Read Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I for Free Online Page A

of completely eroded stairs, and turned left, up more stone
steps. They were more than three feet deep, as were all the steps through
Mystra, but these were in better condition than the ones in KatoHora . The walls
fared no better. Some of the corners jutted up and pointed to the sky.
    A single arch spanned a stairway, leading Kosta
through to the Kastro ,
castle. He followed a downhill course from the entrance, continuing past the
Despot’s Chapel of Hagia
Sophia . He didn’t enter the small doorway, inset in the
center of the triple-arched, red roof-tiled portico. A church wasn’t the place
to look for a secular, humanist philosopher.
    He headed down the path again and chose the right
fork, coming upon the Palataki ,
little palace. This was where Plethon’s home would’ve been, considering his
place in the imperial structure and importance to late Byzantine culture. It
was at the Palataki that he taught the last academy of Greek philosophy. Future patriarchs of Kostadinoupoli ,
cardinals of Rome, despots, lords, dukes and emperors, had lived the last
blossom of the ancients’ thoughts, beliefs and mysteries.
    To the right of the entrance, Kosta could see Sparti in
the Evrota Valley. The city was so high, it appeared to be a tan smudge on the darkening
fields surrounding it. Roads led away to Tripolis, and to the left kiparisia , cypress
trees, were tiny in the valley floor. He walked along the ruined walls and, in
the far left corner of the little palace, he saw a wily old figure. Tiny eyes
glinted in the darkness, indicating gleeful wit and cynicism. A clever smirk
curled the man’s thin lips as he asked, “Do you accept Xos as your savior and
redeemer?”
    “Yes,” Kosta replied, without a second thought.
    “Fool. I thought the Truth would know better.” He
laughed a short snicker motioning for Kosta to beware. He quickly turned to see
the last Templar, who had followed him from Sparti . He rushed at
him with enough momentum to send them both over the edge of the Palataki .
He was moving very quickly, and not wanting to impede him, Kosta stepped out of
his way. He didn’t go over the edge, but ran into one of the walls with a
sickening crunch of his face. Kosta pushed him over the edge, the limp body
hitting the cliff six times on its descent.
    Plethon looked at the body intently and added, “It
was actually a mercy that you showed him. He would’ve died painfully from
hitting the wall with his face.”
    “He had it coming,” Kosta answered.
    “Well, considering your first response, as well as
your handling of that pitiful fellow, you’re not as imbecilic as your
ancestors.” He smiled appreciatively.
    “Thank you, I think.” Kosta was surprised at the
familiarity of this specter. He was used to medieval finery, not the
familiarity, the flippancy, this little man showed. He was very little, barely
five feet tall, and wore the fur-lined, plain robes one would expect of a
country noble. On his head was the brimmed, conical hat of Byzantine gentry,
though it didn’t quite fit.
    “Nobody calls me the Truth. Who are you? You’re
certainly not the old teacher.”
    “Oh, those clever, clever Greeks.” The smile, cleaving
his face, was malignant, a gash that looked as though it would explode in a
torrent of gore. He wasn’t pleased to be exposed; the grin belied any
compliments that slithered past his tongue. His stare punctured Kosta’s
imagination, as he saw this little man rending him limb from limb, ripping his
skin from his body. He shook off the vision, taking a step backward as it
slithered forward.
    “I’m Old Nick and I’ve been watching you for quite
some time.” He saw Kosta’s eyes widen in alarm. He pressed on emotions to exact
his deepest fears, conjuring up perfect apparitions. He saw all of his family
suffering, as nightmares come to life, carving off pounds of flesh and flaying
skins off their writhing forms. This impostor didn’t relent as Kosta staggered
from his molested