The Belial Fall Read online

  The Belial Fall

  A Belial Series Novel

  R.D. Brady

  Scottish Seoul Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Books By R.D. Brady

  Prologue

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  CHAPTER 71

  CHAPTER 72

  CHAPTER 73

  CHAPTER 74

  CHAPTER 75

  CHAPTER 76

  CHAPTER 77

  CHAPTER 78

  CHAPTER 79

  CHAPTER 80

  CHAPTER 81

  CHAPTER 82

  CHAPTER 83

  CHAPTER 84

  CHAPTER 85

  CHAPTER 86

  CHAPTER 87

  CHAPTER 88

  CHAPTER 89

  CHAPTER 90

  CHAPTER 91

  CHAPTER 92

  CHAPTER 93

  CHAPTER 94

  CHAPTER 95

  Epilogue

  FACT OR FICTION?

  Characters of The Belial Fall

  About the Author

  Books by R.D. Brady

  Books By R.D. Brady

  The Belial Series (in order)

  The Belial Stone

  The Belial Library

  The Belial Ring

  Recruit: A Belial Series Novella

  The Belial Children

  The Belial Origins

  The Belial Search

  The Belial Guard

  The Belial Warrior

  The Belial Plan

  The Belial Witches

  The Belial War

  The Belial Fall

  The Belial Sacrifice

  Stand-Alone Books

  Runs Deep

  Hominid

  The A.L.I.V.E. Series

  B.E.G.I.N.

  A.L.I.V.E.

  D.E.A.D.

  Be sure to sign up for R.D.'s mailing list to be the first to hear when she has a new release and receive a free short story!

  “Hatred is gained as much by good works as by evil.”

  -Niccolo Macchiavelli, The Prince

  “Everyone has his own idea of good and evil and must choose to follow the good and fight evil as he conceives them. That would be enough to make the world a better place.”

  - Pope Francis, 2013, Interview by La Repubblica's founder, Eugenio Scalfari

  Prologue

  Rome, Italy,

  1099 A.D.

  The meeting was not going well. Pope John Anglicus had known it was going to be a difficult one. Change did not come easily to most people. With the Roman Catholic Church, it seemed even more difficult. But the Pope was dedicated to making at least some small inroads.

  “The issue of indulgences must be addressed. Jesus saw no reason for money to determine a person’s worth. He saw the opposite. In His name, we should follow His example. The indulgences should be disallowed.”

  The Bishop of Padua stood. He was a short, round man with only a fringe of hair. He usually wore a brown frock, giving him the appearance of a monk, while performing his Church duties. But John had it on good authority that he had a second wardrobe that would rival a crown prince’s. The Pope nodded to him, allowing him to speak.

  “Your Holiness, what you say is true. However, the indulgences do bring in money that allows us to continue our good works. Many of us fear that without that money, our charitable abilities will be greatly restricted.”

  The Pope stared at the Bishop, then pointedly looked at his right hand, where four rings encrusted with jewels adorned his chubby fingers. The Bishop’s cheeks flamed red. He quickly sat down. The Bishop was well known for his “charitable” works, his favorite charity being himself. But the Bishop was also powerful within the Church. And the Pope, while omnipotent in the eyes of his followers, was not viewed as such by the other high-ranking members of the Church’s hierarchy. Still, changes needed to be made.

  Pain shot through the Pope’s midsection. John grunted, his hand flying to his stomach.

  “Your Holiness?” Ignatius, the Pope’s lead guard, stepped forward, a frown on his face.

  John waved him back. “I’m fine. Breakfast does not seem to have agreed with me.”

  “Perhaps this would be a good time to adjourn. Your procession will begin within the hour,” Ignatius said.

  John nodded. “Very well. I ask that you all think upon my words. We will meet again next week to discuss the issue of indulgences further.”

  The cardinals bowed in John’s direction before quickly taking their leave. John stayed where he was until the room was cleared of all but Ignatius and Lucia, his servant.

  Ignatius closed the door after the last priest had left. He stood in front of it, his arms crossed over his chest. “We are clear.”

  Lucia hurried over to John’s side. “You are doing too much,” she chastised, reaching for John’s arm to help him out of his chair.

