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Father Risei Kotomine has been in a great many Italian churches. The Basilica of Saint Peter, of course, he can only sing the praises of. The church he was ordained in - smaller, with much less marble than Saint Peter’s - he cherishes as a second home. The churches of Umbria’s countryside - some badly neglected due to no reason beyond the town’s poverty, others seen to at the price of everything else - are precious not for their appearance but for the way the community is drawn to them. La Basilica di San Clemente al Laterano is sacred for its humble origins as a house church, back when no other building could be used to pray to God. To be in its walls, to stand in the oldest part of the structure, looking at the pagan Mithraeum in the poor lighting, is a moment’s reflection few men are afforded in their lifetime.
“Father Kotomine?”
The voice’s owner marks him as Italian - o is the giveaway - and Risei turns to face a man who cannot be five years older than himself, tall, lean, brown hair cropped short, dressed in the same black cassock that Risei himself wears. “Monsignor Achille Abis. I’m sorry to have been late to our meeting, Father Kotomine. I am er, saying that correctly?”
Risei smiles. “You are saying it correctly, yes. And please, don’t apologise for being late. Your delay permitted me some time to become acquainted with this area of the church.”
The monsignor's eyes move from Risei to the room on their left “Ah,” he says understandingly. “The Mithraeum. Wholly unremarkable now, I suppose, it simply being bare stone seating, save for the relief of Mithras and the bull. Do you imagine it in its former state, Father?”
“I do,” Risei confirms, a small smile on his lips. “I wonder what its worshippers might think of the buildings that have come to engulf it.”
“They’d be horrified, I’d imagine,” Monsignor Achille says lightly. “But perhaps they might understand that their Mithra is not so dissimilar to Christ.”
Risei inclines his head.“Perhaps.” A silence fills the air, contemplative and respectful. “May I ask,” Risei says, once the moment has past, “Why you have asked me here today, Monsignor? I do not mind adventuring into Rome, but there have been events where I preach that made me reluctant to head out at all.”
“It is that very matter that has you here today, Father Kotomine,” the monsignor replies. “Do you mind if we continue to stand?”
“I do not.”
“Thank you,” Monsignor Achille replies. “Tell me, Father Kotomine, how many parishes have you taken residence in since you were ordained?”
“Three,” is the response. “First in the Aosta Valley, in an extremely small village. I was moved to Marche, along the coast, before being moved to Umbria. Each time, I’ve been reassigned, I’ve stayed in Rome for a week or so before heading out, and I confess this constant moving about has me worried that the Church might not trust in my abilities as a priest, or else my parishioners take issue with my ethnicity. Your having me here has done little to ease my fears.”
“Be at ease, Father Kotomine, this meeting is not to say that you have done poorly in your calling, or that any have reason to complain about you,” Monsignor Achille says. There’s a near laugh in his voice, as if a private joke has occured. “Quite the opposite, in fact, which is why we are speaking now.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite take your meaning, Monsignor.”
“If you’ll humour me by answering a question, I will explain.”
“Very well, I can humour you.”
“Please inform me of the trouble in Umbria that you are so preoccupied with.”
Risei offers the Monsignor a moment’s glance, betraying his confusion at the question, before answering. “I have been administering to a small community outside of Spello. There’s perhaps two hundred people in the village. All of those who are capable of attending mass do so, those who cannot, I visit and administer the sacraments to.
“At any rate, there had been some concern about the safety of the roads. A mail carrier had gone missing on our route from Spello to Perugia, and soon after his disappearance, a farmer who uses that very same road to bring food to market. Usually if people on the roads in the area go missing, their bodies show up a day or so later. This did not happen to our two missing friends, which had us all very worried indeed. On my suggestion, we stopped using the road for a few days, if only to confirm that the road was the source if the problem. Four days passed without incident, and a number of people who live in the town were preparing to meet in the town square to figure out what to do next, when a young Austrian man came into the village, by that very same road that we were about to close.
“Understandably, with the Great War being only two years gone, there was a lot of panic about his presence, and he was given an extremely wide berth.” Risei pauses, letting out a little laugh at the half smile on Monsignor Achille’s face. “No need to remark about Umbria being far from the front lines, that was one of the first things I said when I was saw the Austrian in question,” he says before continuing. “Far more important than the man’s country of origin was the fact that he was decidedly pale - nearly on his deathbed, and incapable of doing anything except moaning in pain. The town’s doctor was called for, but upon first glance, he backed away, saying that the Austrian was beyond recovery, and would need to be put out of his own misery.”
