Bishop Angelo Vetrini

 

    As the ranking Mithran priest at Cerro Rico, Bishop Angelo Vetrini had, in theory, been in charge of the souls of all the populace of the mine and island. His job was their spiritual wellbeing, to do everything he could to influence their eventual fate in the afterlife. 

    That had been the mission given to him by the Holy Church.

    His responsibilities toward his family, the Vetrini Clan, and their local head, Overseer Lucius Vetrini, who operated the Cerro Rico mines, had been somewhat different.

    "Keep them docile" Lucius had instructed him on his first day at this new post. "Keep them obedient.  Focus them away from their current circumstances toward their eventual reward in the afterlife. Preach the value of hard work, of obedience to authority. Keep them in line, Angelo. That's your job. Do it well, and you will be rewarded. Greatly."

    Bishop Angelo had done his job well in his thirteen years at his post. He had a flair for oratory after all, he had always been blessed with the gift of words. Most times he even managed to convince himself the two missions were not even at odds. There was plenty of subject matter in the Holy Texts about obedience and submission after all, plenty to work with. Not much actually directly attributed to Mithra, admittedly, but the early Patriarchs had made up for that,  Paulus and Petros were chock full of the kind of material he needed.

    And the poor wretches that attended his services in droves in St. Kinga's Cathedral needed any comfort his words could provide. They lapped it up, and thanked him profusely afterward. The miners were devout, no doubt of that, after all they had carved his church by hand out of the living rock hadn't they? Took them a hundred years, only working on their spare time, according to Lucius. It still boggled his mind that here, in the back end of nowhere, he presided over one of the most beautiful of Mithran Cathedrals. 

    Five hundred feet below ground, the smooth rock chamber sparkled in the candlelight of crystal chandeliers, the flecks of silver and mithril in the polished rock reflecting back the light like a field of stars, the grand statue of St. Kinga presiding over them all from behind the alter.  At times he even imagined he could feel the spirt of Mithra himself moving over him, guiding his words. "Work hard. Accept your lot in life, for it is Mithra's will, his plan for you. You will be rewarded. Heaven awaits."

    The Overseer had been pleased. Angelo had even earned a bonus. 

    Admittedly the faces in the pews changed with a startling regularity. There were always new faces, a flood of them each time the penal ships arrived carrying the debtors and indentured from the Inner Archipelago. But it was the rate at which the old faces vanished one by one, to make room for the new that was startling. 

    After the first year or so he became a little concerned that most of the faces in the pews that had been here when he first arrived were gone. Perhaps the old timers were becoming disillusioned with his words? That could be a problem. When he presented the issue to the Overseer, Lucius had just laughed and said it was expected and not to worry. They had likely worked off their indenture and been shipped home. Lucius assured him his sources among the miners (and he had many) had nothing but good things to say about church attendance and church influence.  The predatory grin with which Lucius had delivered that glib explanation with had been more than a little disturbing. Angelo was well aware most of these people were ten year indentured at least.

    After that conversation, Angelo tried to have as little to do with the actual business of the mine as he could, not to ask too many questions or get too attached to any particular one of his flock.  He slept better that way. At the beginning he slept better anyway. Every opportunity or excuse he could find, he left the mountain, taking the short ride to Potsio town, where he could enjoy such meager luxuries as the town offered. 

    As long as Lucius was happy, that meant the Family was happy, and that meant Angelo was doing his job, and there was no doubt the silver was really flowing out of the mine. Lucius had a gift for efficiency, the whole place hummed like a well oiled machine, the local members of the Family kept getting letters of commendation from the home office, along with updates on how much money was piling up for each of them back home. Angelo's personal pile was becoming quite respectable. 

    Despite his backwater circumstances, Angelo would have been happy if it hadn't been for the nightmares. They had started shortly after his arrival and only became worse over time. Sometimes he dreamed of a figure in white trying to talk to him, sometimes sorrowfully, sometimes angrily, but he could never make out the words.  Sometimes it was the statue of St. Kinga, all nine feet of silvered stone, walking toward him through the empty church, holding the rose quartz heart that was the church's most sacred relic in both hands, offering it to Angelo. 

    The rose quartz heart bled a river of gore that drowned the entire church, drowned Angelo.

    Once it had been an angry woman with a hammer, who hadn't said anything at all, just came straight at him and tried to bash his head in. He'd woken with a splitting headache that time. 

    Lucius had said it was probably the bad air, even in the upper reaches of the mine the gasses from below could cause problems.   

    And then the terrible day of the twin disasters had struck, and everything had changed. Angelo had only the vaguest memories of that day, his mind skittered off it like a dull chisel off stone. He remembered an explosion that had rocked the mine, he remembered the floor of the cathedral, turned into an emergency hospital to triage the wounded, some crushed, some burned beyond recognition. Dead bodies, mixed with those soon to be dead, had been piled in groaning heaps while the few healers focused on those who could possibly be saved.  Blood had drenched the floor tiles. 

    And then the second explosion had swept through the cathedral like a dark wind and everyone had...changed. The dead had stood up and walked again, burning with an inner fire, the cathedral had filled with the smell of cooking meat. 

    He remembered one of his acolytes, he didn't even remember the lads name, screaming and grabbing the sacred heart from the statue, and running, hotly pursued by beings of bone and fire.

    He knew he had changed too. He could feel that same fire burning in him, his flesh cooking and blackened beneath his red robes. His mind shied away from that thought and he wrapped his robes of office around him tightly. 

    A voice had whispered in his ear. "Keep them in line, Angelo. Keep them obedient". 

    And he had. 

    It was his job after all. 

    He had to admit his congregation were much more docile these days. They filed in twice a day to hear his sermons without speaking some much as a word, and listened quietly without stirring, eyes fixed on him throughout the entire service. Those that still had eyes, at least. 

    They weren't much for hymns anymore though, so he removed those from the schedule.  

  Angelo had almost felt happy. The bad dreams were gone now, since he didn't really sleep any more. He was at peace. 

Until the heroes from the upper world came.