Angel Fall (27 page)

“I’m not your son.”

“Oh, but you are. And I am more than just your father. I’m the voice in your head that tells you what’s right and wrong. When you pray, I’m the one who answers. Be honest. What else could you want in a god? Ah, but you need a hero, don’t you? Someone to save you from this terrible situation. But there are no heroes in the universe, Alex, only hunters and prey. Look at all the children who have died, sacrificed on altars of selfishness, fear, and greed. Their blood cried out for a hero. But no one ever came, and they died like little animals. Now if you insist on praying, perhaps I can be of help. For untold centuries I’ve heard the finest in futile prayers. How about words like these, ‘Oh, God, get me out of here. Do what I want and I promise I’ll be good. I won’t ever lust after girls with long black hair. And I won’t murder any more dogs and beautiful angels. And most of all, I’ll never, ever be like my father.’ Well, go ahead, say it, pray it, scream it, sob it, and let’s see what happens. Alex, try to understand this. Your life as you have known it is over. Stop trying to run from me and remember the pleasures that I can bring.”

From out of the figure came the soft, sensual voice of Melesh. “You saved my life. Do you remember what I told you when I brought you to your room?”

Alex heard his own voice answer, “Tell me again.”

“I said I was your slave.”

“Is that right? So I can tell you to do anything and you have to do it?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Alex screamed, “Shut up!”

But his voice continued, “If you’re my slave, kiss my shoes…now my hand. Your room, let’s go.”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

The black form grew larger. “It is time to go, Alex. We’ve been in this awful place long enough. I’m going to be your hero. I’m going to help you escape.”

As he backed away, suddenly Alex pressed against the wall. He felt something sticking into him.

“Behind you is a door. Do you feel the knob?”

Desperately he grabbed it and turned it. The door opened. Beyond was darkness.

“It’s the way out. Escape, Alex! Run! Run for your life!” Then the voice started laughing.

Alex stumbled through the door into a narrow tunnel. Ahead he saw a dim green light. As he groped and staggered toward it, suddenly everything began to shake. A high-pitched whine shrieked, the light shimmered, and a great organ began to play. From the stone around him rose a terrible crescendo.

And Alex Lancaster began to hear the Song of his Soul.

G
asping, Alex rushed out of the tunnel and fell into shimmering light. There he lay, unable to move. The music was shaking him apart. The deepness of it, the roaring. It was as though his body had turned to iron and he was being struck with a gigantic hammer. It reverberated in his bones; it crashed in his brain. And then…

Silence.

Every sound passed away.

Now there was nothing but light…and the rasp of his own breathing. He cracked open his eyes.

Pain—a splitting, throbbing headache. He was almost blind. He had been in the darkness too long. The brilliance was excruciating. He covered his eyes, but the light seeped between his fingers and through his lids. No way to stop it. Where was he? Where was this awful, blinding place with sounds that tore you apart?

He heard footsteps. Groaning, Alex struggled to his hands and knees. The movement made his head pound.

“Who’s there? Is someone there?”

“I am.” The voice creaked with age. It was a man’s voice.

“I can’t see. The light hurts.”

Instantly it grew dim. Alex tried to open his eyes, but even the dimness was too bright. He squinted upward through narrow cracks between his fingers. Towering above him was the vague outline of a man in a long robe.

“Please…I need help.”

“What is it that you want me to do?”

“I’m sick and hurt.” He held up his arm.

“The injury will not kill you.”

“How do you know that? Are you a doctor?”

“I know all about dying.” The words were so strange that Alex tried to look up at him again. But now the figure was bending down, holding something. “Are you thirsty?”

“Yes.” His tongue felt like scorched sand.

A cup, the man was holding a cup. With trembling fingers, Alex took it and put it to his lips. Water. Sweet. Delicious. He drank and drank. It ran down his face and onto his filthy shirt. And the cup didn’t empty until his thirst was quenched. Finally he handed it back and whispered, “Thank you. I haven’t had a drink in a long time.”

The man rose. Alex squinted at him again. A little clearer now. He was old, with a white beard. But his face—he still couldn’t see it.

“Can you stand up?”

“I don’t know. I’m awfully dizzy.” But the drink had made him feel better. His head wasn’t aching anymore.

