As evening had fallen on the Eternal City, as the river had returned to its normal colour and the day moved towards its end, the citizens of Rome had left the edges of the Tiber which had captivated them since morning. Tension was thick in the popular conscience now. Details of the two gun pursuits earlier in the day had been reported on widely, small clips of mobile phone video from passers-by released to the press and cycling through the news. When, only hours later, the water had changed again, it had not calmed the city’s nerves. There was nothing left to see, but sections of Rome had been shut down, combed for any clues as to either the attacks or the changes in the Tiber, and they were only beginning to be reopened. Perpetrators were being hunted for, but none had been found. Fear escalated, then escalated further.
Humanity at its finest, taking advantage of any opportunity to find a new low to which it might sink. And in a world too familiar with how quickly situations could escalate, there were more Roman doors locked on a double bolt this evening than there had been in months.
But behind those bolted doors and drawn curtains, the city’s discomfort did not equate to inaction. It led Rome’s inhabitants through smartphones and laptops, home computers and Internet cafés, towards the twisting web of the Internet and whatever truths it might disclose about the events that had taunted them. They were shocked, increasingly afraid and wanted answers.
Instagram was as red as the Tiber had been, tens of thousands of photos transforming its feeds into shared emotions about the oddity of the transformation. Facebook emoted every emotion its enhanced features would allow, permitting droves to offer explanations, reactions and general commentary.
And dotted amongst it all, the video clips of hundreds who had something to say, vocally, about the day that had overtaken them.
One video, in particular, was already taking on a life of its own.
A young man with short hair and a plain shirt, perhaps no more than twenty-five, sat before a camera in a small and unremarkable room, cropped to a bust in the frame. He had a look about him that some would call possession, others madness, yet others inspiration. But he spoke with purpose and zeal to whatever audience would find him, on a new YouTube channel for a religious group most had never heard of, and which had never ventured into Internet video before.
‘My beloved brothers and sisters,’ his voice began, ‘the time of wonders is upon us.’ The religious verbiage that followed was rich, filled with talk of revelation and divine encounter. ‘. . . Today, the world saw a sign of the glory of God. The ancient river ran with blood, like the Nile of old, that God’s power might be known.’
But it was his next words that would capture the public interest.
‘We knew this would come.’
A few hits of the ‘like’ button had initiated the response to the short clip. Then it was shared, embedded, reposted – and spread like a virus across the web that spanned city, country and world. The ‘likes’ ran into the thousands, then the tens of thousands.
‘. . . What happened this morning,’ the speaker continued, his voice filled with foreboding, ‘is only the beginning.’
And then he had lifted up a sheet of paper, and had begun to read.
‘The old pharaoh’s heart was hard, but the new pharaoh’s heart is harder.
I shall lay my hand upon him anew, and all his people, and my signs and wonders shall be multiplied.
I shall stretch out my hands against them, that they may know my great judgements – as I will upon the one who discovers these things, whose terrible death shall come most swiftly.
It shall come to pass in the seventeenth year of the second millennium after the coming of the Sun, when the great star is at her peak over the Eternal City.
And the first sign shall be that the river shall run with blood.
The next shall be like it in power, as the bright places become dark in a city filled with light.
Then shall come the fog, which clouds the minds of the children of fallen men;
And in the fourth place, a cross of fire shall consume their holy things, the seat of the Mighty See at its head.
And then shall come the moment, at the hour of first light on the third day after these things have begun, when above the resting place of the Rock dawn itself shall be stopped and the sun shall be blotted out of the sky.
And then the earth shall quake,
And the firstborn son shall die as he stands,
They shall come, one by one,
Until all the world shall know the power of the Lord.’