogany desks that served him and Marcus, and faced each other from the two ends like dozing beasts.

He let out a slight huff while his hand pressed against the head of Saint John's figure on the bas-relief that was carved on the frame of the thick wooden door. The lock clicked open and Sakuya stepped in the corridor that connected the right wing to the main sanctuary, heading to the heart of the immense cross-shaped building that hosted the headquarters of the New Church Of Philadelphia*. Still, he couldn't shake the disappointment that Marcus' words had caused him.

"The thief—was it?" he muttered to himself as he crossed the deserted hallway, his eyes sweeping over the dark-red carpet unable to distinguish the end of it. "Do you think he'll actually come alone?" He raised his tone and the sound resonated in the empty space sure to reach Marcus's ears.

He didn't turn to look at the boy, nor did he slow his steps, yet Marcus's deep breath seeped through the silence before his clear voice shattered it like a cascade of ringing silver bells. It was an unfairly pure sound.

"Being a thief doesn't make him particularly dependable." Despite the accelerated steps, Marcus' tone was unfazed and his next words drifted in the air like the slow chilling breeze of a cooler set to a much too low temperature. "We are unquestionably embarking on a fool's errand."

His statement might've sounded accusatory and disrespectful if it wasn't for the pronoun he chose.

"We?" Sakuya held back a chuckle and slowed his pace, allowing the boy a more comfortable pursuit.

They walked in silence for about ten minutes before the imposing gateway that led to the main aisle came into sight. The man stopped in front of the artfully carved, wooden door and suddenly turned around to face Marcus, his dark eyelashes slightly veiling his eyes.

Taken aback, the boy stumbled on his feet almost bumping into the man. For a moment, the cute face of a staggered little boy disrupted his formal attire and stiff manners. Meeting his widened eyes, Sakuya lost his willingness to scold him. Instead, he shook his head and granted him half a smile.

"Just so we are clear, Marcus. He has been very helpful to us in the past few years, so regardless of his recent course of action, he deserves our gratitude and respect." His paternal tone echoed in the quiet space of the hallway, stretching behind the boy's back. "He should at least be called by his proper name."

The boy regained his composure and fiercely looked up at his superior. He didn't counter, but his plump lips pressed together, his brows slightly furrowed. Sakuya crossed his arms.

"The fact that you keep addressing him as the thief won't make him any less likable to me." His eyes trailed up to the frescoes on the ceiling. He sighed dramatically, sounding like a parent drained out of lecturing his son, then again his gaze dropped down on the boy. "As Mary Shelley said 'no man chooses evil because it's evil—he only mistakes it for happiness'. You should use a bit more flexibility when dealing with human's behavior."

Marcus bit his lips, but his eyes stayed as cool and clear as a mountain spring. "You should quote the scriptures, not a mere novelist, and I'm compelled to remind you how questionable that man is," he slowly countered, proudly holding Sakuya's stare. "He betrayed your trust and, incidentally, made you look like a fool." His knife-sharp, hushed words aimed at the priest's heart, ready to slash his pride along the way.

Sakuya's lips curved in a knowing smile while his eyes narrowed. He didn't reply, as heat colored his assistant's cheeks he knew that the boy's reproach wasn't finished.

"The simple fact that he called you, it's already suspicious. Yet, you insist on resolving the conflict amicably, leaving us no choice but to humor him." His arms at his sides, Marcus's knuckles paled as he clenched his fists. "You'll forgive me if I feel it's hardly appropriate to take it lightly. In fact, I believe you shouldn't do that either." He spoke under his breath, conscious that if anybody heard him he would get in trouble, but holding his chin high as he stared right back at the man.

Sakuya poked his forehead with his index finger.

"You are always too rigid," he teased.

As Marcus' eyes widened in disbelief, the man's hand withdrew, moving to brush his collar for a moment, his voice sinking lower as he spoke again. "He granted us his services for years, bearing excellent results." His hand slid down, his long fingers playing with the golden pectoral cross, hanging from his neck. His eyes darkened as he leaned in to impose on the boy. "Before judging his most recent behavior, it's necessary to find out his motives. In order to have a comprehensive view of the whole picture." He slightly pulled back and smiled again. "Therefore, I'd ask you to consider him like an old friend of mine in need of some good advice, rather than an enemy to the Church." He softly patted the boy's head and stood back. "So, you should call him Sybil Vain."