“Father Kotomine,” Monsignor Achille says, daring to interrupt, “What is the doctor’s name?”
“Doctor Valerio Bagolizzo,” is the response.. “His family has taken the position of doctors, or else midwives, for some one hundred years in the village, according to others I’ve spoken to.”
“I see,” Monsignor Achille murmurs to himself. “Please, continue.”
“I’ll spare the particular details of how Doctor Bagolizzo got the Austrian out of the town center and who he borrowed a firearm from,” Risei says. “When he finished, the doctor came to me, saying that he would like speak to everyone about baring the road from strangers for the time being, in case the Austrian that had some sort of disease that could spread to everyone else, and if possible, could I call a town meeting to be held in my church. I agreed to do so, and that his idea was wise, and he added that we all might be out of our depths and in need of some assistance. In particular, he asked if I could request an additional priest to work beside me in giving last rites and saying funeral masses, in case of an outbreak.”
“Doctor Bagolizzo is an interesting man,” the monsignor says, rubbing his chin slowly. “Humble, in spite of his sort’s tendency towards pride bordering on stupidity,” he adds, more to himself than Risei. “Your message, Father,” he continues, “Was passed along to me, through the bishop of your diocese. I sent priests that are familiar with these situations, they should be there now,” he finishes. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Father Kotomine, but you had similar events happen at the other two parishes you administered to as well.”
For a moment, Risei is quiet, eyes fixed on the Mithraeum. “A worrying wolf of sorts at the first that the townsfolk thought were Austrian soldiers who hadn’t been told that the war was over, a number of exorcisms at the second,” he confirms. “May I ask why a bishop passed a message asking help with last rites onto a monsignor? I ask not out of disrespect, but for the odd hierarchy employed.”
“No disrespect is taken. Father, you are familiar, I trust, with the Inquisition?”
The casual, light nature of the question is what gives Risei pause. “Yes,” he says. “It became the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office a little over a decade ago, correct?”
“Correct,” is the response. “I am in charge of a the congregation's Order of the Eighth Sacrament.”
“You’ll understand if I find myself more alarmed that I have done something wrong then, Monsignor.”
“I do understand but again I say to you, be at ease,” Monsignor Achille says. “The Order of the Eighth Sacrament exists to counterbalance the supernatural ills of the world. You have seen them in your congregations, and indeed, seem to be blessed with the eyes to find them.”
“--I ask you to elaborate,” Risei ventures slowly. “But knowing the history of the Inquisition as I do, you will understand that I must ask after the safety of my current parish, as well as a better understanding of the situation I have left everyone to.”
“What you saw was the animated dead, Father,” Monsignor Achille replies, and his calm nearly is replaced by cold. “They attempt to devour living flesh, and likely feasted on that mail worker and farmer that you mentioned. Your Doctor Bagolizzo is a mage, or else you might call him a witch, who was aware that there would be individuals within the Church who could deal quickly and efficiently with this situation. And, acccording to my last report from Father Martello, the situation has indeed been dealt with quickly and efficiently, with no harm coming to anyone in the town, or the to any of the buildings there.”
Against all odds, Risei’s eyes do not widen. “Then explain your Order, please, Monsignor,” he says, smooth and calm, some part of him wondering how he is not shaking in fear. “Specifically, with as much detail as you can give me in the open.”
“It will be easiest to explain its history, I think,” Monsignore Achille replies. “When the Inquisition moved from combating the heresies of the Cathars and Fraticelli amongst others, it turned its focus to witches and magic. With the understanding that those practicing these arts were using the methods of the Church, along with old pagan superstitions, we tried to bring them back into the fold and offer them penance, rather than set them all aflame.”
“Discounting the matter in Spain in relation to conversion.”
“And Portugal, yes,” Monsignor Achille confirms. “I am speaking specifically of the trials of witches, and of priests accused of witchcraft. Many of them were not witches at all, simply misguided and superstitious, who were worthy of forgiveness. Others had genuine power. Those with power, that acted selfishly and proved themselves threats to humanity at large were killed. Those that were humble, that used their magic to improve the lives of others, were frequently given the chance to become a part of the Church and use the power that had been granted to them naturally for the Church itself. In particular, they were tasked with finding practitioners of magic arts that would use their powers for selfish reasons that put others at risk.” The monsignor pauses to take a breath, then continues. “These witches explained a number of mysteries to the Inquisition, including the organized culture of magic - called magecraft. The Order of the Eighth Sacrament grew out of their dedicated penance, and we continue their work today. I cannot give any further details, as they relate to current operation, unless we spoke in a more secure location.”
