Meet me on the astral plane, or I go insane
Well, I finished my story for the yuletide New Year's Resolution challenge last night. I was pressed for time, because I had been under the impression that we had until November 1st to finish, and become eligible for this year's Yuletide, but then yesterday I realized the general consensus on the deadline seemed to be October 31st. Oops. I got it in at 1:30 am, so it was an hour and a half late. I think they're counting it, though. Hopefully.
So anyway, the ending is incredibly rushed. Some day, maybe I'll fix it for the benefit of my writing conscience. But not today.
After that encouraging introduction, why don't you read some 1602 fanfiction? If you haven't read Neil Gaiman's 1602, you really should. What if the characters in the Marvel universe had come into being too early, becoming the heroes we know and love at the beginning of the 17th century? You just know it has to be epic.
1583, by scoured. PG-13. Written for penknife in the New Year's Resolution 2005 Challenge at yuletide.
Summary: Carlos explores the astral plane, duels with Lucifer, and commissions a helmet. Enrico has trust issues. Mostly gen, with Carlos Javier/Enrico overtones.
Disclaimer: I don't own 1602. Marvel and Neil Gaiman, and probably some other people too, do.
He moved over the rooftops of the city with speed and precision, fearless. Gingerly, he stepped off of the roof and with a thought, took to flight. The world below him looked just as it should. Bologna, la citta rossa, her brick buildings glowing crimson in the moonlight.
The city was right, but it was not right. The wind didn't feel cold against his flesh, because he did not wish himself discomfort. A glance at his body indicated that all was as it should be, but a closer look demonstrated there was more to it. His skin was vaguely luminescent, his muscles were far more toned than they generally were, and it was easy to assess this because he was unconcernedly nude. In short, he looked as he imagined himself in his dreams, and this was a small step away from reality as we generally consider it.
On a whim (actions did not seem as consequential in this type of existence, so he was more likely to give into passing fancies) Carlos Javier decided he would like to visit his home in Salamanca. In barely a breath (he did like to breathe, it helped him feel grounded) he was there. A cursory bird's-eye glance assured him that the city was much as he had left it. The new cathedral was progressing slowly. Perhaps, he thought, by the time it is completed, the original cathedral next door will appear in need of a replacement. Somehow, he doubted it.
The estate was also just as he had left it. It had been a place of joy for a short while, when he was a small boy. His mother's English had filled the halls, making their home a special place, separate from the Castilian world outside their walls. Their happiness was not perfect, of course. While young Carlos did not remember his father, his mother did not have that luxury. He could often feel her tears hiding behind her eyes, waiting to skulk out after he was away from sight.
The entrance of her second husband brought an end to Carlos' joy. He endeavored to rule their household. Suddenly, only Spanish was spoken inside the house; the world had finally violated their small sanctuary. Carlos' care was pushed onto servants. The invader demanded time with his quarry, so he stole Carlos' mother away.
Shortly after that, she grew ill and died, and all of the light left. All that remained were servants, the boy, his stepfather, and the man's son. Marcos distrusted his new brother, resented him more and more as they grew older, knowing that he lived in Javier's house and his father only controlled it until the younger boy came of age.
Of course, his father did his best to squander Carlos' inheritance before he could get his hands on it. The young man would hear him come in late at night, and in his thoughts he could see what this man was using his father's money for, and it would make his skin crawl. He was powerless to do anything to stop it.
And then he gained the power. He threw the louse out to live on whatever the faded prestige of his name could bring him (he had lost his own estate years previous), Marcos joined the finest navy in the world, and the manor was Javier's. Cold, lifeless, and his.
He wanted to study canonical law, probably enter the priesthood. He could have done so at the University in Salamanca, and simultaneously worked on restoring his father's home. Instead, he fled to Bologna.
This is the problem with this type of existence, he thought. In a blink of an eye, I can be anywhere I want to be. And to where does my mind draw me? The last place in the world I want to be, the one building that houses all of my deepest regrets. By its very nature, this plane is solitary. I never explore new places, because my soul is
too drawn to exploring its past. If I could only have someone with me, perhaps I could be urged to take a step in a different direction. It would need to be someone very close to me, who I find mentally stimulating. The perfect choice would be...
"Enrico?"
As soon as Carlos had thought him, there he was, luminescent white, sculpted, and very naked. And confused. Much as if Michelangelo's David had just been asked to tea by Goliath. Carlos had never considered what his friend might look like without his clothing, and he had certainly never considered what an idealized version of him would look like naked. The rational, curious part of his mind considered whether this was Enrico's ideal or his own. The rest of him was just uncomfortable, far too aware of how little space and matter separated them.
Enrico broke into this with the obvious question of "Carlos, where are we?"
"Salamanca."
"Ah, how...nostalgic of you," he responded, with a twinkle entering his eyes.
"You seem surprisingly calm," Carlos ventured, ignoring the slight jab. "Have you done this before?"
"What? Cross the Mediterranean at midnight, leaving my clothing behind me in rather mysterious circumstances? No, I should say this is my first such experience. However, I am certain that very soon you will delight me with a thorough explanation of everything." He raised his eyebrow at Carlos, indicating that this was definitely the time to clarify the situation.
