Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I (3 page)
“What new task? Nobody spoke of this; I wasn’t told!”
“Nobody knew. It was only to be entrusted to the
final two emperors when we unified the churches. It was to be the first step to
unifying them all.” He replied without ceremony and his tone never hinted at
the enormity of Plathon’s scheme.
“All the churches? Unifying all religions in the
world?” Kosta wished that his bafflement had struck him mute. He prayed that
this wasn’t real, rather one of his many nightmares. “You can’t be serious.”
“They’re all one. Many opposing faiths are merely
alternate interpretations of God. They’re more similar than they are
different,” bartering his point and putting the explanation down as currency.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Kosta saw no
value in his words. “What do you want me to do!?” He couldn’t believe this turn
of events. He had never fully dreamed of a normal life, but in the last few
years, he had allowed a glimmer of hope shine through. That tepid thought was
drowned in the tidal wave of confusion, with which he was now confronted.
“Plathon chose you to tell me,” Kosta stated.
“You wouldn’t have listened to anybody else.” He
confirmed the clever path, which the old teacher, Plathon, had chosen to take.
“Why should I listen to you? Why can’t I go ahead and
live life like everyone else and have a family? Why am I always Uncle Kosta?”
He gave full reign to his frustration. “Why should I sacrifice anything more!?”
“I sacrificed everything. I could’ve left and lived
luxuriously in any European court for the rest of my days,” he countered,
unmoved by his descendant’s plight.
“You would’ve been a spectacle. You would have been
little better than a performer - an amusement for courtiers and pampered
nobles.” Kosta could never see the once Byzantine Emperor presiding over any
lesser post. Pride would never allow it. The highest rank in the world could
condone nothing less.
“That doesn’t sound terrible. I would’ve been alive.
Instead, I chose to die here, with my city and my people. I had to wait
centuries to talk to you.” He added, returning to an earlier point, “If I
hadn’t been the last soul, you wouldn’t have even listened.”
“What is it that you wish to tell me!?” Kosta
exhaled, exasperated.
“Return to Mystra. Find Plathon. He will tell you
what you must do,” the emperor concluded cryptically.
“Why can’t you tell me?” This confused Kosta more.
What could they be expecting that they couldn’t say all at once? The build-up
from his namesake, and this final edict, dictating that he must seek out
another, was anticlimactic. He was enormously disappointed.
“I can only convince you to continue to another task
after the Truth is done here,” he answered.
“What does Plathon want? What’s he after?” Kosta
asked.
“He wants to continue what began on our trip to
Venice. Where he convinced Cossimo de Medici to start his collegio, when we
sought their help.” His eyes shifted down, remembering the betrayal that
followed all the false promises by Doge, Medici and Cardinals.
“Where they promised aid, which never came.” Kosta
poured salt on the wound, further bowing the emperor’s head.
“Yes.” His whispered answer boomed with the regret of
centuries, emperors gone and a culture squandered, left to die. A culture built
on commerce and diplomacy, not conquest. They watched as the west went on
Crusade after Crusade, never, themselves, taking active part in war. It wasn’t
good for trade, for which they were envied, their success and confidence
despised as arrogance. Those, under their shadow, coveted their wealth and
position in trade, and in Venice, bartered with them, winning them over with
false assurances.
“Their Pope and Cardinals assured us,” he stated.
“They let you die to take your place. The Pope usurped
your place as the Word of God, and Venice became the wealthiest and most envied
city in Christendom.” Kosta added piteously, “You died so that they could
inherit a fraction of your glory.”
“You’re right. They wanted our wealth and our place.”
He took the blows and, unconquered, added, “The aid we expected was only one
reason we didn’t just let the sultan have the city. The other was our teacher’s
plan.”
“Georgios, Gemistos Plathon.” Kosta counted out the
obscure name. “That’s all you can tell me? You died, sold out your culture and
people for that?”
“We were desperate. We had no other choice, but we
also saw an opportunity to further Plathon’s scheme.” He had never had to argue
like this, to explain himself to any man.
“You want more of my life for something you won’t
explain? I’ve done enough! I won’t do that!” Kosta turned away, his rage
shaking his shoulders and neck. A second later, he added in a conspiratorial
tone, “What if I don’t finish the Truth?” The emperor looked horrified. He
continued, “The Truth’s job ends when the last soul of
Kostadinoupoli
is put
to rest. You won’t say why I must go on.” Grimly, he finished his final
bargain. “If you don’t tell me, you’ll never leave your city. You’ll stay with
the
Tourkos
forever.”
“You are a Paleologos. Do whatever you wish. I’ve
passed all the lifetimes, about which your family laments, and you complain of
sacrifice?” The last emperor,
the Dagoses
, passed his descendant’s fury. “You
don’t know what sacrifice is! If it is your pleasure to make me squander
eternity here, because you don’t want to shoulder any more responsibility - to
be a man - then so be your pleasure, sir!!”
Both men now faced each other, and had they been
mortal men, they would no longer be talking. One a specter and with no physical
form the other a normal man with a corporeal form couldn’t put their hands on
each other. Their fight would remain one of wills, thoughts and words.
“Know this, your obstinance puts all creation in
danger. What you refuse will still go on, even without your help or
involvement.”
“What is it!?” he screamed. “Tell me!!”
“It is your choice - if you want to be a part of the
sublime spectacle, or watch it engulf the world as Revelations foretold,”
Kostadino XI
answered, undaunted. “Plathon is the only one who can tell you and he’ll only
appear if you agree to the task!!”
“If I don’t? What then?” The question was sharp and
naked, lacking his previous guile.
