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The boy woke up, shaken and groggy, in an unfamiliar bed. An IV cord was attached to his hand, and he stared at it for a moment before realizing what it was. Monitors beeped by his bedside.
He looked around the room and his eyes fell first on the girl sitting on the chair by his bed, asleep. The morning sun creeping through a crack in the curtains gave her red hair a golden shine. He smiled at the sight of her.
“Good morning,” I said quietly, stepping forward.
He looked up at me, startled, not having realized that they weren’t alone.
“Hello,” he said shyly. “Are you my doctor?”
“Yes, one of them. I’m Doctor Ralph Arches, and the young lady by your bed is my daughter.”
“Maya… No, ” he paused, shaking away his disorientation. Then he smiled, looking at her again. “Mara.”
“Yes. She says you’re her hero, that you saved her before the snowstorm.”
“There were some bullies. I got them away from her, that’s all.”
“Well, she’s refused to leave your side while you recovered from what they did to you. She found you just in time, and led searchers to you. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, you’ve been through a lot.”
“Mostly just some bad dreams, ” he said.
“Oh?”
“Whatever came before doesn’t really matter any more than a dream. What matters is that I’m alive today. And she’s here.”
My daughter woke, and their eyes met. A moment later, so did their hands, coming together over the blanket. I left them in private, and went home to my wife.
I awoke feeling refreshed. I found myself leaning against the silver bark of the heavenly Tree of Life and I saw Enoch kneeling beside me with a smile on his face.
“Feel better?”
“I guess so.” I said. “Did I really..?”
“Yes, you did.” He grinned, helping me to my feet. “Wasn’t what you expected, was it?”
“No.” I smiled back. “Wasn’t anything like it.”
“I have a favour to ask before you go.” Enoch said.
“Oh?”
“Can you write a record of your experiences? For the Library. I’d like to cross-reference them with Raphael’s report, get a first-hand account.”
“Certainly. I’m honoured.”
“Grand!” He grinned again.
“Did you say before I go? Where am I going?”
“Back, of course.” He chuckled. “It’s not your time, my boy. You’re just getting started.”
And he was right.
I stood up and helped Mara to her feet. We emerged from smoky rubble, and I realized we stood where once the Citadel had towered. Hazy sunlight outlined the bricks of that toppled building, and sparkled off the glassy ground. It seemed as if the explosion had generated enough heat to fuse the dirt ground. A surprising distance away, you could see the burned remains of some of the other buildings. Everything was still smoking, and ash was everywhere.
At the edge of the glassy circle stood tall figures in white robes. Most of them had wings and were playing harps, as if celebrating our triumphant return. They were singing, and though I could not identify the language, it was the sweetest song I ever heard this side of Heaven.
In the centre of this group stood two figures, one was recognizably Raphael. We hobbled towards them, leaning upon one another, scratched and dirty. When we reached them, Raphael embraced his daughter. The other figure was so radiant that it made Him hard to look at directly. He wore armour like that which had protected me in Hell, and carried a sword like mine. Somehow, I knew that He had been protecting me all along.
“Welcome back, daughter.” Raphael was sobbing, clutching Mara tightly. She was crying too, hugging him back just as hard.
I turned to our Saviour, and saw Him smile kindly at me.
“What about the others?”
“I will go to them, cousin,” He said. “To see if they can ever accept my love. Real love means always having faith, always hoping. I will not give up on them.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to say. I felt like there should be more than this, some denouement, an explanation for it all perhaps. He saw this (He sees everything) and smiled again.
“You shall know the truth, and it shall make you free,” He said, and again I was blinded.
I remembered finding faith under a tree in a snowstorm. A time I should have died. I knew then, and remembered now, that the world was chaotic. Not because God was unjust, but because only in the unfairness of chaos could we be free. Bad things had to happen to good people, good things happen to bad, or else we would never have to make real decisions. We would not have doubts or fears, because we would have certainty instead. Do ‘A’ and get ‘B,’ like a hamster pushing a button for food. There would be no moral choices, because we would know from experience and results that the same thing would always happen. Our thoughts, our intentions, could be evil or good, but so long as our behaviour was proper, we’d get our pay-off.
With certainty, even the worst people could behave well instead of making choices, because they would have no doubt of the outcome. But in a world of chaos, where consequences were not so clear-cut, they could get away with cruelty.
For there to be good, there had to be evil. For freedom, there had to be choices and chaos. But for there to be freedom in chaos, it meant that there had to be some order as well. Some things that were always true. If God had planned for chaos, there had to be a way to find what was real and good, even when surrounded by darkness and evil. Even the darkness served God’s purpose.
“I can do all things by Him who strengthens me,” I whispered.
“What?” Azazel demanded, knowing that I had spoken, yet not hearing me.
