Immortal Revelation

Chapter 1

Gritting her teeth, Hilda bore down with what little strength she had left. The labor had gone on for many hours and she was exhausted. Yet, she found that last little reserve and put it all into one more push. Suddenly she felt as if the entirety of her internal organs was leaving her body.

That’s it! yelled Theresa, the midwife, as she grabbed the baby, cut the umbilical cord, and wrapped the baby with a warm damp cloth, in a fluid motion that only came from experience. Rest now, Mama, she instructed. You’ve earned it.

Laya removed the board from behind Hilda’s back that was keeping her mostly upright throughout her delivery. Hilda barely knew her but was appreciative to the silent assistant that Theresa brought with her. Finally, Hilda was able to lie back on the bed and relax while she felt Laya pulling out the extra sheets which had been placed under her lower half to catch the mess of childbirth.

The room came back into focus as she lay there. She could see Theresa cleaning the baby with her back to the bed. She was using the top of the dresser as a cleaning and dressing station. There was not much else to use in the small room. The only other piece of furniture was a small night stand which held the room’s only light, a single-bulb lamp, dimmed with a shade.

Outside, the war continued. It was not near this village at the moment and that was why Hilda was here. It was a reasonably safe place to have a baby in the war-torn Germany of late 1943. There were no factories or railroads nearby to be targeted by Allied bombers, and no garrisons of Nazi soldiers. Like most mage villages, it was tucked away in a corner forgotten by history and the contemporary alike.

Theresa finished cleaning the baby, re-wrapped it, and turned back to the bed. Hilda had seen that he was indeed a boy, but it was a still an ‘it’ to her.

Would you like to see your son?

That is not my son, take it straight to its parents. Hilda looked away from the baby. She did not want to connect with him. This was hard enough without looking into that innocent face. It was not his fault that he was the product of a brutal night of violence. This little baby could not be held accountable for having a father who was even less mentally stable than the Führer. Ever since she first conceived, Hilda had despised the little parasite growing within her, but that baby in Theresa’s arms did not deserve the venomous feelings she had towards it.

As Theresa left the room, Hilda began to cry softly. She was mourning the loss of her child. Not that tumor that had just been removed from her body, but the child, or children she could never have now. It was the curse of the mage women: to live for centuries, but to only give birth one time.

When Theresa came out from the bedroom both the man and the woman jumped up.

There was only one? the man asked right away.

Yes Sir, Theresa answered.

More importantly, is the baby healthy? the lady asked. She was someone who would command attention in any room. Her bearing was as straight and regal as any queen. Her jet-black hair was perfectly coiffed in an up-do that was held firmly in place by pins and she wore a small hat that was the epitome of wartime chic.

A perfectly fine baby boy, Theresa smiled down at the bundle in her arms.

Luisa smiled at the news and took the cocoon of blankets from Theresa gently. Peering into the face of the baby, who had drifted to sleep once he was snugly wrapped, she smiled even wider.

Welcome into the world, Sebastian.

Sebastian? Geoff asked. Theresa noticed for the first time that he spoke with a British accent. She had assumed that he was Italian like Luisa, but she had only heard him speak German, and then only once. The realization that he was from the country her homeland was fighting in this war put her on her guard.

But, of course, Luisa responded, as if that answered everything. Geoff just nodded in understanding. Returning her attention to the baby in her arms, Luisa comforted him in Italian Don’t worry, Sebbiani. This nasty old war will end sooner or later and then we will all go home. The mages of Rome will have their Sebastian di Migliatti, once again. Your destiny is already foretold; you will lead us back to our former glory.

Geoff nodded his head in deference; but Theresa, who did not understand Italian, was not sure if the gesture was meant for the regal lady or her newly adopted son. She also noticed that he fiddled nervously with his ring as he did so. Only then did she see the engraving on it: the symbol of Keonia Theon.

1968

Chapter 2

Signore di Migliatti, the rector stared down at Sebastian. Father Carvalho made no attempt to hide his displeasure. He stood in front of the chair where Sebastian sat, feet planted solidly onto the floor, slightly spread apart as if he were planning to become a permanent fixture of his office. He was wearing his simple back robes, which only added to the austerity of his appearance. The final touch was that his muscular arms were crossed and pressed against his broad chest. For a man in his early fifties, the rector still possessed an intimidating physique. Stand up when I’m talking to you.

Sebastian stood up straight except for his head which he bowed forward. It was his attempt to look repentant. However, he looked more like a courtly servant bowing to his master. It was not a comfortable position to stand in, but Carvalho made no move to alleviate Sebastian’s discomfort. He left him there, as he slowly worked his way around his massive ebony desk. He continued to leave him in that same subservient position until he had seated his large frame in the padded chair and arranged his robes.

How many times does this make, Signore? Carvalho finally asked.

I – I’m not sure, Reverend Father, Sebastian muttered without raising his head.

Well, I am—it’s fifteen, and over half of those are from this academic year alone. Carvalho shouted, causing Sebastian to wince slightly at the explosion of sound.

Every year, Signore. Every year, I get those two or three students. Every year there are those few who think they are above our rules; who are smarter than our centuries of traditions and protocol. Every year I get those few I have to break, for their own benefit. Unchecked, such behavior will lead to only one conclusion: failure. Failure as a priest, failure as a human being.

Then, every few years, I get the ones like you, Migliatti, Carvalho continued softly. You refuse to bend into the mold of the priest you came here to be. You think you are better than us. You think that because your family has wealth and privilege you don’t need to conform to the rules of our calling. Well, you are wrong, Signore! Carvalho bellowed, slamming his hand on desk to punctuate the point.

