^
Prologue

The 927fh year of the Pre-Millennium
1,260 years ago

SAPHAR SANTRIEL WOKE FEELING LIKE A GOD. HE

smiled inwardly. You're getting ahead of yourself, Sa-
phar. You 're not scheduled to become a deity for at
least eleven hours...

Turning his thoughts away from the grand and glorious
event that would mark this day as his last in mortal form,
Saphar cherished the warm touch of the morning sun upon
his face and the whisper of gentle breezes descending from
the mountains in the distance.

Lying on a bed of golden leaves, the Elven Lord re-
mained perfectly still, reveling in the beauty of his home-
land as he also became a part of it. His pale, naked flesh
changed, taking on a wash of subtle browns, greens, and
aubums, not unlike the colors of the forest that was the
blood and life of his people. His aquiline features were
blessed with a perfect smile of contentment

To one who was uninitiated in the ways of his long mis-
understood and maligned people, the idea that this clearing

2                 Scott Ciencin

and the seemingly deserted forest surrounding it were
actually part of a sprawling city housing hundreds of
thousands would have been ludicrous. But such was the

case.
Unfortunately, not one of Saphar's servants was nearby

to bring him food. Hunger had risen strongly within him.
He reached out with his unnaturally attuned senses and an-
chored a portion of his conscious mind within a nearby
animal. A rabbit. A creature unknown in the True Lands
before explorations into other inhabited realms had begun.
He could feel the rabbit's heartbeat- It was terrified. The
animal knew that it didn't belong in this place, but its tiny
mind could not fathom how or why it had been brought

here.

"You supped between the cracks," Saphar whispered.

"Passed through the Doors of Worlds. Don't worry, you'll

thrive here."

He knew me animal would not be able to understand his

actual words, but his gentle tone and the slightest urging
of his ever-growing power were enough to instill a sense

of calm within the forest creature.

"I hunger," Saphar said. "Bring me something to eat."
The rabbit hesitated, its tiny nose wiggling curiously- Sa-
phar repeated the command, but this time he did not waste
words. Instead, he used his power to make his will known.
The rabbit flinched, then hopped off, disappearing from
view. A few moments later, it returned, awkwardly drag-
ging a large yellow-and-crimson-striped fruit. The rabbit
brought the fruit to Saphar's hand. The mage petted the
animal's flank, looked into its dark but guileless eyes with
something akin to wonder, then released his hold on the
rabbit. It hopped off, no longer afraid. Saphar took a bite

from the fruit. Sweet. Rich and tangy.

He would miss simple sensuous pleasures such as this
after his Night of Glory had passed. Or so he imagined. It
was hard to guess what he would truly feel once he was

made into a god.

Saphar sat up quickly, his crimson eyes bright with con-


Night of Glory                  3

cem. What if, when he became a god, he also became so
removed from his mortality that the needs of his subjects
became inconsequential to him?

He thought'of the eight who had come before him. Be-
coming deities had changed each of them. H'rxthal had
been bold and ruled by his passions; now he was obsessed
with the logical order of things, the secret interlocking pat-
tern of all events past, present, and future. Zaphkiel and
Jophiel. on the other hand, were all they had been in life,
and so much more. Each was a monument to the impor-
tance of wisdom, love, and decency. Vasiariah, the judge,
now seemed far more interested in the actions of his fellow
deities than the endless intrigues in which mortals engaged.

This was something to ponder . . .

A rustling came from behind Saphar. He turned to see a
shimmering light infuse the hollow of a nearby tree. From
that light stepped one of his fellow Elven.

"Meririm!" Saphar called, delighted to see his friend.
Meririm's form was difficult to make out. He was en-
shrouded by a nimbus of light, one of the many birthrights
of his people. Still, by focusing hard and utilizing his
power, Saphar could see beyond the light. He knew the
handsomely sculpted features of his friend very well, and
was pleased to see Meririm's smile.

The glowing Elven bowed. He was tali and—like Sa-
phar—powerfully built. "Your subjects felt your stirring. I
was sent to ask if the dwellers of the Forest City might
look upon the sun or if you would have it to yourself for
a little longer."

"They are welcome," Saphar said. "But why don't I
come with you to tell them?''

"As you wish," Meririm said brightly. "This is your
day."

My final day, Saphar thought. His people had been most
kind in allowing him to be alone with the stars in the heav-
ens for one night. It was their belief that when many eyes
gazed upon the stars at once, some measure of the heavens'
power was lost. So his subjects had shut themselves off in

4                   Scott Ciencin
the twisting realms of roots and vines, rich bark and moist

soil.

Saphar and Meririm were instants away from traveling

to that city when Meririm touched Saphar's arm and said,

"Wait."

"What is it?"
Meririm looked to the ground and shook his head. * '1 am

unworthy."

Saphar waited. He knew that whatever his friend wanted,

it would be named soon enough. The ritualistic display of
respect was hardly warranted between them, but Saphar
was not about to insult his friend by pointing that out. "I
sincerely doubt that you are unworthy of anything I have

to offer."

"Really?" Meririm asked, looking up quickly, his eyes

wide with hope and adoration. "But you are the Chosen.
You have suffered through unmentionable trials. Defeated
thousands who tried to oppose your Ascendance. Proven
your worth against candidates selected by the gods them-
selves."

Again, the recitation of Saphar1 s accomplishments,

which both of them knew only too well. Saphar sighed
inwardly. He could see mat today would be a day spent
standing on ceremony, and perhaps that was for the best-
*'Candidates including you among their number—you
whom I wished to fight the least. I am grateful to the gods

for allowing me to spare your life."

"So am I," Meririm said in a low, determined voice. "I
would not miss this night for anything. But before our com-
bat, I prayed only that He who was fit for this honor would

triumph. That was you, so 1 am happy."

"Then what can I do for you?" Saphar said, glad that

bit of pomp and circumstance was at an end.

Meririm bit his lip. "When you leave this plane of ex-
istence, I will be blind."

Confusion raced across Saphar's handsome features.
"By that," Meririm said as he spread his arms wide, "I
mean that 1 will have set my gaze upon the last mortal to

Night of Glory                  5

achieve godhood. I will have witnessed a sight so glorious
that all others will pale beside it. In this way, 1 will be
blind—or 1 might as well be."

"If not for your friendship, I might never have been
granted entry to the Pantheon and the place of trials," Sa-
phar said. "If there is anything I can do for you, either
now, in my mortal state, or later, when I have been raised
up, I will do it."

"Will you?"

"Of course."

"Without even knowing what I want?"

"I know your heart and soul. I cannot imagine you ask-
ing for anything that would be unwise for me to give."
Saphar waited. He had the power to took inside his friend's
thoughts and see what Meririm truly desired, but such an
act between friends would have been a loathsome affront.
He would wait.

Finally, Meririm lowered his gaze. "I wish to see you,
not only with my eyes, but with my hands, with my Art,
one last time."

"As you wish," Saphar said, resting his arms at his side
and closing his eyes. He knew that he had nothing to fear
from such a union. It was a gesture of brotherhood and
love, nothing more. And such an act truly would be beyond
them after the ceremony.

The glowing Elven moved forward, placing his hands on
Saphar's face. "Do you remember when the followers of
the Seraphim and the Runesmaker came to destroy your
lands?"

Saphar felt a sudden rush of emotion. "I do."

"They thought that destroying you and your people
would be as easy as putting any forest to the flame." Mer-
irim's fingers gently traced the contours of the Forest
Lord's face. "They underestimated your control of every
element in this land. The air, the sky, the earth below. Com-
pared to most, you are already a god."

Saphar wasn't sure how to respond to that. He'd under-
taken many responsibilities for his people. There'd been a

6                  Scott Ciencin

great deal he'd been forced to learn. Secrets he'd guarded.
He felt the power of his fellow mage probing the mental
defenses it had taken him a lifetime to master, and he forced
himself to relax, to allow Meririm the chance to glimpse
me true range of his gifts, to feel, for the briefest of mo-
ments, what it was like to be the Keeper.

"We fought well in those days, didn't we?" Merirtm
asked. "Those days of terror and bloodshed. You do re-
member?"

"I shall never forget," Saphar whispered distractedly.

Meririm's power was invading every comer of his being.
The force of his will was stronger than Saphar had ever
dreamed it could be. And now something was wrong. Sa-
phar felt weaker man he had a moment ago.

"Do you intend,'* Meririm said, "once you become a
god, that is, to look after all the True Lands as you have
the regions granted you as Forest Lord?''

Saphar* s hands shot up and gripped the wrists of his
fellow Elven. He yanked Meririm's hands away and forced
his friend's power to retreat in a heartbeat. Then he opened

his eyes.
Meririm was glowing even brighter now- Saphar, despite

his power, could not make out Meririm's features.
"Is something wrong?" Meririm asked.
The Elven Lord wanted to answer his friend, but he

wasn't sure what to say. His thoughts were a muddle. Yes,

something was wrong. But what was it?
As Meririm had pointed out, Saphar was nearly a god

already. His power was greater than that of any mage in

the True Lands. No mystery could stand for long against

his forceful sorcerous inquiries-
Why then was it impossible for him to see Meririm's

face? Why was his reason impaired? And why did he feel

so weak?

An idea—a terrible idea—occurred to him.
"Speak again," Saphar whispered, and his heart seized

up!
The voice that had left his lips was not his own!

Night of Glory                  7

"What would you have me say?" Meririm asked in a
voice that also did not belong to him. "That for all your
power you're the greatest fool this land has ever known?"

Saphar knew the voice that Meririm was using; he knew
it intimately, for it was his own- Finally, his vision cleared,
and he found himself staring at a face he was used to seeing
in mirrors or on the surfaces of clear ponds.

Meririm had stolen his face!

"More than that."

Saphar looked up sharply.

"Of course I know what you're thinking," the thief
whispered. "Just as you would have known what I was
thinking if it hadn't been for your primitive sense of honor

which kept you from gazing at the thoughts of a trusted
friend."

Suddenly, Saphar was aware of Meririm's presence in
his mind. He had no defense against it. Saphar raised his

hands before his face. They were engulfed in a fierce white
light.

"What have you done?" Saphar asked, Meririm's voice
leaving his throat.

"Let's not belabor the obvious," Meririm said. "I am
you and you are me. That means that tonight, I shall be-
come a god, and you will be trapped in my form for all
eternity. It's very simple."

Rage seized Saphar. He lunged at his former friend. Mer-
irim didn't attempt to move out of the way. He held his
ground, and Saphar passed through his body as if he were
confronting an insubstantial wraith. Unbalanced, Saphar
tripped on a thick root and fell to the ground.

"I remember the first time you pulled that little trick on
me!" Meririm cried. "Ever since that day, I've wondered
how it would feel to perform that bit of magic on someone
else. By all the gods it's a delight! Especially since it's you
who gets to look like the clumsy oaf on account of it!"

Saphar looked around. He saw that the rabbit who had
fed him only moments earlier had returned and was now

8                   Scott Ciencin

looking at him quizzically. His hand reached toward the
creature, and it sprang away in fear.

This was madness!

"If you wish to challenge me, by all means do so!"
Meririm called. "You have the power that was mine, which
is not inconsiderable."

Saphar rose slowly. He could feel Meririm's power rest-
ing within him- But he knew there was no hope of defeating
with mere spells a being possessing the Forest Lord's
strength. Meririm knew this as well, and apparently wished

to humiliate him.

He thought quKkly. Meririm had said that what had hap-

[XHH1 wan obvious. Thai was not true. Had their souls
(caded places? Or had their bodies simply been transformed
to id in teg deception? Something, some obscure bit of
knowledge (hat had once been entrusted to him, told him
It made a difference.

Why couldn't he remember it?

Because he's the Keeper rum, Saphar thought. He knows
the sacred ways and he possesses the secrets that had been
entrusted to your care. Fool!

Terror raced through Saphar as he tried to feel the land.

Nothing.

All that was left to him was an almost unbearable lone-
liness. His dominion was closed to him.

Saphar forced himself to regain his calm and think about
this logically. Meririm had used his power to perpetrate this
horror. And that power was now in Saphar's hands ...

"Of course I thought of that," Meririm said. "The in-
cantation I used to better my lot in life can only be wielded
once in a lifetime. Now that you've inherited my lifetime,
you cannot hope to use that spell for your own ends."

Saphar's thoughts were racing. He felt a calm that
seemed insane in light of his present circumstances. "The
gods won't stand for this. My people won't—"

Meririm laughed. "Another part of the magic. You will
find yourself unable to tell anyone else about this. Even if
you did, it wouldn't matter. They would only think that the

Night of Glory                  9

Outsider, as I was so affectionately known by your high
court, had lost his mind."

"The gods," Saphar said firmly. "They have the power
to see through any deception."

"Not entirely true," Meririm said. "Also irrelevant. Be-
sides, whose idea do you think this was in the first place?''

"You're lying."

"Appeal to them. You'll see the truth."

Saphar didn't dare. Making such an appeal would mean
casting spells that would leave him completely unprotected.
Meririm would then be able to use the power of the Forest
Lord to take his life—and his soul.

Saphar felt a fluttering within his mind. His enemy's
presence.

"You don't understand, do you?" Meririm said with a
cruel laugh. "If I wanted you dead you'd be dead. It's that
simple. Now go ahead and implore your gods. It'll do you
no good, but it will amuse me to no end."

Saphar felt his entire body begin to shake. This couldn't
be real. It couldn't be happening. Somehow, he had to fight
what had been done to him!

"I'm serious," Meririm said. "Make your appeal to
them. You don't have much time."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm about to go to your people and tell them that you
tried to kill me. They've always been suspicious of the
Outsider. There will be a royal hunt unlike any these lands
have ever known. Now that I'm you for all intents and
purposes, I know that to be a fact. I am one with these
lands. And there is nowhere you can hide."

"We'll see about that," Saphar promised. A hunt. Good.
He might survive long enough to find a way to reverse the
effects of Meririm's treachery. In a direct confrontation
with his former friend, he would lose quickly.

"Tell me one thing," Saphar asked, each moment far
more precious to him than ever.

"Honestly, I think I've told you quite enough."

"Tell me why."

10 Scott Ciencin

"Oh. That." Meririm shrugged. "All right. How about
this? We'll forget about the hunt for now. You can stay at
my side, and you can have your precious answers, provided
you don't become tiresome,"

"How generous of you," Saphar said. He's still in my
mind. He heard my plan to gather power against him while
on the run from his assassins.

I must shield my thoughts from him!

"You can't. Anyway, on second thought, it might be
distressing to see what had been my flesh and blood rent
and splayed on your warrior's crude weapons. And 1 prom-
ised you an eternity of torment in my skin, now didn't I?"

Then it was our souls that took flight, Saphar thought.
My soul is now housed within his body and his is within
mine.

"I didn't say that," Meririm muttered. "Have a care."

Saphar emptied his mind of all thought. It was the only
way to deal with the enemy stalking about in his mind.
When me time came, instinct would have to take over- And
for that, Meririm would have no warning, and no defense.

He followed the usurper as Meririm walked toward me
tree from which he had first appeared. Meririm held out his
hand, and the hollow of the tree widened into a doorway.
They both went through and soon found themselves in a
world that many might have found dark and gloomy.

To Saphar, this was home.

They walked downward, ever downward, through tun-
nels made of damp earth lit by glowing worms. The tunnels
branched again and again. Each time they came to one of
Saphar's subjects, the usurper of his flesh took their hands
and greeted them humbly and with words of love.

It saddened and angered Saphar to see that not one of
his people sensed that anything was wrong. He tried time
and again to address them directly, but as Meririm had
warned, he could say nothing. The magics that had been
worked on him were absolute.

The tunnels gave way to vast honeycombed chambers.

Night of Glory                 11

They went through marketplaces. Churchyards. Schools.

Scholars and those who had been raised to the level of
living saints came to greet the body stealer.

"The gods are in their heavens and all is right with the
world," Meririm said. "Go above if you will. It is a fine
day. The most beautiful and wondrous of days ..."

Saphar followed him, uncomfortably aware of the stares
he received wearing Meririm's flesh. He had known so
much about his people, but he had never glimpsed their
disdain for his companion. How could he? Meririm had
always followed dutifully behind, just as he did now. And
though he'd possessed incredible power, he had never
thought to use it to see what occurred literally behind his
back.

Perhaps they had seen something in Meririm that he had
never glimpsed. They might have known the evil that was
in his heart...

Saphar shook his head. Was it possible that Meririm had
performed this act simply to show him that he had to be
more aware? That soon his friend would laugh and undo
the terrible spell he'd set into effect?

No, Saphar decided. It was not possible.

"So you see the contempt they held for me?" Meririm
whispered to him. "The hatred? The fear?"

Saphar nodded. "I should have shared it."

"But you didn't, and now it's too late."

They entered a chamber adorned with the gossamer
wings of countless butterflies. Saphar sensed movement
near his feet. He looked down to see the root twisting away
from him. This did not happen when the thief wearing his
body came near them. In his case, the roots strained to be
close to him. Earthen walls pushed outward to reach out to
the usurper, looking for all the world like the gigantic hearts
beating only for him.

The gods would repair this damage. The gods would
know. He would not have to say a word.

Saphar believed this.

12 Scott Ciencin

"You hated me from the beginning, then?" Saphar asked
when he and the body-thief were alone.

"No,*' Meririm said. "I believed in you. I felt that if
anyone could save us, it would be a visionary like your-
self."

"Save us?" Saphar asked. "The Elven are in no dan-
ger."

"We are. This world seeks to punish us."

Saphar felt the first swellings of pity for his former
friend. Meririm was insane. "This world gives us life. To
think otherwise—"

"What about the cities?" Meririm snapped. "Elsindyrh?
Twolgoth? Brutanlei? They're dying."

"No," Saphar said. "You and I have had this discussion
before. How could you speak from such ignorance?"

"It must be because I'm mad," Meririm said. He grinned
and tapped the side of his head. "Remember the power I
wield."

"My life was spent acquiring it," Saphar said. "How
could I forget?" The fallen Elven Lord trembled with
barely restrained rage- "Listen to me. It's possible that one
of our enemies has poisoned your mind. I should have pre-
pared for this possibility, but I didn't. You have the power
to fight any—"

The blow came so swiftly that Saphar saw only a blur
of motion. Then he was rocketing backward, smashing
against a wall. He felt bones within his new body shatter
with the impact. For an instant, he couldn't draw a single
breath. Air filled his lungs seconds later, and he wheezed
with agony.

Meririm raised his hands, and both doors to the chamber
they occupied covered over with earth.

Saphar realized that he could no longer feel the presence
of his enemy in his mind. Meririm's anger had severed the
bond. He felt the power he had inherited moving through
him, healing his broken bones, repairing his ruptured or-
gans. He could smell blood in the air: his own. The odor

Night of Glory                 13

was growing faint. Each drop that had been spilled was
returning to him-

Suddenly, Saphar knew the truth. He would not die. Mer-
irim had displaced their souls. For the spell to hold, even
if Meririm was raised up and made a god, his mortal form
would have to survive. He was immortal. Unless the gods
saw fit to destroy the mortal form Saphar wore. Then the
balance would be restored.

"What are you going to tell my people?" Saphar said.
"About the noise, I mean? I can hear them outside. Peel
their concern. If it's that obvious to me—"

"I'll think of something. I always do." Meririm laughed.
"It occurs to me that I promised an explanation. And I
mink that after all you've been through today, you deserve
one."

Saphar waited.

A terrible smile spidered across the face Meririm had
stolen. "No, I'm afraid it won't be as simple as being told
a story. This is a tale that can only be told in dreams. Sleep
well."

Saphar took a step forward— ,

—and fell into darkness.

He became aware of a beautiful choir that seemed to sing
only for his pleasure. Its sound pierced his sleep and roused
him- Opening his eyes, he saw that the earth he had so
cherished had been replaced by sky. Soft clouds surrounded
him. They drifted lazily beneath him, occasionally parting
to give him a view .of an angry crimson-and-black land far,
far below.

He stood, seemingly on nothing at all, and understood
that he was several leagues above the surface of his world.
Why wasn't he falling? What was this place?

Windows suddenly carved themselves out of the void,
windows of every conceivable shape and size. He got to
<   his feet and examined one of them. The window was made
f   of darkness. It hung in place through some form of magic
^. that made Saphar feel uneasy. He walked around the win-

14 Scott Ciencin

dow, examining it from every angle, and felt an odd sen-
sation emanating from this nightmarish portal. It wasn't a
breeze radiating outward—instead, whatever was on the
other side of the window drew the air toward it.

He backed away.

"I don't understand," he whispered.

This was an illusion. It had to be. It was too real—and
he was too aware of all that was happening—for it to be a
dream.

He remembered Meririm's taunts. His former friend had
sent him to this place to keep his old body safe from the
gods' wrath. That had to be right. There would be no an-
swers. Just an eternity of isolation and madness.

He screamed!

"What troubles you?"

Sapbar turned suddenly. An Elven dressed in flowing
crimson robes floated before him. The Elven's flesh was
nightmare black, his eyes crimson. A dweller of rock and
shadow. Saphar wondered if this man, from a race that had
once been an ally of the forest people, could be trusted.

No one could be misted, he reminded himself. No one
ever again.

"What is this place?" Saphar asked. "Where do these
windows lead?"

The Elven smiled. He folded his hands over his chest
and said, "You're in the Ninth Heaven. At the Outer Gates.
The windows lead wherever you wish them to lead."

"Heaven?" Saphar muttered.

"Where else would angels such as ourselves reside?"

Saphar's immediate instinct was to rebuke the Elven's
claims. He wanted to shout, I'm a warrior. An Elven Lord.
/ know nothing of 'angels.' But he sensed that such words
would brand him a madman or a fool in the eyes of this
being. Or worse.

"I have ... traveled far. I was injured. My memories are
scattered." Saphar concentrated, causing the brilliant glow
of his new body to lessen.

"The Host has fought many battles," the Elven said.

Night of Glory                 15

"The Enemy threatens to slip his chains at every turn. We
must be vigilant- Do you recall which of the Crusades—"

' 'Crusades?''

"Holy wars." The Elven shook his head. "Your injuries
must run deep. I'll take you to a friend. Perhaps he will be
able to help you. What is your name?"

"Saphar Santriel."

The crimson-robed Elven whirled on him in sudden rage.
"Injured or insane—I don't know which—but if you utter
those hatefiil words in my presence again I will cleave your
soul from your worthless body and send you to the Ring
of Punishment!"

Saphar was stunned. His look of genuine surprise seemed
to calm his fellow Elven.

"You don't understand, do you?"

Shaking his head, Saphar said, "I have no wish to of-
fend." He thought quickly. "The name simply came into
my mind and so ..."

"Perhaps the blasphemers you slew died with that name
on their lips," the Elven said suspiciously. "Or then again,
it's possible that you were the hunted, not the hunter. You
know nothing of the Host? The Vessels?''

Saphar thought quickly. He had heard one of these
phrases used before. The Host... The Heavenly Host. It
was a concept found in the religion of the people found in
the latest expeditions. The concept of a single god, a Heav-
enly Father, the angels who did His bidding.... It was all
coming back to him.

A phrase came quickly to mind. "The Lord our God is
one Lord: and thou shall love the Lord thy God with all
mine heart, and with all thy soul and with all thy might."

The crimson-cloaked Elven rushed forward and em-
braced Saphar. "Such words would set a heretic ablaze!
Welcome, blessed friend."

Saphar returned the embrace. "I am happy to be wel-
comed. You have no idea ..."

They walked together beyond the field of windows.
Ahead, fortresses made of ice rose from the clouds. Crea-

16 Scott Ciencin

hires that were part men and part lightning, or winged beast,
flew above, while below, a sea of fiery lava covered the
earth.

"I am Tychagara," the crimson-robed Elven said. "Per-
haps you have heard of my ancestor, one of the seven ex-
alted throne angels."

"Yes," Saphar said absently. Why had this Elven reacted
so violently when he gave his name? He had to know.

"The heirs to Ophaniel and Barael live here in the Sev-
enth, as well. We found an amusing passage last year, re-
ferring to the Thrones as executing the commands of the
Potentates. An absurd claim. Commands come from us, it's
not the other way around. But you know how history has
a way of twisting things."

"It can be most inglorious," Saphar said.

"I have some advice, if you'd like it."

"Tell me."

"Until you are certain of your true name, give none at
all. I can see that you have a gentle nature and have no
wish to offend, but that name you mentioned...."

"I'm beginning to think you're right about it," Saphar
said. "I must have heard it on the lips of a heretic, just
before I took his life."

"And his soul, I would hope."

"I believe so. Yes."

Tychagara closed his eyes. "The one you named was
one of three Seraphim through whom the world was made.
But he was imperfect. Flawed. And because of him, the
mortal realm is rife with sin, disease, and avarice."

"Ah," Saphar breathed, doing his best to maintain the
illusion of nonchalance. "And what happened to this...
being?"

"He was cast down. The last I heard, he was emissary
to Gehenna, digging up the corpses of sinners and display-
ing them to the living so that they might see how they breed
worms. That may of course simply be a metaphor. He has
much to atone for, and as one of the three, he cannot die.
Perhaps he preaches to the living of the sins of the damned.

Night of Glory                 17

I don't know. Honestly, I don't want to know."

"Nor do I," Saphar said, his curiosity sated for the mo-
ment. In this place, his name was hated. Where had Meri-
rim sent him?

They came to the walls of the closest ice fortress. Spears
and swords bom of ice were fused over the entrance. Sa-
phar looked down and saw the churning fires below. An
insanely simple question burst into his mind: Why didn't
the place melt?

He blinked—and his companion was on the other side
of the entrance.

"Come along," Tychagara said.

Saphar hesitated.

"Certainly you haven't forgotten how to pass through
doors," Tychagara said. "Exert your will. Picture yourself
standing beside me and here you will find yourself."

"I'm not sure," Saphar said. He reached out and touched
one of the ice swords. It stung, and he drew back.

Tychagara laughed. "I hope that I'm never wounded so
greatly that I lose my wits!"

Saphar had suffered his last, indignity. He searched
through his mind for the hidden words, the runes and ser-
aphs through which Meririm had called magic into the
worid. In seconds he possessed the knowledge he needed.
With a lightning-quick motion, he drew a symbol in the air,
then pushed hard with his newfound power and the will
that had made him the chosen heir to the final throne of
me gods.

The symbols he had drawn in the air sprang to life for
me barest of instants, archaic characters drawn in fire. Then
me barrier exploded in a fiery display that caused Tycha-
gara to stumble back. He covered his eyes and shuddered
as Saphar walked through the entrance.

Tychagara fell to his knees. "You're an Opener. I didn't
know. Forgive my impertinence."

"Done," Saphar said. "It is true that my memory may
have failed me, but my wits are another matter entirely."

"Agreed!" Tychagara cried. "Agreed!"

18 Scott Ciencin

"Show me this place. Teach me its secrets as if I was a
stranger who knows nothing of your beliefs."

"But the scripture you quoted—"

*'Do you wish to arouse my anger again?"

"No," Tychagara whispered. "No, my lord."

Saphar entered the fortress with Tychagara at his side.
The Forest Lord felt angry and impatient. He'd waited long
enough. He wanted answers!

Tychagara led Saphar down a long corridor. The walls
were made of carefully packed blocks of ice, each pulsing
with fantastic swirls of color: azure, lavender, amber, and
more. Strange whispers accompanied each pulse, filling the
corridor with a soft hissing not unlike the beating of wings.

"What are those lights?" Saphar asked. "And those
sounds?''

"The souls of the penitent," the crimson-robed Elven
said.

"Others like ourselves?" Saphar was aghast.

"Of course not. These are humans."

The word struck him like a blow. Humans. The same
creatures from whose lore all of this had risen.

The corridor emptied out into a vast receiving chamber-
A dozen Elven moved about. Two wore armor that looked
vaguely familiar to Saphar. Saphar looked down and real-
ized that he could no longer see the river of lava below, or
even the clouds. The icy floor was slick as marble. A crest
he once knew very well was carved into a wall in the dis-
tance. A shield emblazoned with a talon, crossed by a
sword,

His crest.

"Tell me of that symbol," Saphar said.

"It is the emblem of the Ninth Vessel," Tychagara said
quickly, in a low voice, as he cast furtive glances at his
fellow Elven. "Only his Emissary can wear it."

"The Vessel," Saphar repeated numbly.

"The Keeper of God's Holy Will."

Saphar fought the bitter cold that was suddenly threat-
ening to push itself deep inside him—a chill that had noth-

Night of Glory                 19

ing to do with the ice out of which this fortress had been
built or its stunning altitude-

"And there are only nine," Saphar said.

"Of course."

"Each containing an Aspect of the One True God."

Tychagara seemed encouraged by this. "Yes!"

Nine Vessels.

Nine gods of the True Lands.

His crest upon the wall.

"The land below," Saphar said, "is not the True
Lands."

"Of course not. It is what the mortals call an island."

"Mortals. Humans, you mean."

Tychagara smiled pleasantly and nodded. "We are men-
shepherds. Ours is a holy duty."

"Yes," Saphar said. "A holy duty."

' 'It had upon it what they call a volcano. We were cu-
rious to study what might happen if it erupted. And we
made it so. Fascinating, don't you think? Though we should
have moved the people a bit further away. Ah well. Their
souls will serve God's glory!"

Saphar nodded sharply, unsure of how to respond to his
companion's callousness. "Show me more!"

Together, they toured the fortress. Saphar was led
through a veritable maze of interlocking courtyards in
which he encountered hundreds of Elven on their knees,
engaged in some odd form of worship.

"We'll have to pass through all the baileys before we
come to the main tower," Tychagara explained.

Saphar nodded. He was not unaware of the odd looks he
was receiving from the Elven who worshipped here.

"They're not used to seeing strangers, I suppose," he

said.

"Not at all," replied Tychagara. "I believe they're won-
dering why we're not utilizing more traditional forms of
travel."

Saphar understood. His companion had somehow willed
himself through a barricaded entrance earlier. Yet.,. Ty-

20 Scott Clendn

chagara had called him an Opener. It should have followed
that he had the power to travel in this manner.

He concentrated—

—and reality melted away. The courtyard he had occu-
pied instants ago was gone. Tychagara had vanished. Now
he found himself in a room with a seemingly endless array
of crystal arches that rose up, plummeted downward, and
radiated to each side from the exact point at which he stood.
The arches pulsed with the songs of the dead and the chill-
ing light of their souls. There was no darkness in this place.
It was at once beautiful and terrifying-

"Welcome to the Nexus," came the voice of Meririm.

Saphar turned, calling a sword of flame into existence.
During his time with Tychagara, Saphar had been exam-
ining me nature of the new powers left to him. He now
understood how to control many of them and how to sum-
mon the spells and other sundry magics that Meririm had
wielded.

"Show yourself," Saphar snarled. "Reveal yourself to
me, foul—"

"Foul betrayer, yes, I know, I understand," the voice
said. Suddenly, a figure carved itself into existence before
Saphar. It was Meririm, but his bright luminescence was
now nothing more man a dull glow.

Saphar rushed forward, his sword flashing. Meririm
grasped the edge of the blade and crushed it. Then he ex-
haled, and a sigil hung in the air for a single second. Saphar
raised a shield to defend himself.

But no attack came. Instead, he became aware of the
same slabs of darkness he had first encountered in this
place.

The windows.

"You have to open your mind to the possibilities," Mer-
irim said wearily. "How strange—to say these words, these
exact words, which I remember so clearly."

"What are you talking about?"

"We're the same," Meririm said. He called a great silver
mirror into existence. Saphar looked into the reflection and

Night of Glory                 2t

was reminded of the new flesh he wore. Meririm's flesh.

"The only difference between us is experience," Meri-
rim said.

No, that wasn't right, Saphar decided. This was not Mer-
irim, any more than he was Meririm. His mind nearly buck-
led at the conceit, but his every instinct told him that the
Elven before him was, in truth, himself. Only at a different
time in his existence. He did not recall this conversation,
and that meant that the Elven he had taken for Meririm was
an older version of himself.

"You're going back," the older Saphar said. "And you
won't like what you find there."

"1 have to stop Meririm."

"I wish you could, but it's too late. What you fear has
already happened. And far worse is yet to come. For you,
anyway. I've already suffered through it all. Heard the
words I have yet to speak. Odd, isn't it?"

"Then don't speak them," Saphar said. "If this is some
kind of chain of events, a meeting of the past and the future,
then break the chain that binds us both."

"I can't. My memory is not exact. No matter what I say
or do, it will turn out to be what I was fated to say. It is
all set. We can do nothing."

"I'd sooner die than allow Meririm to take my place with
the gods."

"Your death is all that could prevent it."

"Then kill me."

"I can't. No one can. Believe me. I've spent over a thou-
sand years trying to find someone who could perform that
little task. And I certainly can't do it myself. Meririm has
seen to that."

Saphar looked to the windows. "What are these? A
means of escape?"

"No," the elder Saphar said with intense regret. "Think
of them as pages in a book. Each revealing another scene,
or aspect, of what lies ahead for you. Go ahead and look.
You won't be able to stop yourself. That much I remember
clearly."

22 Scott Ciencin

Saphar moved forward. He touched the first window, felt
it dragging him on, its power tugging at his very soul. Then
suddenly he was inside the window and he saw visions mat
would haunt him for a millennium:

The True Lands were ravaged. The earth was charred
black, the forests reduced to skeletal remains. Vast cities
lay in ruins. The ground thundered in rage, cracking its
own shell and spitting forth rivers of oily black lava to
cover the blighted remains. Abominations walked the land.

Saphar fell back, tears suddenly stinging his eyes.

All his worst fears had come to pass- His people had
cared nothing for the future. "The magic," he whispered,
"the land—"

"Yes," said the elder Saphar. "The magic is drawn from
the very soul of the land. And if the land is not allowed to
recover and rebuild itself over time, if seasons of magic are
not strictly enforced, the land rebels."

"A millennium," Saphar said, looking to his counter-
part. "You said that you have been considering what I have
seen—and what I have yet to see—for more than a millen-
nium. What year is this?''

"That would mean little to you. Suffice to say that
twelve hundred and sixty years nave passed."

Saphar shook his head bittedy. * "Their pride. Their ar-
rogance ... They wouldn't refrain from me use of magic,
not for a moment, and see what it has led to. Our people
assimilated into the culture of another world, conquered,
pretending—"

"No. Not conquered. We are me conquerors."

"I don't understand."

The elder Saphar gestured at another window. "1 have
spent centuries preparing these windows for you. Collecting
me images you must glimpse. So don't disappoint me
now."

Saphar went to another window. He gazed at a scene of
conflict Hundreds of Elven warriors with thousands of hu-
mans riding at their side, waging war against armies twice
their size—and winning.

Night of Glory                 25

"Magic turned the tide," Saphar said.

"Of course. The magic of these lands. Again, far from
an inexhaustible supply, but our people are no longer aware
of that. The Great Lie has become immortal truth for them.
An irony that will be our people's undoing, though that
will be little comfort to those who are to follow."

"Show me more. Make me understand."

Again, the elder Saphar gestured to the windows.

The Forest Lord stared at scenes of the Elven watching
and studying the many races of humanity in secret. Occa-
sionally they were seen, and legends of a race of tall, lithe,
pointy-eared, pale-skinned people arose, magical beings
who lived in realms with many names, Fame being the
most common.

He saw vast councils of Elven mages conspiring to turn
the conflicting religious beliefs of the human world into a
single coherent system that allowed for each of the religions
to be correct in certain aspects about the nature of God,
and incorrect in others. All mention of their savior, a car-
penter and his tragic death, was stricken. In this new reli-
gion, each human was the son of God, and the Elven were
His angels. The nine gods of the'True Lands became the
nine Vessels, each possessing a sacred aspect of God's un-
yielding will.

' 'We came to this world, bringing our cities, our hungers,
our needs," said the elder Saphar with a deepening sadness.
' 'Cowing these people was simple. They had long forgotten
the ways of magic. The sacred ways that were our people's
salvation, then damnation. Posing as deities, uniting this
world under our rule—all of it was carefully planned and
executed with consummate skill and ruthlessness."

"But you said something else," Saphar cried, stepping
away from the last window. "Something about our people
believing the lies."

The elder Saphar smiled. "It's true. Our people believe
they are angels and that our gods—one of whom you, or I
should say we, were meant to become—are various mani-
festations of the One True God."

24 Scott Ciencin

'*No one remembers the truth?" Saphar asked.

"It's the will of the gods that they don't. I've found over
the years that I'm immune to their will in some regards.
Unfortunately, not in all."

"I have to go back. I have to keep this from happening.
If I were one of the nine—"

"About that, yes . . ." the elder Saphar said quietly.

Saphar felt a terrible sense of alarm. He had already
brought a multitude of spells to the fore to ensure the pro-
tection of his mind, body, and soul, but now he guessed
that they weren't enough. His nature had been trusting
once, and that had cost him dearly- Though his instincts
told him otherwise, there was a chance that the elder ver-
sion of himself was really someone—or something—else.
A threat. And he was taking no chances.

Saphar raised a half dozen impenetrable shields around
himself, drawing on the very life essence that caused his
new body to glow so fiercely. It dimmed as a collection of
mystical shields enveloped him.

Suddenly, me attack he had feared was upon him. A
power unlike any he had ever beheld sliced through the
barriers he had erected and reached deep into his soul. Un-
like the work of Meririm, a subtle thief of mind and body,
this sorcerer used a form of magic that caused blinding pain
and a weakness that made him drop all forms of defense
and submit to the ravaging torture of the mystical and psy-
chic assault.