For all of his bravado, Enrico was definitely not at ease. His will seemed to be drawing him towards the ground in response to his discomfort with floating. Carlos led them in a walk through the streets of his hometown. He found it much easier to think if he was moving.
"I cannot say I have an adequate explanation at hand, Enrico, but I will make an attempt. Since I was a young man, I have...you do understand the need for confidentiality, I presume?"
He met this with a sardonic grin. "I assure you, I will not relate tonight's escapade to anyone. This hardly seems appropriate behavior for two men of the cloth, does it? I do have plans for a future in the Church."
"Of course. Well, since I was a young man, I have been able to do this. The first time, I was drifting off to sleep, in a bedroom of the house near which you arrived. My brother and his father were shouting at one another in a nearby room, and I dreamily thought, not for the first time, that I wished I could leave the house, be anywhere other than where I was. The next thing I knew, I was outside my window. My body was still in bed, but this body," he gestured, "was not. Terrified, I leaped in and forced myself back into my flesh."
Enrico winced. "That certainly sounds painful."
"Mentally, yes. I was trying to reconcile two opposing forces - my desire to be free, and my fears of the unknown, and of others knowing how strange I was. Tearing oneself in opposite directions is never pleasant."
"So, our actual bodies are still in Bologna, just as we left them?"
"Yes."
"My knees will be quite sore when I return."
Carlos tilted his head quizzically.
"I was praying before I arrived here," Enrico explained.
Of course, Carlos thought. His legs increased their speed with the flurry of his thoughts. Enrico quickened his pace, amazed at how effortless it seemed. He felt as though he could do anything in this form.
"That at least partially explains what must have happened. In order to project oneself, (I always think of it as projecting my soul away from my body, just as a singer does his voice) one needs to relax, enter a state of transcendence. This could happen during the period before sleep, or a time of prayer.
"Is this a common occurrence for holy men, then?" By this point, Carlos was certain his friend was playing with him. He could not decipher the game, however.
"No, not that I know of. I am sure there is an added element, something that brought you here. I was just thinking about you, and how it would be nice if you were here..." Enrico seemed to jolt a bit at this, almost imperceptibly. Few would have noticed it, but Carlos almost never missed cues in body language. "but it would surely take more than that. Let us consider the situation once more. You were deep in prayer..."
"I had been deep in prayer. I had been deep in prayer for a while, though, and I must admit my mind had strayed a bit." He looked sheepish at this confession.
"What had it strayed to, my devout friend?"
"Well...that conversation we had last week concerning the Council of Trent's published dissertations on the standards of supernatural revelation."
"That must be it! We were simultaneously in periods of suspended consciousness (I was already in this form of existence), our thoughts were simultaneously on each other, and so my mind must have pulled you here!" Carlos felt very satisfied with this success in deductive logic.
Enrico, however, took on his most superior face (one destined to make those inexperienced with him tremble, suddenly aware of their own base, inferior natures) and scoffed, "I was enjoying the lecture, but I believe you have made an insupportable leap. Why do you make the assumption that yours is the powerful mind behind this extraordinary feat?"
"Because mine is the mind powerful enough to project myself out of my body. Not to mention the fact that it is powerful enough to see what is in the minds of others, and place myself there."
The game was over. The subtle one-upmanship, the joy Enrico received from watching Carlos' mind at work, it had now come to a sudden halt. They stared at one another in blank horror.
Carlos could not believe he had just casually made a statement with the power to get him thrown out of the University and into the arms of the Inquisition. He had never revealed this to anyone (although Marcos had guessed it before he really knew it himself, fueling the hatred of his brother). He had just been so caught up in his and Enrico's play that it had slipped, unintentionally.
However, he had not expected Enrico to act quite like this. He had accepted their supernatural journey so calmly, with so much trust, that Carlos was unprepared for his speechlessness, his eyes wide in terror, slowly turning into revulsion.
"Enrico, it is..."
"Have you always been able to do this? Stare into my mind, watch my memories, my secrets, as your own private commedia?"
"No, it's not..."
"To go back to Bologna, I just have to wholeheartedly want to be there, correct? All I need is to want to be away from this place with all of my will?"
Quietly, Carlos admitted, "Yes."
And Enrico was gone. His absence made the city seem even emptier for Carlos. He returned to his body in his Bologna bedroom, wondering what kind of monster his closest friend thought he was. He also wondered, not for the first time, what he was hiding.
***
The first time Carlos saw Enrico, in the hallway of the Archiginnasio (the building that housed their school), he was compelled to study his face. It was layered with more emotions and barriers than Carlos had ever seen in one place.
At first glance (the only thing an average individual would catch) he could see the placid, stony expression the man showed the entire world. Just underneath the surface, however, was the rage. It was so overwhelming that Carlos had to surreptitiously reach for a wall on which to steady himself. His brow demonstrated an enormous amount of pride, a challenge to anyone else to better him. Far beneath this was fear, long conquered but still remaining, a reminder of times past. And if he went a little deeper...but no, there was another fortress wall.
He had become so accustomed to hiding, that he had the ability to block even Carlos out. If he had pushed further, he could have no doubt broken those walls. However, something about this man commanded respect. He could not bring himself to violate what he obviously wanted to remain untouched.
Strangely enough, he sincerely hoped that he could get to know this man and have him reveal his secrets of his own volition. He could wait.
