In that moment, Armande knew he liked the man. And that he had chosen correctly. This man would not bend to the CCD. None of this showed on Armande's face. But he was cautiously optimistic about their working together, that it would be collegial and productive. Pius had been difficult. Reactive rather than analytical. Needlessly antagonistic.
His face did relax as he strode forward into the tunnel alongside Patricus. The contrast between the two could not be more different. Armande, cloacked in black cassock robes broadshouldered and standing a head taller than the slender man with a swimmers body in blindingly white robes. Opposites in many ways. Both, though, shared blazing blue eyes.
"It is understandable, your Holiness, to be skeptical of my words. It will help you to grasp the enormity of my claims by seeing for yourself the evidence of our two bodies and their relationship."
Of course at this juncture, Armande could drop it all on him in one go. He remembered his own introduction into the Atharim- his kidnapping and then the people who had mentored him in his life. While he hadn't known what it was for, he had been shaped from the beginning for this. Not so, for Patricus. So small doses would do.
"To begin with, the Atharim date back millenia. Their sole purpose is to keep mankind safe from dangers that would quail most people's hearts. Creatures out of nightmare. When we came to the attention of the Church, Sylvester wanted us to go on with this work, but tied and allied to her. What I will show you now are artifacts of that relationship." And one thing more, he did not say.
They were at another doorway. The air pressure was different down here, his underground offices. He opened the door. Lining the stone walls were shelves filled to bursting with books, and folders and manuscripts. The rarest sat in glass cases, sealed and air and temperature controlled. He didnt need their physical copies to read them, of course. They had all be photographed or scanned, available to his terminal that sat at his large mahogany desk.
A few pictures and paintings adorned his wall. St. Ignatious of Loyola hung behind and above his chair. Though he had been released from his vows after Gregorio's death, he would always be a Jesuit in his heart. It formed the lens through which he viewed the world. Erasamus, of course, Prince of the Humanists.
Then too, there were pictures out of legend. An Aztec rendering of a Queztecoatl. An Aborignal Australian rock painting of a rakshasa. An Hungarian depiction of Vlad Dracul, a forest of spikes with impaled bodies dotting the hillside.
A few ancient artifacts stood on plinths and tables. What made them curious was that despite their apparent age, they remained indestructible. One looked to be a simple delicate earthenware cup. And yet heavy analysis could not say with specificity what it was made from. The molecular structure seemed akin to that of porcelain. And yet there were...irregularities. He had been worried that the testing process would damage it, as one way to determine what a substance was was to hit it with a high intensity laser and then analyze the gases. A spectrascope would also be used. The latter worked, but the former failed to burn off anything. Sound waves passing through it actually seemed to move more slowly during those moments, as though the density had increased.
A palimpsest recovered from an ancient manuscript, the lettering alien to most. He, as Atharim had recognized it. Proto Indo European. Almost 8000 years old though clearly this had been copied many times over, as the original materials had rotted away over such a large period of time. There were tantalizing clues here that he was still puzzling over, pointing to an Atharim trove.
A secondary room was their destination though. "It may help to see before I explain." In here was where he kept the carefully preserved remains of some of the creatures they hunted. A chupacabra skeleton. A Queztecoatl about the size of a bird. Of course there could be no wefuke or d'Jinn or Bainaka. They were ethereal. As were Ijiraq. The number of people who successfully killed ijiraq were minuscule. They mostly had to be driven away.
But the one that commanded the room was the large hulking Oni, standing over 3 meters, blue leather skin still intact, tusks protruding from its mouth, tiny black eyes hidden. He had had it stuffed after he killed it.
He said nothing. Just watched Patricus as he took it all in.
His face did relax as he strode forward into the tunnel alongside Patricus. The contrast between the two could not be more different. Armande, cloacked in black cassock robes broadshouldered and standing a head taller than the slender man with a swimmers body in blindingly white robes. Opposites in many ways. Both, though, shared blazing blue eyes.
"It is understandable, your Holiness, to be skeptical of my words. It will help you to grasp the enormity of my claims by seeing for yourself the evidence of our two bodies and their relationship."
Of course at this juncture, Armande could drop it all on him in one go. He remembered his own introduction into the Atharim- his kidnapping and then the people who had mentored him in his life. While he hadn't known what it was for, he had been shaped from the beginning for this. Not so, for Patricus. So small doses would do.
"To begin with, the Atharim date back millenia. Their sole purpose is to keep mankind safe from dangers that would quail most people's hearts. Creatures out of nightmare. When we came to the attention of the Church, Sylvester wanted us to go on with this work, but tied and allied to her. What I will show you now are artifacts of that relationship." And one thing more, he did not say.
They were at another doorway. The air pressure was different down here, his underground offices. He opened the door. Lining the stone walls were shelves filled to bursting with books, and folders and manuscripts. The rarest sat in glass cases, sealed and air and temperature controlled. He didnt need their physical copies to read them, of course. They had all be photographed or scanned, available to his terminal that sat at his large mahogany desk.
A few pictures and paintings adorned his wall. St. Ignatious of Loyola hung behind and above his chair. Though he had been released from his vows after Gregorio's death, he would always be a Jesuit in his heart. It formed the lens through which he viewed the world. Erasamus, of course, Prince of the Humanists.
Then too, there were pictures out of legend. An Aztec rendering of a Queztecoatl. An Aborignal Australian rock painting of a rakshasa. An Hungarian depiction of Vlad Dracul, a forest of spikes with impaled bodies dotting the hillside.
A few ancient artifacts stood on plinths and tables. What made them curious was that despite their apparent age, they remained indestructible. One looked to be a simple delicate earthenware cup. And yet heavy analysis could not say with specificity what it was made from. The molecular structure seemed akin to that of porcelain. And yet there were...irregularities. He had been worried that the testing process would damage it, as one way to determine what a substance was was to hit it with a high intensity laser and then analyze the gases. A spectrascope would also be used. The latter worked, but the former failed to burn off anything. Sound waves passing through it actually seemed to move more slowly during those moments, as though the density had increased.
A palimpsest recovered from an ancient manuscript, the lettering alien to most. He, as Atharim had recognized it. Proto Indo European. Almost 8000 years old though clearly this had been copied many times over, as the original materials had rotted away over such a large period of time. There were tantalizing clues here that he was still puzzling over, pointing to an Atharim trove.
A secondary room was their destination though. "It may help to see before I explain." In here was where he kept the carefully preserved remains of some of the creatures they hunted. A chupacabra skeleton. A Queztecoatl about the size of a bird. Of course there could be no wefuke or d'Jinn or Bainaka. They were ethereal. As were Ijiraq. The number of people who successfully killed ijiraq were minuscule. They mostly had to be driven away.
But the one that commanded the room was the large hulking Oni, standing over 3 meters, blue leather skin still intact, tusks protruding from its mouth, tiny black eyes hidden. He had had it stuffed after he killed it.
He said nothing. Just watched Patricus as he took it all in.