“I’ll help you.” Reaching down, he took Alex’s hand and helped him to his feet. “Hold onto my arm.” For a moment they stood without moving.

“Where am I?”

“In the Chamber of the Witnesses.”

“What’s that?”

“Look around.”

Alex forced his eyes to open, but it was still difficult to see. It appeared that he was at one end of a gigantic room, a kind of stadium carved out of solid rock. On every side rose tier upon tier of wide stone shelves, and on them in long, straight rows lay boxes that looked like coffins. Thousands of them stretched upward into the dimness. The ones nearby were covered with ornate carvings.

“What are all those boxes?”

“This is the burial place of the kings.”

“A cemetery?”

“A place of waiting. Let’s try to walk.”

With great care the old man led him toward the center of the chamber. Alex squinted. Something was up ahead. It looked like a single coffin surrounded with seven pillars that rippled with fire. As they drew closer, he saw that the pillars were made of tiny glowing insects. Thick masses of them slowly swarmed in perfect circles. And it was a coffin. The lid was open. When they reached it, he stared. It was the one that had been in the boat. And inside lay the ancient body. “So it wasn’t a dream,” he whispered. Then he turned to the old man and for the first time saw his face. It was the same face that was lying dead in front of him. He pulled away. “That’s…you.”

“Yes, that is my body.”

“How can you be dead and standing next to me? This is another dream.”

“It isn’t a dream. And death isn’t what you think.”

“Who are you?”

“The one who will guide you through the test.”

Alex felt a thrill of fear. “What kind of a test?”

“Tell me, how did you escape from the dungeon?”

“There was a door. I opened it.”

“The end, the end, when he comes all things will end. The Lord of Death has told him, no prison bars will hold him. The darkness will enfold him, Son from a distant world. They are the words of an ancient prophet. There was no door in the dungeon.”

Alex stared at him. “Of course there was a door. You think I’m lying?”

“No, you are speaking the truth. But there was no door.”

“So how did I get out?”

“By the will of the One Who Lives in the Mists. And by His will your test shall begin.”

Suddenly the chamber was filled with blazing light. But this time Alex wasn’t blinded. He looked up and what he saw staggered him. In the air, a hundred feet above, stretching across the entire ceiling was a shining horror with wings of flame. Fire roared from its eyes. And Alex remembered those eyes. It was the demon that had stung him and awakened the Thing in his belly. But now it was gigantic. He stood transfixed, waiting for it to descend and engulf him. But it didn’t move. It just hung there. And as he continued staring, it transformed. The fire deepened and parted. Within it he saw a creature of searing radiance.

The old man cried out, “You stand beneath the Worwil of the Throne. Prepare your heart to worship!” Then he fell on his face with his arms outstretched.

Alex didn’t move. He couldn’t. For a moment more the winged being hung in silence. Then it opened its mouth, and from out of it came a piercing call. Like the sound of a trumpet it filled the air, growing louder until the chamber trembled and shook. And then the call became a Song. From the Worwil’s lips poured a thousand voices sweeping downward.

Rushing…

Crashing…

Rising…

Falling…

Crescendos of overwhelming loveliness in a language that Alex could not understand. But just hearing it brought unbearable ecstasy. Tears streamed from his eyes. Splendor broke his heart. Without knowing a single word, he knew that this was the Song Above All Others, the Poetry of Fire sung when stars were born, rhyming light from the darkness, form from the chaos, the poem that had hovered over the endless deep. It was the Song of atoms and galaxies, of oceans and teardrops, of eternity echoing in the cry of a bird. It was the Song that had called them, the Song that had formed them. In it was all of Life that would ever be. And as Alex listened, in the glory he saw a glimmer, a single cell of starlight within a mother’s womb. So tiny in the vastness, yet within it was the Rhyme of Heaven, weaving flesh as it had woven light on a billion worlds. Cell upon cell, whispering softness, lullaby in a woman’s body, knitting a child with a poem of love. Bone and flesh, soul and spirit, weaving and breathing from the Song of Songs. Never had he understood before. Never had he imagined the grandeur, the hope, the promise, of a single child awakening in the morning of a womb.

And he was that child.