For an instant, his consciousness and that of the elder
Saphar touched, and the Forest Lord knew that he and this
other being were one and the same. There was no doubt
left in him.

He's trying to kill me—to keep my future, his past, from
ever coming about...

And just as suddenly as the attack began, it ended. Sa-
phar rose from the depths of pain quickly. He saw that his
companion was glowing brightly and that he held himself
with a confidence and strength mat had not been his a mo-
ment before. Saphar looked around the Nexus once more,

Night of Glory                 25

but there was nothing in this cathedral of luminous arch-
ways that he could use as a weapon against his other self.

Then he knew that it wouldn't be necessary in any case.
The elder Saphar had what he wanted.

"What did you do to me?" Saphar asked.

"That which is done cannot be undone. I'm sorry."

"You didn't answer my question."

The elder Saphar shrugged. "I took something from you.
An aspect of the power Meririm foolishly left in your
hands."

Saphar suddenly recalled the hidden piece of knowledge
that he had been attempting to retrieve when he had found
himself standing face-to-face with his betrayer.

"I don't blame you for being angry," said the elder Sa-
phar. "But understand this: You wouldn't have known
what to do with the power, how to use it. And it would
have been taken from you by Meririm or one of the others
long before you would have deduced its secrets."

"So you say." Saphar climbed to his feet, feeling beaten
and broken. His will to survive and triumph against his
enemy had dwindled. Is that what the elder Saphar had
taken? His need to see injustice pu'nished?

No, it was something else again. But what?

"I'll have to send you back now," said the elder Saphar.
"Meririm thought it amusing for you to see firsthand the
future that he had planned, so that you would understand
the futility of raising arms against him. And that was a
terrible mistake."

"Are you saying that you—"

"What I did was something I had to do if I am to save
the people of two worlds." The elder Saphar gestured. A
sigil hung in the air, then changed into a thick, dark tome.
"Do you recognize this book?"

"The Mysts Arcana," Saphar said.

"One day, you will find it. Quite by accident."

' 'I would destroy it if I did. I would not be seduced by
its secrets-"

The elder Saphar laughed. "It is a foul text, I agree, but

^6 Scott Ciencin

one which contains many truths. You will place it in a
tower, then seek out one named Komm Kayriel. Tell him
of the book and where to find it. Say that you are too old
and frail to make the journey yourself, but you will reward
him handsomely for his efforts."

"Old and frail? But—"

"The power to bend and shape light will be yours. With
it, you will be able to create the illusion of any form. Now
forgive my impatience, but I have waited a very long time
for the gift you have given me today. I wish to savor it,
and to begin my preparations."

The elder Saphar gestured, and the Nexus disappeared.

Saphar woke to find himself buried within the earth. The
slight luminescence given off by his flesh did not light the
darkness surrounding him.

How strange a concept, he thought, to be trapped by
matter that was, by rights, his to control. When he woke
that day, he could have willed his mortal form to lose its
shape and pushed his will alone through the earth, fashion-
ing for himself another form to inhabit. If he had wished
the blackest oil buried deep below the ground to be his
blood, it would have been so. And he could have bested
any enemy, so long as that enemy touched the earth. It
would have been a simple matter to have uprooted tentacles
of vine and caused them to strangle his adversary, or rip
them to bloody pieces.

Anything had been possible. But now he was trapped
within the earth. Alive and immortal. It was absurd to con-
template this turn of events. The earth had been his to com-
mand, but now it held him fast. It was absurd. Almost
impossible to accept. For Saphar, this turn of events was
as difficult to believe as being bound by chains formed of
thin air might be for an ordinary Elven.

Yet it was so.

He began digging. Strange hungers rose in him. As he
encountered lizards and other creatures who burrowed

Night of Glory                 27

within the earth, he used his power to command mem to
offer themselves up to him.

It wasn't long before he broke the surface. The first thing
he heard was children screaming- He clawed his way free.
and saw that it was day. Blessed day.

The Night of Glory was still ahead. There was still time
to somehow defeat Meririm!

The dream he had had—and that's all it could be, of
course, a wild dream—had left him feeling drained. Or his
weakness might have been a result of Meririm's attack. In
any case, he would not yield the right to godhood so easily.
If his adversary was behind the dream he'd had, then its
purpose had been to either warn him of Meririm's insane
plans or to drive him mad. In either case, it had not stopped
him.

What he saw when he finally looked around caused him
to gasp.

The forest was dying.

The trees were withered husks, blackened and charred.
Their networks of roots had fled from within the earth and
now lay limply above like the limbs of an army of dead
spiders. The children had been climbing upon them.

Madness,- -

He looked to the children running off. Instinctively, he
tried to reach out with his power to calm mem, but it failed
him.

No, he reminded himself, that's not your power any
more. You may still control beasts, hut the souls of your
people are now beyond you.

He gripped the limb of a tree for support and cried,
"Hold, damn you!"

The children kept running, and soon they were out of
view.

Saphar tried to understand the heaviness he felt in his
body, his brain.... It was so difficult to think.

"Hold, damn you," he muttered. Never before in his
existence had he hurled such a curse at one of the forest

28 Scott Ciencin

people. That he had done so against children was unforgiv-
able. What was happening to him?

He looked down at his hands and quickly understood
what he must have looked like to the children. He was
covered in filth and blood, brimming with an unnatural
light. They'd seen him rising out of the earth like some
ancient monster out of legend. Of course they' d been fright-
ened; he shouldn't have expected otherwise.

A sound came from behind him. Breathing. He whirled
quickly and saw a youth from his lands. Not a child. Close
to twenty years in age, wearing tatters. He was gaunt, half-
starved by the look of him, but he held himself straight and
proud.

Leaning against a twisted stick that looked as weak and
fragile as he did, the youth said, "What do you want?"

Saphar hesitated. "What happened here?"

The youth seemed surprised. "You don't know?" He
laughed bitterly. "They call it the Scourge. A wasting dis-
ease. Sent by the gods to rid the Tme Lands of my kind."

Saphar felt sorrow and outrage battling within him. "The
gods? But the Night of Glory—"

"Weeks ago. Though we who survived thought of it
more as a night of madness- Or betrayal."

"Betrayal," Saphar repeated numbly. "Explain."

"What's to explain? Look at me. Look at these trees that
were our homes, our city. All of it's dead."

Saphar struggled to maintain his hold on reality. This had
to be another illusion, another dream meant to render him
unfit to challenge his former friend.

Yet... he touched one of the tree limbs. It didn't shrink
away. A bit of bark broke off, and a horrible smell wafted
up. Saphar stumbled backwards as some final, faint measure
of the tree's life desperately engulfed his senses. Images
rose in his mind.

A figure that was a towering mass of contradictions
reached for him. It was pure darkness, but it radiated light.
It had no form, but it had every form. It was at once a giant
that one could not avoid and a mote of dust that one might

Night of Glory                 29

never see. It was a man whose laughter was black flame
and nightmare, a man who wielded near infinite power. It
was life incarnate, the embodiment of mortal will over the
confines of reality. It was death, come to feed on the fire
of life.

And it was intent on taking his life.

Saphar broke free of the memory. The horror fell away
from him, but he knew that what he had seen was the thief
of flesh, who had attained godhood and could never be
defeated. Never.

Meririm had done this. Slain his people. His lands.

And all in his name!

He sobbed inwardly. A nightmare. It couldn't be real.

But it was. The dream he'd had for his kind was at an
end.

He looked for the youth and saw that the lad had fallen
to one knee. His long hair had fallen into his swarthy face,
lined with the fading colors of the once vibrant forest.

Was it possible that the youth had somehow come to
understand who Saphar really was? That although he wore
me flesh of Meririm the Outsider, hp was in truth the Forest
Lord? Did his former subject understand that their liege had
not betrayed them?

The youth looked up. Dark blood was beading on his
skin.

No. It was the disease that had brought him to his knees.
The Scourge.

Saphar took the youth's arm and led him away from me
deadlands that had been his home. In the distance, he heard
the children chanting a dark and terrible rhyme that spoke
of the devastation that had come to them, and the time that
was once theirs but was now growing painfully short.

The earth beneath Saphar's feet was not diseased. The
trees had uprooted themselves, lying upon one another like
kindling. When he found the last of his people, and the
means to save their lives, he would return to this forest of
bones and somehow bring it back to life.

Saphar swore it!

30 Scott Ciencin

As he walked with the weakened youth, he thought about
what he had experienced after Meririm had sent him into
the darkness.

Had he really encountered the being he was fated to be-
come more than a thousand years in the future? It was
possible, he supposed. He was certain now that Meririm
had walled him up and snuffed out his consciousness until
after the Night of Glory.

Then what had happened?

Had Meririm returned in the form of a god, and tossed
Saphar far into the future, so that he could see that no
matter what he did, the future that Meririm was determined
to bring about would come?

Saphar could easily believe that his former friend was
capable of such an act.

Yes, Meririm would want Saphar to understand that the
True Lands would face the devastation he had predicted.
He would want Saphar to know that it was the people's
pride and unwillingness to rein in their excesses that would
curse these lands. The True Lands would crumble, all be-
cause the Elven refused to embrace any ways other than
those of magic.

Saphar saw it all clearly. The destruction of the lands
and the panic. The gods needing a plan. And Meririm, now
the Ninth, getting ready to provide exactly that.

And soon after that, an innocent world would be ravaged
to provide for the Elven. After that, another, and another.
Countless worlds perishing to guarantee me immortality
and the continued comfort of the Elven-

Something the elder Saphar had said came back to him.
The Elven were destined to forget the truth behind the Great
Lie. They would take on the guise of angels and one day
come to mistake the masks they wore for their own faces,
believing totally in their own lies.

Saphar, however, seemed destined never to forget. A
plan began to form in his mind, a plan that would take near
infinite patience to fully construct and implement. But for
the plan to work, he would have to idly stand by and watch

Night of Glory                 31

countless innocents suffer and perhaps perish while he did
nothing to ease their suffering.

Could he do so?

Saphar looked to the young man beside him. "You have
the look of an actor," Saphar said-

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm hopeful. I have need of providence. Even
more so, I have need of an actor. Am I wrong, or didn't I
see you once on a stage?"

The youth nodded. "Maybe you did. But those days are
done."

"No," Saphar said. "The time of towering illusions and
fabulous deceptions is only beginning."

Laughing bitterly, the youth said, "I wonder if you've
got the sickness that we were given. Your mind's addled."

"I want you to teach me. Show me how to disappear
within the skin and sou! of another."

"You want to be an actor?"

"No, but the skills involved in your calling would help
me a great deal in the coming years. Will you instruct me?
Make of me your disciple?"

The youth shrugged. "I don't have anything else to do.
Except die, that is." He grinned. "I suppose you can tell
that I tend to lean toward high drama. One of my short-
comings."

"Not at all," Saphar said, trying to imagine the years,
the centuries that lay before him. The masquerade he would
soon begin would go on for a very long time. "All things
considered, I don't think drama is at all out of place for
what I have in mind."

"1'H leach you what I can in the time remaining to me.
Fair enough?"

"Yes," Saphar said. "But don't count on your end com-
ing all that quickly. Magic was used against you. Magic
may yet be used to save you."

Looking down at his bloody hand, the youth trembled.
"Do you really believe that?"

52 Scott Ciencin

"Yes. And I can teli from the look in your eye that you
believe it, too."

The youth sprang back with what seemed like the last of
his strength. He shouted in triumph and cried, "Not for an
instant, gentle lord! Consider that little performance a mere
demonstration of my abilities as an actor."

"No," Saphar said, resting his hand on the youth's
shoulder. "I'll consider it a lesson: A convincing perfor-
mance is impossible unless at its heart there is some ele-
ment of truth and belief."

Leaning against the massive stump of a fallen tree, the
youth looked away. "We believed in our Lord. Believed
that his words were true. And look where that's got us."

Saphar yearned to tell the youth the truth. That it had
been Meririm in disguise who had attempted to destroy
their people. But he could say nothing.

His performance had already begun ...

^

One

The 333rd year of the Millennium

/ / M WHIRLWIND HAS COME FROM THE NORTH!"

L^ screamed a frightened man as he fell to his knees
A-A-in the street.

Tom Keeper looked to the sky. A great, roiling sapphire
cloud filled with a searing brightness had descended upon
Genesis. At its heart was a fire that folded in upon itself
then issued forth shards of amber, which struck downward,
creating a fiery bridge of light that touched the street a few
feet before him. On that bridge, a figure of incalculable
power walked. And it was not alone.

Tom stood in the middle of the wide, dusty road that ran
through the center of the Genesis settlement, his beloved
Kayrlis at his side, the warrior angels Aitan Anzelm and
Lord Ainigrim Bosh R'Hayle Skalligrin flanking them.
Every man, woman, and child who'd been present when
Tom had sealed the rift between their reality and the rav-
enous darkness of the Abyss crowded around to bear wit-
ness.

Tom could not avert his gaze as the figure stepped down
from the heavens. It moved casually, surveying the settle-

33

54 Scott Ciencin

ment and the people gathered to meet it. Tom couldn't
make out its features, but something about the way it car-
ried itself suggested to Tom that it was amused.

'The Vessel!" a woman cried. "The Vessel comes to
pass judgment on us all'"

"The darkness tainted us!" another wailed.

"Yes!" said a boy. "We are unclean!"

Tom raised his hand to motion for silence, and the pan-
icked cries ended.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered to his raven-haired be-
loved. He longed to look into her beautiful emerald eyes,
to follow with his gaze the curves of her simple red velvet
dress. Soon her breathtaking, voluptuous body would show
signs of the child she bore. His child. But he didn't dare
look her way.

k 'Be afraid? Oh, no/' she said, a trace of her native drawl
revealing itself. "I see this kind of thing every day, Tom.
Didn't I tell you?"

She was shaking. Gripping his hand tight enough to
break it.

"I love you," he said. "No matter what happens, I'll
love you forever."

"Forever and always," she said in an unusually small
voice.

"Yes."

Tom studied the heavens carefully. The Vessel was not
alone. Impossible creatures capered about it in the air: Men
whose torsos melted into the forms of horses as fabulous
ivory wings stretched from their backs. Others who were
part goat or bull; women with butterfly wings and hands
that disappeared into mist; children who looked like the
offspring of mortals and wolves. And there were others,
countless others. Some of which Tom couid not identify.

"What is that?" Tom asked, pointing at a two-headed
creature. The creature lazily fluttered its wings and nicked
its tail at a beast who wore white robes and bore itself with
the upright stance of a man.

Grin, the former Emissary to the Sixth Vessel, whis-


Night of Glory                 35

pered. ' 'There was war in heaven: Michael and his angels
fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and pre-
vailed not.''

"The dragon," Tom whispered, unable to hide his awe.

Beside Grin, Aitan Anzelm put his long, thin hand on
the crimson-jeweled hilt of his broadsword. The collection
of rings adorning his pale fingers glinted in the sunlight.
The warrior's leathers were black. The steel of his breast-
plate and assorted armors was slightly tarnished and did not
even glimmer; his leathers needed cleaning.

His ashen flesh caught the sunlight and shimmered, and
his crimson eyes blazed. Even his fear and desperate rage
could not diminish the beauty of his chiseled features. His
flowing black hair was worn in a ponytail, exposing his
slightly pointed ears. His brows were arched, his thin white
lips pulled back in a smile.

Aitan looked over at Grin. "Maybe it's our turn."

Grin shrugged. "If so, I'm ready."

Lord Amigrim Bosh R'Hayle Skalligrin had a frightful
look. Many considered his apperarance to be something out
of a dark fairy tale. He was short, barrel-chested, and heav-
ily armored. He wore a terrifying mask that looked like evil
incarnate, a leering demon's face, meant to frighten the
guilty. For those foolish enough to do battle with him, the
mask would haunt them long after he'd dispatched them to
me afterlife. Only his eyes, nostrils, and teeth were re-
vealed. Golden horns curled outward from the sides of his
crown. A dark skullcap with a burst of yellow hair and
crimson fabric bearing the designs of a butterfly's wings
sat atop his head.

He wore gauntlets that looked like black claws, and
many layers of blackened armor and golden padding. Crim-
son and jade iron plates hung from his armor.

The armors did not come off. They had been burned into
his flesh by the Sixth Vessel, whom he'd once served faith-
fully. The bearer of God's Vengeance had cursed him to
;''    wander the earth in mis wretched state as punishment for
|i    his daring to question the Vessel's Righteousness.

56 Scott Ciencin

Grin stared at the being who approached from the heav-
ens. Once, he'd thought the Sixth to be mad. But back then,
he'd had very little to compare that god's behavior against.

He looked to Tom. who appeared transfixed by this Vis-
itation.

As the god and his entourage descended, Tom could see
me dragon's scarlet eyes and serpentine tongue. The Fourth
Vessel, me immortal being who approached, was the keeper
of God's Creativity. The Vessel could will any creature into
existence, Tom supposed. Why had He chosen such fear-
some and terrifying visions such as the dragon and its com-
panions?

The sound of fervent prayers and singing rose up around
Tom. He looked to the people of Genesis and saw that they
were all on their knees. Hymns that spoke of love and for-
giveness filled the air with a terrible desperation.

Kayrlis's hand found his. "I can see Him now. But I
don't understand."

Aitan Anzelm spoke. "The Vessels take the form of
whatever—or whoever—you most love or fear. Each of us
sees the Vessel differently. I see my lost Rachiel. And
you?"

"I understand what I'm supposed to see," Kayrlis said
quickly. "But—I don't recognize—"

"Me, either." Tom squeezed her hand gently. *'I see
some fella around my age. Fifteen- Maybe older, but no
more'n seventeen, like you."

"With hair like yours, only longer," Kayrlis added.

"That's right."

"Wearing some kind of dark outfit, a dark blue coat,
with gold trim, and boots—''

"We're seeing me same thing," Tom said. "And it's not
anyone I'm afraid of or anyone I love. It's someone I don't
even know."

Grin folded his arms over his massive, armored chest.
He saw the Vessel in a form that was intensely painful for
him to regard. "Impossible- I was an Emissary. I served a
Vessel once. I know the rules that govern them—"

Night of Glory                 57

"The Vessels are gods," Tom interrupted. "And gods
can break the rules if they want to."

"Damn straight," Kayrlis muttered. "From what I've
seen, it happens all the time."

Tom studied the Vessel as He approached. Like Tom,
this youth had soft brown hair that fell into his hazel eyes;

he was tall and lanky, dressed in a dark blue coat Tom
recognized as a deel, a traditional Mongolian coat. A visitor
from that land had once stayed at the Keeper House. He
studied the Vessel more closely. The Vessel wore a golden
cloth bett called a bus, and his raised collar was highlighted
with a sparkling crimson material that cut across his breast.
over his heart, and vanished in the crook of his arm. His
heavy brown boots, Mongol gutal, bore straps of jade.

In the heart of winter, he would have been dressed ap-
propriately. But now, his clothing simply seemed odd.

A fluttering came from above. Tom looked up to see the
winged men who circled above Genesis. They looked the
way angels had been described before the Elven had ar-
rived. Tom had heard of such heresies when he'd been a
boy, and he'd beheld one such as this before, in the Heav-
enly City of Abaddon, just before its fall.

Madness.

The Vessel came to the end of the amber drawbridge and
stepped down into the street. He grinned and waved His
hand. A fiery sword appeared.

Tom shoved Kayrlis back. A sword of flame appeared in
his own hand. He understood the futility of attempting to
fight a god, but he would not meekly allow himself or those
he loved to be taken.

The Vessel began to laugh. It was a rich, hearty laughter
that filled all who heard it with such warmth and comfort
that they too began to laugh.

Tom felt his lips trembling. He saw Aitan and Grin with
their weapons drawn, incantations at the fore. The energies
of magic were known to him now, and he could see a
strange fluttering in the air surrounding his friends that re-
minded him of ripples in a pond.

58 Scott Ciencin

Suddenly, the Vessel's laughter ceased. He dropped to
one knee, lowered His head, and held His sword to Tom
as an offering.

The laughter of the people quickly faded. Tom watched
the sword he had willed into existence change shape in a
stolen heartbeat, a menagerie of butterflies bursting into Hie
air where his weapon had been.

The Vessel's collection of magical beings continued to
approach along the amber drawbridge. One of the women
with butterfly wings gathered the butterflies to her breast
and rocked gently from side to side, a heartrendingly beau-
tiful melody escaping her lush lips.

The Vessel looked up at Tom and winked. In a voice
that Tom somehow knew was imperceptible to everyone
but himself, the Vessel spoke. "Open thou my lips; and my
mouth shall show forth thy praise."

"Wh—wh—what?" Tom stammered. He had been de-
termined not to surrender to fear while in the presence of
this being. But now he couldn't help himself. This was one
of me Nine Vessels, an aspect of God, or so Tom had been
taught to believe.

And it was humbling itself before him.

The Vessel sprang to His feet. "OPEN THOU MY UPS:

AND MY MOUTH SHALL SHOW FORTH THY PRAISE!''

Tom heard Kayrlis crying behind him. She was the
strongest person he'd ever known, but even she was be-
coming undone in the face of the Fourth Vessel's madness.

The people issued forth a collective gasp. Now they
could hear the Vessel quite plainly-

"OPEN THOU MY UPS; AND MY MOUTH SHALL
SHOW FORTH THY PRAISE!"

"Say what you like," Tom pleaded. "Then go!"

The Vessel giggled. Its voice went low again, but mis
time it turned to Grin. ' 7 asked a thief to steal me a peach:

He turned up his eyes. I asked a lithe lady to lie her down:

Holy and meek, she cries. As soon as I went, an angel
came. He winked at the thief and smiled at the dame. And

Night of Glory                 59

without one word said, had a peach from the tree, and still
as a maid, enjoyed the lady ..."

Grin shuddered, "Those words ..."

The Vessel raised an eyebrow and feigned confusion.
Then He gestured to Aitan and the others. Grin understood.
He was being asked to explain.

No—compelled.

"Those words were written by a man I killed while in
service to the angels," Grin said. "A heretic named Wil-
liam Blake."

"He can't know everything about us," Aitan said stiffly.

The Vessel turned to the warrior angel. "Where the
bright seraphim in burning row, their loud uplifted angel
trumpets blow.''

Tom saw Aitan wince. The words reminded him of Ai-
tan's family. Every member of House Anzelm had suffered
untold agonies so that Aitan, a sinner, could be spared. Not
long ago, their fiery souls had been dangled in the air before
Aitan by Azazoth, the Lord of Shadow.

The Vessel knew all.

Kayrlis moved forward, wiping away her tears. Her face
was set. Anger seized her. "Why are you doing this9
You're supposed to be a god of love."

The Vessel smiled. "There is a smile of love, and there
is a smile of deceit, and there is a smile of smiles, in which
these two smiles meet.

Kayrlis stood her ground. Tom watched helplessly as the
Vessel ran its hand over her face.

' 'Her gentle limbs did she undress. And lay down in her
loveliness.'' Shrugging, the Vessel ran its hand over Kayr-
lis's belly.

"Not my child, no!" Kayrtis cried, backing away from
the Vessel.

The mad god looked to Tom with an expression that
made a mockery of sorrow. ' Wo beast so fierce but knows
some touch of pity."

Tom heard the prayers of the crowd rising up. He

40 Scott Ciencin

guessed that the Vessel was carefully controlling how much
of this the people heard.

"You want something," Tom said, his fear replaced by
anger. "This is about the Haborym, isn't it? That thing that
became a part of you, that corrupted you. You want me to
use my power and bum it away, isn't that right?"

The Vessel frowned. His entourage was now gathered
around Him, many of the beasts and half-men eyeing the
frightened people of Genesis.

With a great whoop of joy, the Vessel began laughing
once more. The people quickly joined him. Even Tom and
his companions could not help but add to the gaiety, their
bodies controlled by the Vessel and forced to work against
their desires.

"YOUR EYES SHALL BE OPENED, AND YE SHALL
BE AS GODS, KNOWING GOOD AND EVIL!'' the Vessel
cried.

The people roared. Turning, the Vessel placed His hand
on the top of Tom's head. "THEY SHOULD RULE WHO
ARE ABLE TO RULE BEST!"

The crowd cheered as the insane deity knelt and prof-
fered his sword again. He whispered to Tom, ' 'And thus I
clothe my naked villainy, with odd old ends stolen forth of
holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the devil.''

Tom stared at the flaming sword, fearful of the Vessel's
gift. His power rose within him, the sacred fire that allowed
him to divine truth from lie. The Vessel claimed to be act-
ing out of base motives. Tom's power told him that the
Vessel was lying. Could he trust his power in the face of
the near infinite?

The Vessel sighed, then cleared its throat.

Behind Tom, Kayrlis gasped. Understanding seized her.
"Take the sword."

"What? Kayrlis—"

"I know why we don't recognize the Vessel in this
form," she said quickly. "The Vessel just made it—clear.
... You have to do it, Tom. Take the sword!"

Tom stared into Kayrlis's eyes and felt that she was not

Night of Glory                 41

being compelled by the god to say these words. He looked
again to the Vessel's offering.

"Don't do it," Aitan urged.

"I was a fool to let the Vessels put their hooks in me,"
Grin said. "And I'll pay for it through eternity. Don't make
my mistake."

Tom looked into the Vessel's eyes, so much like his own,
and suddenly understood. He knew why Kayrlis was urging
him on.

Taking the sword from the Vessel, Tom was surprised
that its name caused him no pain. In fact, if he closed his
eyes, he wouldn't know that there was anything in his
hands at all.

Then he understood: The sword was an illusion. The en-
tire act had been nothing but a show of faith. But whose
faith? His faith in the Righteousness of the Vessel? Or the
Vessel's faith in Tom's abilities and decency?

The Vessel stood up and dusted off his Knee. He fixed
Grin with a cocky smile. "The way of a fool is right in his
own eyes.'' Then the Vessel gestured to the crowd. ' 'THEY
SHOULD RULE WHO ARE ABLE TO RULE BEST!"

"The boy!" a man shouted. "The boy will take Mat-
thew's place! He will be our Curacas!"

Tom was startled. "A Curacas? I couldn't—"

The Vessel gestured broadly in Tom's direction, nodded,
and began applauding. Cheers erupted from the crowd.

"God has chosen you'" a woman cried.

"In your light we will flourish and in your shadow we
will fall!" yelled her husband.

"We can't stay here!" Aitan Anzelm said. "We have to
find Komm Kayriel! Take back the Book of Power!"

"And settle things with your Patron, Mithra," Grin said,
his voice dark and purposeful.

The Vessel yawned, stretching its arms high above its
head. "OH THAT I HAD WINGS LIKE A DOVE! FOR
THEN WOULD I FLY AWAY, AND BE AT REST!"

Tom watched as the Vessel set His arms limply at His

42 Scott Ciencin

side, allowed His head to lie on His shoulder, then closed
His eyes.

All were silent for several minutes. Then people began
to rise from their knees. A few took tentative steps closer.

Tom let go of the flaming sword, but it didn't fall. In-
stead, it hovered near him, then, with a startlingty swift
motion, flung itself toward his side, its flat pressing against
his leg. It looked as if it hung in an invisible scabbard.

"That should make things interesting," Kayrlis said, her
gaze cutting quickly between Tom and the still Vessel.

Aitan approached the Vessel, then stopped as one of the
god's strange creatures took a few warning steps in his
direction. Aitan bowed to the creature, which was stone-
grey, a cross between a lion and a dog, wearing armors that
clinked and clanged and jingled as it walked.

Grin looked to the lion-dog, then to Tom. ' 'Why did you
take the sword?"

"Look at him," Tom said, angling his head in the di-
rection of the motionless Vessel. ' 'Look at his face. Look
real close. Remind you of anyone?''

'' Your son,'' Grin said.

"As he will be when he's Tom's age," Aitan said.

"We have to do what He wants," Kayrlis said angrily.
"If we don't—"

"Yes," Aitan said. "I understand."

"I don't think you do," Tom said. *'I for one don't un-
derstand any of this. What does He want, really? Why
should I be a Curacas? It doesn't make any sense."

No one spoke.

"And you know something else?" Tom asked. "I don't
think the Vessel was threatening to hurt my boy. I think
the Vessel's trying to help me make the right choices so
no harm comes to him."

"The Vessel's insane," Grin whispered. "Its motives—"

"It's not gone, you know," Kayrlis said, nodding in the
Vessel's direction.

"I'm not sure about that either," Tom said.

Night of Glory                 45

"The saying is true," Grin whispered. "The empty vessel
makes the greatest sound.''

Tom bit his lip and looked at the people who were staring
at him expectantly. "We have to try and figure this out.
And not in front of all these people, either."

"Agreed," Aitan said.

"I just have one question," Kayrlis said. She pointed at
the lion-dog, the dragon, and the many other unnatural crea-
tures the Vessel had brought to Genesis. "What do we do
with them?"

The Vessel's creations were gathered around the golden
drawbridge, which continued to lead upward to the heav-
ens. They paced, looking at one another uncertainly. The
people of Genesis were watching them now. Tom guessed
that it had finally occurred to at least of few of them to
question why God in one of His most powerful aspects
would come to a promising but very small settlement like
theirs, and why He would bring with Him creatures whose
very mention was forbidden.

"What should we do with them?" Tom asked. "Hope
they're not hungry, I suppose." .

Kayrlis put her arms around her beloved and pulled him
close.

^
Two

/ / TTERE'S HOW THE DAMAGE STANDS SO FAR,'* Al-




uu tan Anzetm said. It was night, and the angel
-•- -M-stood near an oil-burning lamp which gave his
sharp features a golden hue. Grin, Kayrlis, and Tom were
with him in the quarters that had belonged to the former
Curacas of Genesis. "The dragon brought down the porch
roof of the general store with its wings. The—what did you
call that thing?"

Grin rested his head in his hands. "A minotaur."

"Right. The minotaur's responsible for two broken legs,
some crushed ribs, and six cases of general exhaustion."

"That's hardly fair," Kayrlis said. "He was challenged
to a series of footraces. The people should have thought
about the risks before challenging him. It's not as if he
attacked anyone."

Aitan shook his head. "Yes, but it was hardly understood
that the race would be conducted on the rooftops' People
fall from rooftops!"

"I beat him," Kayrlis muttered. She looked to Tom, who
sat behind his new desk with his feet up and a wide-
brimmed hat covering his face. She tapped on his boots.
"You awake? You listenin'?"

44

Night of Glory                 45

Tom lifted the brim of the hat and fixed his beloved with
a wary smile. "Do I have a choice?"

Aitan stepped forward. "As the new Curacas? No."

Sighing, Tom removed the hat and sat up. He looked
around. The Curacas's quarters were spacious, though aus-
tere at first glance. A chest in the corner, a few strips of
cloth with symbols painted on them nailed to the wall, a
collection of sticks in another comer, a handful of mats on
the floor, the desk, a few other furnishings.

Tom had spent time examining the belongings of Mat-
thew, the former Curacas. It felt odd, like handling the pos-
sessions of a dead man. Matthew wasn't dead. But he had
been proclaimed damned by the magics of Tom's greatest
enemy. A thorough search had made it clear that Matthew
and Komm Kayriel's former servant, the transformed being
known as Lilith, had fled during the chaos days ago.

And now Tom was being asked to take Matthew's place-
It was something he didn't want to think about just now.
He shut out tfie presence of his friends and concentrated on
these quarters. Something was wrong. Out of place. He'd
felt it for hours.

Getting up, Tom made another tour of Matthew's things.
The flaming sword still hung from its invisible scabbard at
his waist.

"Tom?" Aitan asked-

"In a minute," Tom said, his eyes slightly glazed.
"There's something ..."

Tom could feel the gazes of his friends on him as he
knelt before one of the mats on the floor. He knew that the
mats came from the east and were made of a straw called
tatami. They were comfortable to sit upon, and they helped
keep the place warm during the winter.

Nothing there.

He went to the comer of the room. The sticks waiting
there were walking sticks, a fine collection, though unusual
for a man who had no ailments, no trouble walking. The
unease he felt wasn't stemming from these items.

46 Scott Ciencin

* 'What is it?'' Aitan asked. ' *Is there some kind of trou-
ble?"

Tom shook his head. "Can't say. Just give me a second.
I keep feeling something's wrong."

He looked at the strips of cloth nailed to the walls. Sym-
bols he couldn't recognize were painted on the strips yi
tomato red and vibrant turquoise slashes of color. They re-
minded him of the runes he'd seen painted on his body in
the visions given to him by me burning man.

Again, however, his senses told him there was no danger
here.

"The Naturals," Kayrlis said. "It's a gift or something."

Tom nodded- The people who'd lived on this land before
me coming of the angels and their many colonies. The Nat-
urals had willingly struck an accord with the angels and
now had thriving settlements nearly as glorious and pow-
erful as the finest human city.

Running his hand through his hair, Tom surveyed the
room once again. Then he saw it. The ivory chest. He could
feel a strange power emanating from the chest. Something
that was almost alive.

"I need to get this thing open,'* Tom said, pulling on
the lid. It wouldn't budge.

"Let me try," Grin said, kneeling before it. Tom stepped
away. Grin pulled at the lid, but it didn't move. The chest
itself appeared to be weighted to the floor. The former Em-
issary grappled with the chest until finally his fingers
slipped and he fell back with a cry of rage and surprise.

"I think magic is called for," Aitan said, a fiery sigil
appearing before his long, pale fingers.

"No!" Tom shouted. Everyone froze. "I can't explain
it, just—no. Maybe the Vessel put this thing here. I don't
know. Just don't try to use spells on it. That's all."

The sigil vanished, and Aitan bent close to examine the
chest for himself. The side facing outward was divided into
four panels, each with a separate image delicately carved
into its surface.

Night of Glory                 47

"It's what's called a pictograph," Aitan said. "The four
images describe a narrative."

Tom nodded and looked at me panels. In the first, an old
man lay on his bed, while a younger man regarded him
angrily. Several worried-looking figures looked on. Family
members- Servants. It was impossible to tell.

In the second, the younger man pulled his sword halfway
from its sheath. An angel appeared, holding out his hand
in warning. The third panel consisted of the young man
holding his sword at his side, looking down and away from
the frightened old man in shame. In the same panel, the
angel fixed the old man with a malevolent and terrifying
gaze that caused me old man to die of fright on the spot.
In the final panel, the young man stood outside with the
angel, happily looking away from the old man's place,
where he'd come seeking vengeance. The angel smiled at
him and it was good. The mortal now understood that this
pursuit was no longer worthy of him.

* 'What do you make of it?'' Aitan asked.

Over both their shoulders. Grin said, "It's typical. A re-
minder to mortals that justice is and should always be in
the hands of God's Chosen Warriors."

"That's not right," Tom said dreamily. "It's a riddle."

"How would you know that?" Aitan asked.

Tom shrugged. "I just do."

"We can't move this thing," Grin said, "we can't open
it, and it's disturbing you. Maybe the four of us should go
somewhere else."

"It would be there," Tom said.

Aitan looked down at Tom with concern. "What?"

"The chest- It would follow us. Don't ask me how I
know—*'

"You Just know," Aitan said.

"Yeah," Tom rose to his feet. "We have to figure out
what we're going to do."

Grin laughed bitterly. "What we're going to do? That
much has been decided for us. You are to be the new Cu-
racas."

48 Scott Ciencin

"He's right," Aitan said- "The Vessel has spoken."

"The Vessel's out of its damned mind," Kayrlis com-
plained.

Tom spun around. "Kayrlis, don't!"

"I'm sorry. But it's true."

"True or not, the Vessel could take this child from us
with a thought. It's a god. Or it's of God, maybe. All I
know is that it can have whatever it wants, and if we try
to stand up to it..."

"Tom, we all want answers," Aitan said. "But for now,
we need to deal with the matters at hand. More specifically,
you need to deal with the responsibilities that have been
given to you."

Tom began to pace. ' 'Look, what do I know about being
a Curacas?"

"You've lived your entire life being ruled by one, isn't
that right?'' Aitan asked.

"Curacas Turpin," Tom said.

"Do what he did."

"I'd prefer to do a shade better."

"By all means."

Tom sighed. "Tonight?"

"What do you think?" Aitan asked, frowning.

"Sony. Guess I'm just tired. That was some meal the
people cooked up for us tonight. Tel! ya, my Pa used to
just nod off after a meal like that. Maybe it runs in the
family."

At the mention of family, Kayrlis turned away. Tom
sensed that her thoughts had gone to her brother, who had
been sent off with strangers to keep him safe from the dan-
gers that had been awaiting Tom and herself.

"Sweetheart?" Tom said as he went to her, placing
his hands on her shoulders. They were rock hard. "I'm
sorry—''

"The Vessel knows everything about us." she said. "It
knows that you've seen past the Great Lie and that you've
told others that the angets aren't really angels at all. It
knows you were there when Komm Kayriel destroyed the

Night of Glory                 49

other Vessel, and it knows that a part of that Vessel, some
of its knowledge, and power, is alive inside you."

"Kayrlis, we can't be sure—"

She wouldn't be put off. "It knows you walked in the
Realm of Shadow. It knows that you ruined the whole deal
with the City of the Abyss and the Realm of Shadow.
Where are the damned supposed to be sent now?''

Tom looked away from her.

"And it knows what's inside you. Probably better than
I ever could."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. You'd know if I was lying,
wouldn't you?"

Tom couldn't deny it.