Marcus pouted but didn't counter. Sakuya spun on his heels, and with a confident swiftness, he sprang the door open. As they strolled through the main chapel, the boy kept quiet to the point even his steps weren't audible. On the other hand, Sakuya's elegant shoes clicked against the Carrera's marble flooring, the sound echoing all around the massive hall in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It wasn't mass time and only a few devotees lingered on the wooden pews—a couple of young ones dozing with their heads resting on their crossed arms, and an old woman fervently praying with closed eyes and high chin.

Emptied of crowds—that was when the Church shone the most.

Sakuya's gaze drifted around, embracing the beautiful Roman pillars that sustained the vault pooled of brilliant paintings. His eyes trailed back down and, as he kept walking, swept over the big classical statues tucked in the side niches. All altars embellished by precious artifacts, gleaming with gold and jewels that surrounded the crates, displaying and shielding ancient relics, supposedly holding the divine power of miracles.

The real ones were not in plain sight though.

A Franciscan friar stepped out of the niche containing the most precious of their public relics, a tiny piece of Saint Antonio's tongue—secretly handed down by the Roman Church. Sakuya stopped and slightly turned to bow his head at the altar before glancing at the man, who couldn't conceal his first dubious glance as he approached. Too old for kneeling as etiquette commanded, the monk bowed to the waist and kissed the ring on Sakuya's hand.

"Cardinal Sumeragi," he said, his eyes cast down to the marble flooring.

"You may stand and simply call me John." Sakuya held tightly on his arm and helped him up.

The monk's gnarled fingers pulled at the precious sleeve, giving off a slight tremor, while his eyes reached back up to the cardinal's face. He didn't dare to speak.

Sakuya stretched a blinding smile. "We are all equal in the eyes of the Lord, brother."

"Your Eminence—" the other man uttered, getting Sakuya to shake his head. "J-John..." the friar stumbled on his words for a moment before a smile sprouted off his dry lips, branching wrinkles all over his face. The cold nights of his hard living had chopped his skin, yet his eyes lit with blissfull sincerity. "Indeed, we are."

Sakuya's smile kept in place as he nodded and walked off. Yet, as soon as the monk was left behind, he clicked his tongue.

He despised the obsolete orthodoxies as much as he loved to sit at the top of the pyramid. He admired the shining, heartfelt integrity of some monks, yet he couldn't stand their narrow-mindedness—thinking they could save the world by living a life of poverty while preaching to their equally miserable fellows that suffering was a necessary price to access the Kingdom of Heaven. They were ants talking other ants into accepting and following their destined misery.

Yet, God had made it so that even ants had a queen.

Reforming the world required the totality of its rules to be altered from the top. Suffering and misery had nothing to do with that. It was a matter of power. It was the path Sakuya had chosen for himself.

He took the side door behind the confessionals, ducking into a secret passageway that had been specially built for him. He inhaled, the unpleasantly familiar scent of frankincense still saturated the air, but his shoulders relaxed. At least, he was finally away from prying eyes and ears. His pace slowed again.

Marcus took the chance to move to his side. In the narrow passage, his dark-blond hair and sky-blue eyes sparked under the light cast from the torch-like lamps that hung above his head on the exposed brick wall. His face was half-shaded in a sinister, unfitting way.

"The fact that Sybil Vain worked for you doesn't make him your friend. That has been extensively proven by his actions, regardless of any judgment cast upon his behavior," he pointed out.

Holding back a smile at the realization that the boy had complied with his request of using the Oracle's name, Sakuya arched his brow. "Have you been thinking about that for the whole time?" he teased.

The boy's mouth opened in surprise, then his lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to back off so easily. "Of course I have."

"Just drop it." Sakuya waved his hand carelessly. "Sybil told me he's extremely sorry for the way he tricked me and Lucille as well. He said he's going to explain his reasons and he's willing to return the relic to its rightful owner." He paused, taking a deep breath before he used the right words to persuade the boy. "I suppose God would forgive him, don't you think?"

Marcus snorted. "Father, that doesn't specifically mean he intends to return the ring to you. He might as well know that Solomon has been reincarnated and it's not in the interest of Heaven and Earth, and neither of our Church, for such a controversial soul to regain that much power." Frustration built up in his voice and yet it sounded oddly chilling as usual. "Moreover, if that was to happen, who do you think would be held responsible?"

"We don't have the slightest idea of Solomon's whereabouts, but you are too cautious when it comes to him. You are still musing over the fact that he used Raziel's book to create the seventy-two pillars, aren't you?" Sakuya teased him again before he pushed open the door that connected to the main entrance hall, cutting of the coversation.