I began to speak, letting my faith flow through me, fed by the Holy Spirit.
“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Words from scripture came to my lips, and I saw Mara’s eyes, blind a moment before, restore themselves to their deep violet hues. She locked eyes with me and smiled.
Love was the answer. Love was constant. I cried out in victory, and lunged for Azazel even as Mara’s sword manifested itself and she went for Astarte. Simultaneously, the two demons drew their own blades in the nick of time, their obsidian blades clashing with our white swords.
The four of us circled each other, our swords on guard, and then there was a flurry of activity. Mara and Astarte went for each other at the same time, their swords colliding in a fast and fierce duel. Azazel feinted for my head, and then stabbed for my guts. I bounced out of reach, and then rolled behind a pillar. His blade bit into the stone just above my head, black and menacing. I sprung away from my hiding place as his second blow sliced through it, toppling a brazier. Its coals struck a tapestry, setting it ablaze.
Just over Azazel’s shoulder, I could see Mara and Astarte strike, counter, block and slice in the dangerous ballet of sword-fighting. I smiled with pride to see my beloved handle herself admirably, and then I had my own problems to worry about. Azazel was growing black armour out of his skin, sharp and deadly looking. I grimaced, and prayed for God’s help.
I was unsurprised when white armour manifested itself around me, soft white fire outlining its grooves and edges. I stood, bowing to my opponent, and then uttering a battle cry as I charged him.
We exchanged sword blows, our blades clanging again and again. He was faster than words can describe, yet somehow I held my own. I could feel the strength of his demonic hatred in every devastating attack, and knew my faith was a shield. In fact, one appeared in my hand as I thought that.
Azazel roared in anger as my opposition continued. He kept growing bigger, his armour becoming more spiky and dangerous, his helmet becoming a fanged mask. His sword, now twisted and sharp on multiple edges, was knocking down pillars and scoring the walls. Yet my shield blocked his every blow, my sword countered his thrusts.
He bellowed and screamed, chasing me around the room, stepping through the flames that burned everywhere. I simply fought back, but saw that smoke was coming from his nostrils, and his eyes were glowing an angry yellow. His face seemed to be merging with his helmet, his hands with his gauntlets, which became increasingly like claws.
Before my very eyes, the pieces of Azazel’s armour became scales, and he grew to an enormous size. Within moments, a fierce red dragon was before me, bristling with fangs and black claws, his wings stretching above him, as wide as the room itself. With a flick of his tail, the walls tumbled down, forcing Mara and Astarte to run for cover before continuing their duel.
I could see them leaping over fallen columns, slashing and parrying, an acrobatic light-sabre duel if I ever saw one. Astarte tried to lift into the air on her dark, mottled wings, but Mara leapt from a pillar to tackle her to the ground. But by then, I had my own problems.
The Dragon growled and went for me with its mouth, its teeth like daggers. I gulped and then, sustained by my faith, I simply charged forward. The Dragon snapped at me with its mighty jaws, but I rolled under him. The monster flapped its wings and rose into the air, and blew fire down on me in a plume. I ducked behind my shield and stood up unharmed when the Dragon stopped.
He screamed in frustration, his snarls deafening in volume. I tensed my legs and then sprang into the air, soaring like a bullet straight for his chest, propelled by faith. I held my sword out in front of me, knowing that I was God’s archer, and it was my arrow. I, the Hawk, soared and collided with the Dragon.
“LET THERE BE LIGHT!” I roared in righteous fury, the Tiger, as I struck his heart with my sword.
The universe was filled with the brightness of Christ as the Gates opened and He descended from above to lift us home.
And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon.
Revelation 9:11
I nearly wept with relief when I saw Ethan emerge out of a bank of clouds, blinking with confusion and rubbing his eyes.
“Ethan! Over here!” I called to him, waving, and he looked up at me.
“Raphael?” He asked in the perplexed tone of one who has just awakened from a mysterious dream. Ethan approached me where I stood by the gold and ivory gates of the Kingdom of Heaven.
“What’s going on?” He queried.
“You’ve been through the Judgement.” I told him. “And now you’re standing at Heaven’s Gate. You have but to knock and Simon Peter will let you in.”
He stepped forward eagerly, raising his right hand.
“Fantastic! I can’t wait to see Mara…”
I put my hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked at my face. Immediately his brow furrowed with concern.
“Something’s wrong.” He said. It wasn’t a question. He knew.
“I’m afraid so.” I admitted.
“What is it?”
“She isn’t here.” I said quietly, feeling limitless sorrow ripple through me again at the thought. The same pain was reflected in Ethan’s eyes. He gripped my shoulders.
“What do you mean she isn’t here? She’s an angel!” He was angry with worry and shock, and took it out on me, the only available person to blame.