***
Carlos was hurt that Enrico distrusted him, and thought that his privacy had been invaded. Their pride kept them separated for months. They would pass in the hallway with barely a cursory nod.
Enrico evidently felt that distancing himself from his once-friend would block him out. Of course, Carlos could have broken into his mind easily, even if he were halfway across Europe, but he did not tell him that. He doubted it would help matters any.
His one comfort was that Enrico obviously didn't hate him so much that he had spoken to the authorities. The fact that he wasn't undergoing questioning in a dungeon at the moment made that evident. This made him feel as though there was possibly still hope for them yet.
He sat in his chair, meditating. He was considering the parable of Lazarus and the rich man. What intrigued him the most about this tale was the presentation of the spiritual realms. So often, they seemed distant, out of reach, but this story made them feel intimately connected to this world. As though they were touched by the same lamplight. He felt he could reach out and...
He was there. He did not know if he was in Heaven or Hell, or somewhere in between, but he was certain it was not Earth.
The primary feature of this place was light. Every surface shone, in every color imaginable. There were colors that Carlos had never seen in the waking world, ones that did not exist.
The very nature of this world seemed to be mutable. When he expected the ground to be firm it was, but when he was afraid it was soft, his foot sunk deep into the surface. In all of his past experiences, his body could change at his whim, and do anything he required of it, but the world itself remained the same. People moved around just as they were, and they were unaware of his presence, unless he projected something into their minds. It had taken him a while to discover this, and there had been many instances of pointless hiding when he was a youth. As he had developed his abilities, he had been able to feel the difference between a person's thoughts on the same plane as him and on a separate one. He had never felt another's presence in that reality until Enrico.
Here, he could sense another's thoughts, faintly. In the hopes that it might be his friend, he willed himself to the source. As soon as he moved closer, however, he could feel that it was definitely not Enrico. This was a presence so alien to him that he felt it could not even be human. Some kind of spiritual entity, native to this world?
"Why do you continue to analyze me? Could you not just ask me who I am?" the being bellowed at him.
Carlos' heartbeat began to accelerate. This being was not just alien, it was antagonistic, and possibly evil. Despite the blinding light of this realm, he was veiled in darkness, and Carlos could just barely make out his features. What appeared in front of him was human, an attractive male who looked vaguely Moorish. Carlos felt that this was not, in all likelihood, his actual appearance. A part of him wanted to run right then, but his pride made him respond, "What is your name, creature?"
"Creature? I do not appreciate this from someone as thoroughly mortal as yourself. I am Lucifer, the King of Shadows. And I have no use for an insolent beast. Why did you seek me out?"
Because I had a blind hope that you might be Enrico, Carlos thought.
"Who is Enrico? A lover? No, no, not a lover. You have feelings, desires, that you do not acknowledge, and that you conceal under facades of friendship and brotherly love. And you are scared right now, because you have never met someone else with the ability to turn another human inside out, reveal everything about him in the breadth of a thought. You have never tapped the potentials of your own power and you have certainly never encountered someone of my power."
He was right, and Carlos knew it. He steadied his mind, in order to leave, but Lucifer put a stop to that.
"No," he said, as the floor scooped up to cocoon him in place, "I want you to stay here for a while, and amuse me. I need some information about your world. I have plans for it, and it would help to know what exists there currently. Let us start with monarchs and other leaders, shall we?"
This thing is too dangerous to let it live. I must pull myself together. I do not need to let him pull me open like this, Carlos thought. He slowly set up a series of barriers inside his mind, in order to keep Lucifer from anticipating his every move. His prison tightened as his tormentor realized what he was doing, but Carlos had control of himself now. He focused on the nature of this place, and, with a thought, banished that which confined him. He stared squarely at his opponent.
"Oh, you have decided to fight now?" Lucifer sneered. "I can't say I think it is an intelligent choice, but it does sound like a fun one."
Carlos was not going to be drawn into this verbal sparring. This was not a game, and he did not want it to feel like one. He mentally conjured himself the armor of a Roman centurion. The light that shone from every surface of this place was blinding as it reflected off the metal surface.
The battle was not drawn out. Carlos charged, and the other man barely moved. He just threw him back with his mind. Since he didn't want to be drawn into a physical fight, Carlos parried with a mental blast, probing into the mind of his opponent. It was successful, and he made a small intrusion into the other's mind. But what he found there was so revolting and inhuman that he could not maintain his presence. He hesitated, weakened, and Lucifer rallied his defenses and forced Carlos out. He was so forceful, in fact, that Carlos was thrown to the ground, with his snarling nemesis towering over him.
The ground pulled Carlos inside it. He tried to assert control over his environment, make the ground solid, but his focus on this distracted him from the scorpions that swarmed at him. His clarity, on which his powers depended, had forsaken him, and he sank through the viscous surface below him. Still grasping for control, while trying to banish the scorpions, he managed to force the ground to solidify. However, in his confusion he did not realize that he was below the ground to just below his waist. He felt every bone in his legs crush to dust, gave a sickening wail, and sank into darkness.
***
Carlos awoke to a touch, and he knew that Lucifer was going to finish him off. Using almost all of the energy left to him, he launched a mental assault. Surprisingly, it was not expected, and he found full access to his target's mind. A barrage of images and memories flooded his senses.
