The Belial Sacrifice
Book Fourteen of The Belial Series
R.D. Brady
Contents
Books By R.D. Brady
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Epilogue
Fact or Fiction?
Author’s Note
Preview
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Books By R.D. Brady
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books By R.D. Brady
BOOKS BY R.D. BRADY
The Belial Series (in order)
The Belial Stone
The Belial Library
The Belial Ring
Recruit: A Belial Series Novella
The Belial Children
The Belial Origins
The Belial Search
The Belial Guard
The Belial Warrior
The Belial Plan
Stand-Alone Books
Runs Deep
Hominid
The A.L.I.V.E. Series
B.E.G.I.N.
A.L.I.V.E.
D.E.A.D.
The Unwelcome Series
Protect
Seek
Proxy
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“All good things must come to an end.”
- Proverb derived from Chaucer
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying good-bye so hard.”
- Winnie the Pooh (A.A. Milne)
Prologue
Laterno, Italy
324 CE
Constantine stepped from his coach, his gaze straying to the top of the Basilica Constantiniana. It was the first cathedral he had built, and as such, was a first among many in ensuring the salvation of the souls of the people under his dominion.
Constantine was a late convert to Christianity. A sign in the sky before the battle secured his victory in the Battle of Milvian Bridge, outside Rome. He had not recognized the strange cross in the sky at first. After the battle, he sought out others who could help him learn that God had overseen, no, blessed his victory. He learned of Jesus from the bishops and knew then that the cross was a sign of Jesus’s triumph over death.
Just as I triumphed over my adversaries.
From the day of that understanding, he dedicated himself to honoring God. And there was no better way than bringing more people into his church.
But his job was not finished. There was still more he needed to do to rein in the heretical teachings that had sprung up like unrepentant weeds.
A wind whipped along the air, ruffling Constantine’s tunic. With an impatient gesture to his guards to remain behind, he strode inside.
His sandals echoed off the marble floor as he crossed through the ornate foyer with its colorful fabrics draping the walls. With a quick sign of the cross, he cut to the right of the main room of the church and headed down the stairs leading to the lower levels. The air was much cooler down here. He made his way along the torch-lined hall, stopping at the large open door on the right.
Father Clementis sat at his desk, writing on a piece of parchment. He dipped his quill in an inkwell, his dark eyes glancing to the doorway. Surprise flashed across his face, and he jumped to his feet. “Emperor. I did not realize you were coming.” He bowed deeply.
“Rise, Father.”
Clementis did, wringing his hands together. “I am most honored by your presence. I have gathered the writings that many have used.” Clementis gestured to the books that covered the tables, piled high.
Constantine walked forward, his eyes scanning the array of books. “So many.”
“Yes, sire. I believe your concerns are well founded.”
Constantine said nothing for a few moments. He walked along the edge of the room, his fingers running lightly over the ancient books stacked along the walls. He could read few of the titles. Unlike many of his time, he was not well versed in Greek—Latin was his most comfortable language.
But even he could see that these titles were not all in Greek. Some had strange markings of languages he did not think he had ever seen before. He straightened his spine. This was one of the greatest problems facing Christianity today. Too many messages and too many messengers. Christ was the messenger, and there should be no confusion when it came to his words.
“Tell me, Father. How many sects of Christianity are there?”
Clementis’s eyebrows rose. “That is difficult to say. Dozens, at least.”
Constantine nodded. “And that is the problem. The kingdom is divided. We need to all be under the banner of one religion, one understanding of Christ.”
Clementis’s hands trailed along his desk, his gaze shifting around the room. “T
hat will be difficult. There are so many books, so many teachers.”
“But only the Apostles are the true teachers. All others are false.”
“That may be, but they do perhaps provide some wisdom.”
Constantine shook his head. “No. We will make one Bible. One orthodoxy that all will follow.”
“How will we decide which books are included?”
“I will convene a council. We must deal with the Arian issue. Creating one Bible will help solve it.”
Clementis nodded, no doubt being well aware of the Arian issue. The Arians had declared that Jesus was subordinate to God. That he was not in fact divine. If those teachings were allowed to spread, they would destroy Christianity.
“Who are the greatest threats to a unified church?”
“The Gnostics,” Clementis said without hesitation.
Constantine nodded. The Gnostics believed that people could have an individual relationship with God. The Church was not necessary to maintain or initiate this relationship. It argued for a Holy Mother and Father and suggested a blasphemous relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene. Most damning of all, it argued that the resurrection of Jesus should be understood symbolically. That the resurrection was speaking of Jesus’s spirit, not his actual body.
If Gnosticism was allowed to take hold, it would enable women to be the equal of men in the eyes of the Church, which would lead to demands for equality in all aspects of life. That could not be allowed to happen. Paul’s First Epistle to Timothy said it best when he wrote: “Let a woman learn in silence with all submissiveness. I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over men; she is to keep silent.”
The Gnostics could not be allowed to flourish. The Church, along with their teachings, would become irrelevant, and humans would give in to their basest natures. No, a strict orthodoxy would be required. Clear guidelines and rules for everyone to follow.