From the heart of singing his heart had come. And his life was meant to rise and join the greatness. Bone and flesh, soul and spirit, all of him was meant to be a song. As Alex sobbed, unable to bear the beauty, suddenly the vision faded into darkness…and he saw the place where the Song was born.

Gigantic in the starlight!

A vision of Eternal Majesty!

Vast!

Endless!

Crowned with crimson.

Crying out with wildness and joy!

The Great Mountain bathed in blood-mist, rising above the Heavens.

“Worship! Worship!” The voice of the Worwil called, “Fall down and worship, for this is the Throne of the Endless One.”

Desperate to worship. Thirsting for it. And Alex knew what worship was now, knew how to do it, knew how to grovel in the presence of Crushing Power. But he couldn’t. His knees wouldn’t bend. It was as though rods of steel had been shot through him. His spine was rigid and his head cocked back. He tried to force himself to kneel, to fall on his face, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t kneel. Couldn’t worship. Because something inside wouldn’t let him. All he could do was shriek in an anguish of desire. And then the vision disappeared.

Gone.

Silence.

Once more, above him hung the creature with the mighty wings. But the singing had ended and the fire had dimmed. Alex gasped, shaking, gulping. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Quietly the old man spoke, “You have come to the place of judgment, the hall of the Living Song.” Then he turned and looked outward. “Brothers, awake!” Instantly above every coffin appeared the form of a king. Some were wearing regal robes, others were clothed in armor as though they had just come from battle. Thousands and thousands of them stood stretching upward into the light.

With great sadness the old man looked at Alex. “You saw the moment when you were formed within your mother. You heard the Song that gave you breath and wove your soul. You witnessed the glory that your life was meant to be. Because you came from singing, your life has formed a song. With every thought and choice and deed you have written the words and music. And you must sing it for us now. It is the test that comes when life is over.”

“What? What do you mean, when life is over? Am I dying?”

“The life that you have known has ended. Beyond this room is a place of glory. Not a single note of evil can enter there. So every life is measured by the Music of the Law.”

“What kind of music is that?”

“It is the singing of the Endless One, the music in His heart. In Him, there is no evil. To be in His Presence is ecstasy forever. But to enter His Glory, your life must be without a flaw. No discord can mar the splendor. If you have lived one false note the test will show it.”

Alex stared at him in horror. “But that’s impossible. Nobody could be that perfect.”

“Nevertheless, it is the trial of every living soul.”

“So what happens when I don’t make it? What happens then?”

“You will go to the place that you have chosen.”

Alex’s terror deepened. “But that isn’t fair. I didn’t know. Nobody ever told me.”

“From the moment you were born, the Singing of the Mountain has echoed within you. It was always there. To listen or not was the choice of every day and every hour. And from all your choices will come the music of who you are.”

Suddenly Alex felt a dreadful writhing in his belly and a soft voice whispered, “Ah, now you understand the little game of Heaven. What does fairness matter when a soul is about to die?” Then it began a mocking rhyme.

Alex screamed, “Shut up, shut up!” But the voice in his head droned on.

Alex held his ears and shrieked, “Stop it! Leave me alone! I’m not gonna do it!”

“My son, you must.” The old man had tears in his eyes.

“I won’t! I can’t! Please, don’t make me!” But then, from the stone beneath his feet, he felt a soft vibration. Slowly it rose in waves of ever-increasing power. Shaking, rumbling, like the tones of a mighty organ.

Louder!

Into his body!

Into his chest!

Crashing into his skull!

He felt himself splitting, separating, dividing—bone and flesh, soul and spirit.

And in every part of him there was a song.

Alex fought desperately, trying to keep silent. He gritted his teeth. He bit his tongue until it ran with blood. But the deepness of the organ was calling and he couldn’t stop it. His lungs filled with air, his mouth opened, and out of him came…

Horror!

Voices upon voices!

Rising—

Screaming—

Shrieking memories out of every crevice and corner of his soul. Vomiting curses and secrets. Revealing every lie, every thought, every deed of vileness. No rhyme. No music. Just jabber-screeching. Spewing out rage and lust and hate. Filling the chamber. On and on, squeezing, draining, sucking, bleeding, until his heart was empty and he was naked for all the universe to see.