A ragged gasp escaped her. "And if all that's true, then
it only makes sense that the Vessel knows about Cameron—
and the power he had. He could cure the Scourge. The same
thing you can do now. We've got to find the Strega. Make
sure Cameron's all right."

Grin suddenly began pacing. ' "The Vessel wants Tom in
Genesis. It doesn't seem to care about the rest of us." He
glanced at Aitan. ' 'I could go with Kayrlis to look for the
boy while you stay here to help Tom."

"We could leave tonight," Kayrlis said, excitedly.

"Hold on," Tom said. "I'm worried about my family,
too, but—"

"I'm not gonna discuss this," Kayrlis said. "He's my
brother."

Tom couldn't believe this. "How are you even gonna
find him?"

"We'll find him," she said.

And what if I need you? he thought, but he kept it to
himself. "It's just..."

Kayrlis went to him, touching the sides of his face, rest-
ing her forehead against his. "I'll be all right."

His hand went to her belly, touching her gently. She
wasn't even showing yet.

"I'll keep him safe, too." Kayrlis said. "No more fbot-

50 Scott Ciencin

races on rooftops until after he's born. Sound good to
you?"

"Your being with me sounds better. But.,. yeah,
sounds fine. We just haven't had any time to talk, really."

She grinned broadly. "What's to talk about?"

Tom pulled away and looked imploringly to the warrior
angels.

"We should see if the Fourth's creations have done any
more damage," Aitan said.

"Yeah, why don't you fellas do that?" Kayrlis said. her
throaty, sensual drawl returning. "You know how omery
those critters can get."

"Actually, I have no idea," Grin said. "But we*ll be
outside. I'll saddle up."

The angels departed. Tom kissed Kayrlis deeply. He
shuddered as her tongue snaked between his waiting lips.
A fire spread through him.

"Right now?" he asked, leading her to the desk.

"Can't think of a better time. We're alone and no one's
trying to kill us. For a change." She tapped the naming
sword that had attached itself to Tom. "Honestly, this is
the only thing that gives me pause, but I figure we can
work around it. Worth a try, don't you think?"

She hopped up on the desk, pulling up her skirts just
enough to give Tom a tantalizing took at her bronze thighs,

Tom could barely contain himself. He fumbled for the
strings at his waist and prayed that the sword given him by
the Fourth would fall away with his clothing—or at least
move off to a discreet distance.

"Oh, wait!" Kayrlis said, throwing her skirts back over
her legs. "You wanted to have a discussion of some sort
or another, now isn't that right?"

"Hhhhhuh?" Tom whispered, realizing his mouth was
hanging open. His brain was clouding over with his need
for her. He came closer, and Kayrlis kicked at the sword.
It flew from Tom, slowly spinning end over end, only to
rest a few inches above the floor, several feet away. Ready
to be called upon.

Ni@ht of Glory                 51

"That settles that," Kayrlis said as she wrapped her legs
around his hips, pulling him closer. They kissed, and Kayr-
lis tapped his nose.

"You had some all-important things you wanted to talk
about, remember?" she said playfully. "Probably stuff like,
gee, y'know, we're not married, and we got a baby on the
way, and maybe we should do something about that."

"You're my wife," he said. "Don't need a ceremony to
prove that."

Kayrlis grinned broadly. Tom kissed her neck, and she
trembled.

"You're not playing fair," she said, pushing his face
back while squeezing him a little harder with her legs.

"Like you are?"

"I know what you wanted to talk about," she said,
breathing hard as she reached up and went to work on pull-
ing off his shirt. "You're worried 'cause we never dis-
cussed having children. I bet you're thinking, what kind of
mother is she gonna make? Jumpin* off roofs, stealin'
things in the middle of the night, beatin' up on guys twice
my size ... the question as I see it, is, can she handle the
pressure?''

Tom's shirt was off- She ran her hands over his nipples,
then reached lower.

"That is the question, now, isn't it?" she asked in a
husky voice. "Something about pressure? And handling
things?"

"Oh," Tom said.

"I mean," she said, kissing the side of his neck while
hiking her skirts up high again, "I seem to have some gift
in this area, don't you think? Handlin' things, I mean? Re-
lieving .. . pressure?"

Her hands played upon him until he couldn't take it any
more. He growled, "I gotta have you right now or—"

"What a coincidence," she breathed, using her legs to
pull him forward. They gasped in unison, then became still,
very still. "Oh, that's been a while."

"Too long."

52 Scott Ciencin

"Well, damn near, actually," she said with a sly grin.
"Or am I bein' wicked?"

"I'll show you wicked," he said, moving slowly, gently.

"I'm pregnant, not dead," she hissed. "Don't treat me
tike I'm gonna break."

"I'm not," he murmured. "Just teasin' ... I mean, two
can play at that, can't they?"

Her hands reached around his back and grabbed his but-
tocks. "No," she said, hauling him forward savagely. "By
the grace of God, no ..."

They moved with abandon, pushing one another to limits
they'd never explored in the past, then beyond. Minutes
stretched into hours until finally they collapsed onto one of
the nearby mats.

"You ever stop bein1 interested in doin' that to me and
I'm gonna kill your ass, you understand?" Kayriis said,
unable to catch her breath.

Tom felt as if his heart was going to explode. "My
whole body's shakin', even though we're laying here still."

"Mine, too. You didn't answer my question."

"That was a question?"

She laughed, low and throaty, and took his hand in hers.
"There isn't anything we can't handle together."

"I know," he said. "That's why I don't want you
leavin'." Before Kayriis could say anything, Tom quickly
added, "But I understand you have to. It's not like I got
anything to offer, any kind of incentive to make you stay."

"I don't want to go," Kayriis said, staring at the ceiling.

"Then don't."

"I have to. Those stories you told me, the things the
Vessels did to that poor boy in Abaddon. The tailor's son."

"Yeah." He nodded, wiping the sweat from his eyes.
"No, I see." In a low voice, he added, "I wish I knew if
my Pa, and Kat and Gus were okay."

"I wish that, too."

Suddenly, a pounding came at the door. Tom bolted up-
right, looking for the clothes he'd lost in the whirlwind of
the last few hours.

Night of Glory                 53

"Hold up'" he cried.

"It's me!" Aitan called. "Something's happened."

"Trouble?" Tom asked, spotting his breeches.

"You'd better come and see for yourself. The Curacas
of Genesis is needed."

Tom looked to Kayriis imploringly.

"I won't nde out til! this is settled," she said. "I prom-
ise."

He nodded. They quickly dressed, Tom grabbing the
Fourth's sword, Kayriis, the oil lamp, and they hurried from
the Curacas's quarters.

Moments after they departed, an odd light worked its
way across the surface of the ivory chest. It crackled faintly,
like lightning, then vanished into the brooding darkness of
the room.

^
Three

AITAN LED TOM AND KAYRLIS THROUGH THE STREET,

beyond the still form of the Fourth Vessel, which
was now surrounded by wooden barricades, toward
the amber drawbridge, where the majority of the Fourth's
entourage waited. Tom took special note of the way the
people of Genesis regarded him. Even Matthew's servants
stared at him with a strange mixture of hope, fear, and
respect.

"You know what's odd to me?" Tom said in a low voice
to Kayrlis, who walked beside him.

"Tell me."

"The way the people have been so accepting of these
creatures."

Kayrlis shrugged. "It's the Millennium. The Thousand-
Year Reign of God's Army. Heaven on Earth." She sighed.
"People adjust."

Aitan moved forward and broke in- "It's probably be-
cause this is the way the Fourth wants it."

"But what about the other gods?" Tom asked as they
moved past the sleeping form of the Vessel. "Why don't
they do something? Why haven't any other angels come
here?"

54

Night of Glory                 55

Aitan had no answers.

Ahead, Tom saw the minotaur sitting on a heavy stool,
sipping at a large wooden bowl filled with soup. The beast-
man seemed uncomfortable with the crowd that had gath-
ered around him. Close to a hundred mortals watched his
every movement. Chuffing slightly, he made delicate passes
at the soup, downing it with as much grace as his form
would allow. The other creatures mulled about behind him,
at the entrance to the drawbridge.

Tom looked about in confusion. "I thought someone was
hurt. Why is a Curacas needed?"

"To explain the inexplicable," the minotaur said in a
deep baritone. His words reverberated in the still evening.
Even the gentle winds and the crickets that had sounded
instants before were silenced by his voice.

"You can speak," Tom said in wonder.

The minotaur glanced at him sourly. ' 'So this is why you
were appointed to office—your quick wits.''

"He's not made any friends since he began talking,"
Aitan said, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

Tom looked to Kayrlis. She opened her hands plaintively
and nodded toward the minotaur. Tom fixed his attention
firmly on the beast-man. "How's the soup?"

"It tastes terrible, but at least it's cold and wet."

"We could heat it again ..."

The minotaur shrugged.

"Would you like to eat someplace less ..." Tom looked
up at the stars. "I dunno, someplace less open?"

"What? And ruin the subtle ambiance of the moment? I
think not.''

"All right," Tom said, beginning to feel exasperated.
Not a good sign, he realized, considering he'd only just
started the conversation. "Is there anything you need?"

' 'Many things, though I doubt you could provide them,''
the minotaur rumbled.

"Such as?"

' 'An understanding of my place in the world. A sense of

56 Scott Ciencin

higher purpose. Footraces are well and good, but re-
ally..."

Tom looked at the assemblage of creatures at the mouth
of the amber drawbridge. "Can me others speak?"

"/ don't know, why don't you ask them?"

"Why were you silent for so long?"

' 'No one asked me anything.''

Tom looked again at the faces of the people. Finally, he
understood why he'd been called. Whatever spell the
Fourth had worked to keep the people calmly accepting the
presence—no, the very reality of these otherwise com-
pletely unreal creatures—was beginning to fade. He now
saw questions in the eyes of the people. And terror.

The minotaur set his bowl on the ground. "/ suppose
you must think me rude. You must understand, I'm a myth-
ological creature. Something that never actually existed be-
fore. What's worse is that there is a history regarding me
and my kind. Yet I personally have no history. I was born
this morning. These stars are the first I've ever beheld, and
yet I know them to be stars. It puts a strain on one, even
contemplating such things.''

"Actually, I understand," Tom said. "I, um, inherited
knowledge like that. I can't control it. I don't understand
it. I just know things."

The minotaur laughed. It was a hearty laugh that quickly
dissipated into a sarcastic series of grunts. "Oh, yes. You
know my pain. A boy.''

Tom had taken about as much of this as he could.
"Think about it this way. I may only be fifteen. But if you
really never existed before today, then which of us is more
qualified to talk about life?''

The minotaur settled his massive head on his palms, his
elbows on his knees, his hooves spread wide on the ground.
' 7 don't know. Whatever.''

Tom considered what the minotaur had said. "I seem to
recall something about minotaurs enjoying riddles."              s

' 'Labyrinths,'' the minotaur said.                             ^

"Which are riddles in a way, right?"                        ^'.

Night of Glory                 57

The minotaur's ears twitched- His dark, soulful eyes lit
up. "Why do you ask? Do you have a riddle?"

Tom thought about the ivory chest. "Yes. I'll show it to
you later, if you like."

The minotaur sprang to his feet. He towered over Tom.
' 'Show it to me now!''

"In a moment," Tom said in a firm, commanding voice.

The minotaur bowed, and from the crowd came a col-
lective sigh of relief. Tom moved past the beast-man. Kayr-
lis. Grin, and Aitan remained behind. Tom walked to the
edge of the amber drawbridge and addressed the Fourth's
other creations.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" he asked. "Any-
thing you want?"

The creatures were silent. They looked to him, then to
one another. No requests came.

Tom turned and started walking back to his friends. The
singsong voice of a woman stopped him.

"Lord?"

Slowly, Tom faced the Fourth's entourage once more. A
beautiful woman with the wings of a butterfly stood before
him demurely.

"Why are we here?" the butterfly woman asked. "And
why... are we?"

/don't know, Tom thought. But he knew he couldn't say
that in front of so many frightened people. "The Vessel
has a plan. A purpose. We have to trust in that."

Suddenly, from all around, a buzzing arose. Tom looked
to the people and saw that they were excitedly whispering
among themselves. The terror he had glimpsed, the distrust
of the unknown, seemed to have been put at bay with a
few simple, well-chosen words.

He smiled inwardly and couldn't dismiss the thought
What a sense of power.

Tom walked back to his friends and was startled to note
mat Kayrlis and Grin were gone. Aitan gave Tom a look
that told him all he needed to know.

58 Scott Ciencin

"She wouldn't just leave without saying good-bye,"
Tom said, crestfallen.

The angel held out his hands imploringly. "She said that
it wasn't good-bye, that the two of you were together al-
ways and would be reunited soon."

"A cowardly act," Tom muttered, a sudden fury over-
taking him. "Where?"

"A stable at the far end of town. But—"

Tom brushed past Aitan and broke into a run. He raced
through the main street and reached the stables just in time
to see two figures on horseback burst from its darkened
mourn.

"Kayrlis!" he cried-

She didn't stop. Nor did the warrior angel who rode with
her.

Tom felt a sudden desire to make her stop. What she was
doing wasn't fair. It wasn't right. She'd run out like this
once before because facing him had been too difficult. He'd
made her promise that it was the last time. And here she
was, doing it again.

In a single, shattering instant, Tom wished he had the
power of the Fourth at his command. The power to will
anything into existence. To mold and shape the hearts and
minds of anyone he desired to affect in any way he wished.
To change reality with the sheer force of his will and to
know that he could not be denied.

He thought of a dozen ways they could be stopped.

The ground could be made to rise up and form a barrier
that prevented them from leaving. Their mounts could lose
their will to ride or simply keel over dead. A wall of air
could be turned hard as glass, forming an invisible barrier
around the settlement. Or he could reach into their minds
and eradicate their desire to leave. So many ways.

A growing heat pressed against his side, Tom looked
down and saw the sword of the Fourth burning brighter
than it ever had before. For the first time, he could feel its
presence.

Night of Glory                 59

Then he knew at least a part of the Fourth's plans for
him.

"No!" he cried, stumbling back, his hands outstretched
as if to prevent them from reaching for the fiery sword. A
futile gesture. The sword flung ilseif into his hand. He felt
it press against his skin, melt into his flesh, and he brought
his hand down quickly, cutting with the sword as if he held
a scythe. He'd wanted to dispel the terrible power he felt
building within it—and within himself. But instead, there
was a flash of brilliance that blinded him for an instant, and
when his sight cleared, he thought he saw a rift in the very
fabric of reality, a shimmering tear that vanished instantly,
making him wonder if it had ever been there at all.

Cursing, he tried to fling the sword away, but all he could
accomplish was forcing it back into its invisible scabbard
at his side. He rushed into the stables and found his horse.
It whinnied and stepped back and away from him, its gaze
rooted to the flaming sword. Tom leaped upon his horse,
mounting it bareback.

"Come on!" he cried, kicking his horse's flanks. The
animal bolted from the stables, and Tom guided it toward
the outer reaches of Genesis.

Kayrlis and Grin rode in silence for a time. The moun-
tains in the distance were a silhouette blocking the stars.
Kayrlis wished that she could see better. It seemed as if
they'd been on this road forever. Why hadn't they reached
the mountains?

"We'll have to be careful if we take Mithra's pass,"
Kayrlis said at last.

"Why? Do you think Mithra and Kayriel might be wait-
ing in the caverns that snake through the mountains?"

"No," she said.

"Matthew and Lilith? They have to be somewhere, after
all."

Kayrlis shook her head. "The other pair. The ones that
Lilith changed into monstrosities."

"They sounded fairly whipped from the way you de-

60 Scott Ciencin

scribed them- I shouldn't imagine that they'll do more than
plead for mercy. I wouldn't worry. By the way, how do
you intend on finding your brother?"

"We'll look for Juno Meazzi."

"The man Tom proved innocent of murder."

"Yeah," Kayrlis said distractedly. "I have a feeling.lhat
won't be too difficult, considering—"

She drew up her reins suddenly and pointed at a boulder
off to their right. "Do you see that?"

"It's a rock," Grin said as his mount described lazy
circles around Kayrlis.

Kayrlis climbed down from her horse and went to the
stone. "I've seen this before."

"Rocks fall. It's what they do. I'm sure there are plenty
along the side of the road. One would look much like an-
other."

Kayrlis took out her knife and carved a symbol into the
stone's surface. A circle divided by a wavy line, with a dot
in each side.

"Let's go," she said, climbing back on her mount.

Their conversation dwindled until nearly an hour had
passed. Then Kayrlis drew up short on her reins and hopped
from her mount.

"Come look at this," she said, gesturing at a boulder off
to the side of the road.

Grin lowered himself from his horse and joined her. He
knelt before the rock and examined the strange symbol that
had been carved into its surface. "The one you made?"

'The one I made." Kayrlis swallowed hard. "I thought
that we'd passed this twice before."

"We must be lost. There's no magic being worked upon
us to make us lose our way. I'd feel it."

From the distance came the clacketing sound of hooves.
A rider approached swiftly, bearing some kind of torch.

"It's Tom," Grin said.

Kayrlis ran her hands through her hair. "What's he do-
ing? He knows he can't leave Genesis. The Host only
knows what would happen to the people there if he left!"

Night of Glory                 61

The rider came closer, and soon he was upon them.
Kayrlis waited, understanding of course that Tom would be
angry at her for her sudden departure, and she wondered
how she could possibly make him understand that if she'd
had to say good-bye to him, to his face, she'd never have
been able to leave at all?

She waited next to her mount—and Tom rode past!

"Hey!" she cried.

"Did you see him?" Grin asked, climbing into his sad-
dle. "The look in his eyes? Like he'd gone mad!"

Kayrlis leaped onto her mount. She gave a cry and a
kick, and her mount raced forward. Grin followed her.

"Tom, what are you doing?" Kayrlis cried. "Slow
down'"

He didn't slow. In fact, he seemed to gain in momentum
until neither Kayrlis's nor Grin's mount had any hope of
catching up to him. Then he was gone, swallowed whole
by the darkness.

Kayrlis and Grin rode hard, but finally, when the boulder
they had marked came into view, they stopped-

"Look up there," Grin said, nodding toward the moun-
tains.

Kayrlis saw a flash of amber light. The sword of the
Fourth. Tom had made it out of Genesis.

Everyone else appeared to be trapped.

^
Four

TOM'S MOOD WAS BLACK AS HE RODE BACK TO KAYR-

lis and Grin. He found them sitting upon the boulder.
"I think I did this," he confessed.

Kayrlis was startled. "Hon, it's the Fourth. It's not you."

"I didn't want you to be able to leave and now you
can't." He explained how he'd felt when he saw her riding
off with Grin. The childish desires that had come into his
head. And the power that had flowed from the sword of the
Fourth.

"Think what you like," Grin said. "I've seen this as the
work of the Fourth from the beginning. He wants you
trapped."

"Then why is it that I can leave Genesis if I want?"
Tom asked. "I'm not trapped—you are!"

"He knows how loyal you are," the former Emissary
said. "You risked your soul for Aitan and me. For Kayrlis.
Your son. You've done things that most people couldn't
even imagine. What you said back there was right. I'm
certain of it. The Fourth has a plan. He wants something
from you."

"Sympathy," Tom said, drawing his sword. "He wants
me to understand what it's like for Him."

62

Night of Glory                 63

"Why?" Kayrlis asked, grateful that Tom had so far
avoided direct discussion of her attempted flight from Gen-
esis.

"I'm gonna find out," Tom promised. "I have to find
out. There's so much going on.... We can't just be trapped
here."

Kayrlis nodded. It had occurred to her to ask Tom if he
would leave Genesis and search for Cameron, but if he
made that decision and angered the Fourth ... she was con-
cerned for herself, certainly, but it was more than that.
There was the child growing within her. Tom's child. The
Vessel had taken his shape as he would appear later in life.
Provided he survived.

She gave a silent prayer that her brother would be all
right.

"All right," Grin said as he gestured to the flaming
sword at Tom's side. "You have the power of a god. Let's
say that's true. Clear the way for us."

Tom looked away. "I don't know ..."

"Something else then," Grin said. "Make it rain. Raise
a forest around us. Shatter this boulder. Give each of our
horses two heads. Something."

Nodding slowly, Tom drew his sword. "Get up. Both of
you."

Kayrlis laughed nervously. "Tom, you can't—"

Grin took her arm and led her away.

Tom concentrated. He pictured the boulder exploding be-
fore him. Then he brought down the sword with a fierce
motion-
Nothing happened. No flash of light. No cleaving and
reshaping of reality.

Tom looked to Grin.

"Try something else."

Tom did. He made several more attempts to bring about
changes in what he saw before him, but each time he failed.

"There," Grin said. "Do you feel better? It's not your
fault."

64 Scott Ciencin

Tom was not entirely convinced, but he put the sword
away and held out his hand to Kayrlis.

"You're not mad?" she asked-

"I was. And a part of me still thinks that's what got us
into this. Why you can't leave, I mean. My getting angry.
But, um . . . I love you. If anything, I feel kinda hurt at you
goin' off like that."

"I'm lousy at good-byes," she said simply.

"And it wasn't a good-bye anyway," Tom said, smiling
to her.

"No," she said, kissing him. "It wasn't."

The trio left the outskirts and rode back to the settlement.
Aitan met them at the stables. A few hands were back at
work. The crowd at the far end of the settlement had dis-
sipated, their excitement worn down.

"I put the minotaur to work on solving your riddle,"
Aitan said. "It's interesting."

"How so?" Tom asked.

"The panels have changed. They tell a different story
now."

Tom looked down the street, to the solitary figure who
stood alone behind several barricades. A dozen people were
praying before the Fourth. And beyond that, the amber
drawbridge was now attended by only a few of the Fourth's
fabulous creations.

"What happened to the others?" Tom asked.

"The people welcomed them into their homes," Aitan
said. ' 'It seems most of them can talk, and the stories they
tell are pious indeed."

"Really," Tom murmured. He looked up and saw the
lazily drifting forms of the winged men who continued to
circle over the settlement. He'd all but forgotten about
them. "Have any of those come down?"

"No," Aitan said. "Just as well. Creatures from tall sto-
ries are one thing. But angels cast in forms culled from the
forbidden texts ..."

Tom nodded.

"They're really kinda beautiful," Kayrlis said, studying

Night of Glory                 65

the winged forms that moved like shadows across the moon
and clouds- "Maybe you should try drawin' them."

"Think I will," Tom said. "Start with the minotaur first.
Maybe it'll lift his spirits some."

"Yes," Grin said under his breath. "The one thing we
don't need is a morose minotaur, now, do we?"

The others just looked at him.

"I'm going to the tower." Grin said, pointing at the Spire
of Truth.' 'Maybe 1 could get the attention of one of the new
angels. Find out what their creator has planned for us.''

"Do that," Tom said. "There's one thing I need to take
care of before turning in."

He kissed Kayrlis, then, ignoring her look of concern,
walked toward the still form of the Fourth. He waited a time,
then looked back to make sure Kayrlis and Aitan were no
longer watching him. Satisfied, he turned to the frozen god.

"I'm bettin* you can hear me," Tom said. "I just want
you to know—it doesn't matter to me why you're playing
these games. I know what you want The Haborym burned
away. I can do that for you. I don't know what'll happen
to me in the process, but I know 1 can do that much. But I
have to know that if I do it, you'll leave. You'll take these
... things... you made, and go. Leave these people
alone."

Tom waited for a reply. But none came.

Then it occurred to him: What if the Fourth's madness
was the only thing keeping all of them alive right now?
The Vessels wanted the Great Lie to be maintained. If the
Fourth was in His right mind, it was possible that He would
simply destroy this settlement and everyone in it to prevent
them from ever revealing the things they had seen.

Maybe he'd been wrong about the Fourth all along. In
fact, now that he thought about it, the Fourth, in all like-
lihood, didn't consider itself insane. The Fourth probably
liked His current state and had no desire to be restored.

"Then what do you want?" Tom asked.

There was no reply from the stony figure, but a sound
came from behind Tom. Footsteps.

66 Scott Ciencin

"Lord?"

Tom turned to face a pretty young woman with straw-
colored hair, deep blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face. She
wore a simple frock and her hands were calloused from
tabor, like those of his sister.

"Hi," Tom said, uncomfortably shifting his weight
from one foot to the other, digging his hands into his
pockets. He wanted to say. Just Tom, realty. Please. But
he knew what these people needed from him. Taking
a deep breath, Tom removed his hands from his pockets,
straightened up, and did his best impression of someone
in authority.

A smile flickered on the young woman's attractive face,
then danced away, traces of it lingering as she looked
deeply into his eyes. "Lord Keeper, these beasts... they
are God's children, aren't they? They're not the work of
the Enemy."

Damned if I know, Tom thought. He reached for her
hands. "What's your name?"

"Mary," she said.

Tom took her hands in his and—

he was six years old, playing in a field, singing about
the angels and the greater glory they had brought man,
when a shouting erupted, fie turned sharply and saw long
straw-colored hair whip into his eyes. He—

(no, she)

ran back to his

(her)

house and saw her mother crying. The angels had come.
They had taken her father. He was needed to work in a
faraway land and if all went well might be allowed to visit
them in six or seven years ...

Tom pulled away from the woman. He stumbled back
and tripped over one of the barricades that had been erected
to keep people away from the Vessel.

Mary surged forward. "Lord!"

Tom raised his hands to ward her off, but her hand
grazed his and—

Night of Glory                 67

he was Mary again, and this time Mary was thirteen,
about to be kissed for the first time

Drawing back, Tom cried, "Don't!"

Mary shook her head and reached for his face. "Lord
Keeper, are you ill? Should I fetch the—"

Her hand touched his face

and Mary was nineteen, marrying a man she didn 't love
because it was the will of the Curacas and she was resigned
to that fate and felt certain thai this suffering was part of
her holy duty

Tom scrambled back and away from her. "Don't touch
me!" he shouted.

Mary's eyes widened in horror. Her words left her in a
confused torrent. "Lord, no, am I unclean, am I unworthy,
have I offended, how have I offended—"

"Just don't," Tom said, his chest heaving. "I don't un-
derstand, I don't know what's going on ..."

He watched Mary as she seemed to crumble inwardly.
She fell to her knees. "I have offended my lord in the
presence of the most holy of holy. Heavenly Fathers, tell
me what to do, tel! me how to make amends."

Tom ran his hands over his forehead. He tried to make
sense out of what had happened when they'd touched.
"Listen," he said.

Mary was praying now, her hands pressed together be-
fore her so tightly that her flesh was turning white. She
spoke so quickly he couldn't understand her words-

"I need to ask you something," Tom said, sitting up,
trembling.

She shuddered, but didn't stop her litany.

Tom knelt beside her. His hand moved close to her face,
then stopped.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Everything's gonna be
fine. It will be."

She didn't seem to hear him.

Tom rose and walked down the street, to the stables,
where he saw a man named Jonah tending to his horse. Jonah
was bald on top and had a round but strong face, a grizzled

68 Scott Ciencin

beard, and dark, inquisitive eyes. His soiled top shirt half
stuck out of his pants, and his boots were covered with
grime.

"Curacas Keeper," he said, quickly averting his gaze.

Just Tom, the lad thought, but he knew it would be
wrong to say anything. "Jonah, I need a favor."

The stable-master looked his way, his brow furrowing.

Tom realized that his voice had nearly cracked. He
sounded—and felt—like a frightened child.

"Curacas Dubrovnik was a kind man," Jonah said with-
out much emotion. "A good man. If God has chosen you
to be his successor, then you must also be worthy of every
consideration."

Tom had a feeling that Jonah was forcing these words
out. Unlike most people in Genesis, Jonah expected Tom
to prove himself as their new leader. So far, all Tom had
proven was that he was as bewildered as everyone else by
the Fourth's true purpose and design in Genesis.

"I want to shake your hand," Tom said haltingly. He
didn't really want to do this. But he suspected that the
Fourth had added a new obstacle for him to overcome, and
he had to know if his suspicions were correct. The only
way he could know for sure was to test his new gift on a
total stranger.

"Huh," Jonah said. He grabbed up a wet cloth, wiped
off his hand, and extended it to Tom.

Tom grasped it firmly

and this time it was worse, far worse, than it had been
with Mary. A thousand images and ideas collided in Tom's
mind. Hopes and dreams, desires and hates, bawdy jokes
and stolen moments with women of low character, memo-
ries of a surprisingly pleasant and privileged upbringing,
a terrible rift between Jonah and his brother, a life of hard-
ship and inhuman labor chosen willingly as an inner test
of character, sins committed in the heart and in the flesh,
towering acts of kindness and decency for which no reward
was ever claimed and so much more . . .

When Tom released Jonah's hand, he knew everything

Night of Glory                 69

there was to know about the man. A lifetime of memories
had become his with a touch.

"Was that alt?" Jonah asked, looking down at Tom's
hand.

"Pardon?" Tom asked.

"Was that all you wanted? With all due respect, 1 have
work to do, despite the hour."

"Yes," Tom said quickly, totally understanding the
man's standoffish behavior. Jonah had been completely un-
aware of Tom's presence in his thoughts.

Tom left quietly, wondering if this new ability that he'd
been granted was permanent. If it was, how could he ever
touch Kayrlis, or anyone else, again?

Inwardly, he cursed the Fourth Vessel. He walked as if
in a daze, staring down at his boots, and he nearly collided
with someone. He gasped, afraid that he would draw upon
their memories, as well, but contact never came.

"It's up to you to see a blessing as a curse or a curse
as a blessing," the man he'd nearly collided with said.

Tom turned to face the man, but there was no one in
sight.

Had he imagined it? Was he going insane, like the Fourth
Vessel?

Tom had to know. He found Mary still sitting before
the Fourth. She seemed calmer now. He approached her
slowly.

"How old were you when the angels took your father?"
he asked.

She glanced up at him in surprise. "Six. How'd you—"

"And when you were married?"

"Nineteen."

"And thirteen for your first kiss," Tom said absently.

Mary stared at him in wonder. "Yes, lord." Excitedly,
she looked first to the frozen Vessel, then to Tom. "He
walks among us!"

"What?" Tom said, understanding all too well what
Mary meant, but praying she would say nothing else.

"The Vessel! He waiks among us—in you!"

FIRST INTERLUDE

^

CAMERON SAT ON THE SHORE OF A VERY DEEP LAKE. THE

bright-eyed, spirited ten-year-old didn't get much time
alone these days. If Mother Jaet wasn't at his side, then
either Reni or Luchia would be with him.

For some reason, though, he'd been left alone tonight.

Cameron wasn't about to question his luck. He'd come to
think highly of Mother Jael. She was a very devout woman,
even if many of her teachings were unorthodox. It was just
that sometimes, he iiked to be alone with his thoughts.

Ironically, his thoughts this evening were focused almost
entirely on Mother Jael and her teachings. When she talked
of the Strega and strange magics that were different from
the power wielded by the angels, Cameron acted as if she
were spinning tall tales. To make her happy, he learned her
stories and memorized the funny rhymes that were embed-
ded in each, even though many times they were in her na-
tive language. But he never really believed in the stuff she
talked about.

He didn 't.

Mortals couldn't use magic. It was heresy to believe in
such a thing.

Whenever he'd mention his doubts to the old, wise

70

Night of Glory                 71

woman, she'd smile and say, "But you use magic. So does
your friend, Tom Keeper."

"That's different," Cameron would try to explain. "My
bein' able to cure the Scourge, that's a Blessing from the
angels. And the things Tom can do—same kind of deal.
You follow?"

Mother Jael would shrug. ' *If the two of you are Blessed,
isn't it possible that others could be Blessed, as well? Like
me, for instance?''

"Naw, it just don't work that way."

"All right," Mother Jael said. "When you've learned
exactly how it does work, will you tell me?''

"It's all in the good Lord's teachings. All you have to
do is study them."

"I have. But. . ."

"There's so much," Cameron offered.

"That's it exactly.'*

And after going around like that a couple more times,
with Cameron mentioning a psalm here, a proverb there,
they'd get back to the teachings.

Cameron picked up a rock and tossed it on the lake. It
skipped a couple of times, then descended under the waters.
He looked around for another rock and frowned. He could
only see one other that would be good for throwing. It was
too bad there wasn't such a thing as a rock that acted like
a boomerang. He'd seen boomerangs when he'd been
younger. It was when he and his sister Kayrlis had per-
formed as the Spider and the Fly for the Emperor of China,
when ambassadors from the exalted nations of Africa came
to visit the palace. A few boomerangs had been left among
the gifts brought by the ambassadors.

The lad missed those days. He loved performing. The
roar of the crowds. The danger of the high wire. Life just
hadn't been the same since he and Kayrlis had left China.
Sure, the Carnival of Wonders had been fun. And it had
been there that they'd met Tom, who'd saved Cameron's
life not once, but twice. And given him the gift of healing
the Scourge.

72

Scott Ciencin

By way of the angels most holy, that is.

He missed his sister—and Tom, too.

Cameron sighed as he picked up the skipping stone.
Mother Jael had taught him a story about a boy his age
who was always losing things. He'd drop stuff wherever he
pleased, always figuring that he'd come back sooner or later
to get it, but men always forgetting exactly where that'd

been.

So the boy made up a rhyme of sorts, and when he spoke
it aloud, or even just whispered it in his head, the stuff he'd
left behind would follow him.

Cameron thought about that rhyme. The way he saw it,
the kid in the story must have had one of the Influences
taking kindly to him. Those invisible spirits were a clever
and happy lot. By saying the rhyme, he was really giving
a prayer of thanks to his Influence- And of course that spirit,
a kind of angel—there were so many of those, too—would
grab his things for him. Because, well, that's the sort of
angels they were. Always helping people and doing good
deeds for them- Looking out for them.

Cameron wondered if he had an Influence. There was me
flame guardian, of course. The burning man who'd ap-
peared to him in his dreams and had guided him in the use
of his blessed power. But the guardian was a full-fledged
angel. Possibly even an archangel. Or one higher in rank.

He loved the angels. Loved to read about them and hear
stories. He knew, for instance, that there were more angels
than anyone could ever possibly count. As many angels as
Heaven was wide.

He and Mother Jael would talk about that, too.

"St. Augustine, in his Eight Questions, said that every
visible thing in the world is put under the charge of an
angel," Cameron had explained- "They each have duties
and tasks, exalted and humble."

"So," Mother Jaei said as she patted the bun other long
hair, "does that mean there's an Angel of Hair Pins?"

Cameron frowned.

Night of Glory                 75

"It seems like a reasonable question. You said exalted
and humble."

"Well, I suppose it's possible, but I ain't never heard of
such a thing."

Mother Jael looked thoughtful for a moment. "What
about horseshoes?"

"Now you're havin' me on. You're teasin* me!"

"I'm serious! And sneezes. There would have to be an
Angel of Sneezing. And a powerful one, too, since we al-
ways say 'God Bless' after someone sneezes."

He didn't mind her silly views. For all he knew, they
weren't so silly. In fact, if he took the words of the saint
at face value, she would have to be dead on.

That was all right. He didn't mind the things she said.
She was nice—and ever since his mom and dad passed on,
he really hadn't had anyone older to talk with. Kayrlis had
been his whole life. She might have been old compared to
him, but Kayrlis didn't have wrinkles or anything like that.
Mother Jael had them to spare-
He thought of a poem he had read from some other coun-
try. It had been part of one of the-old holy books, something
called the Talmud. It said that whenever God spoke, a new
angel came into being for every holy word that was uttered.

That might well be, he thought. But what do they all do
with themselves?

Shrugging, he turned over the skipping stone in his hand.
Once, twice, a third time.

Then, taking a deep breath, he recited the rhyme Mother
Jael had told him. The one in the story about the boy who
was always losing things and wanted to make them follow
him.

He sang the words with true faith, then hurled the stone.

It skipped across the lake. Once, twice, a third time.

Then back again.

Once—

(Cameron couldn't believe this)

twice—

(the stone was actually coming right back to him!)

74 Scon Ciencin

a third time—

Then it was slapping against his empty palm, but not
hurting him one bit.

His heart pounding, Cameron considered calling out to
Mother Jael. Then he thought better of it- Instead, he tossed
the stone again.

And again, it skipped across the lake a few times, and
returned to his hand.

Cameron started laughing. He did have his own Influ-
ence!

"Hey!" he called. "Hey, come on out, it's all right! You
can show yourself to me, I won't tell anyone!"

The invisible being didn't appear.

Cameron settled back, a little disappointed, but he knew
that Influences only rarely showed themselves to mortals.
And when they did, it was generally in a form that a person
wouldn't recognize as divine until much later: The stranger
who grabs you and holds you back when you're about to
step in front of a speeding carriage. The kindly woman who
appears and offers just the right advice at just the right time.
The friendly traveler who comes upon the lost and starving,
offering them food and helping them find their way
home...

Cameron threw the stone again.

Suddenly, a hand burst from the surface of the waters
and snatched up the stone. Only—it wasn't a mortal hand.
This hand was made of the same sparkling water that filled
the lake!

The hand disappeared, and Cameron felt something tug-
ging on him. He looked down in surprise, but could see
nothing. Then his hand, to which the stone should have
returned, was yanked forward, and Cameron was dragged
to his feet. He stumbled ahead, certain now that it was his
invisible companion who was pulling him in the direction
of the moonlit waters.

"Quit it!" Cameron cried.

But whatever had hold of him didn't let go. Cameron
was hauled into a few feet of water, then abruptly jerked

Night of Glory                 75

forward. He splashed into the waters and was towed under
them!

