Read Online Walking in the Midst of Fire by Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online Page B

that clattered upon his wrist, and the rings that adorned his long, slender fingers.
    There was something in the tone of the holy man’s voice, something that told him to acquiesce to the Pope’s request of him.
    Pope Tyranus smiled as Remiel approached the table.
    A servant appeared from a shadowed corner of the hall, pulling out the heavy wooden chair so that the angel could sit, before scampering out of view again.
    “She’s actually one of the few left alive here,” Pope Tyranus said, drawing Remiel’s attention back to himself. “The lord of this manor, his family, and most who served them have succumbed to the pestilence.”
    He reached for a silver decanter and poured a libation into a tarnished goblet. “Wine?” the Pope offered.
    Remiel found himself taking a goblet in hand and holding it out so that the holy man could fill it.
    They both noticed the servant girl now standing nearby, watching the holy man, a look of horror upon her face.
    “Please, your holiness, please allow me to pour . . . ,” she began.
    “Off with you, girl,” the Pope said, setting down the decanter. “My guest and I wish for privacy.”
    He turned his cold, gray eyes to Remiel.
    “And we’re both human enough to serve ourselves,” he added with a smile.
    Remiel turned his gaze to her, reassuring the girl with a kind nod. She turned away, darting into a passage behind a scarlet curtain.
    Pope Tyranus leaned forward in his chair, sinking his long fingers into the eye socket of the roast boar, rooting around, and removing the gelatinous remains of the wild pig’s eye.
    “Excuse my lack of manners,” the Pope said as he brought the dripping organ of sight toward his eager mouth, “but I’m simply famished. You should be honored that I waited for you.”
    He slurped the eye from his fingers and chewed happily.
    “You said that the lord of this manor and most of his servants are dead,” Remiel began. He picked up his goblet of wine.
    The Pope waited for him to continue, using his silken robes to wipe away the ocular fluid that dribbled down his chin.
    “So why are you here?” Remiel asked as he sipped from his silver cup, his eyes never leaving those of the Pope. “Why would one such as yourself risk exposing himself, and his servants”—Remiel turned slightly in his chair to glance at the soldiers who remained at attention in the entry to the dining hall—“to the potential of plague?”
    “Exactly,” Tyranus reiterated. “What could be of such importance that I would leave the safety of Rome and expose myself to all of this . . .” He waved his bejeweled hand around in the air beside his head. “Death,” he finished dramatically.
    The Pope sipped more wine, as if he needed the soothing effects of the libation to continue.
    “These are dark and dangerous times we live in, soldier of God,” Tyranus told him. “There are forces of darkness afoot that wish to squelch the goodness of the true faith.”
    Remiel was amused by the statement—as if one faith of humanity were somehow better than all the rest. As if one specific religion would somehow place its followers closer to God than all the others.
    Pope Tyranus must have caught the look on Remiel’s face. “Do you not see it as you make your way in the world, angel?” he asked, his annoyance clear in his tone. “Things lurking in the shadows that lust to see your most holy radiance snuffed out like a candle’s flame.”
    Remiel slowly rotated his goblet upon the wooden table, carefully considering his words.
    “This world has always been plagued by darkness, but there has also been light. There is a balance here, I believe.”
    “Balance?” Tyranus sneered. “I’m afraid I see a world teetering on the edge of the abyss. Balance was lost a very long time ago.”
    He picked at some pheasant meat that he had torn from the body of the bird and placed upon his plate.
    “I plan to keep this world from plunging headlong into damnation.”
    “And this