“Would what you would have me do also need to be discussed in a more secure location?” Risei asks.
Monsignor Achille nods. “It would, as it relates to our internal hierarchy.”
“How dangerous is it for those in the Order, monsignor, and how do those that are a part of it preach and do good?”
“It can be dangerous, Father Kotomine, I’ll not lie to you. And as far as your second question goes, I can only say that while our methods of carrying out the gospel is not like the methods you were taught in seminary, the good that you do is equal to the good you might do saying mass and forgiving sins.”
Risei does not hide the trepedeation on his face, of the sigh that he gives. It speaks of an unwanted burden, and a poor attitude best not shown to higher ranked clergy members than himself. “Where would you like to meet then?”
“The Vatican’s secret archives.” The monsignor pauses, hand reaching under his cassock’s sash. “Ah,” he murmurs, pulling out an envelope. “This is a letter of introduction to the librarian, as well as a request for items. Reading them will explain what I couldn’t to you, and you may ask further questions afterwards. Does that seem fair?”
“It does. What time might I expect to meet you then?”
“Three o’clock? The whole of the city shall be at pause then.”
Risei nods, taking the letter from the monsignor’s hand. “Three o’clock,” he agrees. “Monsignor?”
“Yes?”
“If, after learning more about the Order, and I decline to become a part of it, will there be retribution?”
Monsignore Achille blinks, shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that there might be, Father Kotomine,” he says. “Its my fault for brandying about the Inquistion so lightly,” he continues, chiding himself. “No, Father Kotomine, there will be no retribution, only a request that you keep the Order a secret.”
“I can do that,” Risei says, tucking the letter into the sash of his cassock. “Thank you for your time, Monsignor.”
“It was my pleasure, Father Kotomine,” Monsignor Achille replies. “The archive opens at ten o’clock.”
The monsignor turns and leaves without a further word. Quietly, Risei sighs, examining the letter in the dim light of the basilica's basement. The envelope’s wax seal - bright red, with the papal emblem embossed - displays an impressive veneer of normalcy, for an organization dealing with spirits and magic. Risei’s eyes flicker back to the long disused Mithraeum. Some flowing water behind him trickles, filling in the space, and Risei wonders why, of all places, this might be the place for a monsignor to pick in order to speak of witches and walking dead.
Risei decides, after a few moment’s contemplation, that the relief of Mithra and the bull have no answer for him.
***
He looks back down at the letter in front of him, from Cardinal Ladealo to Father Pasquale, describing the proposed Order of the Eighth Sacrament. The idea put forth is simple enough, and logical, from what Risei can assess. A group of overseers exist to investigate matters supernatural, be they corrupt magi, or else Dead Apostles - that is to say those undead who drink the blood of the living, or demons, or some other supernatural ill. The overseers then send word back to their superior, who make the decision to send in Executors of the Church’s Will, who deal with the issue in a timely, orderly, and secret fashion, disrupting the peace as little as possible. The recruitment would be from magi accused of witchcraft - likely families of a young generation of magi, who lack the political connection of those other families, Cardinal Ladealo is sure to note.
Risei moves the letter aside, and retrieves next letter from the box. A refinement of the order, in regards to Executors of the Church’s Will having children born into the Order rather than recruited. An argument, based on the strong word choice and thick lines of ink on the page.
The scuffle of feet behind him interrupt Risei from reading Father Pasquale’s reply on the matter. He turns, unsurprised to Monsignor Achille behind him.
“Three o’clock already?” Risei whispers.
Monsignor Achille nods. “You can leave that there,” he responds, his voice at the same volume as Risei’s. “The librarians won’t touch it, I told them that I was here to talk to you.”
Risei stands up from the table quickly, careful not to make any noise. They both walk past the main desk, giving the librarian there a nod of recognition, then make a left out into the corridor.
“Did you primarily read the annotated copy of the Malleus Maleficium, or did you focus on the letters relating to our foundation?” Monsignor Achille asks, once they’re several feet away from the archive’s entrance.
“The latter,” Risei replies. “I have some reservations about reading the Malleus.”
“I’d ask you remove those reservations, if you can. That copy is annotated by one of the Order’s founding magi, outlining the numerous falsehoods in the text” Monsignore Achille says lightly. “Inquisitor Jacob Sprenger, with who the work is sometimes co-credited, was asked to place false information into the text by the Mage’s Association, in order to ensure that most magi would escape accusations of witchcraft. I hope the letters explained what I could not answer for you yesterday?”
Risei inclines his head. “They did, yes. Has the organization’s hierarchy changed much?”