Crossing the hall, he brought his attention to the two devotes that had dashed to open the main doorway before kneeling at each side of it. Approaching the massive door, he called for the boys to stand and bestowed upon them a loving smile, earning himself grateful glistening eyes and beams. Resuming his fast pace, he stepped down the main stairway, the hem of his cloak swinging behind his back.

As usual, the shiny-black, Mercedes-Benz S-Class Executive was waiting in the middle of the circular, gravel yard, encased in the huge park that surrounded the property.

Viktor, Sakuya's most trusted driver, stood beside the opened backseat's door until both of them settled inside, then he swiftly closed it and got back to the front. Lifting up two fingers Sakuya invited him to raise the electric glass panel. The man promptly complied and didn't fail to activate the opaque function. As soon as their space was hidden from sight and soundproof, Marcus crossed his arms and spoke again.

"By Raziel's divine intervention, Solomon had been granted unparallel wisdom and power. Yet, that despicable man used those heavenly gifts to compel seventy-two demons and spread the cult of Astaroth. Moreover, he accumulated immense riches, committed massacre and fornicated with innumerable wives and lovers." His voice hardened as he struggled to pronounce his last sentence. His delicate fingers moved to loosen the collar of his shirt as if it had become too tight to breathe in. Still, his defying eyes were glued to Sakuya's face. "We are yet to be revealed the identity of Solomon's present incarnation, but it's imperative to keep sealed the thing that's holding most of his power. And yet, where is it now? In the hands of a shady fortune-teller, whose intentions are as transparent as a muddy pond."

Point-taken, Sakuya slipped a hand inside his jacket, reaching the small pocket to pull out his silver flask. "Marcus, wisdom and virtue do not necessarily coincide in this world." He took a sip of Topas. The sweet flavor enveloped his tongue while the alcohol slowly eased his nerves and relaxed his facial muscles. It was the smoothness he needed to pull off the rest of his speech. "In my opinion, Solomon was motivated by good intentions and, in certain circumstances, the ends might justify the means," he countered, giving the boy a side-glance.

Marcus' eyes widened before his head flung toward the glass—not that he cared about the scenic park drifting by outside. Obviously, they didn't share the same view. A moment of deafening silence fell between them, then the boy's hushed voice drifted through it.

"In his purity, our divine Raziel trusted him and he would do it again. However, willing good and working evil isn't in any way different from working good and willing evil. It's without a doubt mephistophelian acting."

Mellowed out by the sad note in the boy's voice, Sakuya patted the back of his head. "You should know that every man carries within good and evil. A completely irreproachable behavior would be almost unnatural. I believe that everything is forgivable—it's just a matter of intentions and results."

Marcus kept silent.

Sakuya sighed and withdrew his hand. "Your childish view of mankind stirs in me the impulse to slap you around for being so narrow-minded, and at the same time, makes me want to protect you from the constant disappointment arising from it." He leaned back in his seat and took another sip of liquor. His voice lowered and softened as he spoke again. "I'm well aware that any subject concerning Raziel is of the utmost significance to you and you can't just get rid of it."

The boy kept his eyes on the road, but his reflection revealed the hint of a bitter smile on his lips. "If I could, I wouldn't be here."

Guilt slithered in Sakuya's chest, but there was nothing he could say or do to change Marcus' situation. Forcing the boy into service hadn't been his choice to begin with. Taking an eleven year old away from his family wasn't something he would've done. His gaze shifted to his own window and tried to focus on the beautiful sight of the mountains in the distance. Iceland's soothing landscape slowly managed to cool his head.

It took about an hour for the car to pull into the parking of Keflavik's international airport—for the whole time, nobody uttered a word.

Marcus had arranged it so they had time for a light lunch at the lounge after checking in. The flight took off at 5:00 p.m.—a six-hours direct to New York, reaching just in time for dinner. The boy had always been looking down on airplanes' food. Whatever complimentary treats first class had to offer, he left everything untouched.

Signs of tension slowly showed up on his face the closer they got to their destination. However, conscious of Sakuya's stare, he took a couple of sleeping pills and managed to get through the flight without expressing his concern. Sakuya kept wondering whether it had been a good idea to let the kid know about the meeting that was scheduled at 10:30, the next morning.