“No, she isn’t. She took human form, and the risks that go with it. She killed Simon Lamb and her last thoughts were hateful. There was no way for her to come back here under those conditions.” I found the strength to tell him, but the entire time I was weeping.
“What?” He asked again, unbelieving.
“The Drake was a demon, and Mara had an inborn duty to destroy them, as an angel. But Simon Lamb was a man whom the demon possessed, and murder is a mortal sin. Unrepentant, Mara’s Judgement was a foregone conclusion.”
Ethan sank to his knees, crying bitterly, cradling his head in his hands. Having all eternity, and nowhere to go, I waited until his sobbing ceased before speaking again.
“There is more.”
“What?” He asked, his voice choked with emotion, strained by his cries. His face was streaked with tears, and his eyes had gone red around the edges.
“Your Judgement was not so easy to conclude.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Most people are easy to place. They’re meant to be here. Or, they’re not. It’s based on the choices they made in life. But you presented a unique case.”
Ethan stood up weakly. He didn’t seem to care, but asked anyway.
“How so?”
“At the end, you called upon Christ to save you. That brings you here.” I gestured to indicate the Gate. “But part of you was equally unrepentant about your rage and the destruction it caused.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow as if to question my sanity. Then, realization hit.
“You mean Reza.”
“Yes. That half of you didn’t want to be here, rejected what it stands for. So, now that the whole has been fused back together, you have been found simultaneously guilty and innocent.”
Ethan ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, trying to take it all in. He was clearly exhausted.
“I thought Donovan was a demon,” he began, bewildered. “When all of us were in the desert, we were tempted. I cast out Satan, I thought he had caused the rest…”
He was clearly thinking out loud, and began to pace. I could see his exasperation, but chose to interrupt.
“Satan is a word with many connotations. Its root lies simply in the meaning of a block, or an adversary. You weren’t necessarily dealing with ‘the Devil.’ For the record.” I said.
“So we were being tempted by our own inner demons, the dark side of ourselves?” He asked, almost immediately. Even pushed to his limit, he was still quick on his feet. “I became my own worst enemy. But what about the beast?”
“Your dark half was perfectly designed to accept its more savage impulses, and that drew the attention of the demon Rage. It gained strength from that alliance, and so did your shadow nature. More demons flocked to the assemblage, drawn by your friend Jason. So much evil energy connected you to the greater demon, the Beast. The destroyer.”
Ethan quoted scripture. “‘They have as king over them the angel of the bottomless pit: his name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek he is called Apollyon.’ The Destroyer.”
“Your memory is as sharp as ever, I see. But did you know that Abaddon in Hebrew could properly be pronounced ‘Avaddon,’ as B and V are the same letter in the Hebrew alphabet.”
“Avaddon, Donovan, almost an anagram.” Ethan mused.
“Not quite, but close enough to amuse the demon. A private joke, of a sort.”
“So, I was two, and now I’m one.” Ethan said, getting the conversation away from linguistics.
“Yes, and back to being what every human being should be. Split, you naturally chose good, the dark half chose evil, but no real choice was ever made. The two sides followed the predispositions of their natures, they never actually deliberated over what was right or wrong. A human being is a creature of dichotomies, they necessarily use free will to choose between good and evil.”
“So I stopped being human.” Ethan stared into the distance, and a lifetime of loneliness and isolation became apparent in his face. There was a troubling look in his eyes, speaking of the regret and sorrow at the core of his being. As if he had just realized a truth he had always known but never faced.
“But you have your humanity back now.” I reminded him. “And I need you to make a difficult choice.”
“Why can’t you make it for yourself?!!” He whirled on me in anger, his eyes fierce.
I took a step back in surprise, but kept my composure, softening my voice.
“The principle difference between the two children of God, angel and man, is that angels have no free will. Their nature is a life of service to God, unquestioning.”
His eyes softened somewhat, but then he smirked.
“You’re rather behind the times, Raphael. It’s quite out of fashion to refer to humanity as ‘man.’ Sexist, even.”
I looked at him, startled. The idea had never occurred to me.
“It seems that your lack of ability to choose has also impaired your ability to change.” I remembered Ethan in the desert: focused, pure in intention. Now his tone was biting and harsh.
I knew that he was still reeling from the news of Mara’s damnation, so I maintained my patience. Nevertheless, his words struck me hard. He made me sound like a cardboard cliché cut out of the past.
Ethan stared at me in silence for a moment.
“So, what is this big choice you need me to make?”
“I need you to choose between Heaven and Hell.”
Each act is an island in time, to be judged on its own.
Alan Lightman, Einstein’s Dreams
“Light is zee constant.” A voice speaks in my ear, vaguely Germanic. In the distance, I see a ball of light spring into existence and slowly expand. A rolling wave of sound strikes, a world of buffeting thunder. When I recover, there are stars everywhere, twinkling against a black canvas.