A small boy crying, by the banks of a canal. A priest, doing unspeakable things to that boy, hurting him, making him fear any touch. A small Star of David, thrown into a fire. A young man, forcing steel to heed his whims, reveling in the pulse of a lightning storm. A grown man, with plans for his rage, ways to make a callous world pay for its sins.
A sharp pain shot through Carlos' body, as he was repelled from his friend's mind. It would have been difficult to say which of them looked more hurt.
"Is this how you repay me? I have sat by your bed for days now, waiting for a change in your condition, and in the process have demonstrated that I am, in fact, your only friend. And the first thing you do..."
"Please, Enrico. Stop." The obvious pain in his voice made Enrico pause. "I am very sorry. I thought you were Lucifer..."
"Lucifer?" Enrico hissed. "Why would you confuse me with Satan?"
"The last thing I know, I was fighting with him. Or something that said it was him. And did you say days? It feels like moments. And..." Carlos stopped dead, in a sudden realization.
"Enrico? I can't feel my legs."
***
For weeks, physicians came from all over Europe to tend to Carlos, attempt a diagnosis. The Javier estate was sold off to a landed gentleman in the adjoining city, in order to pay for these services. Still, no one could determine why he could not move or feel his legs. Finally, Carlos grew sick of it, and sent them all away. He knew that it was time to take stock of his life, and move on.
"I am going to go home, Enrico." The two friends had reached an uneasy peace since the accident. They were currently seated across a table from one another, playing chess.
"Carlos, I was under the impression that you sold your home."
"Oh, that was not home. It hadn't been home since my mother died. I am really much better off without it. No, I am going to England. My mother had property there, in Warwick. I will go, politely inform the current tenants that they will need to vacate, and take up residence there."
Enrico looked up at him, incredulous. "There isn't much of a need for priests in England these days, Carlos."
"Well, there is not really much of a need for cripples in the priesthood, either. Be realistic. There is no place for people like me, people like us, in Catholicism." The last statement was made incredibly tentatively. They had never discussed what Carlos had seen the day he woke up from his illness. He felt that now was the time, though. "We have both heard the murmurings concerning what they call witchbreed, Enrico. They are preparing a time of persecution for those of us with abilities beyond those of men."
"So, you are going to throw yourself at the feet of Elizabeth? Confess your wrongs and beg for acceptance into the country and the Church of England?"
"I am the son of a good Englishwoman, and she left the country when it was still under Mary's rule. And I have a decent amount of capital to bring with me. I believe I will be heard out."
"And you believe that the Protestants will accept your abilities with open arms?" Enrico scoffed.
"Not right now. But eventually I believe the superstition surrounding us will fade away, and men will be able to see our powers for what they truly are - gifts from the Lord. They say our abnormalities are from Lucifer, but I believe I met him, and he definitely was not on my side. I was a threat to him and he tried to incapacitate me. My gifts come from the divine Himself, and I intend to use them for His purposes, for all humanity."
Enrico emitted huge peals of laughter. "You are such an idealistic fool, Carlos. We are more powerful than men, so they will fear us. They will never want to live side by side with us; they will only be able to stomach us if we use our abilities to serve them. I refuse to live that way, and you should too. You will see. The Protestants will despise you, just like the Catholics. And you won't be able to hide forever."
"But you will be able to hide here, behind your collar, forever?"
Enrico rose from his seat, impassioned by the argument. He did not mean for this small action to hurt Carlos the way it did. "I will not hide, only lie in wait. Once I have gathered enough power, there will be no one to hide from."
Carlos stared up at him, suddenly terrified. He reached out to touch his hand, hoping to keep him from withdrawing for good.
Enrico only shied away from the contact. He looked down, sickened, and sneered, "No. You have already seen far more than you should have. I will not allow you to do it again."
At this, he stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind him. Carlos did not have time to explain that he had not been prying, just trying to make contact. He could not even tell him that touch had nothing to do with seeing another's thoughts, they had just happened to be touching last time. He doubted this would help matters, anyway.
***
All of Carlos' preparations for his voyage had been made, with the exception of one.
"Signor Starco, thank you for calling on me. You understand that it would be very difficult for me to travel to your shop."
"It's my pleasure, sir. And please, call me Antonio." The man standing in Carlos' sitting room was quite a sight. He was exceedingly tall and broad-shouldered. And he was wearing a full suit of armor. Curious, Carlos did a light scan of his thoughts and emotions. The man had a strange attachment to this outfit.
"Do you always wear full armor, Antonio?"
"One could say it is what keeps me alive."
Javier nodded. "Well, it must be quite the armor, to make you feel that way. I have been told that you are a man of iron; that you do things no other blacksmith has ever done."
"Not to boast, but I will attest to the latter."
"Good," Carlos smiled. "I would like you to make a very special helmet."
***
The boat ride to England was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of Carlos Javier's life. Thankfully, he had found a man named McCoy who was also headed north. Without the large man to help him move, and attend to his various functions, he doubted he would have made it.
Sitting in his cabin, he imagined Enrico opening his gift. He envisioned him reading the note that explained how the helmet worked. He saw his lips tighten, as he read the words that followed. Please come to me, after you destroy this. I give this to you to gain your trust, but I sincerely hope that one day you will realize that you have never needed it.
He imagined that Enrico would then stroke his fingers over the smooth metal, and place it on his head with a distinct absence of physical movement.