Constantine wandered over to Clementis’s worktable, glancing at the text he had been copying. The original pages were stunning, with detailed drawings lining the margins. Flowers, fields, and an image of a stunning woman filled the border. “What is this?”
“It is a copy of a text of an ancient religion. Some copies have been found in recent years. This book was found amongst a group of women years ago. It had been locked down here unexamined. I have been working on translating it for the last year, although I must admit, I do not recognize some of the script.”
Constantine’s gaze shifted to the priest’s translation, which was in Latin:
For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin.
I am the barren one,
and many are her sons.
I am the silence that is incomprehensible. . .
I am the utterance of my name.
. . .
I am the one whom they call Life,
and you have called Death.
I am the one whom they call Law,
and you have called Lawlessness.
I am the one whom you have pursued,
and I am the one whom you have seized.
I am the one whom you have scattered,
and you have gathered me together.
I am the one before whom you have been ashamed,
and you have been shameless to me.
I am she who does not keep festival,
and I am she whose festivals are many.
I, I am godless,
and I am the one whose God is great.
Constantine’s mouth fell open. This was written from the feminine. “What is this blasphemy? Is this about Lilith?”
Clementis took a step back, his voice shaking. “This . . . this passage appears to be.”
Reaching for the book, he flipped through the pages quickly, anger rolling through him. The woman was on every page. He turned to Clementis. “What is this?”
“It is nothing, just an ancient book. A long-dead cult, that is all.”
Grabbing the book, Constantine flung it across the room. “It is sacrilegious! Where are your other translations?”
Clementis hesitated before springing across the room and grabbing a stack of papers. He handed them to Constantine with a shaking hand. “These are all I have managed so far.”
Ripping the papers from his hands, Constantine read a few lines on each page. “These are gnostic! Why are you bothering to translate them? They should be burned.”
“They . . . they are no threat. No one has seen them but me. I would never reveal them.”
Constantine eyed the priest. “And no one will. These will be buried with all the other gnostic tomes, is that understood?”
“Yes, yes, of course, Emperor.”
“I will have every last one destroyed.” He glared at the offending book.
“Yes, of course, Emperor.”
The existence of yet another heretical writing that differed from what he knew to be the true intent of God only strengthened his resolve. He had been given this duty to remove these heretical writings that only pulled people from the true path. He would be the one that brought his kingdom together under the banner of Christianity.
Constantine glared at the offending tome lying facedown across the room. These ideas were the reason the council was necessary. People were straying too far from the original words. The Apostles’ words were the only ones that counted. These ideas about women, they needed to be eradicated. And he would see that they were.
“Get me a list of all the writings by the original Apostles.”
“Sire, that can’t truly be known. There are just—”
“Find the texts that assert Jesus’s divinity!” He sneered at the tome. “And nothing that asserts the feminine. That is not in God’s plan. I only want the true teachings of Jesus.”
“Yes, of course, Emperor.”
Without another word, Constantine strode from the room. God had chosen him. He’d made that clear by coming to his side for the battles that brought him to power. And now, Constantine would repay God for that great gift. He would make sure everyone knew exactly what God wanted them to think, to do.
After all, who better to make that decision than the greatest emperor who had ever lived?
Chapter 1
Invess, Calevitnia
Two Months Ago
The last few months had been difficult for Sergei Yanovich. The Russian government had been unyielding in their search for the man who had helped Elisabeta Roccorio launch her attack on the world.
And they had not been alone. The Americans, the British, the French, the Spanish, the Chinese, even the Kenyans had aided the Russians in their attempts to find and kill Yanovich. But Yanovich was no easy mark. He had lived his life facing one nightmare after another, and he had survived because he could and would do things others would shy away from.
And unlike most soldiers raised in a modern world, he listened to his instincts when they told him to move or to stay. He did not doubt them. It was how he had avoided the sniper’s scope in his last safe house.
He had stayed hidden on the floor of the house for a full three days, not letting himself move from the room he was in or even straighten above a crawl. He had soiled himself where he was and eaten from a small stash of snacks he had in his pack. He had never granted the sniper a single shot. And when the sniper had finally moved in to check the house, Sergei had killed him with his own weapon. It seemed fitting.
That safe house had been one of dozens he had used since the coronation. As soon as he had seen Delaney McPhearson on the dais, he’d known Elisabeta would lose, and he had quickly slipped out of Calevitnia.
He had known all along that Elisabeta’s only chance for success was if McPhearson was not in her way. Elisabeta was strong. She was powerful. But she fought for herself. Delaney McPhearson fought for everyone. She would martyr herself to protect the people around her, stranger or friend. It w
ould make no difference to McPhearson. Winning against someone with that level of conviction required the same level of conviction, and Elisabeta simply did not have it.
Now, the world’s governments were still looking for him but not as urgently. He had proven too elusive a quarry. And there were bigger fish to fry. They were now looking for McPhearson. Which meant this was perhaps the best chance for him to slip back into Calevitnia. He was not returning due to some sense of nostalgia or homesickness. No, he’d come back for one simple reason: money. Lots of it.