Mountain—Golgotha’s empty promise. Home to human hangers-on: lost souls in tents and shanties, setting up there in the kingdom of broken dreams, poisoned rotgut and busted silver veins.
And he felt, more than saw, something up there. Something that shambled more than walked, something that drove good men mad and mad men to murder. Something unnamed, vast and terrible in its comprehension.
This was the beginning. Of what, he still did not know, but he had best figure it out before the killing started up again. These things always ended with killing.
He looked down his Main Street. Life was back to normal. Argent was just a mountain again, not a squatting alien colossus, threatening to rise and crush his town. The people went about their business, and why shouldn’t they? The sheriff was back and the bad guy was on his way to jail. End of story.
Highfather limped down the sidewalk, wincing at the pain in his side. He looked at the charred hole in his jacket and shook his head in regret.
Third one ruined this month.
The World
He rode a steed of divine fire across the Fields of Radiance in search of the truant angel.
His mount was one of the Equina, a proud and beautiful steed whose every stride covered what would one day be known as parsecs. It was rumored that the Lord had decided to infuse the essence of the Equina into one of the new beasts that would reside on the sphere known as Earth, much as He had once remarked that He might distill His own essence into the beast to be known as man. The angel tried to imagine such sights—lesser, pale forms of universal absolutes hacked from crude matter, but like many in the Host, he was a little short on imagination. The concept troubled him even if he did not fully understand it.
If not for his mission he would have enjoyed the ride out across the fields. Heaven, its newly raised great arch, stood at his back. Even though work upon the Earth had been delayed by the war, the Almighty was insistent that Heaven’s progress continue unabated.
He felt the arch at his back and it comforted him, quelling his unease about the mission to create and populate the Earth with reflections of the divine. He was a warrior of the Ninth Choir, Fifth Host. He believed in the will of God, in the vision of the Almighty and the properness of the advancement of Heaven’s influence. He had slain in God’s name and was proud of the fact. He was building a better world and that world sang to him and soothed him. God had named him Aputel.
In the passage of time Aputel came to the edge of the Radiance, where the Darkness still held dominion, and there he found Biqa. The angel was well suited to this brooding place. Unlike his fellow, Biqa’s countenance reflected the bleak shadows of this most hated of places—a common trait of the Third Host. Here Heaven’s light and song were distant echoes. This was a place of silence and cold, far too close to the enemy’s domain for Aputel’s taste.
“There you are!” Aputel shouted as he reined his mount to stop beside the other angel’s Equina. “Everyone was looking for you. Did you not heed Gabriel’s horn? The battle is upon us.”
“Yes, I know. The final battle.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I have no stomach for it, Aputel. No desire to take part in ending, murdering, an entire breed of creature.”
“Murdering? Biqa, there is no murder here—those creatures are an abomination.”
“To who? God?”
“Well, yes, actually. He has great plans, good plans, and those things were just going to ruin everything.”
Biqa stared out into the Darkness. “So, God says, ‘Let there be light,’ and when there is, He sees that the darkness is full of these … beings, all coiled and slumbering together. It’s difficult to tell where one of them ends and the next begins. And because of that, because His ideas, His will, did not plan for such a thing, they all must be destroyed. Why can He not change his plans?”
Aputel furtively
And he felt, more than saw, something up there. Something that shambled more than walked, something that drove good men mad and mad men to murder. Something unnamed, vast and terrible in its comprehension.
This was the beginning. Of what, he still did not know, but he had best figure it out before the killing started up again. These things always ended with killing.
He looked down his Main Street. Life was back to normal. Argent was just a mountain again, not a squatting alien colossus, threatening to rise and crush his town. The people went about their business, and why shouldn’t they? The sheriff was back and the bad guy was on his way to jail. End of story.
Highfather limped down the sidewalk, wincing at the pain in his side. He looked at the charred hole in his jacket and shook his head in regret.
Third one ruined this month.
The World
He rode a steed of divine fire across the Fields of Radiance in search of the truant angel.
His mount was one of the Equina, a proud and beautiful steed whose every stride covered what would one day be known as parsecs. It was rumored that the Lord had decided to infuse the essence of the Equina into one of the new beasts that would reside on the sphere known as Earth, much as He had once remarked that He might distill His own essence into the beast to be known as man. The angel tried to imagine such sights—lesser, pale forms of universal absolutes hacked from crude matter, but like many in the Host, he was a little short on imagination. The concept troubled him even if he did not fully understand it.
If not for his mission he would have enjoyed the ride out across the fields. Heaven, its newly raised great arch, stood at his back. Even though work upon the Earth had been delayed by the war, the Almighty was insistent that Heaven’s progress continue unabated.
He felt the arch at his back and it comforted him, quelling his unease about the mission to create and populate the Earth with reflections of the divine. He was a warrior of the Ninth Choir, Fifth Host. He believed in the will of God, in the vision of the Almighty and the properness of the advancement of Heaven’s influence. He had slain in God’s name and was proud of the fact. He was building a better world and that world sang to him and soothed him. God had named him Aputel.
In the passage of time Aputel came to the edge of the Radiance, where the Darkness still held dominion, and there he found Biqa. The angel was well suited to this brooding place. Unlike his fellow, Biqa’s countenance reflected the bleak shadows of this most hated of places—a common trait of the Third Host. Here Heaven’s light and song were distant echoes. This was a place of silence and cold, far too close to the enemy’s domain for Aputel’s taste.
“There you are!” Aputel shouted as he reined his mount to stop beside the other angel’s Equina. “Everyone was looking for you. Did you not heed Gabriel’s horn? The battle is upon us.”
“Yes, I know. The final battle.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I have no stomach for it, Aputel. No desire to take part in ending, murdering, an entire breed of creature.”
“Murdering? Biqa, there is no murder here—those creatures are an abomination.”
“To who? God?”
“Well, yes, actually. He has great plans, good plans, and those things were just going to ruin everything.”
Biqa stared out into the Darkness. “So, God says, ‘Let there be light,’ and when there is, He sees that the darkness is full of these … beings, all coiled and slumbering together. It’s difficult to tell where one of them ends and the next begins. And because of that, because His ideas, His will, did not plan for such a thing, they all must be destroyed. Why can He not change his plans?”
Aputel furtively
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