Carlos wanted to check in on him, try to determine how much of what he had envisioned was true. However, he had made a promise. There was a tug in his stomach when he realized that his gift would ensure that he was a man of his word.
So anyway, the ending is incredibly rushed. Some day, maybe I'll fix it for the benefit of my writing conscience. But not today.
After that encouraging introduction, why don't you read some 1602 fanfiction? If you haven't read Neil Gaiman's 1602, you really should. What if the characters in the Marvel universe had come into being too early, becoming the heroes we know and love at the beginning of the 17th century? You just know it has to be epic.
1583, by scoured. PG-13. Written for penknife in the New Year's Resolution 2005 Challenge at yuletide.
Summary: Carlos explores the astral plane, duels with Lucifer, and commissions a helmet. Enrico has trust issues. Mostly gen, with Carlos Javier/Enrico overtones.
Disclaimer: I don't own 1602. Marvel and Neil Gaiman, and probably some other people too, do.
He moved over the rooftops of the city with speed and precision, fearless. Gingerly, he stepped off of the roof and with a thought, took to flight. The world below him looked just as it should. Bologna, la citta rossa, her brick buildings glowing crimson in the moonlight.
The city was right, but it was not right. The wind didn't feel cold against his flesh, because he did not wish himself discomfort. A glance at his body indicated that all was as it should be, but a closer look demonstrated there was more to it. His skin was vaguely luminescent, his muscles were far more toned than they generally were, and it was easy to assess this because he was unconcernedly nude. In short, he looked as he imagined himself in his dreams, and this was a small step away from reality as we generally consider it.
On a whim (actions did not seem as consequential in this type of existence, so he was more likely to give into passing fancies) Carlos Javier decided he would like to visit his home in Salamanca. In barely a breath (he did like to breathe, it helped him feel grounded) he was there. A cursory bird's-eye glance assured him that the city was much as he had left it. The new cathedral was progressing slowly. Perhaps, he thought, by the time it is completed, the original cathedral next door will appear in need of a replacement. Somehow, he doubted it.
The estate was also just as he had left it. It had been a place of joy for a short while, when he was a small boy. His mother's English had filled the halls, making their home a special place, separate from the Castilian world outside their walls. Their happiness was not perfect, of course. While young Carlos did not remember his father, his mother did not have that luxury. He could often feel her tears hiding behind her eyes, waiting to skulk out after he was away from sight.
The entrance of her second husband brought an end to Carlos' joy. He endeavored to rule their household. Suddenly, only Spanish was spoken inside the house; the world had finally violated their small sanctuary. Carlos' care was pushed onto servants. The invader demanded time with his quarry, so he stole Carlos' mother away.
Shortly after that, she grew ill and died, and all of the light left. All that remained were servants, the boy, his stepfather, and the man's son. Marcos distrusted his new brother, resented him more and more as they grew older, knowing that he lived in Javier's house and his father only controlled it until the younger boy came of age.
Of course, his father did his best to squander Carlos' inheritance before he could get his hands on it. The young man would hear him come in late at night, and in his thoughts he could see what this man was using his father's money for, and it would make his skin crawl. He was powerless to do anything to stop it.
And then he gained the power. He threw the louse out to live on whatever the faded prestige of his name could bring him (he had lost his own estate years previous), Marcos joined the finest navy in the world, and the manor was Javier's. Cold, lifeless, and his.
He wanted to study canonical law, probably enter the priesthood. He could have done so at the University in Salamanca, and simultaneously worked on restoring his father's home. Instead, he fled to Bologna.
This is the problem with this type of existence, he thought. In a blink of an eye, I can be anywhere I want to be. And to where does my mind draw me? The last place in the world I want to be, the one building that houses all of my deepest regrets. By its very nature, this plane is solitary. I never explore new places, because my soul is
too drawn to exploring its past. If I could only have someone with me, perhaps I could be urged to take a step in a different direction. It would need to be someone very close to me, who I find mentally stimulating. The perfect choice would be...
"Enrico?"
As soon as Carlos had thought him, there he was, luminescent white, sculpted, and very naked. And confused. Much as if Michelangelo's David had just been asked to tea by Goliath. Carlos had never considered what his friend might look like without his clothing, and he had certainly never considered what an idealized version of him would look like naked. The rational, curious part of his mind considered whether this was Enrico's ideal or his own. The rest of him was just uncomfortable, far too aware of how little space and matter separated them.
Enrico broke into this with the obvious question of "Carlos, where are we?"
"Salamanca."
"Ah, how...nostalgic of you," he responded, with a twinkle entering his eyes.
"You seem surprisingly calm," Carlos ventured, ignoring the slight jab. "Have you done this before?"
"What? Cross the Mediterranean at midnight, leaving my clothing behind me in rather mysterious circumstances? No, I should say this is my first such experience. However, I am certain that very soon you will delight me with a thorough explanation of everything." He raised his eyebrow at Carlos, indicating that this was definitely the time to clarify the situation.
For all of his bravado, Enrico was definitely not at ease. His will seemed to be drawing him towards the ground in response to his discomfort with floating. Carlos led them in a walk through the streets of his hometown. He found it much easier to think if he was moving.
"I cannot say I have an adequate explanation at hand, Enrico, but I will make an attempt. Since I was a young man, I have...you do understand the need for confidentiality, I presume?"
