Scorn of Angels by John Patrick Kennedy

still doing it when she took Jerusalem?
    Arcana closed her eyes and let her mind go wide through the world. This time she was listening for the sound of Nyx’s name being called by a worshipper. To her surprise, she heard one immediately, in the north, then another to the east, and yet more in between. She stayed circling in the air, listening intently.
    By the end of the day, she’d heard Nyx’s name called thousands of times.
    She has her own cult, Arcana realized. Her own, huge cult, all over the world…
    Why?
    Arcana winged north. She would start there and find out what, exactly, was going on.
     
    A.D. 1110
    All roads once led to Rome, Arcana thought as she sat on the top of the ruins of the great Roman coliseum and looked down at the city. She had flown all over the world in the past ten years, and it had led her here.
    In her hands she held the strange pendant a Mongol warrior had given her. It was made of copper and hung on a braided leather band. The pendant was of three interlocked crescents, their edges trimmed with copper fire. The top one’s two sharp ends pointed skyward. The other two pointed to either side. It was, she had been told, the symbol of Nyx among the Mongols. Two crescents up representing her crown, two to each side representing her weapons and her instruction to expand ever-outward.
    It was a strange thing. It was something that was for Nyx and of Nyx. And Arcana had no idea what to do with it. She sighed and tucked it underneath her armor. She would find Nyx, and she would give it to her just before she killed her.
    The thought brought a slight smile to Arcana’s face.
    The Mongol tribes that had gathered under Nyx’s banner were not at all happy that their goddess had not come to them in ten years. The people were restless and had begun to return to the worship of their old gods. Arcana had encouraged them wherever possible. She had also dug through their knowledge of the winged goddess who had come before them, but found few legends and no references to Tribunal.
    In the Northeast, the Ruas, who had sailed down the Volga two hundred years earlier, had settled in, becoming farmer and kings. They had a more elaborate culture around the worship of Nyx as the founder of their people and their deliverer. They did not worship her alone, however. She was one of a pantheon of gods and goddesses, and they, like the Mongols, knew nothing of her relationship with Tribunal.
    So Arcana began investigating ruins.
    She’d started with the one on the Mediterranean Island where she’d found the Descended Angels. After the battle, however, what remained of the temple were mostly shards. It was possible for Arcana to reassemble it, she was sure, but it would probably take a hundred years. She decided to leave that as a last resort.
    So she’d cruised the entirety of what had been the Roman Empire, looking.
    The majority of the pagan temples had been destroyed. Others had been converted to different uses. None of them had the full inscription; none of them gave away more secrets.
    And the doors of Heaven were still closed to her, long after they were supposed to have been opened.
    There have to be records of Nyx’s religion somewhere. The Christians can’t have destroyed them all. There must be something…
    Arcana sent up a prayer for patience and winged upward into the sky
     
    A.D. 1119
    The House of Wisdom was considered the greatest library in the world, with easily a half-million volumes, whether scrolls, books, sheets of papyrus or old clay tablets. Daily, a thousand scholars labored in the House of Wisdom. Some were there to study medicine or astronomy or philosophy. Others translated the texts from Greek or Persian or Latin to Arabic. Still others tried to puzzle out the meaning of texts so old that there was no one left who understood the language they were written in.
    And in that library, there was one man who made it his job to preserve the writings of the infidel religions.
    His name was