  John sighed, letting Lucia pull him up. The action caused the pillow he held in his lap to fall away, revealing his large, or more accurately, her large stomach.

  “You will not be able to hide the child much longer. You are taking too many risks.”

  John nodded as she clutched her friend’s arm. She and Lucia had grown up together. Lucia had been the daughter of her parents’ servant. And the Pope’s given name was indeed John. Her father had been so angered that his wife had given him a daughter that he had refused to change the name he had chosen.

  But the name had served John well. She had kept her hair short and enrolled in school, an act forbidden to her gender. Lucia had been her accomplice, binding her breasts and tailoring clothes to fit her other persona.

  Years of study and toil had paid off when she had reached the dream she had had since she was a child: to become Pope.

  She had no illusion of making the Church an egalitarian bastion. But she knew in this position she could begin the changes that one day would recognize the importance of women in
the eyes of God.

  John grunted as pain rippled across her stomach. She folded over, taking a deep breath.

  “What is it? Is it the babe?” Lucia asked.

  Ignatius strode across the room, making as if to sweep John off her feet. She straightened, stepping back. “No. The two of you are worrying like old hens. It is the eggs that did not agree with me. The babe is fine and not due for two months.”

  “But still, you need to take care,” Ignatius said.

  John looked up into his eyes. When she had met Ignatius ten years ago, she thought he would be her undoing. He would reveal her secret, undo all her carefully laid plans. But he had been the opposite. He had been another pillar. With Lucia and Ignatius by her side, she had fulfilled her dreams. Now she was bringing Ignatius’s child into the world. She did not regret that. Not for a moment.

  But he was right. She needed to take care.

  “After today, I will go into seclusion until the baby is born. We can say I have the flu, or perhaps something contagious that will keep the Church away.”

  Lucia clasped her hands together. “Yes. We can go to the summer cottage.”

  John smiled at the idea. The summer cottage. It was their home, nestled into the banks of Lake Como. John had purchased it for the three of them seven years ago. When they could, they escaped there to allow themselves to truly be themselves. It was beautiful. The sun shone against the blue waters as it rose in the morning. Flocks of heron and swans sailed its surface. Wildflowers surrounded it. John loved to sit out on the porch in the early morning, just enjoying the peace. Yes, the summer cottage was the perfect spot for their child to be born.

  “All right. We will leave for the cottage first thing tomorrow morning, after I have finished up some paperwork.”

  “As you wish.” Ignatius took her hand to his lips.

  John smiled. It would be good to get away. The pressures of the papacy had been getting to her more and more, the Church teachings leaning further and further away from their origins. She needed to get the Church back to Jesus’s message and to his original intention for the Church. “How long until we leave for the procession?”

  “An hour,” Ignatius said.

  “Let us get you changed and perhaps you have time for a short nap,” said Lucia.

  John stared at her friend. “I am not a child, Lucia.”

  Lucia didn’t bristle at her tone and merely stared her down, her hands on her hips. “No, but you are creating one. Rest when you can, my friend.”

  John wanted to be mad at her. But unlike others who felt the need to tell her what to do, Lucia was coming at her statements from a place of love. “Very well. I will rest.”

  Lucia’s shoulders sagged. “Good, good.”

  Pain rippled across John’s abdomen, but she was careful to keep any sign of it from her face. One more day, and then she would rest. She could make it through one more day.

  The nap had not done much to restore John’s energy. In fact, she felt even worse after it. The pain and cramping seemed to be increasing. Lucia wanted her to cancel the procession, but John knew she couldn’t. Some of the cardinals were pushing back at her. She didn’t think they suspected the truth of who she was, but they were waiting for an excuse to knock her down. They did not like the changes she was discussing. She did not want to give them any chance to accuse her of avoiding her duties. Besides, starting tomorrow she would have all the rest she needed.

  So she’d carefully dressed in her processional robes, long and white with silver and blue embroidery lining them. Her tall papal hat she secured last, before she stepped outside, allowing Ignatius to help her onto her horse.