Sebastian felt his internal organs flinching at the outburst, but he refused to give the rector the pleasure of seeing his body follow suit a second time. He maintained his perfect posture, his subservient pose. Let the blowhard have his say. Sooner or later he would get to the point and mete out a punishment. After all, that was the only reason he was here.

The old buzzard was right about one thing though. Sebastian’s family was wealthy and they were better than the rest of the seminarians here. That was a matter of nature, though, not money. They were part of the superior race of mages, short for Homo magis, humans who aged very slowly and lived for centuries.

Father Carvalho had no way of knowing that. He was just another Homo sapiens, or sape for short. His kind didn’t even know the mages existed, let alone that one stood in front of him today.

I am deeply sorry if my actions caused offense, Sebastian muttered. He had no option at this point but to play the bashful child and to take his lumps. He had known that would happen when he had planned his latest affront to the stoicism of seminarian life.

If? Carvalho responded sarcastically, standing and maneuvering around the desk. How else could you possibly describe morning vespers being heralded in by the Beatles? The rector was bellowing again.

Invigorating? Sebastian quipped. He let it slip out before he could stop himself. He regretted it even before Carvalho’s backhand knocked him off his feet.

It was blasphemy!

Sebastian remained on the floor while his head cleared. Carvalho might be an old fuck, but he still had a lot of power in those muscular arms. Sebastian was pretty sure his jaw wasn’t broken, but it was knocked a little out of place. He reset it manually, wincing with the flash of pain that accompanied the movement.

He thought it was worth it though. Only an hour earlier, at morning vespers, he and his fellow initiates had followed the morning routine of quietly entering the chapel. Sebastian was walking with his closest buddies, Pietro and Luca, who knew he was up to something, but he had refused to tell them what it was.

Doing his best to keep a straight face, Sebastian knelt with the rest of the young men as Father Carvalho began to pray aloud, O Heavenly Father, — Then the timer went off, starting up the intercom system that ran throughout the school. Carvalho heard the system click on and paused a brief moment. He was about to continue, but the voice to be heard was not his, it was Paul McCartney yelling, Helter Skelter!

It was Sebastian’s masterpiece prank, which he had been saving all the year. Now, this close to graduation, it was time. Carvalho did not appreciate the student’s comic sense of timing.

Now it was time for retribution. Carvalho, having taken a moment to compose himself and check his anger, told Sebastian to get up. "You think your family ties can prevent you from being punished. Well, I do not fear them. I have all of the ammunition I need to expel you, but I suspect that would make your life easier. I get the sense that this is not your calling, but that of your parents. Well, I’m not going to be your scapegoat. I’m not going to be one who gives you the ability to tell your parents no. You’re going to have to do that on your own, if you have the spine. However, I am going to give you motivation." The rector smiled dryly at Sebastian.

Perhaps Sebastian had pushed the envelope a little too far. He knew his family’s connections would keep him out of serious trouble and his antics could best be described as pranks. He never did anything seriously wrong; nothing he thought would get him expelled from the seminary. Not that getting expelled would be such a bad thing.

Carvalho had more insight into his family than he gave him credit for. It was not his idea to become a priest to begin with. That much was true. It was part of Geoff’s Great Plan. Geoff, who insisted on being called Papa by Sebastian and his siblings, but who was far more of their employer than their father. Thinking of him always filled Sebastian with frustration.

What? Is that a hint of shame I see flushing your cheeks? Carvalho asked, assuming it was actually the result of his slap. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, Signore Migliatti, you are hereby suspended from this seminary for a period of three weeks.

But Reverend Father – finals, Sebastian pointed out.

During that period, yes. It is time to learn that your actions have consequences. You will not take your finals with your classmates. You will be required to take them with the next class, some eight months from now. In the meantime, other than your three-week suspension, you do not get a vacation. Instead you will be assigned a work duty somewhere within the Church.

Where will I be assigned? Sebastian was going numb, but still had the presence of mind to ask rational questions.

That will be determined before you return. I assure you it will be some place that will instill in you the respect you obviously lack for the institution of the Church. The one thing I can promise you is, it will not be a pleasant, cushy assignment. Now go pack your belongings. Your parents will be told to come and get you at once.

Any joy Sebastian may have derived at being out of school for three weeks was negated ten-fold by the thought of facing Mama with this news.

Chapter 3

Dano sat at his kitchen table looking out of the window at a beautiful spring morning. During his nearly five-and-a-half centuries of roaming the world, he had never found a place where nature welcomed springtime as she did in eastern Ohio.

From the vantage point of his house, on the top of the hill, he could see for two or three miles. Farmers were sowing the farmlands after the fear of hard frost had melted with the last of the snow. The apple trees were full of budding leaves, soon to be followed by pink and white blossoms which would turn into fruit, and later into apple pie. Dano liked his apple pie. The country folk here had been perfecting their recipes since they settled this area in the late 1700s. Nearly two hundred years later, Dano thought it was as close to perfect as possible.

Looking at the next hill, the green buds from the apple orchard sat next to a second large group of trees that were budding in red. Maple, a curious form of tree sap that was indigenous to the northeast portion of North America, would ooze from those trees. Many people thought they knew what maple was because they got their maple syrup from the grocery store for their pancakes. But this was mostly corn syrup with caramel added flavoring. You had to come to this part of the world for the real thing. Only then did one know they had tasted real maple.

Dano’s daydreams of apple pie and maple-frosted cinnamon rolls were intruded upon by the sound of a vehicle stopping in front of his house. It hesitated momentarily, before moving on. The mail was in. He wandered lazily out to the mailbox at the end of the driveway, a short walk actually. He went through the post on his way back. It was standard stuff: a bill, an advertisement, another bill. Then, something a little more curious: a letter with a handwritten address.