Angel Fall (33 page)

The Beauty, the Glory, Alex couldn’t bear it. Weeping…weeping…and as he wept, the vision faded. His eyes began to close. And he found the peace that he had always longed for…in the Song of the Blood.

To the slaves of Lammortan the song was the Curse of Heaven. Too late the Angel and his creatures heard it. Too late they knew that the Song was in the Blood. Covered with it, bathed in it, it was the Song of Death. From out of the pit it roared up in a burning fountain.

Shrieking, covered with blood, the crystal flesh of the Angel cracked and melted. Out of his broken jaws gushed the soul sewage of a dying world. He shrieked and thrashed, crushing the burning creatures beneath him. Higher and higher the fountain roared…into a pool…a lake…and then a mighty river. Crashing down the canyon! Dragging the dying angels with it!

Screaming…

Gagging with blood in their throats…

Like drops in the ocean of eternity, Lammortan and all his slaves vanished into the chasm of Angel Fall.

I
n the cathedral Tori stared up in wonder. The ghosts and the phantoms had disappeared; no longer was the great canvas flowing with oil. Slowly, down poured a crimson wave, and the vast room was filled with singing, the loveliest voice that she had ever heard. As she watched, the blood flowed from the canvas down the stairs. On it came until it reached the little white tree lying on the floor. There, gently, it pooled beneath the broken branches.

Melting…

Melting…

The little tree began melting into the form of a girl.

Sobbing, Tori knelt beside her sister’s body. Amanda’s face was so peaceful. Whispering her name, Tori lay down and wrapped her sister in her arms. Such a weight of sorrow! Such a heavy weight to be carried by a girl! Hovering above her, the gentle voice sang on…sang rest…sang sleep…into the broken heart of a child.

S
ong of the Blood.

Song of Forgiveness.

Song that sings the Darkness away.

At the moment of awakening, even before he opened his eyes, Alex knew that everything had changed. The black pit where his soul had crawled, the jagged hole where his heart had drowned was gone. In its place was lightness, a wonderful soaring lightness. Never before had Alex felt anything like it because never before had he felt joy. All he had ever known were ragged shreds of pleasure. Always the shreds had been eaten up by sorrow, hate, and rage. But now the deepest part of him was soaring with Lightness. Blazing Lightness! In it he could hear the Song. To feel like this forever, that’s all he wanted. And he was so afraid that if he opened his eyes the Lightness would go away.

So don’t open them.

Don’t move.

Don’t even breathe.

Just lie here and stay like this always.

But he couldn’t stay like this. Because staying like this meant keeping it in. And the Lightness wouldn’t stay in. Suddenly he was so overwhelmed with joy that he had to yell it out or he would explode.

Sitting up, Alex yelled—yelled with all the joy that burned within him. And when he yelled…he opened his eyes.

What?

What was this? Stunned! Where was he? He knew this place, but didn’t know it. The Cathedral! He was in the Cathedral. He was sitting on the floor at the foot of the stairs, and the vast room was empty. He was alone! What had happened? How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was rising out of the horrible pit, rising on a river of Singing Blood, then falling asleep.

It wasn’t just empty—the Cathedral had totally changed. Gone was all the horror and darkness, gone were the ghosts, gone was the stifling heat and reeking mold. Around him towered an ancient ruin that looked as though it had been deserted for a thousand years. The walls were covered with moss and the pillars were draped with vines. Empty? Was it really empty? A freezing thought. The face.

Jerking around, Alex stared in terror. Not there! No face! No canvas! Nothing! Then he looked down at his arm. The terrible ache, he couldn’t feel it; the wound was healed! And the golden band—the mark of his slavery—it was gone.

Free!

He really was free!

He knew it now!

Tears came to his eyes as the Singing Lightness swept back over him. So beautiful! The Cathedral was so beautiful! Everything was so beautiful when the fear was gone. Even the air seemed to dance and glisten. And the light…streams of crimson sunlight were weaving soft patterns across the stone. Maybe he would sit here and watch it forever…watch the sunlight dance with joy.

Crimson sunlight? How could that be? Where was it coming from? Alex looked up…and gasped. The roof of the Cathedral was gone. He could see straight into the sky. And there it was! Towering in its vastness, rising into the stars like the Throne of a Mighty King stood the Mountain. Wild, burning, swept with winds of fire! And the Summit glistened as though wreathed in a Crown of Blood.

Worship!

Worship!

Soar and sing!

And now he knew what worship was. It was a soul soaring and singing for joy because it has been set free. Soaring, singing with thankfulness forever. As Alex looked up at the Mountain, suddenly he was filled with such ecstasy that he couldn’t bear it. On fire! His soul was burning with joy! In tears he struggled to his knees. Just to look up at it! To kneel beneath the Mountain! To kneel and soar and sing!