He met this with a sardonic grin. "I assure you, I will not relate tonight's escapade to anyone. This hardly seems appropriate behavior for two men of the cloth, does it? I do have plans for a future in the Church."
"Of course. Well, since I was a young man, I have been able to do this. The first time, I was drifting off to sleep, in a bedroom of the house near which you arrived. My brother and his father were shouting at one another in a nearby room, and I dreamily thought, not for the first time, that I wished I could leave the house, be anywhere other than where I was. The next thing I knew, I was outside my window. My body was still in bed, but this body," he gestured, "was not. Terrified, I leaped in and forced myself back into my flesh."
Enrico winced. "That certainly sounds painful."
"Mentally, yes. I was trying to reconcile two opposing forces - my desire to be free, and my fears of the unknown, and of others knowing how strange I was. Tearing oneself in opposite directions is never pleasant."
"So, our actual bodies are still in Bologna, just as we left them?"
"Yes."
"My knees will be quite sore when I return."
Carlos tilted his head quizzically.
"I was praying before I arrived here," Enrico explained.
Of course, Carlos thought. His legs increased their speed with the flurry of his thoughts. Enrico quickened his pace, amazed at how effortless it seemed. He felt as though he could do anything in this form.
"That at least partially explains what must have happened. In order to project oneself, (I always think of it as projecting my soul away from my body, just as a singer does his voice) one needs to relax, enter a state of transcendence. This could happen during the period before sleep, or a time of prayer.
"Is this a common occurrence for holy men, then?" By this point, Carlos was certain his friend was playing with him. He could not decipher the game, however.
"No, not that I know of. I am sure there is an added element, something that brought you here. I was just thinking about you, and how it would be nice if you were here..." Enrico seemed to jolt a bit at this, almost imperceptibly. Few would have noticed it, but Carlos almost never missed cues in body language. "but it would surely take more than that. Let us consider the situation once more. You were deep in prayer..."
"I had been deep in prayer. I had been deep in prayer for a while, though, and I must admit my mind had strayed a bit." He looked sheepish at this confession.
"What had it strayed to, my devout friend?"
"Well...that conversation we had last week concerning the Council of Trent's published dissertations on the standards of supernatural revelation."
"That must be it! We were simultaneously in periods of suspended consciousness (I was already in this form of existence), our thoughts were simultaneously on each other, and so my mind must have pulled you here!" Carlos felt very satisfied with this success in deductive logic.
Enrico, however, took on his most superior face (one destined to make those inexperienced with him tremble, suddenly aware of their own base, inferior natures) and scoffed, "I was enjoying the lecture, but I believe you have made an insupportable leap. Why do you make the assumption that yours is the powerful mind behind this extraordinary feat?"
"Because mine is the mind powerful enough to project myself out of my body. Not to mention the fact that it is powerful enough to see what is in the minds of others, and place myself there."
The game was over. The subtle one-upmanship, the joy Enrico received from watching Carlos' mind at work, it had now come to a sudden halt. They stared at one another in blank horror.
Carlos could not believe he had just casually made a statement with the power to get him thrown out of the University and into the arms of the Inquisition. He had never revealed this to anyone (although Marcos had guessed it before he really knew it himself, fueling the hatred of his brother). He had just been so caught up in his and Enrico's play that it had slipped, unintentionally.
However, he had not expected Enrico to act quite like this. He had accepted their supernatural journey so calmly, with so much trust, that Carlos was unprepared for his speechlessness, his eyes wide in terror, slowly turning into revulsion.
"Enrico, it is..."
"Have you always been able to do this? Stare into my mind, watch my memories, my secrets, as your own private commedia?"
"No, it's not..."
"To go back to Bologna, I just have to wholeheartedly want to be there, correct? All I need is to want to be away from this place with all of my will?"
Quietly, Carlos admitted, "Yes."
And Enrico was gone. His absence made the city seem even emptier for Carlos. He returned to his body in his Bologna bedroom, wondering what kind of monster his closest friend thought he was. He also wondered, not for the first time, what he was hiding.
***
The first time Carlos saw Enrico, in the hallway of the Archiginnasio (the building that housed their school), he was compelled to study his face. It was layered with more emotions and barriers than Carlos had ever seen in one place.
At first glance (the only thing an average individual would catch) he could see the placid, stony expression the man showed the entire world. Just underneath the surface, however, was the rage. It was so overwhelming that Carlos had to surreptitiously reach for a wall on which to steady himself. His brow demonstrated an enormous amount of pride, a challenge to anyone else to better him. Far beneath this was fear, long conquered but still remaining, a reminder of times past. And if he went a little deeper...but no, there was another fortress wall.
He had become so accustomed to hiding, that he had the ability to block even Carlos out. If he had pushed further, he could have no doubt broken those walls. However, something about this man commanded respect. He could not bring himself to violate what he obviously wanted to remain untouched.
Strangely enough, he sincerely hoped that he could get to know this man and have him reveal his secrets of his own volition. He could wait.
***
Carlos was hurt that Enrico distrusted him, and thought that his privacy had been invaded. Their pride kept them separated for months. They would pass in the hallway with barely a cursory nod.