“It has not, no, Father, save for a few minor things. Executors of the Chuch's Will are now simply Executors, for example.”
“I see,” Risei murmurs. “Then am I correct that in approaching me, you imagine me as an overseer.”
“You are correct.” Monsignor Achille pauses, noting that Risei’s eyes focus not on him, but on the floor. “You waver, Father Kotomine?”
“I do, yes,” he says. “Not in the reality of your cause, or its righteousness, but in question of it being truly the right path for me.”
Monsignor Achille nods. “It is an understandable concern, one that I had myself when I was first asked to join. One does not come out of the seminary expecting to fight spirits and other dark forces.”
“No, one does not,” Risei agrees. “To that extent, would be understandable if I asked for time to sit and to pray for guidance on the matter?”
“I would be the worst of hypocrites to say no, Father Kotomine. Take all the time that you need, please, and know that there is no deadline for your response.”
“Thank you,” Risei replies, bowing his head slightly. “If I was to make a decision, where might I contact you?”
“You’ve not been assigned a new parish, have you?”
“I have not.”
“Then you might meet me in front of the obelisk at sunset, every night. I am in residence in the city, and take long walks in the area at sunrise and sunset.”
“Then please excuse me to my contempla-- oh, the items are still on the table,” Risei says, turning towards the archive’s entrance.
“I’ll see to it, Father Kotomine,” Monsignor Achille says.
“Thank you.”
***
Risei’s fingers trace over the second to last line as he composes his reply. Thank you for reply STOP. Worry not about the matter STOP. Will hopefully return soon STOP. Full letter soon. FULL STOP.
Risei turns, and heads back into the telegraph office. “If only the Lord sent such simple and direct messages such as these when asked questions,” he says to himself, and ignoring the eyes that fix on him for saying it in Japanese rather than Italian.
“I’d like to send this, please,” Risei says to the telegraph’s operator, trying his best not to marvel at the man’s great bushy mustache. “To the same man that sent me mine. Would you object to my waiting here for a reply, since we both seem to be sending each other messages?”
“No,” the operator replies, confirming that there is indeed a mouth under the mustache. He sends the message as quickly as possible, leaving Risei to stand and watch him work.
Twenty minutes pass, punctuated only by tapping.
“Father,” the operator says, his head poking out of the office to find Risei yet again leaning against the wall. “You have a response.”
Risei takes the slip of paper, and reads it carefully, before following the operator back inside.
“Another response?” the man asks.
“Please,” Risei responds. “If you’ll give me a few moments to draft what I’ll say.”
The operator nods, returning back inside.
Not sure how you knew about the offer STOP. Am unsure about your statement STOP I doubt I will find such events everywhere STOP And that they are unavoidable STOP But your opinion and advice STOP are under consideration STOP As you know more about this than me STOP Thank you for advice and input STOP Letter to come FULL STOP.
Risei shakes his head. A far too long composition. He turns and heads into the office, editing himself furiously, if only to make sure that Doctor Bagolizzo receives his last reply quickly.
***
“Father Kotomine,” he says, once Risei is in earshot. “I would have expected to wait a fortnight for you, rather than three days.”
Risei lets out a small laugh, eyes fixing on the basilica behind the obelisk. “Any other things that happened over the course of three days ought not to draw parallels,” Risei replies lightly. “Have you ever seen a sunset, coming over the ponte towards the basilica?”
“Once or twice,” Monsignor Achille replies, following Risei’s eye line. “That fading purple and pink leads me to believe I missed a particularly beautiful one.”
“You did,” Risei says. “Monsignor, if I say yes to your proposal, will you allow me one condition?”
“Within reason, yes.”
Risei replies with confidence in his voice. “I would like a year’s trial, to ensure that this is the proper path in the Church for me. Would you say that is within reason?”
Monsignor Achille turns, making sure that his eyes and Risei’s meet. “I would, and I would add that after tomorrow, when I introduce you to your new work and those that will train you further, you may have two week’s leave to check in on and bid farewell to your parish.”
The smile on Risei’s face glows with the fading sun. “Your indulgence is too kind, and deeply appreciated. I’ll meet you here tomorrow during your morning walk?”
“You shall. Have a good night, Father Kotomine.”
“You as well, monsignor.”
Risei gives the fading light behind the basilica one last glance, before turning and walking back towards his lodgings. Above him, a bird flock flies in patterns that the Romans might take the augurs for, and proclaim them the best omens one could ask for when undertaking a new venture. Risei looks up just as the formation breaks, and watches them depart.