But then he felt a Shimmering Presence.

Slowly he turned. Mists of Glory! Alive! He was Alive! At the top of the stairs was the One who had stood above him, the One who had stood over him, the One who had shed the Singing Blood. And then the form began to change from the humblest of creatures into a Man of Mighty Splendor filled with Light greater than all the suns, and He was wearing a crimson robe. Blinded, Alex fell on his face. As the Glory streamed around him, he lay sobbing. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. Through his tears he looked up. The Man was kneeling beside him. Gone was the blazing Light. He could look into His face. Old He was, old beyond imagining. And covered with scars as though He had spent all of time locked in a vicious war, a war that He had won. Yes, old…but young.

So young!

In His eyes was the Light of Heaven’s Morning. He was young like a King who has just arisen to put on His Crown. And Alex knew Him—not because of the Splendor, but because of His eyes. In them was the Love that had whispered into the depths of his misery. In them was the Love that had pursued him even in the blackest caverns of his soul. Kneeling at his side was the Great King, the Lord of the Mountain, yet He was still the Seeker, the One who had chosen to die for him in a pit of blood.

Gently He lifted Alex to his feet. For a moment they stood in silence. And then the Great King took him in His arms. Never had his father hugged him. Not once in all the years. But now Alex felt a Father’s arms around him, and he couldn’t stop crying. The King was crying too. Tears of joy because the past was gone forever. Tears of joy because a lost child had finally come home. For a long time they stood. Then the Seeker King led Alex away. Out of the Cathedral of Sorrows. Out of the place of his shame. Into the light of Morning.

Into the Crimson Dawn.

A
tiny buzzing sound penetrated into Tori’s mind and fitted perfectly with a very delightful dream that she was having. In it she had become a bug. Well, not just a bug, the Bug Queen, and she was flittering around in an endless sea of daisies. There were lots of other bugs with her, millions of them. And Mirick was there too. They were all flittering together. The only problem was the daisies smelled like pizza. Italian sausage and pepperoni daisies. Which seemed odd but made her want to gobble every one. Then the buzzing got louder and it started calling her name.

“Torizzz…Toriizzz…Toriiiizzz…”

Instantly the dream vanished and her eyes popped open.

Dazed and confused, she sat up. “Mirick?” It had been his voice, she was sure of it. But now it was gone. Where was she?

She was in the huge cavern, the terrible place where she had first awakened. And just like before, it glimmered with eerie light—the light from thousands of blue candles standing above endless rows of dead children lying on stone tables.

“Mirick, where are you?” Tori was about to cry when she felt tiny hands patting her arm. Looking down, she couldn’t believe it. Beside her on the table sat Aloi. He was staring at her with his deep, wonderful eyes…and he was giggling.

“You’re alive! I thought you were dead, but you’re alive!” Picking him up, she hugged him so hard that he grunted. “What happened to you? How did you get here? How did we both get here?”

Then a tiny voice buzzed her name, “Torizzzzzzz…” High above, she saw a tiny sparkling light. As it danced back and forth, Mirick’s voice buzzed, “Szzzzooo, laaaazzzzzzyyyy girl, you finally woke up.”

“Mirick, is it really you?” She started crying again.

“Yes, little Queen of the Children, it is I.”

“Come down here so I can see you.”

“Not yet. Work time, not play time.”

“What do you mean? Why am I back here? What happened to the baby? And where’s my brother?”

“No time for questions. Questions will be answered when the work is done.”

“I don’t have to crawl out through that crack again, do I? I just can’t do that with the baby. I’d squish him.”

“No more crawling through cracks.”

“So what kind of work is it?”

“You have to wake up the children.”

“What?” Tori stared up at the fluttering light.

“Are your ears full of beeswax? I said you have to wake the children. Some of them have been napping for thousands of years.”

“Nobody in here is taking a nap. They’re all
dead
.”

“Dead to you, napping to me.”

“How am I supposed to wake them up?”

“Pick up the baby and stand on your table.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

So Tori did it. “Okay, now what?”

“Well, go ahead, wake them up!” The tiny light danced closer.

“How?”

“You are still a most difficult girl.”

“I’m difficult because I don’t know how to wake up dead people?”

“How did you wake up your sister on a Sunday morning after you’d tried and tried and all she’d do was pull the covers over her head?”

“I’d start screaming.”

“What did you scream?”

“Wake up, slug! Wake up you big pile of hair! I’m going to scream until you wake up!
Stuff like that.”

“Did it work?”