Enrico evidently felt that distancing himself from his once-friend would block him out. Of course, Carlos could have broken into his mind easily, even if he were halfway across Europe, but he did not tell him that. He doubted it would help matters any.
His one comfort was that Enrico obviously didn't hate him so much that he had spoken to the authorities. The fact that he wasn't undergoing questioning in a dungeon at the moment made that evident. This made him feel as though there was possibly still hope for them yet.
He sat in his chair, meditating. He was considering the parable of Lazarus and the rich man. What intrigued him the most about this tale was the presentation of the spiritual realms. So often, they seemed distant, out of reach, but this story made them feel intimately connected to this world. As though they were touched by the same lamplight. He felt he could reach out and...
He was there. He did not know if he was in Heaven or Hell, or somewhere in between, but he was certain it was not Earth.
The primary feature of this place was light. Every surface shone, in every color imaginable. There were colors that Carlos had never seen in the waking world, ones that did not exist.
The very nature of this world seemed to be mutable. When he expected the ground to be firm it was, but when he was afraid it was soft, his foot sunk deep into the surface. In all of his past experiences, his body could change at his whim, and do anything he required of it, but the world itself remained the same. People moved around just as they were, and they were unaware of his presence, unless he projected something into their minds. It had taken him a while to discover this, and there had been many instances of pointless hiding when he was a youth. As he had developed his abilities, he had been able to feel the difference between a person's thoughts on the same plane as him and on a separate one. He had never felt another's presence in that reality until Enrico.
Here, he could sense another's thoughts, faintly. In the hopes that it might be his friend, he willed himself to the source. As soon as he moved closer, however, he could feel that it was definitely not Enrico. This was a presence so alien to him that he felt it could not even be human. Some kind of spiritual entity, native to this world?
"Why do you continue to analyze me? Could you not just ask me who I am?" the being bellowed at him.
Carlos' heartbeat began to accelerate. This being was not just alien, it was antagonistic, and possibly evil. Despite the blinding light of this realm, he was veiled in darkness, and Carlos could just barely make out his features. What appeared in front of him was human, an attractive male who looked vaguely Moorish. Carlos felt that this was not, in all likelihood, his actual appearance. A part of him wanted to run right then, but his pride made him respond, "What is your name, creature?"
"Creature? I do not appreciate this from someone as thoroughly mortal as yourself. I am Lucifer, the King of Shadows. And I have no use for an insolent beast. Why did you seek me out?"
Because I had a blind hope that you might be Enrico, Carlos thought.
"Who is Enrico? A lover? No, no, not a lover. You have feelings, desires, that you do not acknowledge, and that you conceal under facades of friendship and brotherly love. And you are scared right now, because you have never met someone else with the ability to turn another human inside out, reveal everything about him in the breadth of a thought. You have never tapped the potentials of your own power and you have certainly never encountered someone of my power."
He was right, and Carlos knew it. He steadied his mind, in order to leave, but Lucifer put a stop to that.
"No," he said, as the floor scooped up to cocoon him in place, "I want you to stay here for a while, and amuse me. I need some information about your world. I have plans for it, and it would help to know what exists there currently. Let us start with monarchs and other leaders, shall we?"
This thing is too dangerous to let it live. I must pull myself together. I do not need to let him pull me open like this, Carlos thought. He slowly set up a series of barriers inside his mind, in order to keep Lucifer from anticipating his every move. His prison tightened as his tormentor realized what he was doing, but Carlos had control of himself now. He focused on the nature of this place, and, with a thought, banished that which confined him. He stared squarely at his opponent.
"Oh, you have decided to fight now?" Lucifer sneered. "I can't say I think it is an intelligent choice, but it does sound like a fun one."
Carlos was not going to be drawn into this verbal sparring. This was not a game, and he did not want it to feel like one. He mentally conjured himself the armor of a Roman centurion. The light that shone from every surface of this place was blinding as it reflected off the metal surface.
The battle was not drawn out. Carlos charged, and the other man barely moved. He just threw him back with his mind. Since he didn't want to be drawn into a physical fight, Carlos parried with a mental blast, probing into the mind of his opponent. It was successful, and he made a small intrusion into the other's mind. But what he found there was so revolting and inhuman that he could not maintain his presence. He hesitated, weakened, and Lucifer rallied his defenses and forced Carlos out. He was so forceful, in fact, that Carlos was thrown to the ground, with his snarling nemesis towering over him.
The ground pulled Carlos inside it. He tried to assert control over his environment, make the ground solid, but his focus on this distracted him from the scorpions that swarmed at him. His clarity, on which his powers depended, had forsaken him, and he sank through the viscous surface below him. Still grasping for control, while trying to banish the scorpions, he managed to force the ground to solidify. However, in his confusion he did not realize that he was below the ground to just below his waist. He felt every bone in his legs crush to dust, gave a sickening wail, and sank into darkness.
***
Carlos awoke to a touch, and he knew that Lucifer was going to finish him off. Using almost all of the energy left to him, he launched a mental assault. Surprisingly, it was not expected, and he found full access to his target's mind. A barrage of images and memories flooded his senses.
A small boy crying, by the banks of a canal. A priest, doing unspeakable things to that boy, hurting him, making him fear any touch. A small Star of David, thrown into a fire. A young man, forcing steel to heed his whims, reveling in the pulse of a lightning storm. A grown man, with plans for his rage, ways to make a callous world pay for its sins.