“I don’t know that either,” the emperor replied to
Kosta as he began to turn away.
“I’ll find him in Mystra then? Where?”
“Follow the signs that Plathon left for you centuries
ago.” He watched as he turned completely and began walking away. He didn’t ask
if he would return and give him the same rapture, which the other Byzantines
had earned. He was at the Truth’s mercy, waiting, hoping one day, he take pity
and allow him to have peace. Three steps away, he turned. His face was darker
than the night, which condemned him.
“You could’ve prevented most of this…”
“Nobody could have prevented any of it,”
the Dagoses
interrupted, further infuriating the Truth.
“Then lessened it, but you let it all happen!!” He
rushed at him. “Because you saw an opportunity!? You vicious, cold bastard!”
“I am no bastard!! My mother was a queen and my
father was an emperor! You whine and complain like a scullery maid, a common
woman!” The emperor’s face twisted in contempt. “Why aren’t you wearing a
dress?”
“Asshole!” Kosta yelled, eliciting a baffled
expression from his namesake. “I’ll go to Mystra and I’ll find Plathon, but
you’ll stay here!”
“I won’t beg for release, you dim speck of my blood,”
he derided Kosta. “You’re merely a fraction of anybody who defended this city.
You’re weak and I’m ashamed that you are of my line.” He spit on the ground and
walked away.
Each word struck Kosta harder than the last and he
was, in turn, ashamed. He tried to find
Kostadino XI
, but he had disappeared. Every Truth
had always known there was no room for self-pity. Their job is their
responsibility and must be dealt with accordingly. Complaining will only make
things worse. He chided himself a
tebely
, lazy and looked ahead to finding the
departed imperial tutor at Mystra.
TIME: JUNE 5TH, 1960, SPARTI, GREECE
Kosta was being followed. They were Papal assassins,
who did whatever their masters ordered. Amongst those milling in the train
station, there was a dark blue clad man who didn’t take his eyes off of Kosta,
directing two others through furtive head and hand gestures. He should’ve
spotted him earlier, and cursed himself for not being more careful. He tried to
shake off the cloud he felt on his senses since
Kostadinoupoli
, and
thought it gone, but it kept up to him, wearing a dark blue suit and fedora.
All three were similarly dressed and proportioned, square jawed and shouldered.
Their coordinator was a doppelganger for Robert Mitchum, in
Night of the Hunter
. This errant thought
assured Kosta that he was regaining his senses; entertainment minutia always
calmed him.
He heard a song, playing somewhere in the Spartan
station, and was surprised that it wasn’t one of the heart-tugging melodramas
about the
eleftheria
,
war of independence, or
katohi,
German occupation. His mind raced with the task of
recognizing the low violins, and trying to form a plan to get rid of the
pursuers, who were now triangulating on him, as directed by Mitchum 2.
“Oh the Shark has perfect teeth, dear…” he mumbled
under his breath as they closed in. He had to act quickly. He rushed to a
nearby
periptero
,
newsstand, and scanned the rack of newspapers. Going by
Eleftheria, Hestia
and
Vema,
he
read that Eisenhower had met Khrushchev in Paris more than a week ago, and that
they were still writing about it. This would soon be overshadowed by the
distraction of the Olympics in Rome. Kosta registered this haphazardly, using
it to focus his thoughts, feigning interest in the news, and keeping an eye out
for Mitchum 2 and his cronies.
He picked up
Vema,
a few chocolate bars and tourist trinkets,
paid for them and continued to deliberately read the front page. More than a week
before, Adolf Eichmann had been captured in Argentina and brought to Israel to
face justice.
He took the paper, rolled it around a ballpoint pen.
This pen concealed a spring-loaded, poisoned blade, which would break upon
impact. The sliver-thin shiv would then remain in the wound, minutes later,
killing its victim. All he needed was something to distract the other two, who
were still watching him. He approached a gang of scruffy boys,
alites,
urchins
looking for easy targets,
xenous
to
grift
-
to con them out of their money.
To the wiliest looking of them, Kosta handed 100
drachmas
,
and promised another 100 for each of his friends. In return, all they had to do
was attempt to sell the candy and trinkets to the other two men. The boy smiled
slyly and demanded all the money upfront, before he returned to his
filous,
pals.
Kosta agreed and, seconds later, the boy gestured excitedly at his friends,
conveying his plan.
Mitchum 2 saw that the urchins were distracting his
Brothers and went for Kosta, himself. There was no time to waste on
intricacies. So much the better, Kosta thought. Away from the door, and in
denser crowds, any scuffle would be hidden by the natural distractions and
confusion.
Each took six steps and collided, both making it look
accidental. Kosta caught his wrist and Mitchum 2 caught the rolled up
newspaper. The spring-loaded pen went off with a twist of his wrist. The man
dropped the dagger he had been attempting to use, doubling slightly forward.
Too late, Kosta saw that the commotion had attracted the attention of the other
two men. This wasn’t optimal, but was still better than before. The odds
improved, and very quickly, Kosta feigned a glance at his watch and ran out the
door, leaving the crumpled Mitchum 2 behind.
Things continued to look up, as he saw the clean
Laconian sky and walked into the tree-lined street, named after his imperial
ancestors. He went at a brisk trot, chancing a glance backward to see that the
other two men were coming out of the door from which he had just exited. They
carried their leader, allowing Kosta to widen the distance between them.
He continued up
Paleologos Othos
, and quickly turned into an
alley. He removed his jacket and reversed it, from olive to the tan inside.
From an inside pocket, he also took out a matching hat. Thus disguised, he
returned to the street and crossed over to the train station.