“Most of the time, but she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Well, do the same thing now. You could leave off the slug and the pile of hair, but yell at them. Tell them it’s
morning.
”

That’s exactly what Tori did. Holding the little boy in her arms, she turned around in a circle yelling,
“Wake up, children! Wake up! It’s morning! It’s time to get up! It’s time to get out of bed!”
While she yelled, the baby clapped and laughed.

Softly…so softly…it began.

At first, just a whisper.

In the blue twilit chamber of death Tori began to hear singing, a voice singing the Beautiful Song. And as it sang, high in the air appeared waves of Crimson. Slowly they spread out across the room. And then, as the voice rose higher, they fell on each small body like drops of rain.

Tears began running down Tori’s cheeks, as she understood the gift that she had been given. To see the moment of awakening. The stirring! The yawning! The stretching! The cooing! The gurgling! The giggling! The whispering! As all around her the thousands and thousands of children began to brush off the dusty sleep of ages and awaken into the Singing Light. A little girl on a table looked up at Tori and asked, “Is it time to play?”

As though Heaven were answering, at the end of the cavern the dark wall vanished and golden light flooded the room. Mirick’s voice called to Tori, “Tell them to bring the babies and come outside. The Great Sleep is over. Tell them…
it’s time to play!”

When Tori yelled it, there was a cheer. All the bigger children jumped off their tables. The older ones grabbed the little ones. Some of them had two babies in their arms. Then, laughing and yelling, they rushed toward the Light. Holding the little boy, Tori jumped down and ran with them. In a moment she was out of the cavern.

What she saw was so beautiful that she stopped and stared and trembled. Sweeping down and away from the Cavern of Death was a valley of Living Rainbows. Rainbows and more Rainbows. So many she couldn’t count them. In arcs and streaks and circles, they rose from the ground into the sky…spiraling…weaving…darting…dancing. The whole valley was filled with music as though an invisible choir of harps had joined in the Dance of Light. Deep and soft, high and sweet, endless melodies and harmonies soared around her. At first Tori couldn’t tell where the music was coming from. Then a little rainbow swept close and she knew.
The colors
. Each one was like a string. The rainbows were harps of mist, and all of them were playing the Song of Songs.

As the children raced down the gentle slope, it was as though the rainbows had been waiting for them. In a rush of joy they swirled, caressing each child with Singing Light. Laughing, spinning, swooshing the colors into streaming waves, the children ran on. Tori wanted to run with them, to jump and twirl, but something held her back. Something inside whispered that this was for them, that for her there would be a different joy. So, holding the baby close, she stood and watched and waited.

The last group of children was pouring out of the cave as the first reached the heart of the valley. Rippling through it was a stream that flashed as though the water were made of soft lightning. Clustered on the banks were trees with leaves so bright they sparkled. Each was a different color, and all were heavy with fruit. When the children reached them, they picked the fruit, and as they ate, they jumped in the stream, yelling and splashing each other with glistening drops.

Suddenly Mirick’s voice whispered,
“Little Queen of the Children, look up.”

Tori looked…and all the loveliness below paled into dim shadows. What she saw made her so weak that all she could do was kneel before the Splendor.

For the first time she saw the Mountain. Towering in the Heavens it stood, so vast and radiant that the stars vanished in its Presence. Sheer cliffs rose above sheer cliffs in endless processions of jagged glory. And each one flashed like a precious stone. Peaks of emeralds! Pinnacles of rubies! Spires of amethyst, jasper, and jade! Crests of silver. Crowns of gold! And between the peaks spilled a thousand waterfalls of diamonds drifting in the air like veils woven in the heart of the sun. Across it all swept Winds of Singing Fire flowing down from a Crimson Wreath of Mist that hung at the Summit like a Diadem of Blood.

As Tori stared, transfixed, it seemed to rise higher and higher until all the galaxies of the universe became like dust before it. On a mighty slope, there was a streak of brilliance. And the streak was moving. A Shining Wave was pouring down. A Fiery Avalanche was rushing toward the valley. What was it? She squinted, trying to see. Then she did see.

The wave was a host of Shining Beings, so many and so dazzling they were like a burning flood. Down and down they descended to the foot of the Mountain. With a great cry of joy they swept through the children, rushing among them, picking them up, twirling them in dances of light. For every child there was a Shining Being. Every baby was held and hugged and loved. Not one was left alone. All the children who had been given away, betrayed, and murdered by those who should have cherished them, all the children who had slept so long in darkness, each one was caught up in arms of love. It was so beautiful that Tori couldn’t stop crying. The voice of Mirick whispered, “Do you know who they are, the Shining Ones?”

She shook her head.