A sharp pain shot through Carlos' body, as he was repelled from his friend's mind. It would have been difficult to say which of them looked more hurt.
"Is this how you repay me? I have sat by your bed for days now, waiting for a change in your condition, and in the process have demonstrated that I am, in fact, your only friend. And the first thing you do..."
"Please, Enrico. Stop." The obvious pain in his voice made Enrico pause. "I am very sorry. I thought you were Lucifer..."
"Lucifer?" Enrico hissed. "Why would you confuse me with Satan?"
"The last thing I know, I was fighting with him. Or something that said it was him. And did you say days? It feels like moments. And..." Carlos stopped dead, in a sudden realization.
"Enrico? I can't feel my legs."
***
For weeks, physicians came from all over Europe to tend to Carlos, attempt a diagnosis. The Javier estate was sold off to a landed gentleman in the adjoining city, in order to pay for these services. Still, no one could determine why he could not move or feel his legs. Finally, Carlos grew sick of it, and sent them all away. He knew that it was time to take stock of his life, and move on.
"I am going to go home, Enrico." The two friends had reached an uneasy peace since the accident. They were currently seated across a table from one another, playing chess.
"Carlos, I was under the impression that you sold your home."
"Oh, that was not home. It hadn't been home since my mother died. I am really much better off without it. No, I am going to England. My mother had property there, in Warwick. I will go, politely inform the current tenants that they will need to vacate, and take up residence there."
Enrico looked up at him, incredulous. "There isn't much of a need for priests in England these days, Carlos."
"Well, there is not really much of a need for cripples in the priesthood, either. Be realistic. There is no place for people like me, people like us, in Catholicism." The last statement was made incredibly tentatively. They had never discussed what Carlos had seen the day he woke up from his illness. He felt that now was the time, though. "We have both heard the murmurings concerning what they call witchbreed, Enrico. They are preparing a time of persecution for those of us with abilities beyond those of men."
"So, you are going to throw yourself at the feet of Elizabeth? Confess your wrongs and beg for acceptance into the country and the Church of England?"
"I am the son of a good Englishwoman, and she left the country when it was still under Mary's rule. And I have a decent amount of capital to bring with me. I believe I will be heard out."
"And you believe that the Protestants will accept your abilities with open arms?" Enrico scoffed.
"Not right now. But eventually I believe the superstition surrounding us will fade away, and men will be able to see our powers for what they truly are - gifts from the Lord. They say our abnormalities are from Lucifer, but I believe I met him, and he definitely was not on my side. I was a threat to him and he tried to incapacitate me. My gifts come from the divine Himself, and I intend to use them for His purposes, for all humanity."
Enrico emitted huge peals of laughter. "You are such an idealistic fool, Carlos. We are more powerful than men, so they will fear us. They will never want to live side by side with us; they will only be able to stomach us if we use our abilities to serve them. I refuse to live that way, and you should too. You will see. The Protestants will despise you, just like the Catholics. And you won't be able to hide forever."
"But you will be able to hide here, behind your collar, forever?"
Enrico rose from his seat, impassioned by the argument. He did not mean for this small action to hurt Carlos the way it did. "I will not hide, only lie in wait. Once I have gathered enough power, there will be no one to hide from."
Carlos stared up at him, suddenly terrified. He reached out to touch his hand, hoping to keep him from withdrawing for good.
Enrico only shied away from the contact. He looked down, sickened, and sneered, "No. You have already seen far more than you should have. I will not allow you to do it again."
At this, he stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind him. Carlos did not have time to explain that he had not been prying, just trying to make contact. He could not even tell him that touch had nothing to do with seeing another's thoughts, they had just happened to be touching last time. He doubted this would help matters, anyway.
***
All of Carlos' preparations for his voyage had been made, with the exception of one.
"Signor Starco, thank you for calling on me. You understand that it would be very difficult for me to travel to your shop."
"It's my pleasure, sir. And please, call me Antonio." The man standing in Carlos' sitting room was quite a sight. He was exceedingly tall and broad-shouldered. And he was wearing a full suit of armor. Curious, Carlos did a light scan of his thoughts and emotions. The man had a strange attachment to this outfit.
"Do you always wear full armor, Antonio?"
"One could say it is what keeps me alive."
Javier nodded. "Well, it must be quite the armor, to make you feel that way. I have been told that you are a man of iron; that you do things no other blacksmith has ever done."
"Not to boast, but I will attest to the latter."
"Good," Carlos smiled. "I would like you to make a very special helmet."
***
The boat ride to England was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of Carlos Javier's life. Thankfully, he had found a man named McCoy who was also headed north. Without the large man to help him move, and attend to his various functions, he doubted he would have made it.
Sitting in his cabin, he imagined Enrico opening his gift. He envisioned him reading the note that explained how the helmet worked. He saw his lips tighten, as he read the words that followed. Please come to me, after you destroy this. I give this to you to gain your trust, but I sincerely hope that one day you will realize that you have never needed it.
He imagined that Enrico would then stroke his fingers over the smooth metal, and place it on his head with a distinct absence of physical movement.
Carlos wanted to check in on him, try to determine how much of what he had envisioned was true. However, he had made a promise. There was a tug in his stomach when he realized that his gift would ensure that he was a man of his word.