Cameron hadn't managed to take in much of a breath.
He struggled to break free, but the force that had made him
a prisoner was unyielding. It pulled him down through the
waters, ignoring his frantic kicks and his nailing arms.

I'm gonna drown! he thought. The Influence is trying to
kill me!

So that meant it wasn't an Influence at all, because they
Were kind and good. This was an evil entity. A creature of
mischief and dark deeds.

Why had Mother Jael told him that story?

And for a time, those were his last rational thoughts. He
finally opened his mouth despite himself and tried to draw
in a breath. Water filled his lungs. A hungry, aching pres-
sure built inside him. Panic seized him as he sank into the
dark bluish green murk, which became deeper and more
impenetrable as the moonlight from above faded from view.
As he was dragged further down, the body of water was
beginning to seem less like a lake and more like a bottom-
less pit.

Ahead, he saw a light. A shining star that would have
been more at home in the evening sky than here, deep be-
low the lake.

What was a light doing here?

Then he saw another. A dozen lights. The number
quickly rose into the hundreds. Then the thousands.

And he realized something else:

He wasn't drowning.

The water had filled his lungs, and he was no longer
breathing, but for some reason, that simply didn't matter.
He was alive!

Cameron studied the lights. There was little else he could
do; the force that had taken hold of him was still dragging
him downward. The closer he came to the lights, the more
they began to dissolve into a soft, fiery blue-white glow
that illuminated larger shapes all around him. Soon, he was
passing through the lights, becoming engulfed by them. A

76 Scott Ciencin

surprising sense of well-being flooded through him.

His vision cleared, and he saw stone gates, crystal spires,
and a coliseum that could hold a thousand regiments of
warrior angels! Other forms loomed. Rooftops. The shapes
of endless buildings pressed tightly together, many seem-
ingly built on the backs of others.                   ,

Had he drowned? Was he now a spirit traveling to one
of the many kingdoms of Heaven?

He didn't want that to be so. He missed Kayrlis and
needed to know that she was all right. He never wanted her
to doubt that he would be there to help her if she needed
him. After all, his sister was one of those people who al-
ways had a hard time admitting she ever needed anyone ...

Cameron wished that she could be here. If only she could
see this!

She'd love if

Impossibly, he was being taken through a kingdom from
an age long past. The idea that he was still in the mortal
realm was becoming only a distant possibility for him. How
could all this be underneath the waters of me lake in one
of the Territories with no one above being the wiser? And
why wasn't he drowning?

The Influence—or whatever force had hold of him—
pulled him through a twisting, turning labyrinth of tight
corridors and narrow doorways. Cameron banged his arm
twice, and the pain surprised him.

The dead were supposed to be beyond pain. That's what
he'd always believed.

So maybe I'm not dead, he considered.

Finally, the Influence brought Cameron to a chamber not
unlike dozens of others that he had seen. Bits of furniture,
clay pots, and even discarded armor were strewn about.

Suddenly, the force that was pulling him through these
ruins yanked at him violently, pitching him to the floor.
Then it released him.

Cameron looked around and instinctively found his hand      ^.
closing on the skipping stone he had cast a spell upon ear-      f:

lier.                                                                           §

Night of Glory                 77

Cast a spell? Is that really what he had done?

Heresy! he thought. He'd just prayed to his Influence,
mat was all. He'd seen the hand made of water snatch his
stone. That settled the idea that he had done all this himself.
And no simple rhyme would have allowed him to survive
in these waters.

He was about to push himself to his feet when his other
hand brushed a brass container. Power surged through him.
. He felt a thrill that reminded him of the rapture that passed
into his frail mortal form when he cured people of the
Scourge or drove other corruptions from them.

He let go of the skipping stone, sensing that it was no
longer of any importance.

Picking up the container in both hands, Cameron became
overwhelmed with an urge to see what was inside. But the
container was sealed. The lid had been melted into place.
Cameron looked around and finally found a knife. With it,
he worked at the seal for what seemed like hours. Finally,
the seal cracked, and the container flew from his hands.
Flames sprang from the container as it spun in place, flames
that bumed brightly despite the watery murk. Cameron felt
the heat of those flames and tried to shut his eyes- He
couldn't.

You must see, a familiar voice whispered in the confines
of his mind. The flame guardian! You must understand what
you have brought into existence.

Cameron opened his eyes and bore witness as the flames
multiplied and soon reconciled into the shapes of men. But
as these forms became more detailed, Cameron realized his
mistake. These were not men.

They were angels . . .

Look down, the flame guardian commanded.

Cameron shifted his gaze to the floor. He saw the dis-
carded brass container lying on its side. Something sparkled
within its depths. A ring with a bright ruby at its center'

He noticed movement at the comer of his vision. One of
the fiery angels was coming his way.

Quickly! Take it!

78 Scott Ciencin

Cameron didn't hesitate. He snatched up the ring and
slipped it on his finger.

The angel who'd been coming for him halted suddenly.

You're safe now, the flame guardian whispered. Com-
mand them.

Cameron couldn't believe what he'd just been told.

Have them lead you out of here. They know the way.

The ten-year-old watched in stunned surprise as, one by
one, the angels lined up before him. They bowed, then fell
to one knee in perfectly aligned rows of six. Cameron
counted twelve rows in all. Seventy-two angels. They
spoke, and somehow he heard them in the echoing depths
of the lake.

' 7 am Fomeus, an Angel of Reason. My Power is to
make warriors loved by their enemies.''

' 7 am Zepar, an Angel of Madness. My Power is to drive
my opponents into the arms of insanity.''

"I am Radueriel, an Angel of Poetry. My Power is mas-
tery over the muses.''

One by one, the angels told Cameron their names and
stations. Cameron tried to remember all they told him. The
flames that had engulfed the warriors of God had stilled,
and now Cameron could see the angels clearly. Some were
pale, others blessed with flesh as black as night. One was
practically translucent, with black and crimson veins ap-       t
parent on his luminous flesh. A few had skin the color of      ;*
blood. Only one attribute united them all: Their eyes blazed
with the exact same shade and intensity of crimson as that      ^
of the ruby ring Cameron now wore.            •            ^

The last angel spoke. "I am Hadjieth, an Angel of      ||
Change. My Power is over the transformation of metals.''      ^

Cameron stared at the angels in wonder. How could any      JI
of this be? Mortals were meant to bow down before angels,      j^
Humans couldn't command the Host.                        H;

And yet... he did want to get out of here. And he sensed
that the flame guardian was no longer with him. That com-
forting presence had drifted away during the recitation.

He opened his mouth to speak. Though no sound should

Night of Glory                 79

have been possible with his lungs filled with water, his
words came forth: "Good and kindly angels, guide me,
please. Lead me from this fallen city."

The angels rose. The first who had spoken gestured to-
ward a passage at the far end of the chamber. Cameron
went through it, the angels following. Each time he came
to a crossroad, he looked back at the angel, who indicated
the proper way.

Soon they were free of the underwater city, swimming
upward to the surface. Cameron saw the glow of sunlight
high above.

Sunlight? How long had he been down in the darkness?

Cameron prayed that Mother Jael and his other friends
hadn't been worried about him. He swam on, his thoughts
shifting to what Mother Jael would have to say about the
contingent of warrior angels who now followed him.

As he drew close to the surface, he was overcome by an
urge to open his mouth. The water that had filled his lungs
was somehow expelled and suddenly he felt an ache in his
chest. The need to breathe cool, clean air became over-
whelming.

He broke through the waters and gasped. The sunlight
was blinding. He took in the air in great, greedy swallows,
laughing happily. From somewhere close he heard the
sound of others slowly rising from the waters, but their
entrances weren't nearly so dramatic. Cameron turned and
saw them. The waters drained from them more slowly, and
the glare of their crimson eyes was muted by the intense
sunlight.

He noticed then how devoid of emotion the angels were.
Not a trace of pleasure or satisfaction crossed any of their
faces as they breathed in the air once more.

No matter. The shore was close. Cameron swam to it.
Soon he felt land beneath his feet, men he was climbing
free of the water's grasp, falling upon the shore with a
whoop and a holler of boyish triumph!

He lay there as the angels lined up on the shore in their
pristine tines. They stood silently, awaiting Cameron's will.

80 Scott Ciencin

Cameron looked up at the sky. He wondered why the
sun was so very bright...

A chill crept through him as he noted the reason.

The sun wasn't alone.

Cameron sat up quickly, his heart fit to burst. There were
three suns in the sky.

He looked around and saw jagged, blackened cliffsides.
Forms drifting through the clouds that looked like cities. A
palace in the far distance that rose so high that its upper
tiers pierced the heavens. And a land beyond that palace
where the land had been turned to jade.

He was no longer in the mortal realm.

"Heaven," he whispered.

"No," said a lazy voice behind him. "At least, I don't
think of it as such."

Cameron spun and saw a tall, thin angel with wild black
hair hanging in his face. The angel was naked and unas-
hamed, his teeth jagged, swirls of hair snaking about his
flesh, sometimes forming runes, or even words that Cam-
eron could understand, like "hello" and "blue" and "ze-
bra."

"God is merciful. God is good," Cameron muttered.
"He has granted our prayers and delivered unto us the
glory of His—"

"Do stop!" the angel said, falling back and performing
a quick somersault before balancing himself on his fingers
and walking about that way for a time. "I don't know if
you're just trying to be polite or if you're using those words
to ward off evil. I'm not evil. I'm just misunderstood."

The angel balanced himself on a single finger and spun
a few times. Then he hopped to his feet and hugged Cam-
eron, giving him a kiss on both cheeks. "We're going to
be such good friends, I can see that already!"

The angel surveyed the regiment behind Cameron. Then
he looked down at the single piece of jewelry Cameron
wore. He yawned. "Oh. Solomon's ring. What a bother."

He's mad, Cameron thought. But that can't be!

Angels can't be mad!

Night of Glory                 81

"I suppose Ashmedia's descendants will want to speak
with you," the ange! said. "I'm heir to Appolion, the de-
stroyer. Angel of the Bottomless Pit, but I ask you, do I
seem so fierce? I think not. And I suppose that since my
father, and his father before him, and the last one or two
before that who held the tide, have all either turned to dust
or gone off on quests from which they've never returned,
I'm now Appolion, the destroyer, Angel of the et cetera and
so forth. But I don't like the title. I was considering short-
ening it a bit. Maybe taking on one of the mythic names,
like Apollo. How do you feel about that?''

Apollo laughed. "I knew you'd love it! Have you read
any of the forbidden texts lately? They're quite dandy. All
the gods and pantheons—inspired, I'm sure, by this place."

"Pantheon?" Cameron asked.

"Are you daft?" Apollo shook his head. "Did you come
to this place by making a wrong turn or something?*' The
angel rolled his eyes. "I suppose that's possible. Or maybe
you hit your head—"

Apollo wriggled his finger through Cameron's hair. The
boy instinctively swept the hand away, then blanched and
fell to his knees. "Lord God, preserve me; I meant no of-
fense!"

Leaping back, Apollo fell to the ground, laughing. "I
like you! You carry the Charade to new heights!"

Cameron looked up in confusion. The Charade?

"Ah, but you should shuck that mortal form before too
long. Or not. You are kind of endearing this way." Apollo
grinned. "Did you know that the last time I was in the
realm of man, I took on the form of a wolf, slipped into a
church, and rang the church bells? It gave the believers
quite a start. I can tell you ..."

"Pantheon?" Cameron finally managed.

"Yes. This is the City of the Vessels. Or—more to the
point—these are the lands of that city. You can only see
part of the city itself from here. That rather tall building.
See?"

82 Scott Ciencin

Cameron nodded. The Vessels! Could this really be hap-
pening? Was he dead or alive? He had no answers.

Apollo looked beyond Cameron at the warriors who had
followed him. In a bored, disdainful voice, he muttered,
"My name is Legion, for we are many."

Cameron had never heard these words. But the angels
shifted uncomfortably at the sound of them.

Leaning in close, Apollo said, "You do realize they're
damned, don't you?"

Cameron blanched. He grasped at the ring and tried to
pull it off. It wouldn't leave his hand.

"Oh, and don't bother cutting off your finger; the ring
will just appear on another finger. Or a toe. Or it'll bind
itself within your innards. If you have to bear the Burden,
you might as well do so with all your digits intact. Spell-
casting and the like can be so difficult for novices who
don't have hands to remind themselves of the proper forms.
And you must be a novice, because no experienced mage
would allow himself to be trapped by such an old Guile as
that one."

"Damned," Cameron repeated softly.

"Well, so to speak," Apollo said. He put his arm around
the boy- "Come on. Bring your friends. There's a lot hap-
pening and you'll need someone to show you around."

Cameron nodded. He went with the angel.

Silently, without a trace of feeling or free will, the legion
of dark angels followed him.

^

Five

GRIN HAD SPENT SEVERAL HOURS ATTEMPTING TO CO-

erce at least one of the Fourth's winged men to come
down from the skies and speak to him.

He had failed miserably.

These beings were important, he knew. Their presence
highly significant.

It all came down to this: Tom now possessed the power
of prophecy that had once been hi», and with it, the lad had
been granted a vision that he'd described to Grin.

In the vision, Tom had seen a burning sky filled with
winged angels. The lad had stood upon the glowing jade
ground of a world unlike his own, with a dozen warriors
of God surrounding him, waiting for his command. He had
seen Kayrlis standing before him, tears in her eyes.

And finally, he had seen Aitan Anzelm, lying dead on a
battlefield.

The glowing jade ground...

Grin had an idea of where Tom was ultimately bound.
And though very few things frightened him after all he had
seen and endured, the thought of returning to that place
was one of them.

Something else bothered Grin, beyond all the obviously

83

84

Scon Ciencin

troubling aspects of Tom's vision: He had not been a part
of it.

Did that mean he was destined not to survive until Tom's
final trial? Or was his part in things so insignificant that his
presence didn't matter in the vision?

Or was the vision simply incomplete? Or inaccurate?

There was another possibility, of course: That he would
fail Tom. That he was not in the vision because he was
fated not to be present when the lad needed him most.

The winged men, he was certain, could provide some
answers. But they had been unapproachable.

"Fah!" Grin spat as he reached the final step of the
twisting tower the people of Genesis called the Spire of
Truth. He wanted to help Tom.

No, it was more than mat. He needed to help him.

Why had he taken so much to the boy? Could it be be-
cause Tom reminded him of another?

"Lord?"

Grin turned. A young woman stood before him. She had
curly auburn hair and the most serene smile Grin had seen
in a long time. She wore a simple cream-colored dress, and
several flowers in her hair. Her blue eyes sparkled in the
moonlight.

"Good evening, child."

She bowed. "Emissary, I know that I am unworthy—"

"Faw!" he spat playfully. "You're a mortal whose kind
heart speaks to me. I'll not hear talk of worthiness this
night."

The woman turned and gestured toward a tannery down
the street. Grin could see several other people gathered near
the stairs, which led to the shop's second floor. "We've
prepared a meal and wondered if you might join us. We
know it's rather late, but so much has happened today—"

Grin held out his arm. "I would be delighted."

The woman flushed with happiness as she took his arm
and led Grin toward the others.

"My name is Ainigrim Bosh R'Hayle Skalligrin," the

Night of Glory                 85

former Emissary called out. "But I'll be quite cross if I'm
called anything but Grin!"

He looked down at the young woman's radiant face.
"After all, I'm among friends, yes?"

She nodded. In moments. Grin was seated upstairs in an
apartment above the tannery.

"I'm Liliandra," the young woman said. "Lily for short.
This is my brother Jacob, my honored father Josiah, and
my mother, Lupita."

"I'm the honored one," Grin said. The main room was
very small, but warmly decorated with brightly colored rugs
from the Aztica lands. A modest feast had been laid out:

lamb, potatoes, and several wines.

Grin offered to say the evening's prayer. "Heavenly Fa-
ther, I see your light and your love in all things. Guide me
in your ways so that I may do no harm to those who are
devout and—"

He stopped. The rest of the prayer, as he was certain
Lily's family knew, talked of raining terror down upon
those who were not devout. And terror, he vowed, was not
a subject he would bring up this*night. These frightened
people had heard the story of the fallen Heavenly City of
Abaddon, or so he surmised. And they had, beyond any
doubt, witnessed the presence of the living god who stood
still as a statue in their streets.

There'd been quite enough terror for one night.

''—let me shine your light before me that they may see
your good works and glorify you by following the example
you have set. For a man is often judged not by what he
says, but by what he does."

"The Teachings of the Beatitudes!" Lily's younger
brother cried. "You know them! I mean, well, yes, of
course you would. You've walked with a Vessel, you
would know all things, wouldn't you?"

"Only God knows all things," Grin said soothingly. He
smiled, and all four members of Lily's family returned his
smile warmly and genuinely. Most people found his ap-

86 Scott Ciencin

pearance fearsome. Not this tot. That pleased Grin consid-
erably.

As they ate. Lily's father spoke. "My children are train-
ing to enter the service of the Beatitudes."

"It is a high calling," Grin said- "I've encountered the
Angels of the Beatitudes and their devotees many times. It
has brought joy to me when I've seen them comfort those
who mourn, feed those who hunger, and make peace among
those whose frailties might endanger their mortal souls."
The armored warrior tapped his plate. "And the food is
delicious, by the way. This seasoning—Cantonese?"

Lily's mother nodded.

"Delicious."

After dinner, Grin put on a Shadow Show, using the light
from their fire to cast silhouettes upon the wall. He began
by manipulating his fingers so that the forms of birds and
other animals could take flight as shadows. Then he whis-
pered an ancient incantation and gave the shadows a life of
their own. He sat back and began to narrate his tale.

"m the days before the Arrival of the Host," Grin said,
"in a time that men reckoned as the year 1500—for reasons
that are now long forgotten—men made war upon one an-
other over trivialities. The ownership of land is one of the
most common examples. Then there were more serious
causes. The manner in which God was cherished was one
of these."

On the wall, vast armies of shadowy figures stalked to-
ward one another with fearsome-looking weapons. Those
shadows faded as figures who hovered above the horizon
appeared.

"Josiah?" Grin said.

Lily's father turned.

"It is over three centuries since the beginning of the
Millennium. By the old calendar, it was 1530 when the war
between the devout and the faithless ended. The year would
be 1863 if we had not come among you. Do you ever won-
der what it must have been like for mankind in the days
when faith could not be proven?''

Night of Glory                 87

Josiah tensed. "My faith is strong, lord. As is the faith
of my wife and children."

Grin laughed, a deep, booming laugh that held no trace
of derision, only of comfort. "Of that I have no doubt! I
was simply wondering if mortals thought of such things.
Idle curiosity, nothing more."

Josiah nodded and leaned back. The shadows danced on
the wall, entirely of their own accord.

"I have a story I can tell you," Grin said. "It is of a
stone that/a/; from the heavens!"

On the wall, a dark comet raced across the wall. Below,
the walls of a city rose into view. The comet plummeted
and merged with the rooftops. Then the light vanished from
the room. When it appeared again, the scene had changed.
The shadows now displayed a vast courtyard, with several
warriors in armor similar to Grin's standing around a stone
that was twice the size of any of them. Surprisingly, it had
not been smashed half into the ground. It rested as a sphere
might.

Grin's audience traded whispers on this very topic.

"You see," Grin said, "this was not just any stone to
fall from the heavens. It was a stone of faith. And as such,
it was immovable."

The shadows danced, and warrior after warrior attempted
to move the stone. None succeeded.

"Their faith wasn't very strong, was it?" Josiah asked
with a chuckle.

' Their faith was strong, but it had never been tested in
such a way before," Grin explained softly. "These warriors
had faith in themselves and unwavering faith in the good-
ness and Righteousness of God. But they came all too
quickly to decide that this was a stone of humility, not faith.
Why else would God place an object in their midst that not
even their strongest warrior could budge?"

"They had to learn to work together!" Lily's mother
cried suddenly. "That's it, isn't it? Your story is a parable
about the foolishness of pride!"

The room became very quiet.

88 Scott Ciencin

In a tiny voice, the woman said, "Oh. Sorry. Did 1 spoil
the ending?"

"No," Grin said with a warm smile. "Shall I go on?"

"Please," said Lily. "We're all just very excited."

' 'Finally, a young man who had been rejected as a war-
rior came to try his luck with the stone. He pushed and
pushed for hours, but he could not budge it. After a time,'
a crowd formed. People laughed at him, and the fiercest
warriors took bets about how long the little man, as they
called him, would last before he dropped from exhaustion."

On the wall, a thin shadow pushed at the stone, to no
avail.

"Days turned into weeks, then months. The young man
didn't spend all of his time trying to move the stone. He
had chores to do, and, like everyone, he had to sleep and
eat. But every chance he got, he returned to the stone, en-
tertaining the people with his apparently foolhardy persis-
tence.

"Finally, a warrior asked him, as he was returning home
one day, what he sought to accomplish. This was a stone
of humility. It had been sent by God to prove the futile
nature of attempting to circumvent His will, without which
nothing in the heavens or the earth would even exist.

"The young man said, 'No. I believe it is a stone of
faith, and only unwavering faith can move it.'

"The warrior became quite cross at this. He didn't like
having his beliefs challenged. The next day, the warrior
attempted to bar the young man's way to the stone, but the
crowd and all the warrior's fellows shamed him into allow-
ing the young man to push at the stone once more.

' 'The warrior said that he would allow this, on one con-
dition: That the young man, who so fervently believed this
to be a stone of faith, have only this one last chance today
to prove himself.

" 'It's not a matter of proving myself,' the young man
said. 'My faith is in a kind and loving God, who would
place this stone in our midst not to humiliate us but to show
us the power and strength of faith over all things.'

Night of Glory                 89

"With those words, the young man resumed his efforts.
Hours later, the warrior surged forward and cried, 'Enough!
Look for yourself, the stone hasn't moved!'

"Just then, a cloud passed before the sun. Since the com-
ing of the stone of faith, the sun had not shone brightly
during the day. For the courtyard, as you can see, was sur-
rounded by many tall buildings, and in the bright light of
day, some shadow or another had always been cast upon
the area where the young man had stationed himself to try
to move the stone.

"No longer. The shadows evened out, and for the first
time, a small groove could be seen in the stone of the court-
yard. It started several inches behind the stone, and ran to
the spot that was seemingly rooted to the ground.

"The stone had moved. It had been moving, impercep-
tibly, for some time now. But its movements had been so
slight that no one had noticed them.

"The young man was lifted onto the shoulders of the
people and cheered for his wisdom and faith, and the war-
rior skulked away and was never heard from again. For he
was a proud man, as you, Lupita.Tiave suggested. So fool-
ish. and so proud, that he went to the ends of existence to
try to prove that his faith was stronger than that of the
young man's—and in that quest he failed utterly.

"The young man, you see, was his son. And the warrior
never saw him again, never heard word about him even,
until it was too late. His son lay dying and had been taken
by God long before he returned to his village."

A single tear appeared at the corner of Grin's eye. He
wiped it away.

' 'The son had faith, and all the greater glories were one
day his."

"What about his foolish, shortsighted father?" Lily's
brother asked.

"His tale has yet to be completed," Grin said. He looked
down and saw that his hands were trembling. He shrouded
the room in darkness.

90 Scott Ciencin

By the time Lily was able to fire up a lantern, he was
gone.

Tom was surprised to find Aitan Anzelm sitting alone in
the taproom of a local inn- Angels were generally besieged
by the devout whenever they walked among men. But no
one knelt before the soldier of God. No one asked to have
their prayers heard or their sins absolved. Instead, Aitan sat
staring at a fire, nursing a drink.

"What do you have there?" Tom asked, grateful that his
voice didn't break. He crossed his arms and hugged him-
self. It was cold in the taproom, despite the fire.

"I don't know," Aitan said. "It tastes terrible, but at
least it's cold and wet."

Tom smiled, despite himself.

Aitan gestured broadly without turning around. "Take
what you want. The innkeeper has gone off with one of the
butterfly women and declared that all he owns is now for
the common use of those who need it in Genesis."

Tom sat beside the angel. Dark circles had formed under
Allan's eyes. The pale skin of his face was taut. Lines that
Tom had never seen clustered around his eyes and mouth.

"You look like hell," Tom said.

"That would seem appropriate, considering where I've
been."

Tom rested his feet on a nearby chair and leaned back.
"So the innkeeper has sworn off making money, has he?
Maybe we should summon an Angel of Commerce to show
him the way."

"Maybe you should tell me why you're here and not in
bed with the woman who's carrying your child."

Tom nodded slowly. "Something happened." He strug-
gled with the right way to phrase this. "I have another
power. Only this one didn't come from the burning man I
see in my dreams."

"How can you be sure?"

"It feels different," Tom said. "It's something I'm not
meant to have."

Night of Glory                 91

Aitan wearily looked his way. The Elven's dark eyes
were cloudy. "According to everything I was raised to be-
lieve, no human was ever meant to wrap their hands around
magic. If that's true, then you weren't meant to have any
of your powers. Not the power to tell lies from truth, to
drive out corruption, to see the future ... by the way, you
haven't had any visions today, have you?"

"No. Just feelings."

"About the Fourth? About why He's trapped us here?"

"You've been talking to Grin," Tom said.

Aitan shrugged.

Tom frowned. "I can't explain." He looked imploringly
at the angel. "I need your help."

"For what good it'll do you, ask away," Aitan said.

"When I touch people, they, urn ..." He grimaced. "I
get their memories."

"Really?" Aitan asked, raising a single eyebrow. "All
their memories? From birth to death? This life? The life
before, the life after?"

"Just this life," Tom said quickly. "And yeah, all of
them. I mean, all of them to the present. Someone can't
remember things that haven't happened yet."

"Of course they can. That's what your gift of prophecy
is all about." Aitan turned his attention back to the fire.
"There's so little you know ..."

Tom was beginning to feel a little annoyed by Allan's
sour disposition and his tack of true interest. "Fine. There
are things I don't know. So teach me."

Aitan ran his hands through his long silken hair. "The
first question is whether or not this new power of yours
can be controlled. If so, men the second question is how?
In other words, what will you have to do, or sacrifice, to
gain control over it?''

"All right," Tom said nervously. "So how do we an-
swer those questions?''

Aitan rose and went to a table at the far end of the room.
A collection of ornate bottles sat on the table. Aitan un-
corked one and sniffed its aroma. His features wrinkled up

92 Scott Ciencin

in disgust. "Do you know what mortals call these poisons?
Spirits. In the True Lands, there is a drink more suited to
thai name. Sip by sip you drink of the soul of another.
Barbaric, yes? Outlawed in all the civilized places, but
available nevertheless to those who have developed a taste
for it."

He's drunk, Tom thought.

Aitan smiled in the dim amber light. ' 'Did I ever tell you
that your face is marvelously lacking in its ability to hide
your thoughts? You wear them for all the world to see.
And just so you know, I'm not drunk. It would take far
worse than any of these spirits to affect one with my con-
stitution."

"Then why are you acting so strangely?" Tom asked.

Aitan scooped up three bottles and carried them to the
table. He set them down clumsily, sipped at one, then
hurled it into the fire. The flames roared and leaped his
way. Aitan gestured, and the fires took the shape of women
with butterfly wings, men with the bodies of horses, the
goatmen known as fauns, and more. The naming wraiths
rose high, then flittered away, casting the room once more
in shadows.

"When I was trapped with Komm Kayriel," Aitan said,
"I had time to think. In fact, it was the only way to block
out Kayriel's constant jabbering."

"What did you think about?" Tom asked. His concern
was growing deeper.

"The nature of truth," Aitan said, tossing another bottle
onto the flames. A second explosion of pure white light
raced at them, and Aitan contained it, this time Grafting the
flames into images of the most powerful dark angels in
Shadow, Azazel and Abaddon, and of the string of burning
angels they had tortured. All those who had claim to the
name Anzetm.

Aitan's dark eyes blazed with the unnatural fires he'd
created. "And if you like, HI share that truth with you ..."

^

Six

/ /^['W y HEN I COMMITTED MY SIN OF LOVE—" AITAN




"   W began

W W   "No,"   Tom   interrupted.   ' Love s

never..."

"When 1 committed my sin, all those who cared for me

suffered."

"That's not your fault,"
"/ should have been cast into (he Ring of Punishment,

not them."

"It was their choice!"

Aitan shook his head bitterly. "To say that they had free
will in the situation is incorrect. They had no idea what
might happen to them when they offered themselves up in
my place."

Tom was silent.

"Each thought that they would suffer in some small way.
Some loss of station, some minor hurt. They believed that
if they banded together to shoulder my blame, if the pun-
ishment was halved, then halved again, so many times, that
the portion of it that would be doled out to each of them
would be tolerable. Not agreeable, but tolerable. And cer-
tainly preferable to the alternative."

95

94 Scott Ciencin

"To your being sent to the Ring?"

Aitan laughed bitterly. "No. All that really matters is that
they were lied to, just as I was lied to."

"By who?" Tom asked.

Aitan smiled darkly. "You believed the relationship be-
tween myself and my Patron, the angel you knew as Mithra,
to be one of surrogate father and son, of mentor and stu-
dent. The truth is, Mithra is the one who kept me occupied
while my family petitioned to suffer in my place. He is an
Angel of Truth, but he was able to circumvent truth. That's
how he was able to circumvent your power to divine truth
from lie-

"The dissolution of House Anzelm helped him. He
gained all the possessions, status, and power of my dead
relatives. All he had to do in return was to act as my Patron,
to provide a fraction of the power that had been given to
him with the passing of House Anzelm ..."

Tom considered Aitan's revelations. His theories made a
great deal of sense, particularly in light of Mithra's coolness
when talking about Aitan and his criticisms of his "stu-
dent."

"Ours was an adversarial relationship from the start,"
Aitan said.

"Yet you seemed surprised when he betrayed you at the
Spire of Truth," Tom pointed out.

"Not so much that he would betray me, but that he
would betray all his race by siding with Komm Kayriel."

Tom studied his hands. "He said there were things about
his actions that we would have to take on faith—"

Aitan hurled the final bottle into the fire. This time the
flames came within inches of Tom. He gasped, drawing
back in fear. Aitan shaped the flames into the form of an
Elven warrior.

Mithra-

He snuffed the flames and cast the taproom into total
darkness. Then the glow of the flaming sword Tom wore
rose up and illuminated the area.

"Oh, yes," Aitan said, "we were talking about your

Night of Glory                 95

powers and I forgot about that. The Sword of the Fourth.
The ability to reshape reality in any way you so desire, or
so Lord Skalligrin informs me."
" "I don't—"

"Why don't you do that, Tom? Why don't you just use
your power and make everything better?"

Tom rose up, the chair falling to the floor behind him.
"I don't know what's wrong with you. I came here hop-
ing—"

"Hope is the enemy," Aitan said, rising to meet the
young mage. "Deal in fact and you'll be far better off."

Tom stared at his friend. Finally, the angel looked away.

"I'm sorry," Aitan said, cupping his face in his hands
as he sat, tegs spread, his hair falling about him." "For so
long, I believed in the Lie. I thought that my father and
brothers were alive- That they had been made mortal, their
memory of their lives as angels removed. Alive, but scat-
tered across this - - - place. The mortal realms."

Tom leaned against another table. He wondered absently
why he wasn't tired. After the day he'd had, he should have
been exhausted.

Aitan went on. "Those lies are what Mithra had me be-
lieve so that I would not challenge him."

"I have to go," Tom said. There was nothing he could
do for Aitan, and clearly, there was nothing Aitan could do
for him- "Maybe Grin can help."

Overturning a table, Aitan bolted to his feet and stalked
toward the lad. "Don't you understand? For so long, I be-
lieved that their sacrifice had meaning. I thought that some-
how I could honor their belief in me. But now I understand.
They were attempting to take on this punishment in return
for keeping the matter quiet."

"Is that what Komm Kayriel told you?"

"It's what common sense tells me. They weren't sacri-
ficing anything for me. It was a business arrangement. The
business of title, honor, and reputation."

Tom turned away from his friend. "I have to go. Now."

"What's your hurry?"

96 Scott Ciencin

Chest heaving with fury, Tom said, "If I stay and listen
to any more of this, I'm gonna end up saying things that
I'll regret."

"Say them," Aitan whispered as he stepped around Tom
and looked into the lad's eyes. "Go ahead."

The muscles in Tom's cheeks quivered.            -,

"You have my leave," Aitan said. "Not that you need
it any more."

The words burst from Tom. "I thought better of you than
this."

Aitan laughed. "Well, then, I'm happy to surprise you."

"Surprises like this I don't need," Tom said. "So your
family didn't die for you. They were tricked. You know
what? / would have died for you. Grin would have died
for you. I guess that doesn't count."

Shame stole across Aitan's beautiful features. "That's
not true." He sighed heavily. "To be honest, I have given
some thought to what Grin told me. I have an idea as to
why Genesis has been cut off from the outside world—and
it has nothing to do with you. Perhaps ... my words would
bring some comfort."

"Tell me."

"Komm Kayriel murdered the Second Vessel, the keeper
of God's Mercy."

Tom nodded.

"He did it because he wants to become a god."

"Something more than a god," Tom said- "More than
the Vessels- Rachiel told us that- Remember?"

"Rachiel," Aitan repeated duily. "1 miss her. And yes,
I remember everything she said. The Rephaim, the Essenes,
the Key of Solomon, the Wheels. Al! are important."

"Yeah. She was right about the Key of Solomon. And
she also said that Komm Kayriel can't ascend to godhood
without corrupting the one piece of decency that was left
to him, the fragment of his soul that he put inside you to
keep you alive when you were hurt a long time ago."

Aitan looked to the window. It was pure darkness out-
side. "It's possible that the Fourth has placed barriers

Night of Glory                 97

around Genesis to keep us and the people who looked into
the mouth of Shadow safe from the other Vessels. But it's
also possible that the person who's really meant to be con-
tained here is me."

"You? Why do you say that?"

"If I can't leave here, then Kayriel will have to come
back to try to destroy that piece of himself he left behind.
It could be a trap for him."

"There's too many possibilities," Tom said. "And we
don't have any way of knowing which ones might be
right."

Aitan looked down at Tom's hands. "You have the
way."

Tom backed away from his friend. "You want me to
touch the Vessel?"

"You couid leam His secrets."

"Yeah, and I might be driven crazy by them, just like
He was!"

Aitan's eyes, filled with an expectant light, became dim
again. "You're right, of course."

"I'm gonna go look for Grin," Tom said. "Maybe he
can help."

"You do that," Aitan said, sitting at another table.

Tom was across the taproom, about to cross into the hall,
when he heard Aitan call his name.

"One last thing," Aitan said.

Tom waited.

' 'Do you think about the future?''

"Sure. I do," Tom said. "I think about it all the time.
Got a boy on the way."

"What kind of future do you think you can give Kayrlis
and your son? If the Vessels offered to make an arrange-
ment with you for the safety of those you love, would you
take it?"

"I don't know if I follow," Tom said.

"Think about it: A future in which you're assured po-
sition, wealth, power. . . where your children will be safe

98 Scott Ciencin

and privileged and you can be happy, just so long as you
maintain the Lie."

"No," Tom said, a little too swiftly. "I wouldn't do
that."

Aitan shrugged. "You'd die knowing that your children
would live in a paradise. You'd also die knowing that even-
tually the thousand years will no longer be a time of peace
and prosperity. The millennium will turn dark, the gods wili
reveal to the Elven that they are not angels, and mankind
will be too deeply ground underfoot to rise up against their
oppression. If that hasn't happened already- You'd die
knowing that a time had been in which you had it in your
hands to do something, to change the world, and you let
that chance slip away."

"I'm not the Enemy," Tom said sharply. Aitan's words
had disturbed him deeply. "Stop treating me like I am.
Christ's blood, Aitan, you're beginning to sound like Kay-
riei's not gonna have to worry about coming back to cor-
rupt the last bit of decency ieft in you—you're taking care
of that yourself."

"You didn't answer my question."

Tom shuddered. "I haven't had time to think much about
the future, all right? There, I said it. I've been too busy just
trying to survive."

"Then go and think about it. The future's ali we have.
And I believe these new powers you've gained, granted by
the Fourth, are about that future."

"Well, that makes things really clear. Thanks for your
help."

He reached the door this time before Aitan called after
him one last time.

' Tom!''

The lad hesitated.

"If you hadn't come back for me, Komm Kayriel never
would have escaped from Shadow."

Tom stiffened. "You're welcome," he said, and left.

The evening chill was worse than ever. Tom drew his
arms over his chest and shivered, wishing the light from

Night of Glory                 99

the sword he carried might generate some warmth.

Suddenly, a burst of liquid fire spread from the center of
his chest and reached out through his body, spreading heat
to the tips of his fingers and toes, and even to the top of
his skull. The warmth moved through him like a living
thing, and Tom held his hand out to see if his flesh was
glowing with the same inner light the sword had provided.

No. All that had changed was how he felt.

Tom stopped and looked back at the inn where he'd left
Aitan. He was half-tempted to turn around and make an-
other attempt to enlist Aitan in helping him with his new
power, but he knew that would be a mistake. He wondered
if perhaps Aitan had done him a favor.

It was possible that the time had come for him to stop
running to others when he had a problem. Aitan, Grin,
Kayrlis, the flaming man who'd given him his first three
powers, or the mad god whom he was certain had delivered
these new abilities.

Tom needed to work this out on his own,

People were milling about. Several bowed to him as he
caught their eye. Tom went to them.