As the boy's breathing drifted into regular little puffs, the priest huffed, moving aside a strand of his black hair that escaped his tight bun. Then, he went back to his reading—The Enchafèd Flood, or Romantic Iconography of the Sea, by W. H. Auden. The writer's comparison between Don Quixote and Moby Dick felt ironically appropriate for the moment.

Cardinal Sumeragi didn't know if he was playing the part of the pure religious hero, tilting at windmills, or the one of Ahab, egoistically obsessed with his hunt to the point of sinking his own boat. What if fate had tricked him into chasing his personal white whale?

Maybe he was Ahab after all.

Well, at least, he was going to have some quality lodging in the city of freedom. He had already informed the Night Hotel about his checking in at the penthouse—that he had previously booked himself—and requested to include the Junior King Suite to the reservation. He rested on his seat and peacefully read the whole book.

His assistant dozed for most of the journey—even in the taxi, where he'd carried him himself, despite the airport staff's offer to help. It looked like Marcus was actually trying to avoid having a conversation and maybe that was for the best.

After they checked in at the hotel, the boy took up the task of unpacking their luggage and set their stuff in the two different rooms, starting from his own. Sakuya headed straight to the penthouse, which was connected to Marcus' suite, and took a relieving hot shower.

As expected, Dee wasn't there.

The priest poured himself a glass of the welcome wine he'd requested upon booking and sat on the black leather sofa. He glanced at the book he had left on the low coffee table and Auden's quote of Rimbaud echoed in his mind.

I who called myself magus or angel, dispensed with all morality. I am cast back to the soil, with a duty to seek, and enough actuality to grasp! Peasant! – I'll ask pardon for having nourished myself on lies.

Sakuya bent on himself, his elbows resting on his knees. A subtle doubt had been bugging him since the day he'd met Sybil Vain for the first time. Was there a chance the Oracle would be chasing his same goal? A few strands of his long, black hair slipped to the front, dripping beads of water on the floor. He didn't bother to pull them back and poured himself another glass. If the Oracle was indeed a saint, could they reform the world together?

Half of the bottle emptied, Marcus perched on the other side of the sofa. His eyes half closed, he looked wary like a cat in front of a stranger. Sakuya knew the boy despised his drinking habit and decided not to provoke him any further, simply ignoring his persistent gaze. He stood and picked up the phone to ask for room service. He ordered two Japanese sets and strolled around the room, trying to sort his thoughts.

As much as he didn't like the idea, he had to inform Dee—his presence was the one condition the Oracle had required for their meeting. Sakuya was well aware that the Doctor was going to freak over it as much as Marcus did, so he had made a point of telling him in person. Somehow, he had expected the man not to be at the hotel, which meant he could take his time and just call him the next morning. Taking him by surprise held a higher chance of success.

Marcus kept quiet for the rest of the evening. His big,clear eyes followed Sakuya's every movement in a cautious, yet threatening way,like the feline he resembled. It felt as though he had something to say and wasmaking an effort to keep it in. Sakuya didn't bother to push him. The time whenhe had tried to understand the boy and take care of him was long gone.

AUTHORS' NOTE:

*New Church of Philadelphia: is a reference to the Church of Philadelphia, which is one of the truly existed dioceses mentioned in the Book of Revelation. These seven churches are Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea. In the scripture, Christ Himself is sending a letter to the angel responsible of each church, applauding their qualities, reprimanding their sins and promising future retribution for the one who'll listen to His word. Some interpret these letters as the seven historical phases of the Roman Church. However, when Christ calls Philadephia, He says: "I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name." (Revelation 3:8). Among the seven Asina Churches or Seven Churches of the Revelation, Philadelphia is the only one Christ doesn't reproach. "Since you have kept my command to endure patiently, I will also keep you from the hour of trial that is going to come upon the whole world to test those who live on the earth. I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have so that no one will take your crown." (Revelation 3:10-11). Moreover, He promises to this Church: "He who overcomes I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. Never again will he leave it. I will write on him the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the New Jerusalem, which is coming down from out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on him my new name." (Revelation 3:12).

Well, I feel like I might get swayed in some alien conspiracy theory now, but let's keep this for another time.

For obvious reasons (5600 something words), I had to split this chapter but I hoped you enjoyed it up to here anyway.

@Jagermeanshunter  you finally getting a man with dark hair (well, about the priest thing, sorry, nobody is perfect...)

Actually, Sarah might like him more after all! Right, sweetie?

Aaaah, I'm exhausted but I'm finally done and can get some sleep!

Good night my beloved readers and please vote and comment XD