  They wound their way through the streets from St. Peter’s to the Lateran Palace. It was expected that her comings and goings were an event in Rome, even her daily commute from the church to her residence. But as horrible as she felt, she viewed this as one of her most important duties. So much of what she did was behind walls, doors, and gates. She was supposed to be the steward of the people, which meant she needed to be out amongst the people. She had seen the change come over someone when she caught their eye and gave them a nod. For people struggling to survive from day to day, the least she could do was sit straight in her saddle and give them that small glimpse of hope.

  Twelve cardinals followed, but Lucia was directly behind her, walking. Her head bowed, she gave the appearance of being a submissive servant, ready for the orders of the Pope. But John could feel her gaze through her lashes. Ignatius had taken her arguments that she was fine at face value. But Lucia, she knew better. She knew John better than anyone. She was not fooled.

  Ahead, Ignatius turned down the Via Sacra, the Sacred Road. It was the most direct route from St. Peter’s to the Pope’s residence.

  John gripped the reins as pain sharper than any before rippled through her. Wetness slid between her legs. Blood began to stain her cassock. The sweat that had broken out on her forehead as she’d taken her mount now dripped down the side of her face. She bit her lip trying to contain her scream. Unconsciously, she yanked on her reins, pulling the horse to a stop as a second pain followed the previous one almost immediately. A gasp of pain burst from her lips.

  Lucia gripped her leg. “Your Holiness?”

  “I—” Pain stole her voice as her vision dimmed. She felt herself falling from her perch.

  Lucia propped her up, keeping her from falling. “Ignatius!”

  Ignatius grabbed her from Lucia before she could hit the ground. “Your Holiness!”

  She gripped his tunic. “The baby,” she whispered before she screamed. She could feel the child crowning. No, no. This cannot be happening.

  Ignatius clutched her close. “We need to get her—”

  “There is no time.” Lucia pushed aside John’s long robes, crouching in front of her. “I need your knife.”

  More pain lanced through John, so strong she did not care about anything happening around her. All she wanted was for the pain to stop. She pushed with everything she was worth, Ignatius holding her tightly to keep her from collapsing.

  “What is wrong? What is going on?” the cardinals called behind her.

  John could not answer them as pain gripped her again. She pushed. Blessedly, the pain disappeared, the pressure as well.

  She sagged against Ignatius in relief.

  Then the baby cried out.

  Everyone in the alley went still before the mutters began, disbelief followed by anger. Fear cut through the relief brought on from the absence of pain as she read the violence and betrayal in the rising voices.

  John’s gaze flew to the bundle in Lucia’s arms as she stood.

  “A girl,” Lucia said quietly.

  “Get her away. They will kill her.” John gripped Ignatius’s arms, nodding at Lucia, who held their child. “You must them get them both away.”

  “Blasphemer!” came the yell from the crowd before the first rock flew.

  Ignatius stared down at her, his loyalty torn. “But they will kill you.”

  John knew he was right, but that changed nothing. Her fate was sealed. But her daughter’s, her friend’s, her love’s, they could all be spared.

  “Leave me. I am the one they want. Save her. Save our daughter. Lucia knows what to do.”

  They had made a plan, one John had never thought they would have to initiate. She had delivered too early. But God did indeed work in mysterious ways. If this was His plan, then she would gladly trade her life so that her daughter could live.

  Lucia cried out as a rock hit her. John pushed at Ignatius. “Go, go! Before it’s too late!”

  Ignatius tightened his embrace before gently releasing John to the ground. He pulled his sword with one hand, pulling on Lucia with the other. He stormed through the crowd, knocking people back.

  John watched, not even having a chance to say goodbye to any of them. But it was better that way. No words would ever be enough. A rock slammed into her shoulder, another her chest. She blinked in pain. Th
e crowd surged toward her. Cardinal Segnillio threw a rock, catching her under the eye. The rest of the cardinals joined in, their faces masks of hate. More rocks flew, so many that she could not tell who threw them or from what direction. They seemed to come from everywhere at once. Pain lanced through John, followed by a blessed numbness. Hands reached her, tearing at her garments. And then feet stomped on her, replacing the rocks.

  She looked up into the eyes of a man, his eyes wild, spittle flying from his mouth as he yelled vulgarity after vulgarity.

  I forgive you, she thought just as he raised his foot and stomped on her head. Then she thought of nothing at all.