"It's a night of wonders, isn't it?" Tom asked, reaching
out to shake the hand of the gentleman'closest. He knew
exactly what he had to do.

The man smiled. He was nearly bald, with only a tuft of
light brown hair on the top of his skull and a salt-and-
pepper beard. His eyes were sparkling with kindness, his
face long and pleasant. He wore a velvet coat over leather
boots and britches copied from the fashions of the Naturals.
A bright silver ankh hung about his neck.

Tom firmly clasped the man's hand and

he was an infant, screaming at the harsh light and the
chill of newfound life

he sat high in a chair, rocking back and forth playfully
as his mother attempted to feed him, when suddenly the
chair fell back and his head cracked against the cold wood
floor—his first brush with traumatic injury

he touched a flame for the first time and drew back

100 Scott Ciencin

learned the name of God even before he understood what
it meant

gained a whirlwind of knowledge from his tutoring at
home

skinned a knee playing with other children

kissed a girl in the shadows of a barn and was shocked
and ashamed at how much he liked it

ran years later from a young woman whom he was told
liked him

learned the art of anvil and forge at his father's side

saw his first dead body and wondered if the soul was
still in there

spent years learning the proper way to worship the di-
vine and consecrate his life, all that he was, all that he
could ever be, to the messengers of the Almighty, accepting
their pronouncements and finding God merciful and good
even when enduring hardships, like the winter his father
starved so that his children might live

the years of wandering, finally having his talents rec-
ognized, becoming an armorer, falling in love, having chil-
dren, and feeling a longing he could not identify

then waking one morning to the most exquisite day and
thanking God in earnest for perhaps the first time for the
bounty of this spectacular day and truly devoting himself
to his family and to the worship of God for now and all
time

witnessing the cloud of darkness that descended over
Genesis and steeling his heart against the chattering de-
mons who lay in Shadow and desperately attempted to
crawl inside his mind

and watching as angels cloaked in human form—what
else could the lad and his beautiful raven-haired lass be
except angels wearing masks offiesh, they wielded magic,
after all—closed the rift to darkness

standing before the Fourth and crying as he looked upon
the face of the father he 'd wished could be here to see the
man he'd become, to know that he was proud

Night of Glory                101

and the feeling of sheer happiness when Curacas Keeper
reached out and took his hand—

Tom pulled back. His vision cleared. He was himself
once more.

The man, whose name was Nicholai, smiled broadly. He
hadn't suffered any discomfort from Tom's invasion of his
thoughts. In fact, he seemed blissfully unaware that any
form of magic had been worked upon him.

*'A fine and glorious night/' Nicholai said.

Tom nodded. He had to leam to control this power, and
the only way he could do that was with practice. He'd lived
a man's lifetime in what had been, for Nicholai, at least,
the blink of an eye. To Tom, it felt as if hours had passed.

He could remember everything about the life he'd ab-
sorbed—the hopes and fears, the triumphs and disappoint-
ments. And he'd felt the man's emotions, understood his
reasoning, and could easily map the rough terrain of this
man's soul.

Was it possible to achieve the same results, to gain all
this knowledge, and have only a second or two pass to his
senses? Or better, could he somehow view the contents of
another's hidden heart without experiencing their every
emotion? To push away from contact when he desired, or
to probe for the answers to select questions?

Tom had to know. He touched the hands of three men
who stood with Nicholai.

When he was done with them, he scoured the streets of
Genesis, speaking with everyone he could find, touching
them, looking into their souls. Soon he began knocking on
doors. Waking people.

Tom felt compelled to experience the lives of everyone
in Genesis. The more he knew, the more he wanted to
know. Each explosion of memory and experience whetted
his appetite further. For a time, it seemed that nothing
would sate him. What he'd learned wasn't enough, he had
to know more, to experience more, because the knowledge
he gained gave him better perspective on his own emotions

102 Scott Ciencin

and reactions, and greater insight into the souls of those he
cared about.

And something else, too.

Until this night, he'd viewed the people he loved as being
somehow more important than any stranger he might
glimpse from afar. It was almost as if there were walls
separating him from feeling any true degree of caring for
these people except in the general sense that he wished no
one to come to harm, wished to see no one feel ill, or hurt,
or afraid-

Is this how it was for you, Matthew? Tom wondered.
Did you feel responsible for each of them? Were their pains
and fears as real to you as your own?

I think it was...

By daybreak, only the Fourth, His entourage, and Tom's
closest friends remained untouched by the lad's power. He
knew all there was to know about the people of Genesis.
For good or ill, he'd seen into all their souls, and knew
them as only a god could know them.

That, he now understood, had been the point all along.
To know others, and through them, to know himself. And
what was within him . -.

Wearily, he walked toward the Fourth.

"And, behold, I come quickly," Tom whispered.

A faint smile nickered on the frozen face of the otherwise
still god. "In his hand are all the corners of the earth; and
the strength of the hills is his also. The sea is his, and he
made it; and his hands prepared the dry land.''

Tom heard a cry that came as if from a great distance.
Vaguely, he understood that it was Kayrlis. That she had
been woken by one of those who now lined the street to
bear witness to Tom's second communion with the Vessel.

He heard her running in his direction, but he knew she
wouldn't reach him in time.

The Vessel's eyes flashed open. Within them was every
color of the spectrum and more, every idea that had ever
been or would ever be, every truth, every deceit.

Tom longed to touch him.

Night of Glory                105

"Don't!" Kayrlis screamed.

He reached for the god anyway. "The man who in the
view of gain thinks of righteousness; who in the view of
danger is prepared to give up his life; and who does not
forget an old agreement however far back it extends .. .
such a man may be reckoned a complete man."

Tom saw Kayrlis approach from behind the Fourth. She
stopped suddenly, staring at him in terror.

He understood what she was seeing. The sword of the
Fourth had vanished at some point during the night. Its
energy was within him now, radiating out from him.

His eyes were mirrors reflecting the greater glory, the
power and the majesty that was not only the Fourth, but
also the hidden aspect of the slain Second Vessel, which
resided in him.

She looked away and began to weep.

The Vessel laughed. "God shall wipe away all tears
from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither
sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain:

for the former things are passed away.

Tom met the challenge. "He that is unjust, let him be
unjust still: and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still:

and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still: and he
that is holy, let him be holy still."

The Vessel grinned wickedly. "As it was in the begin-
ning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

"Amen," Tom said.

He touched the Vessel.

^
Seven

TOM KEEPER OPENED HIS EYES. NO, NOT HIS EYES.

They belonged to someone else. The flesh he wore
was not his own.

Without even surveying his surroundings, he quickly un-
derstood that he had been sent back to the Realm of
Shadow. He knew this place too well to mistake it for any
other.

He could feel its evil attempting to snake within him.
The darkness of the land called to him. It wished to draw
him down and draw him out. Down into its depths, where
he would feel no sense of purpose, and be damned forever
to take root in this place of terrors and sorrows. Out of the
cloak of angel's skin that protected him from its power and
allowed him to recall his true name and purpose. For he
was an angel now. Or, to be more accurate, he looked out
through the eyes of an angel in a time long past.

The Battle for Shadow, he thought. The massacre.

He glanced at the setting for his nightmare. An acrid
wave of disgust rushed through him. He was kneeling
amidst a heap of bodies. Warrior angels who had fallen in
this hateful place. The sky was blood, and the land throbbed

104

Night of Glory                105

with obscene pleasure as it consumed and altered the souls
of his fellows-
Tom rose and climbed out of the deep, dry gully that
had been used to hide away the fallen. He understood from
the scattered memories of the angel whose body he now
occupied that the corpses had been hidden because the com-
manders of this battle feared that the sight of them, and
what the land was doing to them, might demoralize the
handful of battalions left to fight.

An angel with nightmare black flesh and cobalt veins that
glowed brightly approached. His armors had been cloven
in several places, and his leathers were in tatters.

"Are you through with the last rites? Benedictions are
needed for those about to fight the last of the Enemy's
champions."

Tom looked back to the arroyo. He understood that the
warrior angels were massing for one last attack on the
land's avatars, many of whom had only a short time ago
been their fellows. The angels had come here to conquer
the Realm of Shadow, and had failed.

"The bodies won't rise," Tom said in a voice that
seemed to crackle like flames.

"You're a fine soldier," the dark angel said. "The True
Lands won't soon see our like again, will they, Haborym?"

The breath caught in Tom's throat.

Haborym.

He looked down at his hands and saw tiny licking flames
bursting from the joints of his gauntlets- The Fourth was
not revealing His secrets. Not directly. Instead, he was al-
lowing Tom to live the life of Haborym, Angel of Fire and
Holocaust. The bestial thing that had corrupted the Fourth
and driven him to madness. The piague-giver.

Tom's cursory examination of his host's memories
hadn't revealed that secret. In fact, he'd had a sense that
he was in the body of a gentle and pious man. A cleric.

How could the two be one and the same?

"No," Tom said in a hoarse whisper. He knew what was

106 Scott Ciencin

fated to occur At least in pan. ' 'They will not see our like
any time soon."

What happened next was a blur. The angels fought
bravely, but they were outnumbered, and whenever one of
their kind fell, it wasn't long before he rose again and
fought on the side of darkness.

The angels fled. They knew there was no place for them
to go. The gateway to the True Lands had been sealed off
to them. They were retreating deeper into the living heart
of their enemy, but they had little choice.

Soon, the group, now less than a hundred strong, was
crowding through a mountain pass. They climbed, panting,
out of breath, as the dull-eyed demons who had been pos-
sessed by the spirit of this horrid place fell back. Soon,
their mad chattering could no longer be heard.

The soldiers proceeded single file for a time, then finally
they were through the last narrow pass, gathering in a clear-
ing where they were mercifully alone for a time.

"Why aren't they following?" one of the angels cried.
It was Camael, an inheritor of the mantle Angel of Strength.
To all appearances, he was the most brutish of their tot, a
squat, gnomelike figure whose spiked club often spoke
more eloquently than he ever could. But Tom understood
that there was more to him. In his quiet moments, and only
when he put quill to parchment, Camael was a philosopher
and poet.

"They're afraid," Abrid said. He was the black-fleshed
angel who had first appeared to Tom. An Angel of Protec-
tion. "Look at this pass. It's a death trap for them."

"They're already dead," Tom found himself snarling.
"What do they have to be afraid of?"

No one spoke for a time. Camael broke the silence. "The
wrath of the land."

Abrid laughed. "That pass is of the land. If the land
wanted, it could widen that pass. Or create fissures to swal-
low each of us whole."

"So why doesn't it just do that and get it over with?"
Tom asked.

Night of Glory                107

Everyone stared at him.

"It's a reasonable question," Tom said, his voice that of
Haborym.

A crimson-fleshed angel came forward. "So long as we
never surrender to despair, all will be well."

"You're always saying that," Abrid snapped. "You're
' an angel of Patience, by the Christ..."

"By the Christ," Tom repeated in contempt. "As if you
even knew what that meant."

The words were Haborym's. Tom suddenly wished he
knew what they meant. But he could not allow himself the
luxury of digging through his host's memories. Lives were
at stake.

"I think he's right," Camael said. The Angel of Strength
looked to the chasm. "In fact, I'm certain of it. If the land
could take us, it would. For some reason, we're protected
here."

They waited. Hours passed, and no attack came. Before
long, the warriors began to realize that they weren't hungry.
Or tired.

Tom tried to sift through Haborym's memories, but they
were sealed to him. He attempted to break free of this sce-
nario that the Fourth had dictated that he witness, and
cleave away at the memories of the god Himself. But he
was trapped.

Resigned to his fate, Tom examined their surroundings.
The warrior angels had come to a garden made of glass, or
ice, that confounded all reason by generating a comforting
warmth and a rosy glow. The darkness of the land was
defeated in this place, impossible though it seemed.

The wait for their enemy to appear continued. It dragged
on, and would continue to do so, Tom sensed, as long as
none of the angels was foolish enough to venture out of
this place.

Then the great debate began. Abrid, the dark angel, be-
came convinced that the gateway to the True Lands had
opened, that hordes of angels had descended upon the
Realm of Shadow and slew its gods. But they would never

108 Scott Ciencin

be found by rescuers so long as they stayed here.

The debate became a shouting match, then a bout of per-
sonal combat. But in the end, nothing was solved, nothing
was decided, and that, Tom realized, was a decision unto
itself. Doing nothing was a conclusion and its own reward;

It kept them safe.

Why are you showing me this? he asked the Fourth. What
does any of this have to do with me ?

The Fourth did not reply.

Suddenly, Haborym stood. Tom had no control over his
host's body as Haborym counseled each of the surviving
angets. speaking to them of love and gentleness, reawak-
ening the basic principles of faith that had anchored them
in other times of trial.

And suddenly, Tom understood, as well. He'd believed
Haborym to be a creature of great evil, the Avatar of the
Shadow lands upon the earth, the deliverer of the disease
that took his mother from him in the mortal plane. He
now saw that once, at least, Haborym had been something
more.

He'd been a true man of God.

Time slipped by. Tom saw first the crimson Angel of
Optimism, then each of the angels except Haborym and
Abrid surrender to despair. Several went mad and wandered
off. Decades peeled away in mere seconds, and soon, only
Haborym and the Angel of Protection remained in the hal-
lowed place.

*'I discharge you of your sacred duty," Haborym said,
putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Join the others
if that's your wish."

The ebony-skinned angel laughed. "You think that's
why I'm still with you? Out of some feeling of duty to
protect?"

Haborym shrugged. * 'Why, then? You were the one who
believed that salvation ties outside this place. And you
might be right."

"Let me ask you that same question," Abrid said.

"Why do I stay?" Haborym said- "I like it here. I feel
one with God in this place, strange as that might sound."

Night of Glory                109

"It doesn't sound strange to me. I've never despaired
that the Lord had forgotten or abandoned us to this place.
I feel Him all around. For a time, I felt that we were meant
to meet Him halfway. Thus my suggestion that we leave
this place and endure a final time of trials. It wouldn't be
the first time we've been asked to meet God halfway, after
all."

"Certainly not," Tom whispered with Haborym's crack-
ling voice.

"I no longer fee! that way. I'm happy here. And 1 believe
that one day, God will see fit to take us from this place."

Haborym nodded. "Then I, too, am content."

Decades passed. A century. And another.

Finally the sign Haborym and Abrid had been waiting
for arrived. It came without the fire and thunder they had
anticipated, taking on instead the unassuming form of an
angel Haborym had long believed dead and gone.

"Tadhial?" Haborym asked. The Angel of Mercy's in-
tensely luminous and beatific features were such a welcome
sight to Haborym that he began to weep. Tadhial smiled.

"DO NOT WEEP, CHILD," the angel said in a voice
that made the crystal forest surrounding them quake.
Sounds like music mixed with crashing waves, and a choir
of the most pious were woven into the angel's speech. "IT
IS YOUR FAITH, YOUR UNWAVERING BELIEF,
THAT BRINGS ME HERE."

Beside Haborym, Abrid shook his head. "Why do you
call him Tadhial?"

"It's my teacher," Haborym said. "The Angel of Most
High Virtues who—"

Abrid cut him off. "That's my father. I'd know him any-
where. He died decades ago ..."

The visitor opened his arms wide and was engulfed by
a blinding light. "YOUR PRAYERS HAVE BEEN
HEARD. AND ANSWERED."

The angels fell to their knees as the light struck them.
With it came an understanding of the Presence they saw
before them.

110 Scott Ciencin

*'A Manifestation,'* Haborym breathed excitedly. "God
is with us."

"God in all his Glory," the dark angel said.

The light dimmed, and Haborym looked up again to cast
his gaze at the Second Vessel, the keeper of God's Mercy.

The Second? But it was the Fourth to whom Haborym
had been bonded. What was happening here?

Tom felt a cold fist closing over his heart. He had stood
in the Second's presence once before—only to see the god
murdered by Komm Kayriel. Could the Second sense him?

No, of course not, Tom told himself. Because none of
mis was really happening. He had expected to slip inside
the mind of the Fourth Vessel, the Keeper of God's Crea-
tivity, and had instead found himself a prisoner of another's
memories.

"WALK WITH ME," the Second Vessel said, holding
out His hand to Haborym. The angel's mind reeled at the
prospect of touching one of the nine Aspects.

"BE NOT AFRAID," me Vessel said. it! AM LOVE-
LOOK IN YOUR HEART. YOU KNOW THIS TO BE
TRUE."

Haborym took the Vessel's hand. A power unlike any he
had ever conceived suddenly pulsed within his all too mor-
tal veins. A strangled cry escaped him, and he stiffened
with pain.

"Haborym!" the dark angel shouted.

"HE IS WELL," the Vessel said. "IS THAT NOT
RIGHT?"

The Angel of Fire and Holocaust nodded, and felt his
discomfort ease. His eyes were squeezed shut.

"AMAZING, IS IT NOT?" the Vessel asked. "THE
HEALING POWER OF FAITH?"

Haborym was about to reply when he opened his eyes
and gasped. The world around him had changed.

No, that wasn't right.

His perceptions of the world had been altered. He saw—
no, sensed—the world about him as a swirling miasma of
light and color emanating entirely from the Vessel. The

Night of Glory                ill

Vessel's every thought or whim created a new point of
origin for the fantastic pattern Haborym now perceived.
Then he understood that there was more than one pattern,
in fact, there was a multitude, a near infinite number of
patterns that all overlapped and reconciled swiftly to form
me physical reality he had once known.

And just as swiftly as the vision had come, it retreated
from him.

He looked to Abrid, who stared at him in awe.
"THAT WAS ONLY A GLIMPSE OF THE WON-
DERS I WOULD HAVE YOU WITNESS," the Vessel
said. "I AM THE BEGINNING AND THE END. THE
ALPHA AND THE OMEGA. I WILL SHOW YOU THE
TRUE ORDER OF THINGS. YOU HAVE ONLY TO
COME WITH ME."

"I will," Haborym said. He turned expectantly in the
direction of his friend. "Abrid—"

"THIS IS NOT HIS TIME. THAT WILL COME."
"Yes, Lord," Haborym whispered- He realized suddenly
that he was no longer so close to the dark angel. He was
moving quickly now. The Vessel's will was dragging him
through the crystal forest, toward the gap into Shadow.
"Have faith," Haborym called to Abrid.
If the dark angel replied, Haborym did not hear it.

<^i

Eight

ABORYM DRIFTED THROUGH THE CHASM, GAZING




upon the faces of a thousand damned angels who
regarded him quizzically, but without passion or true
life.

"Father," Haborym whispered. "Can we not save any
of them?"

"THE DARKNESS THAT IS THIS UNHALLOWED
PLACE IS WITHIN THEM," the Vessel said. "THEY
ARE BEYOND SAVING."

Instinctively, as a show of compassion and mercy, Ha-
borym reached out and touched one of the angels. A chill
ran through him, and he pulled his hand away.

His left hand—the hand that had touched the dead an-
gel—was now cocooned in darkness.

Fear raced through Haborym. He had disobeyed the Ves-
sel and touched one who was unclean. He had to tell the
bearer of God's mercy that he was no longer fit to make
the journey to the True Lands, he should be left here, in-
stead.

And yet—this was one of the nine Vessels of God. How
could there be any Truth which escaped him? Would it not

112

Night of Glory                113

be impertinent to tell the Second what He must surely know
already?

This was a Test, Haborym decided. The Second was ex-
amining his faith.

Haborym was silent, though he felt the Darkness within
him now, attempting to burrow deep into his soul. But the
power could not reach beyond his hand, which he hid at
his side.

The crimson sky of the Realm of Shadows appeared. A
fiery rose burst into existence before them—

And Haborym was free. The splendid cities of the True
Lands beckoned, and beyond them, the realm of mortals.
Haborym wept.

"THERE IS EVIL IN THE HEARTS OF MEN," the
Vessel proclaimed. "THAT IS TO BE EXPECTED. MAN
IS IMPERFECT."

"Yes," Haborym whispered as the Vessel brought him
to a land in the mortal realm that he had never visited
before.

"THIS IS AN AREA MEN CALL CARNAC," the Ves-
sel said. "IN A LAND THEY HAVE NAMED FRANCE.
REGARD IT—AND THE PEOPLE YOU SEE BEFORE
YOU—VERY WELL."

Haborym looked first to the sky, thankful to once again
see the stars in the heavens. Then he looked about him and
saw that he was surrounded by thousands of great grey
stones that rose up to the sky. The megaliths stretched for
miles in carefully arranged patterns, their height uniform at
first, then slowly dwindling toward the end of each row.
Haborym understood that he was looking at a man-made
endeavor, one possibly rooted in man's past, but he could
not understand the purpose of the earth mounds, single
stones, and stone circles that waited before him.

Kneeling among the stones were several dozen mortals
wearing cloaks the color of the earth. They chanted, occa-
sionally raising their heads to the sky. Many traced the
patterns of the stones reverently with their slender fingers.

114 Scott Ciencin

Others carved strange symbols onto wooden boards they
carried.

"UNDERSTAND," the Vessel said, placing two fingers
upon Haborym's brow.

The angel shuddered as knowledge leaped into his skull
with lightning speed.

The mortals below were practicing one of the outlawed
religions. They called themselves Druids, and sought to use
the power of the stars to bring about changes upon the
earth. Haborym watched as several gathered before one of
the menhirs, as the Bretons once called the large standing
stones.

"THEY SEEK TO DRAW DOWN THE MOON, AS
THE WITCHES OF THESSALY, HECATE'S DEVOTED
SERVANTS, ONCE DID WITH EASE. SEE HOW THEY
GATHER BEFORE THE ER GRAH, THE FAIRIE
STONE? FOOLS. THEY'VE FORGOTTEN THE TRUE
PURPOSE OF THIS PLACE."

"What would you have me do, my Lord?" Haborym
asked. It was not the question he wished to ask. That ques-
tion would have been, Lord, do you not intend to take the
Darkness from me? I wrestle with it and fear it may con-
sume me.

Instead, he asked, "Do you wish me to use my power
over fire, to create salamanders to go among them and
frighten them away?"

"FEAR OF GOD HAS NOT DETERRED THEM UP
TO THIS POINT," the Vessel said. "AN EXAMPLE
MUST BE MADE."

A lost expression crossed Haborym's face. He under-
stood what the Vessel wanted and knew that it would be
heresy to contradict Him.

Stiffly, he said, "I have taken lives in the service of God
before. If you deem these men heretics, I will set them to
the flame."

"NO." the Second Vessel said. "NOTHING SO BLA-
TANT AS THAT. THEIR PASSING MUST SEEM A
PART OF THE NATURAL ORDER. SIMPLY GO

Night of Glory                115

AMONG THEM. THEY WILL BE UNABLE TO SEE
YOU. TOUCH EACH OF THEM. THE DARKNESS
YOU HAVE CARRIED BACK FROM THE REALM OF
SHADOW WILL BE ENOUGH TO SUBDUE THEM."

Tom looked out through Haborym's eyes as the angel
went among the cloaked figures, touching their flesh with
his left hand. Haborym felt a terrible sadness as he per-
formed this act. These men were fools. He could sense that
there was no harm they could do. Their only crime was
foolish, abhorrent ideas. How easy it would be for the Ves-
sel to simply remove these notions from their minds. Why
did He instead choose to deliver these backward people into
the final darkness?

Ask not, he reminded himself. Believe in the Great Plan.
And the Mercy, and Wisdom, and Strength of God.

Soon it was done. And yet none of the men had fallen.

"I don't understand," Haborym said as he rejoined the
Vessel. "The Darkness caused them no harm."

"NONE THAT IS APPARENT YET. BUT AS THEY
RETURN TO THEIR HOMES, SOME IN THIS LAND,
MANY IN OTHERS, THE PLAGUE YOU HAVE DE-
LIVERED TO THEM, THE JUDGMENT YOU HAVE
RENDERED, WILL COME TO LIGHT."

Time slipped away once again. Tom experienced more
of Haborym's memories. He was walking with the Vessel
through a crowded market when he saw one of the men
that Haborym had touched at that place of stones. The man
toppled from his feet and lay twitching in the street. Blood
beaded upon his forehead.

He'd been struck down by the Scourge.

"AND SO IT HAS BEGUN," the Vessel said.

Tom watched it all. The beginnings of the plague that
had ultimately taken his mother's life- Hers and so many
more. And he witnessed it while walking in the flesh of the
angel who had first given the Scourge to a mortal man.

Haborym.

At the Vessel's urging, Haborym traveled to many lands
spreading the disease. He became acutely aware of the pas-

116

Scott Ciencin

sage of time. So many centuries had slipped away while
he'd been trapped in Shadow. All those he loved or cared
about were dead and gone. He had assumed the role of an
Influence, one of the invisible beings who walked with man
and guided him down the path of Righteousness.

Soon, he came to see his trials as a test of his faith, his
belief in the Avatars of God and their wisdom.

Yet... all these pitiful mortals who had to suffer so.
Why was it necessary? If they had to die, he could reduce
them to ashes with a thought. There had been many such
instances of mortals spontaneously bursting into flame,
when in fact, it had been the work of angels. If, for what-
ever reason, secrecy was required, he could pick a time to
strike when no others would be present. The deaths would
be registered as disappearances.

One day, after years of labor which sat heavily upon his
heart, Haborym realized that the Vessel was no longer with
him. Even when the Vessel had not been at his side phys-
ically, he had felt the hand of God upon him. Now that
sensation had eased.

Tom watched as Haborym wandered through the realms
of man, longing to be reunited with his own kind, but shun-
ning angels because he knew that the Darkness within his
flesh would repulse them.

He came to understand that men called his touch "the
Scourge"—and sometimes thought of it as God's judgment
upon the wicked. It was not far from the truth.

And yet...

Haborym wondered if he was meant to continue his holy
work alone. Separating the righteous from the wicked was
a simple enough task, and slaying heretics was easy enough
under any circumstances.

Instead, he journeyed to a faraway land of ice that burned
with the light of day for half the year, then retreated into
night the other half. He found many people who did not

know the words of God and taught them of His love and
mercy.

"You do not believe these words yourself," one of the

Night of Glory                117

swarthy-skinned mortals native to the frozen lands had said.

It was untrue. He believed in the scriptures he quoted,
the prayers he delivered each hour. The words were un-
corrupted by contradictory acts. His was a god of love, not
a god who killed without reason, not a god who feared
ideas.

Haborym realized that he had committed the sin of not
questioning. Faith was important, yes, but blind faith could
be damning. And he had damned so many . ..

Deep within Haborym's consciousness, Tom Keeper
stirred. He knew all that Haborym had known—and more.

It wasn 'l the Second, Tom realized. The being who had
delivered Haborym from the Realm of Shadow had been a
Vessel, he had no doubts about that. But the wielder of
God's Mercy?

No.

A part of the slain Second Vessel's essence still lived
within Tom, and the more Tom experienced, the more he
became able to draw upon that power, to commune with it,
and understand its basic nature. He felt no affinity for the
being who called Himself the Second. No sympathetic vi-
bration had been struck between them.

Haborym was being deceived.

Then who was it? Which of the Vessels had taken Ha-
borym from the Realm of Shadow and set him on the path
of the assassin, spreading the plague that might one day
engulf the earth? Why?

Tom sensed that there were no answers here, only ques-
tions.

Show me more, he called to the Fourth. Show me how
Haborym became a part of you.

A year passed, then the hunters came. Warrior angels
who sought the man with the hand of Darkness. Haborym
realized that he had been betrayed. He fled the Arctic wil-
derness which had been his home and traveled the worid,
fleeing from the angels who sought his downfall.

One day, in the jungles of a land unspoiled by man,
Haborym's flight was cut short. He had been evading the

118 Scott Ciencin

hunters for days when he suddenly turned and found him-
self confronted by a figure who had the vague shape of a
man, but was devoid of all features. He was like a silhouette
in reverse. A walking absence of light, color, or darkness.
A pale, white, featureless thing.

The figure raised his hand and said, "HABORYM, AN-
GEL OF FIRE AND HOLOCAUST, I AM THE MAKER.
THE FOURTH VESSEL. HE WHO HOLDS GOD'S
MOST CHERISHED BLESSING, THE NATURE OF
CREATION ITSELF."

Haborym felt deep within his soul that this was true. He
flung himself to his knees and begged the Vessel not to
look at him. "Fire is the destroyer. You are the Creator."

"RISE," the Vessel said. "FIRE IS DESTRUCTIVE,
BUT IT IS ALSO A SYMBOL OF CREATION."

Slowly. Haborym climbed to his feet. He heard the hunt-
ers in the distance. Then he heard a terrible roar. A lion,
or tiger. Followed by screams and the sound of pitched
battle.

"I HAVE CREATED FOR YOUR TORMENTORS
SOMETHING ELSE TO OCCUPY THEIR TIME SO
THAT WE COULD BE ALONE," said the Fourth.

Haborym squinted. Sweat was pouring into his eyes. He
blamed the intense light of the fading sun and the swelter-
ing heat of the jungle for his inability to see the Vessel's
proper form. His vision blurred, and images wavered before
him.

As if He had been privy to Haborym's thoughts, the Ves-
sel said, "WE APPEAR TO OTHERS IN THE FORM OF
WHAT THEY MOST FEAR OR DESIRE. THAT IS UN-
KNOWN TO YOU, AND SO YOU SEE ME IN THIS
WAY."

Haborym fell tears well up in his eyes. "I have been ...
confused."

"YOU WERE MISLED. I KNOW WHAT'S INSIDE
YOU, AND WHAT YOU HAVE DONE WITH THE
DARKNESS THAT BECAME A PART OF YOU IN THE
REALM OF SHADOWS. BUT THERE IS MUCH I DO

Night of Glory                119

NOT KNOW. MUCH I WOULD KNOW. TELL ME ALL
THAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU SINCE THE CRU-
SADE."

Haborym dutifully recounted his interment in the crystal
garden and his years of service to his rescuer, the Second
Vessel.

"INDEED, YOU WERE MISLED," the Vessel of Cre-
ation said gravely. "AND IT MIGHT HAVE REMAINED
SO, BUT THAT THE ONE WHO SO CRUELLY USED
YOU BECAME TOO CONFIDENT IN HIS PLAN. HE
DID NOT CONSIDER THAT NOTHING NEW MAY
COME INTO EXISTENCE WITHOUT MY BLESSING,
MY WILL . .. AND THIS SCOURGE WAS NOT OF MY
MAKING. MY INVESTIGATIONS DREW HIM AWAY
FROM YOU, AND THE ANGELS WHO HAVE
STALKED YOU ARE SENT BY HIM, THROUGH OR-
DERS MANY TIMES REMOVED. HE DARED NOT
STRIKE YOU DOWN DIRECTLY, AS I HAVE BEEN
WATCHING THE OTHER VESSELS CLOSELY, HOP-
ING TO LEARN WHOSE EFFORTS BROUGHT A BE-
ING SUCH AS YOURSELF INTO THIS WORLD. NOW
ALL MUST BE PUT RIGHT." '

"Yes," Haborym said, lowering his head. "I am unclean
and must be expunged from this existence."

"ONLY THE PART OF YOU THAT IS CORRUPT,"
the Vessel said. His hand transforming into a scythe.
"HOLD OUT YOUR HAND TO ME AND I WILL TAKE
THE DARKNESS FROM YOU."

Mercy, Haborym thought. More divine and just than any
that had come from its supposed Avatar ...

Suddenly, the heavens were rent asunder. The jungle
burst into flame, and a being who was everything, who was
in all things, took form by causing the earth to rise and
explode with the form of two giant rocklike fists, which
captured Haborym and the Fourth Vessel. Unblinking eyes
carved themselves from flames.

"CREATION, YOU HAVE INTERFERED WITH THE
WORKINGS OF ANOTHER OF YOUR KIND!" cried a

120 Scoti Ciencin

voice that was the rumbling earth, the crackling flame, the
wind howling far and wide.

"JUDGMENT," the Fourth Vessel spat. "YOU HAVE
NO CAUSE. I AM NOT THE ONE WHO BROUGHT
THIS DARKNESS DOWN UPON THE EARTH. THE
GUILTY PARTY—"

' 'IS MINE!'' the First and most powerful Vessel roared.
"THAT YOU WOULD DARE INTERFERE, THAT YOU
WOULD ENTER MY DOMAIN WILLINGLY AND
PASS JUDGMENT ON A FELLOW VESSEL LABELS
YOU AS MAD!"

"NO!" the Fourth screamed. "LET ME EXPLAIN!"

There was no reasoning with the First Vessel. Its hands
pressed together, and Haborym and the Fourth became one.

Tom Keeper now understood that the madness he had
glimpsed within the Fourth had been the Vessel's punish-
ment for daring to intercede in affairs that concerned only
the First and His prey—the Vessel who brought Haborym
back from the Realm of Shadow.

He suddenly found himself exiled from the body, mind,
and spirit of Haborym, because that being was now a part
of the Fourth, and though the Vessel of Creation was, in
many ways, insane. He was not foolish enough to allow
someone with the power Tom wielded to truly step inside
His mind and know His secrets,

Tom was back in the street, standing before the Vessel.
Kayriis was nearby. No more than a heartbeat had passed
since she'd screamed his name. Not for her, in any case.

"Don't worry," Tom said, withdrawing his hand from
the Vessel. "I'm all right."

That, of course, wasn't entirely true. Tom knew that he
was more than all right. He now understood so much. And
he finally had an idea of what the Fourth wanted from him.

The Vessel sensed his thoughts and smiled. "Behold, I
show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall
all be changed; in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at
the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead
shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For

Night of Glory                121

this corruptible must put on incorruption. and this mortal
must put on immortality.''

"Tom, what's happening?" Kayrlis asked-

"It's a mystery play," Tom whispered. He looked to the
Vessel. "You want me to make it right. To solve the mys-
tery and find out which of the Vessels brought the Scourge
to earth."

Tom knew there was more that the Vessel wanted. Much
more. But he didn't have the strength to put words to what
he felt in his heart.

"Tom, please," Kayrlis whispered. "I love you."

"And I love you," he said. Tom put his hand out to
Kayrlis. She came to him and gripped it fiercely. He waited
for the familiar sensations of her memories to flow into
him, though he was guarded against it. Nothing happened.

Tom couldn't tell if the power the Fourth had granted
him had run its course and was gone—or if he had finally
learned how to tame it. The Vessel looked at him expec-
tantly, waiting for his answer. Tom said, "I'll do what I
have to do to keep my family safe."

The Vessel giggled and leaped about in triumph. He ges-
tured, and suddenly the creatures He had created appeared
around him. "Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from
speaking guile. Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace,
and pursue it.''

With a gesture, He caused His entourage to vanish. Then
He went to the amber drawbridge, lithely prancing back-
ward. "Rescue my soul from their destructions, my darling
from the lions'"

"I'll do what I can," Tom said. "No promises."

' 'How excellent is thy loving kindness, 0 God!'' the Ves-
sel shouted, throwing his head back and reaching for the
sky. The amber drawbridge retreated in a brilliant flash of
light, calling the Vessel back to the heavens.

Just as quickly. He was gone.

SECOND INTERLUDE

<-^

HE WAS KNOWN AS THE ASSASSIN OF INVENTION. IN

truth, he was an Angel of Lost Things, but somehow, that
title wasn't fierce enough to convey his true nature and
purpose.

The Assassin was quartered in one of the many palaces
in the City of the Vessels. He was tending to his menagerie
when he heard a soft knock at the door to his outer cham-
ber. Stepping out of the room housing his prize collection,
he closed the double doors firmly and blew them a kiss. In
response, the doors melted into the wall and became un-
detectable.

He was about to see who had decided to visit him with-
out an appointment when he heard a ruckus from the mar-
ble hall outside.

"Stay!" a boy's voice barked. "Wait! Okay? Wait!"

The knock came again.

"Oh fearsome one!" cried another, more familiar voice.
A mad, high, singsong. "It is I, Appolion, the destroyer,
Angel of the Bottomless Pit, and all that good stuff."

The Assassin sighed. He spoke an incantation that re-
leased the many locks securing the door in place, then
stepped back. In the polished surface of the doorknob he
could see his reflection clearly. The sash of his golden robe

122

Night of Glory                125

was loose, and so he fixed it. His sandals were clean, his
feet freshly anointed. His long silver hair curled down
around his face- His scars were only mildly hideous today.
It all depended on the light. With effort, he caused the color
of his eyes to stop changing. That always seemed to upset
visitors for some reason, he'd found.

* 'Enter, you blithering nit,'' the Assassin called.

The door swung in and the naked, black-haired Apollo
entered with a series of tumbles and somersaults. The As-
sassin was fully prepared with a caustic remark—but then
something unthinkable occurred. What looked to all ap-
pearances like a human child entered directly behind
Apollo, perfectly duplicating the angel's movements. First
Apollo, then the boy, sprang to their feet, and bowed.

"Well?" Apollo asked. "I thought we might take our
little act from one Heavenly City to another, entertaining
the bored and pitifully antisocial like yourself. What do you
think?"

The Assassin stared at his friend coldly. "What have you
done?''

"Done?" Apollo cried, setting his hands on his hips. "I
have brought my dear friend here to see you. What does it
look like I've done?"

"It looks like you've brought a mortal to my chambers."

"A mortal!" Apollo croaked. "Really! And here I
thought it was common knowledge that any mortal would
go insane if he were to step foot in the True Lands."

"Once, perhaps, that was true. But I've heard rumors
that mortals have made the crossing without suffering ill
effects. Supposedly, it happened recently, in Abaddon."