“Bang!” The voice says, “Such good lights. Zee darkness is only zee distance between zee lights. Yet zee light is always zere. Trillions of neutrinos flow through zee dark, invisible to zee human eyes.”
I turn and behold, Albert Einstein stands (floats?) beside me in the cosmos, his hair a frenzied white halo exploding off his head.
“In fact, zee human body is made of zee same light. It just looks different. Difference, and darkness, zee perception of zese things is all relative.” He smiles. “How much light can you see?”
I laugh at his voice, it is reminiscent of a bad German accent I did in a school play long ago and far away. No one really talks like that.
“Whether he sees it or not is not zee question. It is how much darkness is in him?” Another voice, again vaguely Germanic, perhaps my idea of Viennese. That old headshrinker, Freud, has appeared.
We look out over the cosmos, and it becomes a backdrop for scenes of me, rescuing people from the middle of a battle in the snow, and at the same time Reza is killing my friends while wearing my face.
“He unleashed his darkest impulses, lost control of the Id. Rage, violence, destruction. He must be held responsible,” Freud declares.
“The gravity of this situation,” a British voice says. I turn and see a proper English gentleman of the seventeenth century, complete with a powdered wig. He is tossing an apple up and down in his hand. I guess this is supposed to be Isaac Newton. “Interesting universe you’ve created here.”
“He was destructive,” Freud snaps.
“Matter is neither created nor destroyed.” Newton continues. “Whether the discussion is theological or scientific, the conversation is about the same world. The lights still shape each other, energy upon energy. No matter how much darkness there is, the light is not extinguished. It’s just spread out further, its strongest concentrations further away from each other.”
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” This figure might be Lao-tzu, but he shifts between looking like Gandhi and Buddha. I have no idea what Lao should look like.
“His internal struggle creates tension, preventing progress.” Freud maintains. “Every step forward, sooner or later he takes a step back. Inertia results. But, more important, his rage ended the journeys of others. They could not walk towards the light in their own time because he cast them into darkness.”
Freud is sounding less and less Germanic, and looks more and more like Perry Mason, or a district attorney from Law and Order. I can’t make up my mind.
“So, relative to your perspective, he has separated from zee light?” Einstein inquires.
“Absolutely. Let him remain in darkness.”
“Well, we have heard from the Prosecuting Attorney.” Newton says. “In all investigations, all the facts must be assembled and logic employed to test the arguments. Is there anyone here to speak for the Defence?”
“I AM.” He’s back from the riverside, wearing homespun clothes and sandals. “He called on me in his last moments. At the last he sought the light, no matter how much darkness existed before. He is mine.”
Around us the universe swirls and gavottes, a miasma of colour and light.
“You will take his place?” Freud asks. “In an ordinary circumstance, one might ask if you had a Messiah complex.”
They all laugh, an inside joke I suppose. The stars grow dim as my saviour walks up a distant hill and opens his arms so they can nail him to his tree. I have knowledge that this is for my own good, but it seems so evil.
“Care for a piece of fruit?” Newton offers me the apple. I know it must be bitter.
“NO!” I cry, understanding what’s going on. I run forward to stop the piercing but it’s too late. I am struck by blinding light, raise my hands to protect my face, and am lost once again.
Spacetime ran in a circle.
Round and round she goes, where she stops, nobody knows…
Light refracting, reflecting, rebounding off itself, inlays and parabolas of glistening starshine, tesseracts and dodecahedrons of interwoven brightness, a tapestry of galaxies swirling into the oblivion, infinite, sparkling off itself eternally…
Infinite expansion/infinite regression, from the smallest quanta to the largest galactic cluster, circles upon circles, pixellated light-streams of information layered in patterns.
Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life was but a dream…
Hide and seek had always been a favourite game, moving from light into dark and back again, tag, you’re it…
You played against yourself and lost/won. There’s no one else to blame, the game’s always the same, the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane but the planes fall mainly in the rain…
Rain, rain, go away, come again another day, all God’s children want to play…
In Him we live and move and have our being…
The world was without form, and void.
Swirlspin blank lost white, white, light, bright, drift
Lost floating, sinking, swirling… alone… alone, lost, adrift, drowning
Void. Nothing
“NO! I am not nothing!” shouting, struggling, swimming, fighting… fighting.
“Who are you?” A voice, booming, echoing, surrounding, everywhere, nowhere, loud, inside, silent, quiet…
“I… I am… Ethan.” An answer from within, sought for, found. Survived.
“Are you?” The voice, washing over, flooding, submerging, blinding, deafening…
Collapse. Overwhelmed.
No Man an Island 