"That pit!" Apollo cried. "Who believes anything the
higher-ups have to say about what happened there? You ask
me, a certain Higher Power got a little distracted and—''

"Excuse me!" the boy chirped up. "Forgive me, 1 don't
mean to be impertinent."

Apollo put his arm around the lad. "That's all right,
clearly you can't help yourself."

124 Scott Ciencin

"But I am mortal," Cameron said.

"There he goes again!" Apollo screamed- "I love it!
He's been spinning that tale for some time now. But I know
he's really an angel in the midst of very convincing Cha-
rade. You should see what he has out in the corridor. It's
hilarious!"

The Assassin appeared unmoved. "Did it ever occur \o
you that this boy might be telling the truth?"

Apollo rested one arm on the Assassin's shoulder. "Did
it ever occur to you that I'm not a complete fool?"

"Frankly, no."

"Reach out with your power, as I did. You'll see that
he's possessed of certain qualities that no human could
bear."

The Assassin did so. The lad's form was brimming with
magic. So much that it startled the Assassin. He looked
down at the boy. "Give me your hand."

The hand came up—and the Assassin leaped back, a
spell leaving his lips. A dozen fiery spears manifested them-
selves and took aim at the boy from every direction. The
boy's jaw dropped. He regarded the weapons pointed at
him with pure terror.

"The ring!" cried the silver-haired Assassin.

"Yes!" Apollo laughed. "Isn't it wonderful? It proves
my theory beyond any shadow of a doubt- I mean, what
mortal could wear that ring and not be burnt to a crisp by
its power?"

Suddenly, a dozen crimson-eyed warrior angels stormed
into the room, weapons and hexes raised. The Assassin
sized up their threat quickly. He knew that he could defeat
all of them, perhaps even ten score their number. But his
quarters would doubtlessly be ruined in such a battle, and
his precious menagerie might even be harmed.

"Stand down," he commanded.

The boy's protectors did not stand down. In fact, the
angel who was clearly the commander of this unnerving lot
bellowed. "Harm him and we will consume your flesh and
your soul!''

Night of Glory                125

"Is this all of them?" the Assassin whispered.

"Oh, no. He has about seventy with him."

The Assassin sighed with relief. The ring that might have
bound him and many other living angels had already been
put to work on the dead. He gestured, and the fiery spears
he created faded from existence.

"Send away your warriors,*' the Assassin said.

The boy was shaking.

"Do it!"

"Go!" the lad cried. "I don't need you! I'm fine!"

The dull-eyed warriors turned and filed out of the room.
The Assassin slammed the door shut behind them.

"Perhaps we should have the twins look at him," the
Assassin said.

"As if you could get the time of day from them."

"I could."

"Whatever."

The Assassin of Invention looked to the boy once again.
The child was shaking. Good- Fear always made things
easier. "Indulging in a Charade, are you? I can summon
those who can see past any veil, who can penetrate—"

"Oh, stop being so dramatic!" Apollo wailed. "Don't
you understand what's happening here? This is fun! It's a
mystery, and we have to solve it. Find out who and what
he is. He could be anything. An Angel of Shadows. An
Angel of Deception. An Angel of Forgetfulness."

"Forgetfulness ..." the Assassin nodded. "That is plau-
sible, If I had surrendered to a Guile like the King of Sol-
omon and I had the power to inflict forgetfulness upon
myself, I would do so. It would explain why he thinks he's
something he's not."

"Your problem is that you always wish to rush things,"
said Apollo. "It's why no one ever wants to associate with
you strictly for pleasure. Except me, that is. And I hardly
have to curry favor with anyone, as you're well aware."

"You really should consider clothing. Your immodesty
upsets many."

"This is how God made us, isn't it?" the naked angel

Scott Ciencin

cried. He hopped up and down. The boy couldn't help but
giggle at the flapping sounds made by certain portions of
his anatomy.

"Doesn't that hurt?" the Assassin asked. "Never
mind." He scrutinized the boy a bit longer. "I suppose he
could be an Angel of Mysteries."

"There! Now you're getting into the spirit of it!"

The angels went off to a comer, poured some wine, and
discussed the matter in detail. Cameron stood alone, watch-
ing them. He felt quite torn.

He understood that it was a sin to deceive one who was
of God, but when he'd been taught that lesson it had re-
ferred to mortal teachers. Angels could not truly be de-
ceived—unless, perhaps, they wished to be.

Yes, he decided. If this was a game, a way the angels
sought to pleasure themselves. It would be a sin for him to
rob them of their enjoyment.

Smiling, Cameron said, "I'll play along."

"Ah!" Apollo cried. "Good lad. See? See? I told you it
was all a game!"

"I don't see," the Assassin said, running his hand over
his face. "But I wilt." His expression changed. "Dismiss
the boy. We have to talk."

"Wait for us in the hall, would you?" Apollo asked.

"Of course," Cameron said. He left the chamber and
found his warriors waiting patiently outside.

After several moments, he said, "This is boring. Do any
of you like to play games? Apollo did. He took right to the
tumbling and stuff I taught him."

"We are at your command," one of the angels said.

Cameron thought it over, then frowned. "No, that's
okay. It's kinda like—if I have to tell you to do something
it takes the fun out of it, y'know?"

"You wish for us to be spontaneous?"

"No!" Cameron said quickly. "No, that might not be a
good idea, either. I just wish I knew what they were talking
about in there."

A bald angel stepped forward. He placed his hand on the

Night of Glory                127

wall, then opened his mouth. Two different voices emerged.

"I suppose you've heard the news," said the silver-
haired angel.

"Oh, yes," Apollo responded. "About the death of the
Second?"

Cameron was startled. The angels were allowing him to
hear the conversation going on inside the Assassin's cham-
bers!

"It was officially announced today," silver-hair said.

"I heard about it a week ago."

Cameron was startled by what he overheard, but he de-
cided that this too was part of the game. It had to be. And
so he forced himself not to show undue alarm. After all,
the angels couldn't really be talking about the passing of a
Vessel, could they? The Vessels were immortal. Undying.

A foolish thought. Still., .

"His Emissary put himself to the flame," said silver-
hair, "forfeiting his claim to Ascendance."

"Well, yes, that would do it, wouldn't it? One must be
living to give oneself over to an Aspect of God."

"That leaves seven candidates. You and I and the other
five. Seven among whom one must be chosen to be risen
up—"

"Why only seven?" Apollo asked.

"The Fourth is still in hiding. He has no Emissary, so
far as any of us know. And he has not chosen a champion."

"It could be the boy," Apollo said.

"What boy?"

"The one I brought to you for our amusement! Our mys-
terious stranger. No epic drama such as the one we must
enact would be complete without a mysterious stranger,
don't you think?"

"Perhaps."

"You're troubled," Apollo said.

"It will come down to blood." the Assassin said. "The
fields of jade will be slick with it. And I have no wish to
kill you."

"Then don't."

128 Scott Ciencin

"Are you withdrawing?"

"Of course not. I'm simply suggesting that if you love
me so much, let me win."

The Assassin laughed. A brutal, chilling laugh. "In all
honesty, 1 have no wish to become a Vessel. But of all the
candidates ..."

"Yes, I see, I see. We already have one mad Vessel
prancing about in the heavens. God only knows what shape
any of the worlds would be in if there were two of us up
there. Or out there—or wherever it is the Vessels reside
when they are not in the city-*'

"My point exactly."

Cameron listened as two more glasses of wine were
poured. The glasses clinked together.

"Let God decide," the Assassin whispered.

"Amen."

The angel removed his hand from the wall. "They're
coming.''

Cameron tried to comprehend all that he had heard. He
was well aware that the angels were immortal, spiritual be-
ings who took on the indignities of flesh so they could
properly shepherd their human flock. But the very idea that
the Vessels were anything less than God Himself, that to
become a Vessel was a station one could covet and kill
for—

The door opened.

Apollo leaped out, performing another of the tricks Cam-
eron had taught him. But he miscalculated how near he was
to the wall, and fell in a ridiculous heap.

"Ow," he moaned.

"Clothing!" silver-hair bellowed from within. "It will
protect your sweet spots!"

"Ah," replied Apollo.

Silver-hair's door closed.

Cameron swallowed hard. "Are you all right?"

Leaping to his feet, Apollo said, "I know an excellent
tailor. He'll want a crack at solving the mystery you pres-

Night of Glory                129

ent, as well. Tell me, lad—would you seriously consider
performing for a few friends of mine?"

"I'd love it!" Cameron said, doing his best to banish
the concern he felt over what he'd heard. But he couldn't
dispel his unease completely, even when presented with an
opportunity to do what he loved most in the world.

Apollo looked at Cameron's entourage. "And maybe we
could have them serve wine, or hors-d'oeuvres, or some-
thing ..."

Cameron laughed and continued on his way with his
friend.

While inside the chamber of the Assassin of Invention,
the door to the menagerie appeared once more. The Assas-
sin entered the room and rumbled for a chain that hung
overhead.

Light flooded the room from a series of long round bulbs
he had installed in the walls. The faint whir of the electric
generator he had made out of various prizes from his quests
came to the Assassin. The sound comforted him in ways
that even the finest wines or the most beautiful music could
not.

He surveyed the expanse of his menagerie. In reality, it
was little more than some shelves packed with mementos,
and a few long tables with larger items, machines, mostly,
with a scattering of spirit boxes and unbound manuscripts.

He loved these things. Each and every one of them. En-
tering the room, the Assassin wondered what to look at
first. His hand brushed across a sheaf of papers.

He stood up straight, speaking as he might to a guest
he'd chosen to entertain. "You might enjoy this. It's called
'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.' A wonderful tale. So
far as I'm aware, the only people who have read it—besides
me, that is—would be the author and a little girl named
Liddell who came to a most unfortunate end.

"Don't look at me so. The ways of God may seem harsh
and cruel to you, but I assure you, her spirit went free and
she is in a better place. Of the author, well, this Dodgson
fellow, or Carroll, whatever he's calling himself these days,

150 Scott Ciencin

has caught the eye of the Vessels. They feel he may be
useful, with the proper training. So you see, not every story
has an unhappy end. It's not all, 'Off with their heads!' "

He chuckled, recalling the wonder of the story before
him. Turning, he stopped before one of many lacquered
boxes. The Assassin tapped on a solid black box with three
initials carved into its side. "I've heard it said that I possess
the soul of a poet. The truth is, I possess many.

"Do you see the initials carved here? E.A.P.? Do they
mean anything to you? I thought not. What a morose and
comical little fellow. Nevermore indeed."

He looked up sharply as if his "visitor" had said some-
thing intriguing. The Assassin asked, "Would you like to
hear him recite? No? Perhaps another lime. Rest well,
Eddie."

The Assassin surveyed his kingdom once more. The
walls themselves seemed to glow, and the strange objects
sitting on its shelves sparkled.

"Look around you. Take your time." He pointed to a
glittering shelf. *'Up there you will see what its creator
called a hair slide. It's made from a substance called Par-
kesine, named after its creator, the chemist Alexander
Parks. Feel it."

The Assassin took the hair slide from its shelf and played
with it. "See how it bends? Odd, don't you think? Parks
made it from cotton fiber and mothballs. Our prophets
claimed that unchecked, this substance would go on to
change much in the world. A man named John Wesley
Hyatt would improve on it and call it celluloid. The term
plastics would also come into the parlance. But—don't
worry—that won't happen now. It's all links in a chain,
you see. And my job is to sever those links. I often find
regret in my work. But at least..."

He gestured at the width and breadth of his menagerie.
"At least 1 know these treasures are not really lost."

Picking up a large silver device with a long barrel and a
wooden stock, the Assassin said, "This is a revolver. Can't
have that. Too easy to kill with something like that."

Night of Glory                151

The angel grabbed a pair of glasses from the shelf. "Bi-
focals. The orders I received were actually a bit hasty in
this case. The invention had to be made through other
means.

"Grenades. We actually may use these at some point.
Kerosene. We're still considering this. The telegraph, the
printing press—no room in here. Next time, I'll show you
the camera obscura, the compound microscope, and even
instruct you in their uses, or show you how an electric
battery and filaments create the light in this room.

"All that really matters is that these inventions were
meant to further mankind. To elevate the race. And now
that will never happen."

He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his acquisi-
tions. Slowly, sadly, and with reverence.

"Gone," he whispered, "but not forgotten ..."

^
Nine

TOM'S FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS WAS TO SEND RIDERS

to the nearby hills and back. When they returned and
reported no difficulties in traveling well beyond the
borders of the settlement, Tom knew that the Fourth's quar-
antine was at an end.

He returned to the Curacas's quarters for some much
needed sleep and was surprised to find the minotaur still
sitting before the ivory chest. The minotaur wasn't alone.
A half dozen children played with him. Two sat on his lap
while he contemplated the mystery and spun tales of his
mythological heritage.

Tom watched him until the minotaur finally looked over
his shoulder and observed, "You're staring. There must be
a reason.''

"No," Tom began, "I—"

' 'I/you think you can tell a better tale, then by all means,
Lord Keeper, you have my blessing to try.''

"It's not that," Tom said with a warm smile- "I just
think it's great that you're all having fun."

' 'Oh, good.'' The minotaur waited. ' 'Is there something
else?"

Tom looked away. He knew that he shouldn't have been

132

Night of Glory                135

totally surprised to learn that the minotaur had been left
behind. The winged men were still circling somewhere high
above. Tom couldn't see them, but he'd somehow been able
to sense their presence nonetheless.

' 'Actually,'' the minotaur said, ' 'there's something I
should mention to you. The ivory chest. These pictures.
They change. Were you aware of that?''

"No," Tom said, yawning. Right at the moment, he re-
ally didn't care.

"/ think it's a way of opening the chest. One looks at
the pictures, and then has only a short time to try to de-
cipher their message. Acompllsh this quickly enough and
the chest will open. If not, the pictures change again. I have
managed to piece together several of the riddles, but it has
always been long after they've changed. But I will keep at
it.''

"Good," Tom said. "You do that."

He lay in the comer upon one of the mats and closed his
eyes. Despite the children's giggling and the minotaur's
low booming voice, he found himself drifting off to sleep-

"All right, little ones," the minotaur said, "we have four
angels wearing masks in the first picture. In the second—''

"How do we know they're angels?" one of the children
asked.

"You can see that in the next picture, when they lower
the masks.''

"But how do we know it's the same four in both pic-
tures?"

' 'They're dressed the same.''

"It could be someone else pretending to be angels. Wear-
ing their clothes."

Or it could be, Tom thought as sleep descended on him,
that they 're not angels at all.

The darkness closed over him. If he had been awake a
moment later, he might have heard the gasps of wonder
that filled the room as the chest suddenly opened. But that
was not to be.

134 Scott Ciencin

For a short, blessed time, Tom knew nothing but obliv-
ion. He wasn't troubled by dreams.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes. Before him. the stars were
black diamonds set against a cloudless, ivory sky. Shim-
mering winged beasts carved from jade flew in concentric
rings toward a fiery shape in the distance.

He knew where he'd gone, and so he followed the
winged beasts.

Soon, Tom found himself before a familiar presence- The
flame guardian floated in the void, arms outstretched, his
back turned. His body was engulfed by flames, but he
barely seemed to notice.

Tom had been guided through much of his journey by
visions of the burning man. But he didn't know who this
figure really was, or what it wanted. Tom had acted entirely
on faith.

He wondered if the powers granted him by the Fourth
Vessel were really gone. It was possible that all the Fourth
had done was show Tom how to use abilities he already
possessed, but had no idea how to wield.

Like the power to know another being's secrets with only
a touch ...

He reached out, then hesitated. He wasn't worried that
he wouid be burned by the fires engulfing the flame guard-
ian. It was something else.

"I can't," Tom said, allowing his hand to fall away.

The flame guardian nodded and turned to face him. "I'm
pleased. Trust is a sacred thing.''

"I've trusted you."

"And you've been well rewarded/or that trust."

"I never wanted rewards. All I've wanted since this
whole thing began was freedom."

"Freedom to he an artist? To paint what you would like
rather than what you are told to paint? Your quest has been
about so much more than that. And we both know it. Free-
dom is a reward.''

"No. It's a right. Or it should be."

"You're disappointing me. We're so close now. Don't

Night of Glory                135

lose faith. Without faith, all of this is meaningless.

Tom looked down at himself for the first time. The runes
that had been scrawled on his body the first time he had
appeared in the flame guardian's presence were back. And
despite the knowledge and power he held, Tom couldn't
read them.

"What are these runes?" Tom asked. "Why are there
still so many secrets being kept from me? I've got a part
of the Second inside of me- I should know, but I don't."

' 'For you to fulfill your destiny, you must first know the
truth.''

"Then tell me!"

"You have to learn it for yourself, or else it won't mean
anything to you.

"I want to know who you are. I want to know what's
expected of me."

The flame guardian was silent.

"Were you human? Are you human? An Elven? Can you
understand these things, why it's so important for me to
know?"

"There are things I can show you. Things you need to
see.''

"Please!"

There was a degree of hesitation in the flame guardian's
voice as he said, "They won't please you."

As the flame guardian gestured, a shimmering portal be-
gan to take shape before them ...

Grin caught up with Aitan Anzelm an hour's ride from
Genesis. The warrior angel had wandered from the main
road and sat on the brink of a sharp drop bordering a mag-
nificent valley. The mountains in the distance looked like
insubstantial wraiths- The sun beat down with a comforting
warmth that Grin could only barely feel, despite the layers
of armor that had been seared into his flesh.

"You wanted to talk," Grin said-

"Did I? I don't remember asking."

156 Scott Ciencin

"Your sunny disposition did the speaking for you."

Aitan smiled sadly, "I don't know that I should go on
with you and the boy. The time may have come for me to
pursue a path alone."

"In other words, you're not so powerful without the aid
of your Patron, Mithra, who is now beyond any question
our enemy. And so you feel that you might be more of a
detriment to the cause than an aid. Is that right?"

"Partially," Aitan admitted.

"Let me -see if I can guess the rest. You're on constant
guard because the connection you once had to Mithra, to
call upon him for Power, now leaves you vulnerable to him.
You're afraid that he can look out through your eyes, listen
through your ears, and maybe even speak through your tips.
Correct?"

Aitan's eyes took on a hunted look. "If I'm weak."

"And to take that one step further, since Mithra is allied
with Komm Kayriel, our mortal enemy, you fear that your
Patron could reach inside you and accomplish what Kayriel
has been after from the beginning: Corrupting that portion
of Kayriel's essence that was placed inside you many years
ago, when he was still pure. That bit of himself he gave so
you might live."

"There is that, too. Yes."

Grin nodded, then closed his eyes and tilted his head
back. He moved his face so that he was directly in line with
the sun. "You're a fool."

Aitan turned suddenly. "What?"

His smile spreading. Grin said, "A fool and a coward."

"How—how—how dare—" Aitan stammered with
rage.

"Oh, don't start posing. We both know I'm your better."

"Don't be so sure of that," Aitan said, taking a few steps
back and gesturing quickly.

"I walked with a Vessel. Do you think you can frighten
me with your petty incantations?''

Aitan whispered a word of Power, and suddenly the earth
rose up and tossed the former Emissary from his feet. He

Night of Glory                157

landed hard and rolled fifty meters down a sharp slope be-
fore coming to an undignified thudding stop.

Aitan walked down the slope, a surprising spring in his
step. "In all honesty. Lord Skalhgrin, I have felt strangely
renewed since returning from the Realm of Shadow."

Grin rose up, and Aitan manifested a giant hand made
of solid air that thundered down upon the former Emissary.
Grin shuddered under the force of the blow, then raised up
his hands and caught the palm of the sorcerous construct
before it could descend on him again. He used all his
strength to hold it back.

"I know it should not be so—but there it is." Aitan
gestured, and a second hand came into existence. This one
clapped together with the first, causing Grin to cry out as
he was pounded between the two. The former Emissary's
armors began to crack. With a supreme effort he freed him-
self and fell another dozen feet.

Aitan saw that Grin was scrambling his way, about to
launch a counterattack. He anticipated the older mage's
every spell and stopped Grin from casting even one of
them. Then he brought a sphere of protection into existence
and sealed Grin within it. Another spell sucked the air out
of it, and another still caused it to freeze solid.

"I had feared that such Power had been placed within
me by my Enemies, as a source of temptation," Aitan said.
"And that to yield to it would be the same as allowing
them to win."

Aitan was not surprised when Grin burst from his frozen
prison. He'd allowed several openings so that the mage
could do exactly that. Perfect. By escaping one trap, the
former Emissary had walked into an even greater one.

All around Grin, the earth ruptured, and flames spat up
at him. A shrill cry escaped Grin as he was consumed.

"But right now—I don't care!" Aitan screamed. He fo-
cused his rage over all that had been done to him and in-
cinerated his friend. Grin's body exploded from within,
spewing shards of armor and charred flesh in every direc-
tion.

158

Scott Ciencin

And Aitan Anzelm, his eyes blazing with a fire unlike
any he had ever known before, was glad.

A portal opened, a dark swirling mass that quickly rec-
onciled itself into an image of Tom's father sitting alone in
a tiny chamber.

"Papa," Tom whispered. To his surprise, his father
looked up from the scroll he'd been reading by candlelight.

' 'Go to him, if that is your wish,'' the flame guardian
said.

Tom looked again at his naked form and the strange
runes painted on his flesh.

' 'He 'II see you much the same as when you left,'' me
guardian explained. "Go if you so desire. The choice is
entirely yours."

Why had the flame guardian warned thai this wouldn't
please him? Tom was overcome with happiness! He'd
feared that he would never see his father again.

Tom stepped through the portal. He found himself
dressed neatly in boots, britches, and overshirt, standing
behind his father, near the only door leading in or out of
this chamber. For a moment, he wondered if this room was
located somewhere underground. It was cold and damp,
mere were no windows, and even the hall—or whatever lay
beyond the single door—was without light.

"Papa?" Tom said.

His father, a bear of a man with wild hair and a barrel
chest, spun in his direction- His hand fell on something
Tom hadn't noticed before: a crossbow.

Recognition lit up Saul Keeper's face. His hand dropped
from the weapon as a wave of emotion washed over him.
His lips and fingers shook as he tried several times to say
his son's name. Finally, he simply rose, crossing the short
distance separating them with uncharacteristic speed for a
man of his size. He caught up his son in a powerful hug.

"Tom," he said finally, stunned. He pulled away and
caught his son's face in his hands. He looked as if he

Night of Glory                159

wanted to say any of a dozen things, but his words and
thoughts were a jumble for him.

"I've missed you," Tom said.

Saul Keeper nodded, and hugged his son tightly. After
several moments had passed, the embrace ended. Saul
looked about, seemingly embarrassed—and something else,
Tom noted.

Worried.

"We should quit this room," Saul said. "This is no
proper place for a reunion. And I know Catherine will be
thrilled to see you. Your sister's more than fulfilled her
promise, you should know. Working herself to the exclu-
sion of all else so that Keeper House thrives, even in trying
times. Of course, you and I know that it's forgetfulness she
desires."

Tom nodded. The Curacas of Hope had denied her pe-
tition for marriage and instead sent her beloved to battle in
the Crusades that still went on in faraway lands.

"Then there's Gus—" Saul began.

"Papa. it's you I've come to see."

Saul Keeper stared at his son "for a time. The concern
he'd displayed deepened, and was overlaid with fear so
palpable that Tom could feel it emanating from him in
waves.

"Tell me that you're not dead," Saul whispered
hoarsely, "that you're not an apparition."

"No," Tom said. "Not that."

"Then am I dreaming? I don't—" he looked around the
tiny chamber once more. "I don't remember falling asleep,
I rarely do in this place ..."

"I'm here," Tom said. "That has to be enough for
now."

"But you're not staying."

"I can't. I wish I could."

"Ah," Saul said, looking down at his heavy boots.

Suddenly, the words of the Strega came to Tom. Mother
Jael's words. "I've learned that you can be wide awake

140 Scott Ciencin

and still dreaming. And dreams are a way to reach people.
To touch them even over great distances."

"The angels have allowed this?"

Tom considered the flame guardian, and the incredible
power he wielded. "Yes, Papa. It's by their leave."

Saul's eyes narrowed. "Why? What's wrong?"

Before Tom could reply, his father spat, 'Taw! I'm be-
ing a suspicious foot, aren't I? And giving you far less
credit than you deserve, I'm sure. It's that you've so dis-
tinguished yourself in the service of the angels that they've
given us this time as a reward, yes?"

Smiling, Tom nodded. He hated lying, but the truth was
so complicated, and, in many ways, damning. If his father
honestly understood the danger he was in, he would want
to help, to be involved somehow. And there was nothing
he could do.

"What is this place?" Tom asked.

Saui sighed heavily. "Just—somewhere I go when I
need to be alone. When solitude is the only answer."

Tom sensed that his father wasn't telling him the entire
truth. Then he noticed a drawing that had been framed and
hung on the wall. One of his old drawings. A sketch of his
mother's face etched into the moon. He'd been drawing this
when he first heard Aitan Anzelm's approach. "How—"

"Oh, that." Saul smiled sheepishly- "Your Lord gave it
to me."

He means Aitan, Tom thought. He doesn't understand
about the angels. Who and what they really are. Practically
no one does. Not even them. It had been so easy to lose
sight of that fact, to see the world only in terms of how his
life had been affected. For the vast majority, life was as it
had always been.

He knew how the Fall of Abaddon had been viewed by
many in Genesis. They had been told that a battle had been
waged to hold the Enemy in check and that Abaddon had
been recalled to the heavens in an effort to protect the par-
adise that was the earth.

Tom wondered if this was the only view of what had

Night of Glory                141

occurred. "Papa—before I left, you confessed to me that
you were a—"

Tom had to stop himself. Despite all that had happened
to him and all he had learned, he had been about to use the
term "Prostink."

"That 1 was part of the Protestant Liberation Front,"
Saul said.

Tom nodded.

Saul's face hardened. "Is that it, then? Have you come
to cleanse me? To deliver me for my sins?"

Tom was shocked. Delivering someone was a more po-
lite way of describing an execution. "Papa, no! I could
never do you harm."

"Do you seek to redeem me, then?" Saul asked with a
frown. "I'm sure that your days in the service of the angels
have made you most pious."

"No," Tom said. This was going terribly wrong. "I just
had a question, that's all. One that's for me, not for the
angels."

"Ah," Saul said. He seemed to shrink into himself, as
if his years had caught up with him in a single heartbeat.
He went to his chair and slowly lowered himself into it.
"Forgive me, Tom. I've had ... too much time on my
hands since your mother's death. Too much time to think."

For the first time, Tom paid attention to the words written
on the scrolls before his father.

"Christ?" Tom asked. "Who—?"

"A savior. A mortal savior. The son of God."

Tom shook his head. The concept was so heretical to
Tom that he reeled in its light.

"In the old writings," Sau! explained, "it's said that
Christ delivered the Sermon on the Mount. That it is re-
ferred to as the Beatitudes, not that the Beatitudes are a
group of angels who said these important words."

"Oh," Tom said.

"The changes," Saul said ruefully. "So much that was
changed with the Coming of the Host. And so much should
change. The selling of indulgences is by definition a sin,

142 Scott Ciencin

yet it occurs with many Curacases. One can only believe
that it happens with the blessings of the most holy. That
I cannot abide. To pay one's way out of purgatory? To
make a contribution to absolve oneself one's sins instead
of making true reparation and cleansing oneself in prayer
to God—"

"Papa," Tom said, "what do you know of the Fail of
Abaddon?"

Saul shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Please tell me," Tom said, kneeling before his father
and clasping his hand. He felt the inner glow of the Power
rising up within him, and he wondered if he possessed the
ability not only to divine Truth, but also to force others to
speak it.

"Your eyes," Saul said in a high, brittle voice.

Tom turned away, forcing the Power back under control.
He looked back to his father.

Saul laughed nervously. ' 'Forgive me. A trick of the can-
dle's glow, I'm sure."

"Please tell me," Tom said. "The Fall of Abaddon."

"Why is it important to you?"

"I can't explain."

"You mean you don't want to."

Tom hesitated, then nodded. "That's right. I have my
reasons for asking. I hope that's enough for you."

Saul smiled. He shifted his gaze upward. "Your sister is
a wonder, but... we could fill every room in this place,
yet it still feels empty without you. I thought you would
be the last to leave. You're so much like your mother. More
than Catherine or Gus, though I love them as much as I
love you. It was selfish of me, but I always prayed you
would be the last to leave. That you would be at my side
when my time came."

Tom didn't know what to say.

"But there is what we have been taught: God answers
all prayers; sometimes the answer is no."

"I believe that's so," Tom said. He watched as his father

Night of Glory                145

straightened in his chair. His jaw thrust out proudly, and
an inner fire seemed to alight in his eyes.

"There are Witnesses," Saul said. "Those who tended
the fields and gathered the harvests for the angels of Abad-
don. Those who built the roads leading away from the city,
those who manned the waterways, the many ports and trad-
ing posts nearby. They saw the heavens part, they saw the
war of darkness and light. And when it was over, they went
to what was left of the Heavenly City. What they found
there was ruins. And bodies."

Tom shuddered. "Yes."

"They walked within a Heavenly City. They weren't
struck down by God. The things they saw ..."

"And—what about these Witnesses now?"

"They walk the earth and tell those they trust what
they've seen. Some have books from the fallen library of
that city. Others have swords taken from the hands of fallen
angels. Bits of charred armor. These they display as proof.
Many have made drawings of what they saw."

"What do you think it means?" Tom asked.

Saul shrugged. "We are not meant to question- We're
not meant to think. But it is in our nature to do so."

"Yes."

"So my question is, what do you think, Tom? Are we
Protestants heretics, because we want the books of God to
be available to all? Because we wish to hear sermons in a
language the common man can understand, not the Latin?
That we wish to conclude for ourselves what the Teachings
mean, and we wish to know if it is true, if a child of God
truly walked the earth?"

"We're all children of God," Tom whispered.

Saul gestured at the books and scrolls lining the comers
of the room. ' 'One day, when you can, return here. And I
will show you such wonders ..."

"I will." Suddenly, Tom was overcome with emotion.
He couldn't hold back his tears. "You know I love you,"
he said. "And I miss you. No matter what, I'll always love
you."

144 Scott Ciencin

Saul beamed at his son. "And I'll always love you. Are
you sure you can't stay long enough to see Catherine and
Gus? They'll want to see you."

"No, I... I have many duties.'*

They embraced once more, then Saul turned back to his
scroll, and Tom backed away from him. He knew that he
would touch the far wall in a moment, but he walked on,
passing through where the wall should have been. The vi-
sion of his father grew dimmer, until it was snuffed out like
a candle flame and he found himself floating before one of
the many black stars in the ivory sky where the flame
guardian waited.

"You've learned much," the flame guardian said. "You
now understand the temptations that come along with your
power, and you understand how easily power can be
abused. You tempered your desire to know of my past by
reminding yourself that knowledge taken by force is worth
less than knowledge freely given, and you spared your fa-
ther the understanding that his son was now more than a
mortal, though less than a god, much like the Elven them-
selves. ''

"Stop it!" Tom snapped. "Just answer one simple ques-
tion: This vision you showed me—was it supposed to bring
comfort? 0 did you warn me because you knew it would
not?"

The burning man said nothing.

* 'Was it supposed to tell me that even if I fail, the Truth
will find its way into the hearts of mortals?"

' 'Blessed are those who do not see and yet believe.''

"The Beatitudes," Tom whispered.

The flame guardian nodded. "There are no easy an-
swers. If I've taught you anything at all it should be that.
Consider that if you succeed, you may well bring Truth into
the world. Whether or not that is a good thing is for you
to decide. Truth often complicates things more than lies.''

"1 don't understand."

"The Elven preyed upon man's need for physical proof
of matters that only have meaning if they are taken upon

Night of Glory                145

faith. That may sound contradictory, but man is a contra-
dictory creature. For so long as mankind existed, the ques-
tion of whether or not they were alone, if there truly was
life after death, if there was a maker, a God, had been
vigorously argued. Wars, countless wars, had been fought
about this, and about whose vision of God was correct..."

"Which was correct?" Tom asked.

The flame guardian said nothing for a time. Then, ' "The
Elven faced a similar crisis. They knew that their gods had
once been individuals like themselves who had walked a
path that few can ever walk. Whether the Nine lifted them-
selves up or were lifted up is something they didn't know.
Even those you now call the Vessels never knew the truth
of this.''

"But you do."

' 'The Elven needed the lie as much as mortal men. They
cling to it now just as humans do because it provides easy
answers. Life after death? Of course. See how I sever the
soul from a man and make it speak. Are there miracles?
Naturally, for what else is magic? Does God exist? You are
looking upon the faces of His servants. You have seen the
coming of His cities. You know of His Vessels and through
them you may say that God the limitless is limited and
placed in a form you may touch. And of the varied Truths
of the myriad religions of the people of this world, all are
right and ail are wrong. The Elven's Truth offers absolutes.
Isn 't that what all mankind quests for? Isn 't that what you
want from me?"

"I don't know," Tom said. Then he was quiet for a
moment and he whispered, "Yes."

' 'Faith is the only absolute.''

"But faith in what?" Tom asked. "Faith in you? When
you're a mystery to me? Faith in your words, when they
act like snakes eating their own tails? What am I supposed
to have faith in ?''

"Yourself. Your capacity for love. And your knowledge
thai God, by whatever name you call Him, in whatever
language you summon Him, is a God of love.''

146 Scott Ciencin

With those words, the flame guardian vanished.
Tom waited for him to return, but after a time, he knew
that the flame guardian wasn't coming back. He looked
around at the array of dark stars. The gateway to his father's
hidden room had been found in one of those stars. He won-
dered what he might find if he studied the depths of a few
others...

^

Ten

AITAN ANZELM WAS WHOLLY UNPREPARED FOR THE

hand that ripped into his body from behind. It pen-
etrated his flesh, wormed around inside him, and
seemed to be seeking something within him that was both
physical and ethereal, a spur of the soul that had taken solid
form.

Kayriel's Power, he thought dully, the pain and surprise
preventing him from casting another spell to save himself.
Then he thought of what he'd just done, and he no longer
wished to be saved.

This was his Enemy, come to collect that portion of his
soul that was now as tainted and corrupt as all the rest!

"Don't be so dramatic," came the voice of a dead man.

"Grin?" Aitan asked sluggishly.

The only response was a rending deep within him, and
the excruciating feeling of that probing hand leaving
through his back. Aitan pitched forward, shuddering. Tears
burst from his eyes—and he felt a clarity that had not been
his in days.

"Turn around," said the voice.

Slowly, Aitan looked back. He saw Grin standing before
him, completely unharmed. A black, amorphous thing was

147

148 Scott Ciencin

gripped tightly in one gauntleted hand. It stretched and re-
formed itself into a myriad of fearsome appearances, many
with pincerlike teeth, but Grin ignored its antics.

Aitan looked back to the scene of carnage he had
wrought. His first thought was that he had battled an illu-
sion. But no, the remains of the former Emissary were still
in evidence.

"A construct," Grin explained. "One that had been a
bear I ran afou! of while looking for you. I had no wish to
sacrifice this fine and noble creature's life, but I could see
no other way. I looked through its eyes, spoke through its
lips. . .. Sound familiar?"

"All too familiar," Aitan said gravely, though he felt a
lightness of heart that made him wonder if he was coming
out of a haze or some dark enchantment- He regarded the
creature Grin held. "What is that? I've never seen anything
like it!"

' 'A kind of lower life form from one of the other realms
of existence the Host has examined. A creature that tampers
with the emotions of others and tempts them to darkness."

"That was inside me? How ... ?"

"You slept during your time in the Realm of Shadow,
didn't you?"

Aitan nodded. "And I was quartered with Kayriel. But
how would he have kept such a thing hidden?"

"Kayriel probably carried it within his own body, nur-
turing it as he ptayed host. Now, do you want to kill it or
shall I?"

Aitan shuddered. "I have no desire to take a life right
now. Even the life of such a foul and loathsome thing as
this."

"As you will." Grin summoned a searing blue flame that
burned the creature out of existence. "Now, about the way
you've been acting..."

"The creature."

"That doesn't explain all of it."

Lowering his gaze, Aitan explained his feelings of be-
trayal in the light of what he had learned about his family.

Night of Glory                149

"It's natural that you would have such feelings," Grin
said, "but surrendering to them is the same as giving your-
self over to the Enemy."

"I understand. And I agree."

"Good."

"There's one thing I don't understand," Aitan said.

"What's that?"

"The Power I felt inside me ... I can feel it still. It didn't
die with the creature."

"No—but it has been purified, hasn't it?"

Aitan nodded.

"Well, that's all that matters, right?"

"I suppose."

Grin smiled, perfectly concealing the theory that had
only now occurred to him. He had a good idea where Ai-
tan's newfound Power came from, and if he was right, what
the ultimate consequence of it would be. But there was
nothing to be done, and sharing what he believed would be
an act of cruelty.

"There are other matters we must discuss," Grin said.
"Such as this: Tom has been asked to solve a mystery of
great importance to the Fourth Vessel. One that concerns
the other Vessels. Tom told me everything."

"We spoke as well."

"Then you understand where I'm leading. For Tom to
unravel such a mystery, he must go where the Vessel's
influence is most strongly felt."

Aitan felt sheer terror race through him as he considered
the brief glimpse he'd had of the City of the Vessels and
its jade battlefields. "We can't let him go there. He
wouldn't survive—"

"Not only can we let him," Grin said, "it's up to us to
show him the way."

"We can't!"

Grin touched Aitan's arm. "Listen to me. 1 love him,
too. But you've sensed it, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?"

150

Scott Ciencin

"In Shadow, the gods of that realm were frightened of
Tom. Of what's inside him."

"The Second's knowledge."

Grin nodded. "Because knowledge is Power. If all the
Fourth wanted was to kill Tom, He could have done it with
considerably less effort. We have to believe that the Fourth
has provided for Tom in this."

"You're willing to trust Him? Despite what we've
seen?''

"What choice do we have?"

Aitan looked out at the lush expanse of mountains that
lay before them. "It's not even a matter of our choice. It's
Tom's decision that will make all the difference. We have
to tell him everything we know."

"Everything, I agree."

Several long moments passed. Then, wordlessly, Aitan
and Grin began their journey back to Genesis.

Tom heard a thunderous noise- He woke suddenly, torn
violently from a dream that had been more than a dream.

It took him a moment to orient himself. Then he remem-
bered returning to the Curacas's quarters and falling asleep

while the minotaur told stories to the children gathered
here.

The sound came again. Followed by a crashing.
Tom looked in the direction of the ruckus and saw the
minotaur stomping back and forth. He smashed a chair
against the wall and howled in rage. Tom saw that the ivory
chest was now open. Odd lights rose up from within its
depths, along with a thousand flies that buzzed about in the
tight and did not stray from it.
The children were on the floor. Unmoving.
"What'd you do?" Tom screamed, vaulting to his feet.
The minotaur turned, his eyes brimming with tears. "/
am corrupt! I've killed them with my touch!"

For a moment, Tom thought that the creature had bludg-
eoned or strangled the children. Though it was hard to think
clearly in the face of such a horror, Tom forced himself to

Night of Glory                151

consider that if this was so, his life might also be in danger.

"Go to the door!" Tom bellowed. "Stay there!"

The minotaur lowered his head and meekly complied.
Then he fell to his knees and issued a stream of sobs that
might have been prayers.

Tom went to the children. The moment he was close to
the first one, he knew what had befallen them.

The Scourge.

Blood beaded on the flesh of each child. Their foreheads
were hot. They moaned incoherently.

"Go get help!" Tom cried.

The minotaur shuddered. ' 7 did this to them.''

"Go!"

"It is the same throughout Genesis. Who would you
have me call?"

Tom went to the door and hauled it open. He saw the
bodies lining the street.

"No," Tom whispered. For a brief time. the Fourth had
showed him what it might be like to be a god. To feel true
Power and know that he could shape reality in any manner
he chose. Looking out at this nightmare, he wished he had
that power now.

"Corrupt!" the minotaur wailed. "/ am corrupt! Un-
clean! I must be cast down!''

Tom looked at the beast-man. Was it possible that he
was telling the truth? Suddenly, he felt his Power to divine
truth from tie rise within him,

Yes. The beast-man was telling the truth.

Tom reached for him, hoping he might team the mino-
taur's secrets with a touch.

' 'No, don't!'' the minotaur pleaded. ' 'My touch started
this. My touch—and the touch of those like me.''

Kayriis, Tom thought. "Did Kayrlis touch you?"

The minotaur shook his head. "But there were so many
others of my kind, created by the Fourth Vessel..."

Tom nodded. The butterfly women. The fauns. The
dragon. Yes, so many ...

Tom closed his eyes and drew upon another of his Pow-

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ers. He felt his hand becoming hotter and looked down to
see a fiery glow envelop his flesh.

"Yes, drive the corruption from me," the minotaur
sobbed. "/ had no wish to harm anyone, least of all these
innocent children.''

Tom went to the children. He had been told that he now
had a Power comparable to Cameron's, that he could bum
away the Scourge. But how strong was that Power? Could
he heal one or two, then collapse from exhaustion, as Cam-
eron had?

And if so, should he not save himself for those he loved?
The mother of his child, his friends?

Tom didn't hesitate. He put his hand on the forehead of
one child, the chest of another. The fires engulfing him
spread through the children. The two little girls gasped and
shuddered, but at last they opened their eyes. Tom found
two more- As he ministered to them, his gaze fell upon the
open ivory chest.

Was it possible that what was inside had somehow
brought about this nightmare?

' 'The box,'' the minotaur said quickly. ' 'It opened after
you fell asleep. I must have been wrong about how the
puzzle worked. I didn 't solve the riddle.''

No, Tom thought. / did.

He remembered his last thoughts before drifting off to
sleep. He nodded toward the children. "This happened
right after I fell asleep? The box unleashed—"

' 'No, '' the minotaur said- ' 'It was later that the children
began to fall. The box didn't cause it. I did.''

Again, Tom sensed that the minotaur was telling the
truth. Inside the chest lay a half-dozen pages from a very

old book and nothing more. The source of its strange light

was a mystery.

Two more children. Tom felt a slight weakness, but he
didn't let it stop him- When the children were whispering
and wiping away the blood—they had no energy to
scream—Tom stepped away from them and went to the
minotaur.

Night of Glory                155

"Don't touch them again," Tom said. "And don't even
think about harming yourself. I'll need to talk to you when
this is done. Guard what's in the chest. Do you under-
stand?"

The mmotaur nodded sadly.

Tom went into the streets. By the time he had healed
another dozen people, Tom felt as if he couldn't go on. But
he knew that he had to.

How many more were there? Dozens? Hundreds?

He knew all too well. Last night, he had touched them
all and lived parts of their lives. Today, he was determined
not to let a single one of those lives slip away, no matter
the cost to himself.

After he had used his Power fifteen more times, Tom's
spirit was just as resolute, but his flesh was failing him. By
the time Grin, Aitan, and Kayrlis found him, he was crawl-
ing across the dirt road bisecting Genesis, desperately at-
tempting to reach more of the plague victims.

"There's a way," Grin said to the warrior angel, "to
add your strength to his."

"Anything," Aitan said.

Kayrlis held Tom steady as Grin performed an incanta-
tion. Though Tom was barely coherent, he moaned about
reaching the next victim, and railed against her for keeping
him from those who needed his touch.

Then Tom was aware of a pounding in his skull, a rush-
ing of fire through his veins, a blinding light, and a searing
agony.

It went on for what seemed like forever, but when the
incantation was over, Tom rose, fully renewed. He looked
down and saw Aitan on his back, his eyes open but unsee-
ing. A sound came from above. Tom looked up and saw
the winged men circling overhead.

Almost exactly as it had been in his vision.

"No," Grin said, as if he knew exactly what Tom was
thinking. "The time hasn't come. Not yet."

Tom had no choice but to listen to the former Emissary.
He was needed.

154 Scott Ciencin

Several hours later, when Tom had laid his hands upon
everyone in Genesis, a death toll was taken. Only six had
been so far gone that even Tom's Powers had been unable
to aid them.

Tom wept for each of them. Mary, the first woman he
had touched, and Jonah, the man from the stables, were
among the dead.

Tom stood in the street, where the dead had been brought
so that they might be put to the flame- The other dwellers
of Genesis gathered around him. Grin and Kayrlis were at
his side. Aitan had gone back to the room he'd been given
to recuperate.

"Why has this happened?" a man asked. "Why has God
turned from us?"

"It was because we cavorted with the beasts," said an-
other. "We were being tested, and we failed. This is the
price."

Someone threw a rock at one of the winged men circling
overhead. Others followed, though the rocks never once
struck their targets and instead put out windows or fell on
the heads of their neighbors.

"Stop it!" Tom screamed.

No one was listening.

"You have to stop!"

A handful of men stalked toward the Curacas's quarters.
The minotaur stood in the doorway.

Tom and his companions quickly moved between the
angry people and the beast-man.

' 'Let them take me,'' the minotaur said. ' 'It's no less than
I deserve.''

"No!" Tom cried. "I need answers!"

"Curacas, why?" one of the dwellers of Genesis asked.
"He's unclean. We can all sense that."

What Tom could sense was the mood of the crowd. It
was growing dark and spiteful.

"They need answers." Grin whispered.

The words of the flame guardian rang in Tom's head.
There are no easy answers.

Ni@ht of Glory                155

"You can't know the will of God'" Tom hollered. "You
have to believe in the workings of the Almighty, and un-
derstand that this has happened for a reason!"

"That thing tried to kill us with its touch," a teenager
howled. "If we let it touch us again—"

"There are ways to kill the beast without touching it!"
a woman shouted.

"This has happened for a reason!" Tom yelled.

The crowd quieted. A woman came forward.

"What reason?" she asked.

Tom could think of only one, though he knew it was a
lie. "The Vessel has judged us." Tom pointed at the min-
otaur. "He was the instrument of that judgment."

The crowd swayed uneasily.

"Those who were needed in the Kingdom of Heaven
have been taken there. The rest of you must serve another
purpose here on earth."

A woman fell to her knees before Tom. "What purpose?
Tell us!"

"You must pray for them," Tom said. "Give your
strength to them so that they mighfknow you're with them
in the hereafter and rise to the tasks God will now put
before them."

More people fell to their knees.

"Pray!" Tom screamed. "If you don't, it wili be your
own souls that suffer."

"His is the glory," someone whispered.

"The salvation, the light."

Soon, everyone in Genesis was praying except for Tom
and his companions. In a low voice, Tom said to Grin,
"Take whatever's in the ivory chest and bring it here.
Kayriis, get Aitan. We have to leave."

"What about me?" the minotaur said.

"You're coming with us."

Preparations were made. As Tom had expected, the peo-
ple of Genesis soon understood his purpose and began to
question.

156 Scott Ciencin

"But we are your flock," a man cried. "You must guide
us!"

Tom saw one of Matthew's men in the crowd and
brought him forward. "As the Vessel bestowed the power
of the Curacas upon me, I now give that power to this man.
Let him rule wisely and never forget that God is a God of
love, not hatred or bitterness."

He looked into the man's eyes. "Can I trust you?"

"Yes, lord," the man said, falling to one knee before
Tom.

The young mage felt the fires of truth spiral up from his
heart. The new Curacas was telling the truth. Thank God.

"Your first task is to put the consecrated bodies of your
neighbors to the flame." He gestured to the crowd. "Then
your task is to wait here three days and three nights with
the remains. Protect them from harm. When this task is
done, collect up the ashes and scatter them to the four cor-
ners of this settlement. Then pray for guidance, and guid-
ance will be upon you."

"So shall we be delivered!" the new Curacas wailed.

The crowd cheered. Tom nodded and felt a surge of relief
as the people turned from him and set about their tasks.
Twenty minutes later, the small group rode from Genesis,
the minotaur running beside them.

They took Mithra's pass through the mountain, and came
to the chamber where they had paused once before. At the
center of the chamber was a well.

"Mithra talked about this place as if he'd been here be-
fore," Tom said. "He said that it was a place of worship.
That warriors went here once to sacrifice themselves to their
gods. He said the well's so deep, most people think it's
bottomless. Then he looked at me and said, 'But, I assure
you, it's not.' "

The minotaur went to the well and looked down into its
depths. "Yes, I understand what you would have of/tie."

"Wait," Tom said. "I meant what 1 said before. I need
answers."

"/ have none to give," the minotaur said wearily.

Night of Glory                157

Aitan Anzelm, who was quickly regaining his strength,
said, "I believe what's happening here is fairly obvious."

The others stared at him. Tom asked, "Would you mind
sharing with the rest of us?"

A ragged breath escaped the angel. "We know that the
Scourge isn't like many plagues, it's not contagious. What
we've never known, until now, is how it's spread."

"Until now," Tom repeated ominously.

Aitan nodded. "The Scourge came to earth in the person
of Haborym, who brought it forth from the Realm of
Shadow. Haborym was joined to the Fourth, the Vessel of
Creation. Therefore, anything the Vessel created from that
moment on has been a carrier of the Scourge."

The idea crashed down upon Tom. "But my mother, she
never came into contact with anything like the creatures the
Fourth's been making—"

"If He created a new flower, it would bear the Scourge."

Tom considered this for a moment, then he sat down hard
upon the stone floor of the chamber. "The Influences."

"Pardon?" Kayrlis said.

"My mother said that she'd been touched by one of the
Influences. She believed in them. Prayed to them for some
reason, I can't remember why. The Fourth must have cre-
ated them. It explains why so many good people have died
from it."

"Cameron believed in them, too!" Kayrlis said.

Grin shook his head. "Invisible spirits, moving among
us, performing deeds like the Beatitudes might. God save
us all."

"My theory," said Aitan. "is that the Fourth is less mad
than He seems. He has to create things, it's His nature,
which He can't suppress, but He must know what the re-
sults of His actions have been."

"He wants it stopped." Tom said. "That's what he re-
ally wants out of me."

"1 doubt it," Grin said. "He wants revenge on the one
who brought Haborym from Shadow. Stopping the Scourge
is your personal incentive."

158 Scott Ciencin

"But how?" Tom asked. "I—"

Suddenly, Tom heard a scraping come from inside the
well. At first, he thought perhaps someone—or something—
was coming up from within its depths to attack them. Then
he saw that the minotaur had slipped away while they were
speaking.

"Wait!" Tom cried.

' 7 will be alone, and will harm no one!'' the beast-man
called from the depths.

Tom started to run to the edge of the well, but Kayrlis
stepped in front of him and put her hand on his chest. "Let
him go. This is what he wants. It's better this way."

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. "Alt right."

"There's one more thing we should talk about before we
leave here," Grin said. He produced the pages that had
been hidden in the ivory chest. "These are from a book
called the Mysts Arcana. I've read them."

"No'" Aitan cried, taking a step toward the former Em-
issary. "That book corrupted Kayriel. It—"

"Enough," Grin said. "The spells on these pages will
be needed if Tom is to complete his task."

"What exactly is it that 1 have to do?" Tom asked. "The
two of you know a whole lot more than you're letting on-
1 can feel it."

Grin looked to Aitan, who nodded slowly. "There is a
city in which the Vessels reside when they are in corporeal
form. You have to go there.''

Kayrlis shook her head. "They'll—they'll know," she
stammered. "They'll know what's inside him, what he's
seen—"

Grin held up the pages from the book. "These spells will
protect him."

"From the Vessels?" Tom asked, stunned.

Aitan raised a single eyebrow. "Kayriel found the means
to kill a Vessel within that book. Why not the means to
deceive one?"

"What is the Mysts Arcana, anyway?" Kayrlis asked.
"Who wrote it?"

Night of Glory                159

Grin shrugged. "Does it matter? We've seen that the
spells from this book work. That's all that's important."

"Yeah, but what's it gonna do to Tom?" Kayrlis asked.
"What's it gonna do to his soul?"

Grin was silent.

"You don't have any answers," Kayrlis said. "You
don't know."

"That's right, I don't."

"And you expect us to agree—"

Tom cut her off. "Kayrlis."

She looked up at him.

"It's not about us. You're not going. You can't."

Kayrlis stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You're ... you can't go."

"Because it's too dangerous."

Tom looked away. "You just can't, that's all."

Kayrlis folded her arms over her chest. "I don't believe
this. We had an agreement. We share everything. We faced
Shadow together, remember?"

"Yes!" Tom said. "But—"

' 'Now you want to just leave, me behind for my own
good. And the good of the baby, I suppose."

"Hadn't really thought—"

"You acted as if I was committing a mortal sin when I
wanted to go off and look for my brother."

"You didn't say good-bye. You just ran off. I'm here.
We'll say good-bye."

"Damn you a thousand ways to Sunday we will," Kayr-
lis muttered. "Not unless you can give me—"

"He's right," Grin said.

Kayrlis recoiled from Grin's words. "I can take care of
myself. You know that better than anyone. When you put
me back together after I fell, when you touched my soul
and brought me back to take care of my brother—you saw
what 1 could do!"

"The spell will only work for one person," Grin said.
"1 can enter the city because I'm an angel. Aitan can do
the same. But you'd go mad and quickly die. It's that sim-

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pie. That you're a woman, and that you're pregnant, has
nothing to do with it."

She looked to Tom. "Is that right?"

He nodded.

"Oh." She considered her brother and how much she
still wished to find him. "All right. Maybe I can think of
one or two things in the meantime to keep me occu-
pied ..."

THIRD INTERLUDE

^

MATTHEW DUBROVNIK, THE FORMER CURACAS OF GENE-

sis, stood in an open field. Lilith was nearby, dancing, sing-
ing—like a little girl. Her mind had shattered when he, the
most loving and pious man she'd ever known, had been
plunged into the darkest depths of corruption by Komm
Kayriel. With a touch, the shadowman had seared the good-
ness from Matthew's heart, the decency from his soul.

"You're certain that all you did was pray and these
voices came to you?" Matthew asked as he circled Lilith.
The voices had told Lilith what to do if she wished to save
her lover from Kayriel. Her plan had almost worked.

As Lilith danced, she allowed her hand to drift between
a solid and non-corporeal state. Occasionally she would
stab the air with it. Matthew made a point of not getting
too close. He studied her. Lilith was tall and lithe, with
flowing dark hair. Her dress was in tatters, and did little to
hide her shapely form. She was beyond noticing the lasciv-
ious ways in which she was exposed. He was not. But he
couldn't allow himself to become distracted.

"Answer me," Matthew commanded firmly.

Her hand passed through a bee as if it were mist, then
solidified. The insect exploded. "Got another one!"

161

162 Scott Ciencin

"I'm talking to you!" Matthew snarled as his hand
whipped out and struck her face.

Whimpering, Lilith fell to the ground at Matthew's feet.
Putting her arms around one of his boots, she curled herself
up into a ball and broke into great, moumfu! sobs.

"Better," Matthew said. His handsome face was twisted
up in a scowl. He felt aroused at the sight of her suppli-
cation, but controlled his urge to take her on the spot in the
most brutal way he could imagine.

Plenty of time for that later...

"I prayed, they came, voices in my head," Lilith sang.

He reached down and hauled her to her feet. "I've been
praying since we left Genesis! Every time we've stopped
I've prayed. But I haven't heard them!"

Lilith bit her lip and thought about this. "Maybe they're
shy."

Matthew flung her to the ground- "I should kill you and
unburden myself."

Frantically, Lilith reattached herself to Matthew's leg.
"You need me!" she cried. "You need me! I have the
book!"

"Yes, I know," Matthew snarled. "The Mysts Arcana.
The book that can teach a man how to slay a god. But
Komm Kayriel and the Archangel Mithra also know you
have it somewhere. And they want it. If they find us before
we can reach the book and I can make sense of its teach-
ings, they'll force us to take them to it. Then they'll kill us
both. Unless we can find a protector. The voices that spoke
to you. that told you how to undo Kayriel's plans before—/
need to speak with them. Are you following any of this?"

Lilith quaked at his feet. "I'll take care of it." Her hands
reached up his inner thighs. "Just like I took care of—"

Matthew struck her again. Lilith fell, and licked at the
blood leaking from the comer of her mouth.

"So you do want to play," she breathed huskily.

Matthew shuddered in exasperation. "You are a Trans-
formed Being. You are damned and so am I. The magic of

Ni@ht of Glory                165

the Host can destroy you easily, despite your power. And
I'm even more vulnerable."

"Don't want you taken away," she whispered.

"That's right, you don't. Because you love me, and I
love you. Isn't that right? Despite the fact that we're
damned and unable to love, we love. That's right, yes?"

Lilith nodded her head quickly.

Good, Matthew thought. You go on believing that.

Then something happened.

For a sudden, splintering instant, Matthew was overcome
by memories from his lifetime. He saw images of himself
as a child, stealing into the True Lands with his friend
Komm Kayriel, of sharing in the joys and tragedies of the
people of Genesis, of loving the woman at his feet so
deeply that he might well have stood against God for her
sake.

He had been a man of faith, a believer in God and all
the Mysteries. Could his lifetime of devoted service truly
be repealed by the merest touch of the evil that Komm
Kayriel had become?

Judging from his actions today, it would appear so. And
yet, this moment, this time of inspired clarity—how could
it be possible if he was truly beyond redemption?

A wind rose up and sailed past him. Words were carried
upon the sudden breeze. "LOOK AROUND YOU."

Fear gripped him.

"Lilith," he gasped, reaching out for her hand. He
needed the comfort of her touch—needed her. Her eyes
were wide with wonder and abandon. She didn't even no-
tice his outstretched hand.

The wind came again. "I COMMAND YOU TO
LOOK!"

He didn't dare obey the voice. The dark essence of what
he had become, of the corruption that seethed within him,
warned him that all he was now would be broken apart and
scattered to the uncaring earth if he listened to the voice.
He would be as a palace made of the frailest twigs facing
an onslaught of wind and rain.

164 Scott Ciencin

Despite this, Matthew cast his gaze about him.

Terrifying visions abounded. They were worse than any
he had ever before confronted—but he was not afraid. The
sky had turned to flame, and stones rained down from the
heavens. Swarms of bees sprang into existence. They en-
tered his body, worming their way into his flesh, causing
him pain beyond reason. Then mey were within him, plant-
ing something deep within his soul. He cried out, and the
bees left through his mouth, thousands of them now. They
had reproduced within him.

Suddenly, a darkness fell over the sun. An eclipse!
Shooting stars ripped across the sky, and the rain of stones
was joined by a rain of blood.

The Hour is at hand, Matthew thought. The Last Judg-
ment is upon us!

His vision broadened, and he was shown impossible
scenes of good men slaying priests and clerics for no rea-
son. He saw madmen tortured to rend me evil from then-
flesh and thusly their souls.

He glimpsed a city of madness. In another moment, he
was granted a vision of a gigantic torch being tossed down
through a rend in the sky, engulfing the city with its flames.
And far above, the horizon was reshaped into the form of
a cobalt dragon who spread his wings and marked this place
as His dominion.

"No!" Matthew cried, falling to his knees. "No, for the
love of God in all his Vessels and Attendants, no!"

A prayer was wrenched from deep within his memory.
Matthew began to chant the prayer, and as he did so, the
hollowness that he had felt ever since Komm Kayriel had
sentenced him to darkness was filled. The bright shining
light of faith, love, and belief was restored to him!

"The sun will blacken, the moon cease to shine, the stars
fall from the heavens themselves," Matthew cried, "but
after this time of tears and terrors, the Vessels will descend
to avenge the blood of saints by destroying the Enemy and
a new and better world will be born!"

"SO THERE IS A LIGHT YOU CAN SEE," the voice

Night of Glory                165

upon the winds said. "RAIL AGAINST ITS DYING."

"Yes," Matthew whispered. "Yes!"

As quickly as the visions had begun, they left him. Mat-
thew looked down, surprised to see that his flesh was not
burned, his clothing unharmed. He looked for any sign of
the stones that had fallen, but there was none. The field did
not mn red with blood. The earth had not been corrupted.

Looking to the heavens, he saw soft white clouds drifting
lazily in the deep blue of the sky. The eclipse, which had
brought the fires and the dragon, was nowhere in evidence.
It was a glorious day.

Cold fingers-grazed his. He looked down to see Lilith
reaching up for him. He knelt beside her.

She stared at him in confusion. "You won't—hurt me?"
she whispered.

"Never again," he promised, holding her tightly. He
stroked her hair and kissed away her tears.

He could feel the darkness within him; it hadn't fled. But
it was now confronted by the light of God, and as long as
Matthew held onto the beliefs that he had forged over a
lifetime, that darkness could be held in check.

"I've been chosen," he whispered.

"Chosen?"

Matthew smiled. He could hear those voices he had
sought, and he knew that the multitude belonged to a single
voice, that he had found the ally he needed, but that his
cause had changed. Matthew began to laugh. Lilith laughed
with him, though it was clear from her expression that she
had no idea what amused her love.

"You look like an angel," she said.

Matthew could tell that she was not all that she had been.
Perhaps she never would be again, and in truth, that might
be a good thing. But the madness that had enveloped her
had, to some extent, loosened its grip. He was certain mat
she would be able to understand what he had to tell her.

"The voices you heard," Matthew began, "the Voice,
really. It was from on high. Come to rescue us from this
veil of tears."

166 Scott Ciencin

She stared at him with disbelief and slowly shook her
head.

"Lilith, I swear to you, the Voice you heard, the Voice
that touched each of us, belonged to one of God's most
holy and cherished Vessels. And He has chosen me—cho-
sen us—to be His sword. To carry out His will. We will
be damned no longer."

A smile formed at the comers of Lilith's mouth. It nick-
ered, then grew, and soon she was laughing again. Matthew
laughed with her.

"What does it say?" Lilith asked finally-

"We can be redeemed. And the path to our redemption
lies within the pages of the book you kept."

"But it's evil."

"We must turn its evil upon itself. If we do that, our
souls will be spared. Now tell me. Where did you hide the
book?"

Lilith told him.

He smiled, touched her face, and kissed her for the last
time.

The earth trembled, and a fissure opened beneath Mat-
thew and Lilith. They fell for what seemed tike an eternity,
then struck hard earth, which closed upon them, crushing
the life from their bodies.

Above, three figures walked on the soft grass.

"DO YOU WISH THEIR SOULS AS KEEPSAKES?"
the Vessel asked.

"No, I don't think so," Mithra said. "Let them go free
to wander- They're damned, and that makes them practi-
cally useless."

"Agreed," Komm Kayriel said. "At least now we know
where the book is. Shall we?"

"OF COURSE," the Vessel said.

Seconds later, they were in a mining shaft some ten miles
away. Kaynel dug up the Mysts Arcana, then laughed tri-
umphantly.

"Check it," Mithra said.

"Why?"

Night of Glory                167

"DO AS HE SAYS," the Vessel commanded.

Kayrie! nodded. He flipped to the pages he knew he
would need to carry off his grand deception and take his
place among the Vessels.

The void where the shadowman's heart had been turned
to ice.

"Gone," Kayriel whispered. "She took the pages we
need! Hid them somewhere else!"

The Vessel screamed in rage. His voice brought the walls
of the mine caving inward.

The trio was back in the clearing before the first bit of
rubble could fall upon them.

"How could she know?" Mithra asked. "She wasn't
enough of an Adept to comprehend the true meaning of
these works."

"What difference does it make?" Kayriel asked. "She's
taken what we need and secured it elsewhere."

"NO MATTER," the Vessel said. "THERE ARE
OTHER WAYS TO ACHIEVE OUR ENDS. FOR NOW,
WE MUST DISPOSE OF THAT TOME."

"Here—why don't you do it?" Kayriel asked as he
tossed the book in the Vessel's direction. The god vanished
before the book could come anywhere near Him. He reap-
peared beside Kayriel.

"BURN IT."

Mithra cast the spell. The pages burned quickly.

"THE SPELL TO SLAY A VESSEL—IT HAS NOT
BEEN TAKEN."

"No," Kayriel said. "It bums."

"BUT YOU ALREADY KNOW IT."

"I do."

"GOOD," the Vessel said. "THEN EVERYTHING IS
IN READINESS."

^
Eleven

TOM WAS TERRIFIED, BUT HE DID HIS BEST NOT TO LET

it show. Kayrlis was still with him. Aitan and Grin
had made a glowing blue paste by scraping moss from
the walls of the cave and casting spells on it. They painted
odd symbols on his flesh. After a short time, Tom began
to recognize the markings. He'd seen them before!

"These are the runes!" Tom blurted out. "The runes that
were painted on me when I was with the flame guardian!"

"I'd like to meet this friend of yours," Grin said. "1
think we'd have a lot to talk about."

"I guess so," Tom said uneasily. For some reason, the
prospect unnerved him. He shuddered.

"I know this is cold," Grin said as he applied the glow-
ing blue liquid to Tom's chest. Aitan applied a spattering
of lines to his arms and back.

"It's okay," he muttered, deciding it was easier to let
them think he was responding to the chill in the air.

Grin turned to Kayrlis. "We're almost ready. Are you
sure you want to stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere," she said.

Tom was glad. But the brief flush he felt when his gaze

168

Night of Glory                169

met that of his beloved fled from him as Aitan and Grin
began to chant and recite a series of spells.

"Wait," Aitan said. "We're missing one of the spells."

Grin shook his head. "We're not missing it. We don't
need it."

"All right," Aitan said, his voice tinged with concern.

The chanting began once more. Tom watched Kayrlis
and tried to force himself to relax, as he'd been instructed.
He couldn't.

"I'll be here for you," Kayrlis said. "Just remember
that."

Tom nodded—and he suddenly began to feel the spell
taking hold. The words of his companions, spoken in a
language that had been beyond his comprehension moments
earlier, were clear now.

''—to see through a thousand eyes, feel with a thousand
hands, love with a thousand hearts-—''

A thundering rose up and obscured their words. It took
Tom a moment to realize that it was the beating of his own
heart that he heard, only—it was so loud. The rush of his
blood coursing through his body came to him, sounding like
a deafening waterfall. It was joined by the roar of breath en-
tering and leaving his lungs. Tom wanted to scream. This
was like listening to a hurricane trapped in a well!

The sounds of Kayrlis's heart came next, followed by
those of Aitan and Grin. The cacophony was too much for
him to bear!

Tom closed his eyes and forced the sounds away.

Silence.

Blessed silence.

Other sensations assaulted him. He felt the flesh of his
beloved and his friends as if he was touching it. Then, as
if it was his own! He saw them from a myriad of vantages.

"My God," he whispered. He was looking out from the
walls, the floor, the ceiling!

The emotions of his companions became his own. Love
and fear, selfish desire wrestling with noble aspirations, a

170 Scott Ciencin

willingness to sacrifice, a brooding fatality, a searing hope.

Tom knew that he had to rise above this, all of this, or
he would go mad.

Suddenly, he was outside the chamber. A cool wind
touched him as he looked at the burning sun and felt a
strange attraction to it. Could he reach out and touch the,
sun? Become it?

Tom felt sorely tempted to try. He understood the power
being placed at his command by the spells of the Mysts
Arcana- Some of it was familiar. The Fourth had allowed
him to know the minds and hearts of others with a touch.
As a Vessel

(and that's what he was becoming, he understood that)

he could do so much more. If he wanted to, he could
stretch his consciousness in every possible direction. He
could become the sun, the moon, the earth below. Look out
through the eyes of a thousand or a hundred thousand be-
ings all at once.

Uncover any mystery ...

Tom focused his will. A part of him was still aware of
his physical body in the depths of the mountain, guarded
by the angels and his lover. He could hear Aitan and Grin
chanting. He could also hear Kayrlis's worried gasps as she
looked at him. It was no effort at all to know what she was
thinking. She was afraid that they had spoken their final
words to one another. That he would die. Or be changed
into something terrible.

Why didn't he feel anything about this revelation? A part
of him understood that he should go back and comfort her.
But his attention was wandering.

With ease, he could unmake the fabric of reality all about
him. He did so- It was like pulling threads from a fine
weave, taking apart the pattern of all things.

He saw colors and lights that defied description, all ra-
diating from—and returning to—a central nexus of which
he could become a part at any time.

He had seen this primal pattern before! All he had to do

Night of Glory                171

was let go of all he had been in life and move on to this
wondrous reward.

No! Tom thundered. You're not a Vessel. You haven't
looked at the face of God. You haven't heard His words
and taken His commandments as your own.

This is a trick!

He turned away from the fabric of reality and concen-
trated instead upon the soft words of his lover, memories
of her touch, the feel of their flesh melding, their hearts
beating as one.

Tom opened his eyes. He was back in the chamber, and
now it was bright, so very bright.

His physical body had changed. He could sense it. With
a thought, he could explore the limits (if there were any)
of what he had become- But he was afraid to confront that
knowledge.

Kayrlis was staring at him with a look of awe and res-
ignation. Grin seemed happy. Aitan astounded.

"WHAT IS IT?" Tom asked. His voice caused the walls
to shake, the floor to rumble. The sensations passed.

"Gently," Grin urged.

Tom brought his hands up before his face. They had
become rough outlines, only barely containing a swirling
mass of fantastic energies.

He wanted to see himself. Turning, he held out his hand
and gestured toward a wall. The surface changed, becoming
polished and reflective, like a mirror.

And he saw what he had become.

His body was also a rough outline. Only it was ever
changing, manifesting new features. Two limbs, twenty, a
thousand eyes, none but one in the back of his head.

He recalled what had happened the last time he'd spoken,
and so he whispered, "How do each of you see me?"

Kayrlis spoke first. "Our son."

"Rachiel," Aitan said.

Grin was silent for a moment. Then he said, "As some-
one I loved once, who has been taken from me."

Tom nodded. "Am I a Vessel?"

172 Scott Ciencin

"No," Grin said. "You're a shadow of a Vessel, and
you'll remain in this form for only one day. But the gods
should be deceived. Provided you play your part well, no
one will find you out,"

"Do 1 have the powers of a Vessel?" Tom asked.

"Some," Grin replied. "Enough."

Tom held his hand out to Kayrlis. She came forward
tentatively. The moment their hands touched, the worried
expression melted from Kayrlis's beautiful face. Tom laid
open his heart in a way he never could as a mortal man-
Kayrlis felt the warmth and comfort of his perfect love for
her. It enveloped her in a rosy glow—then she was gone.

"Tom!" Aitan cried. "What have you done?"

"I sent her to Mother Jael," Tom said. "I couldn't. . .
feel Cameron as strongly, so I sent her to the Strega."

Aitan placed his hand over his mouth. "It was that sim-
ple for you? You willed it to be so, and it was?"

Grin ignored his companion. "Good idea. She'll be safe
with Mother Jael," Grin said. "Tom, listen to me. You
have to stay focused at all times. If you don't—"

"I understand," Tom said. The distractions were terrible.
Tom felt as if anything he might wish to explore was within
his grasp. Any stray piece of knowledge, the answers to
any mystery, the abilities denied most mortals but taken for
granted by beasts, like flying through the air, falling great
distances and landing on his feet, or tracking prey through
his new senses alone—it was all his for the taking.

He understood now how and why it was possible to de-
ceive a Vessel. The more he knew, the more he wanted to
know. The more he saw, the more he wanted to see. It was
very hard not to simply drift apart, to lose all vestiges of
his own personality and will. He sensed that many who
walked the early path to godhood had suffered just this fate.

There had been more than nine ...

"How do I get to the city?" Tom asked.

"Desire to be there," Grin said. "That's all."

"What about the two of you?"

"We'll join you soon enough. Remember—they will see

Night of Glory                175

you as the Fourth. And in the City of the Vessels, the
Fourth is no longer loved."

Tom tried to imagine it. He had already seen wonders.
But an entire city devoted to the living aspects of God?
What would it be like?

There would be palaces, of course, Tom decided.

(The walls of his chamber began to melt away.)

The River Lethe itself would run through this city, per-
haps even originate here.

(His view of Aitan and Grin faded.)

There would be places of amusement and challenge. He
imagined massive coliseums and theaters made of glass.

(The sun was before him, brighter now than he had ever
seen it, twice as bright—mere were two suns!)

The gates of this city would be impenetrable- They
would rise to the heavens, like many of the temples, and
above, fortresses made of ice and flame would house the
most fierce of God's Chosen Warriors.

(He was walking upon the air, his body changing, its
strange fires pulsing with a power and a majesty that was
not to be denied. He wished a flock of doves into existence
and sent them to the gates and spires in the distance as his
herald.)

And now he was no longer imagining. He had left the
mortal realm behind, and the city's gates were before him.
He was stunned by their size. A castle could pass through
these gates! They opened as he approached.

Tom entered the City of the Vessels. He could see hints
of the many palaces. Watery channels snaked among the
buildings, serving as roads, and angels walked upon the
waters in the distance. He thought it odd that no guards had
tried to stop him at the gates, or that no worshipers had
come to greet him.

No matter. Tom chose the closest palace and started in
that direction.

This palace, unlike what Tom could see of many other
palaces in the city, was an ugly, brutish sight: A series of
ziggurats climbing on the shoulders of one another in a vain

174 Scott Ciencin

attempt to reach the heavens. He wondered which Vessel
would choose such a place as their ultimate temple.

* 'Creation,'' said the loveliest voice Tom had ever heard.
He shifted his senses so that he was facing what had been
his rear flank, and he beheld a glowing crimson figure. It
wore gossamer robes and walked above the land.        .,

Tom knew instantly which Vessel stood before him.
"Love," he said softly.

The Vessel embraced him. Tom felt the god flow through
his form, filling him with a sense of well-being. They
parted. Tom was certain that his disguise was working per-
fectly.

' 'It's been some time since we 've had the honor of Cre-
ation's company," Love said. "Not since the Fall of Abad-
don . .. a nasty business few are likely to have forgotten.''

"Yes," Tom said.

"You know that I would not seek to exile you from your
home,'' Love said, ' 'but you can still leave if you choose.
The gates are still flung open wide. I cannot keep them that
way forever.''

Tom said nothing.

Love became even more concerned. "Are you certain
this is what you want? Your—affliction—"

"I'm no longer mad," Tom said, settling into his role.
"God has healed me."

' 'Really?'' Love cried. ' 'Ah—and you 've—ah, seen God,
have you?"

"I see God in all things. As do you, I'm sure."

' 'Of course!''

"I've come back to make peace. Amends, if possible."

"Alt things are possible." The Vessel turned His head
toward the gates. They slowly swung shut. He gestured at
me ziggerats. ' 'The Courts of Strength. You have business
there?"

"I have business with each of my brothers," Tom said.

' 'All but the Second,'' Love said.

"Unfortunately, that is so."

Night of Glory                175

"You've picked an interesting time to return. Tonight is
special. You're aware of this?"

"I was well, so I decided to return," Tom said evasively.

"Tonight is the Night of Glory. Our Emissaries battle
for the right to join us in our enlightened state. The last
time we had such an event was over a millennium ago,
when Saphar Santriel—''

"I'm aware of our past," Tom said. He knew enough
about the teachings to wish to avoid mention of that cursed
name.

' 'Of course, there's a certain irony involved here.''

"And what's that?" Tom asked.

"Your disappearance along with the death of Mercy
taught us what we should have guessed ages ago, that all
nine of us are not required to maintain the pattern of re-
ality. In fact, reality can get along quite well without us.
We're free. The duties we've performed for so many cen-
turies have, in fact, been symbolic."

"Then why raise up another, if a balance isn't needed?"

The Vessel turned and walked north, away from the
Courts of Strength. Tom hurried to walk beside Him.

' 'That's just it,'' Love said. ' "A balance is needed. There
have always been four of us centered in Reason, and four
who dwell in Rage. Order and chaos. With Judgment above
us all. You remember, I'm sure."

"How has my absence affected things?" Tom asked.

"For one, your converts have not fared well. When
Mercy's Emissary put himself to the flame, those who did
not follow sought solace from your people. Your doors were
closed, as you commanded before leaving the city. This act
of cruelty was viewed by many as a sign that your madness
had affected your basic nature and that there was now an
overwhelming tendency amongst our number toward the
darker path. Many will question this, I 'm sure. In any event,
a champion of Reason is needed.''

"In any event?" Tom asked.

"Well, you have had your lucid moments before. And
sane or not, you may well have changed paths.''

176 Scott Ciencin

"I haven't," Tom said.

"I'm relieved to hear that. But your assurance simply
won't be enough. The Second's station must be filled. The
idea that all nine of us were necessary to maintain the
pattern of reality has kept us from one another's throats
since the beginning. Now that we know it to be a lie, well—
must I go on?"

"No," Tom said.

Another palace came into view. One with a spire that
reached into the clouds. Fluted towers with circular stair-
cases surrounded the central spire. Bridges set at odd angles
connected them all. The dark stone was filled with a shim-
mering crimson like coals set upon a fire.

' 7 have preparations to look after,'' Love said.

Yes, Tom thought. This is His palace. "I won't be hard
to find."

"I'm sure not. By the way, have you come to name a
candidate?"

"I hadn't considered it," Tom said honestly.

"You may be asked by the others. Give it some thought. "
Love bowed and vanished. The light within the dark stone
of Love's towers flared. The Vessel had returned.

Tom was all too aware of the passing seconds. He needed
to acclimate himself quickly to his new surroundings. He
considered the shards of the slain Second Vessel residing
within him. Until now, the knowledge of the Second had
come to him in times of great danger, but not before.

Was there a way for him to draw upon that knowledge?
Is that why the Fourth had chosen him for this masquerade?

No, there had to be another reason. The Fourth was
afraid to investigate this matter in person. Tom was certain
of it.

Tom reached down into the depths of his being and at-
tempted to draw forth what remained of the Second. He
poured all of his will, the sum total of his being, into this
enterprise—and failed.

All right, Tom decided. There are other ways. He saw
an angel approaching in the distance- An idea came to him.

Night of Glory                177

He willed himself into the angel's presence. The angel
looked up in surprise and fell to one knee before him. Tom
guessed that if this had been one of Creation's followers,
the angel would have sunk to both knees.

"Rise," Tom said.

The angel obeyed, but he averted his gaze.

"I want you to do something for me," Tom said.

"What is that. Lord Creation?"

Tom was impressed- The angel had a way of telling
which Vessel stood before him. Where he came from, most
mortals, Elven or human, saw the Vessels as the embodi-
ments of hopes, fears, or regrets. It was impossible to tell
one from another by sight. Perhaps things were different
here in the True Lands.

"I want you to accompany me," Tom said.

"If I may ask—where?"

Tom pointed upward. Suddenly, he and the angel were
carried upward. The angel cried out as he was dragged hun-
dreds of feet into the air. Strangely, Tom was unaffected
by the bold act of magic. In fact, he had felt strangely
withdrawn from his feelings ever .since he had left the mor-
tal plane.

"Tell me what you see," Tom said-

"The—the City of the Vessels."

"Tell me of each of the palaces."

The angel nodded. "A test, I see. You wish to know my
knowledge, my faith. Urn—I am an Acolyte of the Fifth,
the Vessel of God's Reason." The angel pointed at a simple
square tower surrounded by five smaller buildings. "His
palace is there."

"Go on."

"The Ninth, the Vessel of God's Vision, resides there,"
the angel said, indicating a complex coalition of odd geo-
metric forms, a puzzle box that had been pulled apart and
jammed back together in a design that at once defied logic
and yet made perfect sense. ' "The Ninth has been planning
a great deal for this night."

"What of the Sixth?" Tom asked.

178 Scott Ciencin

"Lord—I beg you, do not be cross, but—don't you
know?"

"I am testing your knowledge," Tom said. "Besides,
you know what they say about the Fourth."

"Oh, yes!"

Tom smiled. He could feel something terrifying spread^
ing across what might have been called his face. ' 'What do
they say?"

The angel looked down at the terrible drop. "That you
are good and kind?"

"A perfectly reasonable answer," Tom said, dissolving
into his role. "Now go on."

"The Vessel of God's Vengeance, the Sixth, resides
there,'' the angel said. He nodded in the direction of a
citadel of swords.

Love and Strength's palace's were next. Tom didn't have
to ask about the Second's palace. A single collection of
towers with sweeping courtyards and wide pavilions had
been left to rot. It was overrun with creepers, thistles, and
trees that burst from its walls with dark, twisting branches.
The stones themselves seemed to have been chiseled apart
by age. The essence of its maker had fled. The house of
Mercy had suffered a cruel fate with the passing of its mas-
ter.

That left only a black citadel in the distance that could
be nothing else but the dwelling place of Vengeance and
two other palaces. One was his, the palace of Creation, the
other was the palace of Wisdom. Both were simple in de-
sign. One in the form of a stone rose, the other a soft blue
crystal obelisk.

"What do you think of Wisdom?" Tom asked.

The angel looked toward the rose. "It is part and parcel
of the Great Plan. I can think nothing but joyous thoughts
about it."

"That will do," Tom said. With a thought, he gently
placed the angel on the ground. Remaining aloft, he sur-
veyed the rest of the city. The River Lethe had the most
sparkling and pure waters Tom had ever seen. The gigantic

Night of Glory                179

twisting roots of the great world tree connected all nine of
the Vessel's palaces. The music it carried could be heard
even at this height.

He saw the coliseum he had "imagined" and a dark field
obscured by the coliseum's wall. Tom allowed himself to
drift until he could see the field better.

He gasped as the perfect jade battlefield of his earlier
vision came into view. From above, he heard the beating
of wings. Looking up sharply, he expected to see the
winged men the Fourth had created.

Nothing.

A sudden wind buffeted him, sending him tumbling end
over end through the air. He started to fall, then focused
his will and remained aloft.

"You've been hiding in a human form, haven't you?"
asked a thundering voice. ' 'Remember what you are. Sense
what is around you. It just may save you some agonies
later.''

Tom saw a rippling mass approach. It had the vague
outline of a man, but within was a swirling typhoon, a
hailstorm of chipped diamond, a fiery burst of molten lava
and volcanic ash.

Strength.

Another Vessel manifested beside Strength. It was the
End-Time given the rough dimensions of a mortal man, a
fearsome crashing of hooves, the hiss of sharp breath
through flaring nostrils, the stink of death, the buzzing of
flies—it was wild lightning and the angry hand of God. it
was blinding yet alluring, and it was filled with stars that
might have been the points of a hundred-thousand swords.

Vengeance.

Tom stood his ground against them. He waited for an
attack.

None came.

' 'Brother,'' Strength called, ' 'there is a Convergence we
must attend. Would you join us? Only two of us are re-
quired, but a third would make the work go so much
quicker.''

180 Scott Ciencin

A Convergence? The Vessels were going to bring a
Heavenly City to earth—and they wanted him to help?

Before he even knew what he was saying, Tom opened
his hands and said, "I'd be honored ..."

From a window in the tower of the Eighth, Saphar San,-
triel watched as Tom Keeper, wearing the form of the
Fourth Vessel, flew off with the Third and the Sixth. All
was going according to plan.

Saphar turned from the window and went to the silver
mirror propped in the corner of his chamber. He regarded
himself. The fiery glow that had plagued him for over a
millennium had all but faded. The gift he had taken from
his younger self had fed upon its power and taken it for its
own.

His flesh was once again assuming the hues of the earth,
the brown of powerful roots, the green that was true crea-
tion. Given time. he would look tike his old self. A few
days more is all it would take.

He didn't have that long. For the second time in his life,
a Night of Glory approached, and this time he was ready
for it. Once, he had been the rightful heir to godhood. The
chosen to become the Ninth. But his destiny had been sto-
len from him.

Tonight, he would be the usurper.

Saphar looked down at the palm of his hand. It continued
to glow with the hateful fire that made him look like Mer-
irim. Oddly enough, when he dreamed, he didn't wear his
proper body. Instead, he was clothed in the flesh of the
body-thief, of the shining man.

Placing his hand up to the mirror, Saphar recalled what
he thought the first time he saw Meririm. The Elven had
looked as if he was on fire. But no, the burning man had
simply been of another race. And after they had traded
places, and for over a thousand years, he had been that
burning man. In the realm of dreams, he was that burning
man still.

Dreams ... he had done so much of his work in dreams.

Night of Glory                181

No longer.

Saphar forced himself to look away from the mirror. He
relaxed and thought again about Tom Keeper and his grand
deception. There was nothing Saphar could do for the lad
now. Keeper would survive or perish on his wits alone. If
he failed in his task, there was another who might help to
see justice done at last. One way or another, it would all
end tonight.

An odd sensation raced through Saphar. A new factor
was entering the equation. He wasn't entirely certain that
he could allow that. He focused his thoughts and sought
the cause of the disturbance he felt.

The moment he found it, he began to laugh. There was
nothing to fear from this new player entering the field.

In fact, there might be everything to gain.

Saphar closed the windows and bolted the door of his
chamber. He would need to access the Nexus to achieve
his goal, and it wouldn't do for his physical body to be
disturbed when he was in that place.

He drew a dozen hexes in the air and upon the floor,
then settled back.

The new player was about to receive a very special greet-
ing.

^

Twelve

KAYRLIS STOOD BEFORE MOTHER JAEL, SHAKING WITH

rage and terror. *'I won't believe it."
"Child—"

"My brother is not dead!"

Mother Jael's wizened features softened. "I never said
he was. I told you he was gone."

Kayriis shook her head. She pointed toward the lake.
Three shiftless men waded through the waters, taking turns
diving below. So far, they'd turned up nothing.

"Cameron entered the lake," Mother Jael said. "He
never surfaced. Not on this side, anyway."

"What are you talking about?"

Before Mother Jael could reply, a sudden rush of flames
and a crackling sounded from beside the two women. A
burst of heat found them, and a voice that hissed like cold
stones suddenly seared by flame spoke to them. "Cam-
eron 's faith won't be enough. He needs you.

Kayriis turned to see a burning man hovering several
inches above the ground. She withdrew in fear from the
apparition.

"Don't," Mother Jael said. She didn't seem at all fright-
ened. Or surprised.

182

Night of Glory

183

The name guardian held out his hand. "/ can take you
to your brother. The journey will be hard, and there may
be no returning. Are you willing to fake that chance?"

Forcing away her fears, Kayriis offered her hand. The
burning man clasped it to his own. Kayriis felt the blazing
heat of his flesh, but there was no pain, not even when the
flames washed over her.

"God be with you and keep you," Mother Jael said-

Kayriis barely heard. She was walking with the flame
guardian, heading toward the lake. The sun was intense,
and would soon wane upon the horizon. Mother Jael's men
parted as the burning man led Kayriis into the waters. Kayr-
iis felt a chill she didn't expect—then she was dragged
under.

She managed to catch a deep breath, and she held it as
long as she could. The flame guardian swam into the murky
depths, his fiery body lighting their way- The waters had
no effect on him.

"You know thai I mean you no harm, " the flame guard-
ian whispered in the confines of Kayriis's mind. "So be-
lieve me when I tell you that you must breathe, even though
water will fill your lungs. You will not drown. "

Kayriis wanted to believe. She knew the prophet beside
her had appeared to her brother and her beloved many times
in their dreams. But this was not a dream!

The pain in her chest became too great. Kayriis could
hold her breath no longer. She struggled to free herself from
the flame guardian's grasp as the waters entered her, but
soon realized that his words had been true. She was not
dying.

"I'll tell you a story," the flame guardian said. "!t will
make the time pass more quickly.''

Kayriis waited. Ahead, she saw a beautiful array of
lights, and what looked like the remains of a sunken city.

"Your brother is far from the first to allow his faith in
the basic goodness of man to cloud his judgment. More
than a century ago, there lived a good, kind man named
Miguel Serveto. He was a healer and a philosopher—per-

184 Scott Ciencin

sonal physician, in/act, to the archbishop. And he was very
devout.

Kayrlis saw the gates of the watery city open, and soon
she was being guided through a maze of twisting, turning
corridors and debris-strewn courtyards.

' 'Miguel teamed of the rise of the hated John Calvin-in
the cursed city of Geneva, and begged the archbishop/or
the chance to speak with the Protestant leader. He honestly
believed that he might sway Calvin and stay the hand of
the avenging angels set to bum the city to the ground. He
entered the city with no goal in mind except the salvation
of its leader's eternal soul.

Now they were free of the city, climbing again to the
surface, only—the light of the sun above was brighter
somehow, harsher than she had ever seen it before.

"Miguel was arrested while attending church. He was
convicted of heresy and blasphemy against the church of
Geneva, and burned at the stake.

Burned? Kayrtis thought. She looked to her guide
through the murky depths.

"Some fires never fade, " the flame guardian said. "Pro-
tect your brother."

The surface was quickly approaching. Kayrlis felt the
waters flow from her lungs, and by the time she broke the
surface, she was gasping greedily for air.

The flame guardian was nowhere in sight.

She looked to the sky and saw twin suns beating down
upon her. The sight was so Jarring and overwhelming that
she nearly passed out. Somehow, she managed to retain her
wits long enough to reach the shore of the lake. In the
distance, she saw the impossibly high spires of a Heavenly
City.

Cameron was there. She could feel his presence.

Pulling her long hair from her face, Kayrlis wondered
why the flame guardian had told her the story of the devout
Miguel Serveto. Was he telling her who he had been in
life? Or did he simply wish for her to keep the tale in mind
when speaking with her brother?

Night of Glory

185

Anything was possible ...

Suddenly, Kayrlis became aware that she was not alone
on this shore. A pair of warrior angels appeared before her.
They were dressed in black armors with blue trim. Each
had bright red hair and eyes, and charcoal black skin.

"A mortal," the first angel said. "Here, upon ground
that is the most holy of nolies. Brother, what do you think
we should do with it?"

The second angel unsheathed his sword. "Deliver it, of
course." He approached Kayrlis swiftly. "Close your eyes.
child. You will be with the Lord very soon . . ."

Tom Keeper flew above the Heavenly City Tykargamoth
with a pair of Vessels who had seemingly accepted him as
their brother. He looked down on the bizarre architecture,
the floating buildings, and the ever-present sparkling waters
of the River Lethe and the snaking tendrils of the world
tree.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Strength asked.

"Yes," Tom admitted.

"We thought that you might -lead us. We know that
you 're of Reason and we 're of Rage, but that should make
no difference here.''

Tom looked sharply to the Vessel. He knew nothing
about the wards and spells necessary to take a city from
the Elven True Lands and materialize it upon the virgin
fields of earth.

"You hesitate." Vengeance said. "Why?"

Tom thought quickly. "I am unworthy of the honor."

"Nonsense," said Strength. "My understanding is that
you have been touched by God. That is how your wits have
been returned to you-—and why you are here, seeking for-
giveness. If you truly wish us to accept your goodwill and
not seek atonement for your desertion when you were most
needed, do this for us.''

"Wait." Vengeance approached Tom. "Does this have
something to do with Abaddon?"

186 Scott Ciencin

Vengeance touched him. It was a sensation unlike any
Tom had ever known. A fiery rage filled him, along with
a trembling fear. He suddenly wished to confess his every
sin and gladly take the punishment warranted for his acts.

Tom pulled away from the Vessel.

Vengeance laughed. ' 'Brother! You know that what oc-i
curred in Abaddon was not your fault, no matter what some
might say.

Strength looked away.

' 'In fact, if I hadn 't craved your company at just the
moment of Lileo 's summoning, you would have been the
Vessel felled by the Enemy!

Tom felt his power to divine truth rise within him. Ven-
geance was telling the truth—he had kept the Fourth from
attending his servant. But why?

Suddenly, another force rose within Tom. It over-
whelmed him and quickly took control of his every act.

"I'm ready," he heard himself proclaim- Tom spread his
arms and took in the full measure of the city before him.
In an instant, he studied the pattern of every stone, every
pillar, every block. Millions of possessions and creations
were catalogued within his mind.

He knew the exact weight, bearing, and position of a
quill that rested on the edge of a desk in the sacred library
below. Exactly how many doors were open, closed, or ajar
in every building. He could sense which foundations would
crumble and need to be fortified, and that one of the many
ivory pillars before the grand cathedral bore the initials of
a child who had grown up to become one of the Elven's
greatest heroes.

That was the easy part. Over twenty thousand angels re-
sided in the city. Tom suddenly felt himself dissipating as
he spread his essence out to encompass the minds and
hearts of each one. Instantly, he knew d-ieir hopes and fears,
their dreams and desires. He could easily separate the petty
from the pious, the schemers from the devout.

It was like Genesis, only on a much grander scale.

Then he was inside the bodies of each angel. All of them

Night of Glory                187

at once. He could feel their teeth grinding, their sore feet,
their sweaty skin, and their tired muscles- He breathed
thousands of times each moment, his heart battering his
chest without respite, his blood flowing like a great river,
rushing out of control.

Suddenly, he was beyond all such trivial concerns of
flesh and stone, he was one with the pattern of reality, he
could see its incredible weave, and with the force of his
will alone, pull apart the strands that bound the city to this
realm of existence.

He did so.

There was little resistance. The soul of this land was
weakened, dying. It let go easily.

Tom was vaguely aware of the presence of the other two
Vessels. They moved in beside him, bolstering his strength.
But he was firmly in command of this enterprise. He knew
how to open me Doors of Worlds. How to broaden that
pathway to accommodate the burden he now carried within
his mind: every particle of matter that comprised this holy
city. And he knew that if he faltered, thousands would die
and a piece of history would be erased from the annals of
time.

He also knew that he would stand revealed as a fraud.

From somewhere came a chorus of the most lovely
voices Tom had ever heard. Angels were singing a joyous
hymn! Bright flashes of many-hued fire came to him. He
sensed runes being carved into the air with naming swords,
and he understood that legions of angels assisted in both
the True Lands and the human realm.

For an instant, he felt as if his burden would become too
much for him. Then Vengeance touched him, only now the
Vessel's touch did not seem so fearsome. In fact, it was as
if he was communing with a different being entirely, one
who had laid himself bare to help in this enterprise.

Understanding raced through him. There were two sides
to each of the gods, their Being, and their Station. Who
they were and what they did, the duties they had undertaken

188 Scott Ciencin

and by which they were identified. Wisdom. Creation.
Love- Strength.

At his heart. Vengeance was a being of serenity and or-
der. Tom hadn't expected that. His alignment had been to-
ward Rage. Chaos. Or so he had said.

What was happening here? Had Judgment made Creation
mad in order to sway the balance of power between Rage
and Reason? Had the one whose task it was to stay neutral
at all times taken sides?

There was no more time to think. The pattern he held
was being rent from its place in existence, and he had to
keep any part of it from fraying or being altered. The chan-
nel between one world and the next was opened, and Tom
carried his burden through the rift in existence, feeling as
if he was both a lone mortal caught up in an experience of
near-infinite beauty and grandeur, and a multitude of souls
lost to breathless excitement.

The mortal lands beckoned.

Here, the soul of the world was healthy and strong. The
essence of magic was a blinding presence, a formidable
enemy that had been brought to its knees but would take
time before it was willing to show proper fealty to its new
lords.

Tom wove the pattern of the old world into the fabric of
the new.

' 'Don't forget the tithe, brother,'' Vengeance called.

A searing energy wrapped itself around Tom, a cocoon
of life, warmth, eternity.... Now he understood. The Ves-
sels weren't content to repatriate their cities to this realm
of nearly untapped magic—they exacted payment for their
defilement!

The energies were branded into him, creating an unri-
valed bliss that defied right and wrong, good and evil- For
several long moments, Tom rode the crest of these sensa-
tions and felt as if he was all things, all places, all powerful.

The sensation faded, but in its aftermath, Tom felt
stronger than ever.

He looked out at the Heavenly City and saw that it now

Night of Glory                189

sat in a world with a single sun. The Convergence was at
an end.

' 'The veil,'' Vengeance said.

Strength left them to attend to this final detail, the shroud
of mist that would prevent any mortal from entering the
Heavenly City.

Tom felt control of his body slowly returning to him. A
presence that was only a shadow of its former self fell
away.

The Second.

Tom tried to keep the soul of the slain Vessel from de-
parting, but his efforts failed. He had many questions to
ask. For now, they would go unanswered.

"Glorious," Vengeance said. He touched Tom again.
This time, Tom fell only the warmth of the Sixth's inner
essence, which had been shielded from him when the Ves-
sel first approached. ' 'That should be good for another cen-
tury, wouldn't you say?"

\      Tom was startled by the question. Good for another cen-
^    tury? Suddenly, he understood. Without magic, the gods
j    themselves would die! "It was unrivaled."
"      Vengeance faced him. "You are healed, aren't you? By
the grace of God, it's true."

"My madness is at an end," Tom said. "If that's what
you mean."

' 'Then you should come with me. There is much to dis-
cuss. And when you have the time, see the Ninth. I'm sure
you 'II have interest in what He has in mind. A project that
you began with Him, if I'm not mistaken."
^      The Ninth, Tom thought. The Keeper of God's Holy

Plan.
^      "I will," Tom said.

He departed with the Vessel.

Kayrlis raised her staff. She knew she might die this day,
but if that was her fate, she would die fighting ...
*-     The angels laughed. The swordsman bowed to her.
f   "Child of mud and clay. How you came here is a mystery.

190 Scott Ciencin

Be thankful I'm not particularly curious. Give yourself to
me and I will send your soul free and clear to its reward.
Resist, and I will cleave it from your flesh and sell it as a
keepsake in the market."

Kayrlis nodded. She lay her staff before her and knelt
down. Shaking with fear, she thrust her head forward, and
her hair streamed into her face. The back of her neck was
exposed, ready for his blade.

"Good child," the angel said. He stood before Kayrlis
and raised his sword.

With lightning speed, Kayrlis snatched up her staff. She
tapped a release on its side, and a blade hissed into place.
Arcing the staff upward, Kayrlis slashed it across the an-
gel's face. A shrill cry came from him, and he stumbled
back- Kayrlis planted the dull end of the staff on the ground
and used it to vault in the angel's direction. She delivered
a powerful kick with both boots to the angel's chest. Some-
thing cracked in his breastplate. His sword flew from his
hand, and he fell to the ground. Kayrlis went down with
him, spinning the staff and planting it against the angel's
throat. The second angel was coming her way.

"Don't move!" she screamed.

The second angel stopped.

Below Kayrlis, the swordsman snarled, "You—you cut
me! Christ's blood! I'll see you a year in the dying for
that!"

"Do you have any idea where you are?" his companion
asked.

Kayrfis nodded.

"So how do you propose to end this? Or do you think
you can simply escape the way you came? That I would
allow such a thing?"

A nimbus of bright blue flame suddenly surrounded the
angel standing on the shore. He brought his hand down
suddenly, and the ground shuddered. It tossed Kayrlis from
her perch. The angel she had wounded reached for her. She
brought the staff around in a blinding arc. The angel yelped
as he withdrew his hand.

Nighl of Glory                191

"You nearly cut my hand off!" he cried.

Kayrlis was on him again, this time vaulting over the
angel, who lay on his side. She hooked her staff around his
throat and started to squeeze.

"You will be damned for this," the angel of blue flames
said sadly.

"Guardian!" Kayrlis called. Why had the burning man
deserted her? "Guardian, if you can hear me, now would
be a good time to make your presence known!"

"Of course," said a voice behind her. Suddenly, a hand
shot down before her and shattered her staff. Then Kayrlis
was aware of being dragged up into the air and tossed to
the soft, wet shore. She tumbled three times, then leaped
to her feet.

The being that had hauled her bodily from the angel was
not male, though it was divine.

A female angel stood before her.

Kayrlis stared at the angel in wonder. She was beautiful
beyond belief. Her flesh was dark blue, almost black. A
wealth of eyes stole up and down her arms, legs, and flank.
They blinked rapidly, vanishing from existence as they did
so, only to reappear in other places upon her magnificent
form. Her hair was alive, reaching down to the ground and
groping in every direction, dancing and clasping hungrily.

Gossamer veils and shimmering plates of armor hid
much of her body, and a collection of weapons forged from
nightmare black steel and adorned with rubies hovered
within her reach at any time. She smiled. Her teeth were
sharp.

"You have no place here!" the fallen angel cried. His
voice nearly broke.

"Dear little man, I have every cause to be here. For
one, my pet has summoned me.''

"She's yours9" cried the angel ensconced m blue
flames.

' 'A revenant I gave the gift of flesh. She forgets herself,
sometimes. I shall attend to this.''

192 Scott Ciencin

Kayrlis was filled with a sudden terror. She saw the fe-
male angel gesturing, and felt a sudden weakness. Strug-
gling not to fall, Kayrlis raised what remained of her staff.

"I don't—" she began. It was all she had time to say.
Waves of force struck her. They passed into her flesh, buf-
feting her like raging winds striking from every direction
at once. Pinwheels burst behind her eyes. Her chest felt as
if it was being crushed, her bones as if they were being
ground apart from the inside. Then something heavy fell
away from her, and the pain stopped-

" You see?" the female angel asked. The ends of her hair
bunched and curled to form inquisitive gestures. "The flesh
is nothing, but the spirit is amusing.

Kayrlis heard a horrible sound behind her. A death rattle.
Slowly, she turned. The sight she beheld caused Kayrlis to
clasp her hands over her mouth: Her body lay on the shore,
eyes rolled back in their sockets.

She was dead.

Her soul had been cleaved from her flesh!

"The baby," she whispered. "God, no—my son ..."

The warrior angels were again confronting the female
angel. The angel who'd been cut snarled, "Give her to me
as amends!"

"The revenant?" the female angel asked. "You're wel-
come to her. Provided you 're willing to face me in combat
first."

The angels looked to one another and backed away.

"I'd also suggest keeping this little incident among the
three of us. It could prove humiliating if word was spread
that you received that scar from a mortal spirit, don't you
think?"

"Come on," said the angel of blue fires. He took a few
steps with his friend—then both shimmered and vanished.

The female angel turned to Kayrlis. "I'm Eve. Pleased
to meet you.''

Kayrlis could think of nothing to say. This woman had
taken everything from her, she had—

Night of Glory                195

"You 're not dead, get that thought out of your mind right
now.''

"I'm—I'm not?"

The angel approached. A clump of her hair scooped up
a handful of dirt from the shore and threw it at Kayrlis.

Raising her hand instinctively, Kayrtis managed to keep
any of it from getting in her eyes. She twisted slightly and
saw the rest of the dirt fall upon her "corpse."

It floated down and passed harmlessly through the body.

"An illusion, meant to distract those fools. Nothing
more. Unlike those animals, I only kill when I have to.''

Kayrlis ran her hand over her cheek- Felt its warmth.

Alive.

She was alive!

Relief coursed through her. "I—I don't know what to
say. Thank you ..."

"You can thank me by answering some questions. To
start with. how did you get here?"

I was brought, Kayrlis thought. "I was looking for my
brother- He went into a lake, like this one, only in the mor-
tal lands, and never came back out."

' 'The mortal lands,'' Eve repeated, considering how
those words sounded. "You know that's what we call them,

do you?"
"I_"

' 'It seems you know a great deal about us. No matter. I
can surmise the rest. Somewhere between this lake and its
shadow there is a tear in the walls between the worlds.
Such things used to be rare. But now they are all too com-
mon. It's one of the reasons I'm here."

Kayrlis pointed at the spires in the distance. "Is that the
City of the Vessels?"

Eve laughed. "You know about the city, as well? There's
much you 're not telling me.''

Kayrlis bit her lip and looked away.

"That's all right. Keep your secrets, if you wish. I like
you. You have the soul of a warrior—but not a killer. That
interests me.'' Eve smiled warmly. She allowed her tendrils

194 Scott Ciencin

of hair to lightly caress Kayrlis's arms and hands. "To an-
swer your question, yes, that is the City of the Vessels. And
if you're bound for that place, you'll need my help even to
gel through the gates. Serve as my Attendant, and I'll pro-
tect you as best I can, as long as I can.''

"What do you mean?" Kayrlis asked. "You talk as if
you don't—"

' 'A very unusual event is taking place here tonight. The
most holy of holies will vie for the right to become a Ves-
sel. ''

Kayrlis waited.

' 7 see from your expression that you already knew that.
The surprise is that I plan to be the winner of that little
contest.''

For a moment, Kayrlis was too startled to even react.
Then a wide smile spread across her beautiful face.
"Good."

They began the journey to the city.

"Tell me something," Kayrlis said. "Why hasn't anyone
ever heard of female angels?''

"Now that's a long story. But we have time. Stay close,
and I'll tell you everything ..."

^

Thirteen

VENGEANCE ACCOMPANIED TOM ON A TOUR OF THE




Fourth's apparently abandoned palace. Though the
look of the exterior was fixed, the interior was an-
other matter entirely. One moment, Tom was standing in a
hall lined with golden mirrors. But when he looked away,
then shifted his gaze back again, the furnishings were to-
tally different. The mirrors were gone, and the walls, floors,
and ceilings bore intricate patterns "of carved ivory.

Tom noted that the palace didn't change while it was
being observed. They passed a chamber filled with blue and
grey clouds that bore faces fixed in pure ecstasy, then a
great room lined with windows that all looked out upon a
different view of the city, though they sat side by side.

He led Vengeance to a jasper terrace. The wall behind
him had the appearance of melted wax. They looked out
on the city.

"Where are my people?" Tom asked.

"The followers of Creation have made a pilgrimage to
the Void."

Knowledge rose within Tom. "They're dead?"

' 'Not at all. With no one to lead them. they sought others
who would offer guidance. Vision kept them enraptured for

195

196 Scott Ciencin

days with tales of adventurers to the nothingness and the
secrets it is rumored they discovered. They needed a place
to ply their art. What could be better than an empty canvas
like the Void^"

"They can never return from such an exile," Tom mur-
mured.                                        ,

' 'That isn 't known. For example, a Vessel has never gone
there—though the threat is ever present.''

"Yes," Tom murmured. Had Vengeance just threatened
him? Or had He issued a friendly warning?

"But why concern yourself so? They're just mortals. We
can get more of them easily enough.''

"True," Tom said grimly.

"To think we were once like them. The number of
breaths we were allotted was finite, the number of sights
we might behold, the number of pleasures we might expe-
rience. Now we are infinite.''

"And tonight, another joins our ranks."

"Ah. I was wondering when you would get around to
speaking of that. Yes, tonight is the Night of Glory. The
balance will again be struck. Provided, of course, you are
doggedly remaining on the path of Reason.''

"It's my nature," Tom said.

"True, but creation out of control is the ultimate form
of chaos. A truly wondrous sight to behold.'' Vengeance
sighed. "Have you chosen a champion?"

"No."

' 'Perhaps it is just as well. As before, the outcome has
already been decided. It's a pity these others have to fight
and die for no reason other than ceremony, but it would
hardly appear fair otherwise. It's all about appear-
ances ..."

Already decided? Tom forced away his shock. "Who has
been chosen?"

Vengeance laughed. "/';/ let you see that for yourself."

"It's to be an Avatar of Reason," Tom said. "That
means your Emissary cannot win."

Night of Glory                197

' 'By that logic, the champions of Strength, Vision, and
Wisdom are also fated to fall. It's not necessarily so. Em-
issaries are famous for having minds of their own. I had
one like that. Skalligrin. What a foolish old rogue.'' Ven-
geance looked away, caught up in memory. "But now the
Assassin is my tool. And his allegiance is unwavering.''

"Amen."

Vengeance laughed. ' 'Ah, brother, it is well that you are
of sound mind again. Now I may tell you: The one who
interfered with your workings, who stepped into your do-
main and practiced the fine art of creation without your
leave, is no longer among us.''

"The Second?" Tom cried. That couldn't be!

"Yes, He was a trusted friend. I know this must come as
a surprise.

"To say the least," Tom whispered- His power rose up
within him. Vengeance wasn't lying—he believed what he
was saying. But it wasn't the truth.

"We talked of this earlier. On the day Abaddon fell, you
were summoned. I kept you from going there so that the
guilty one would be punished.''

He knew, Tom thought. He knew that Komm Kayriel had
found the Mysts Arcana and gained the spells necessary to
stay a god. Had he conspired with Kayriel? Or simply
turned a blind eye to what he knew?

"Who led you to believe that the Second was guilty?"
Tom asked. "And that an executioner awaited Him?"

' 'Judgment, of course,'' Vengeance said.

The name echoed in Tom's mind. Judgment. The same
Vessel who'd punished Creation for investigating an event
He had every right to look into. Was judgment covering
up His own wrong doing? Had He been the one who'd
masqueraded as Creation and brought Haborym—and the
Scourge—to the mortal lands?

Possibly. If that was the case, Tom would need proof.

He looked to Vengeance. ' "The guilty are punished. All
is well."

' 'Indeed.

198 Scott Ciencin

Suddenly, a presence manifested before Vengeance. A
badly scarred angel. The knowledge of the Second came to
Tom. This was the Assassin of Invention, Emissary to the
Sixth. His grisly duties were known to Tom. Grin had per-
formed them, once.

"Why are you troubling me?" Vengeance asked. "And
please try to remember your mask!''

"My apologies," the Assassin said. "A visitor has come.
Ainigrim Bosh R'Hayte Skalligrin. He is here to repent his
sins and beg your forgiveness."

The Vessel remained perfectly silent for a long moment.
Then he placed his hand on Tom. The searing fires of Ven-
geance came to the lad. ' 'Speak of the Enemy and He shall
appear. This should prove diverting.''

Tom struggled to contain his emotions. "I would say."

The Sixth Vessel turned and vanished, along with his
current Emissary.

Tom sank against the wall. Grin! He'd said that he had
another way into the city. Tom never expected anything
like this. He desperately wanted to accompany Vengeance,
but he sensed it would be a mistake. Grin had an agenda
of his own.

Leaving the terrace, Tom walked through the deserted
reaches of the Fourth's palace. He considered the mystery
he had to solve: One of me Nine had taken Haborym from
Shadow and used him as an assassin. The Scourge had been
his weapon of choice.

Why?

Any of the Vessels wielded nearly unlimited power. If
there were certain humans they wanted expunged for mat-
ters of heresy, they could have delivered them without go-
ing to such extreme measures.

Tom thought of the scenes he had witnessed from Ha-
borym's memories. The Vessel who'd chosen Haborym had
wanted to spread fear among mortals. Fear of disobeying
the will of God as interpreted by the Vessels. Or so He'd
told Haborym.

Again, this was unnecessary. Mortals understood God's

Night of Glory                199

law. And no matter what the punishment, some would al-
ways disregard the ways they'd been taught.

There had to be another reason.

Tom gazed through a nearby window. The twin suns
were dimming. The day was becoming long.

He had to know more.

Tom left the Fourth's palace and journeyed to the mad-
dening reaches of the Ninth's dwelling place. He was met
by a dozen of Vision's Attendants, who took him through
a maze of corridors and spiraling stairwells. Finally, he was
left alone in a mossy chamber riddled with snaking roots
singing discordant hymns. A sparkling fountain sat alone
at its center.

He felt drawn to the fountain and scooped up its waters
in his hands. Before he could drink, a voice sounded from
the roots.

"DO SO IF YOU MUST, BUT THE TRUE FOUNTAIN
OF MIMIR REMAINS WITHIN WISDOM'S DOMAIN.
THIS IS BUT A FACSIMILE."

The fountain of Mimir, Tom thought. The source of hid-
den wisdom.

He allowed the waters to return to the fountain.

The roots twisted and congealed, knotting themselves un-
til they took on the rough dimensions of a man.

The Ninth had arrived.

"You seem well, brother," Tom said.

"AS DO YOU. THAT SURPRISES ME."

Tom nodded. "God has provided for me. I'm told that
you led my followers to the Void."

"THEY HAD TO BE LED SOMEWHERE. SOMEONE
HAD TO LEAD THEM. YOU WERE GONE."

"Is there a way back for them?"

"ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE. BUT THAT'S NOT
WHY YOU'RE HERE. YOU WISH TO SEE THE PRO-
GRESS OF THE GREAT WORK WE BEGAN."

"Of course," Tom said. "Show me."

Emerald vines burst from the roots that were the Ninth's

200 Scott Ciencin

body. They raced to the fountain, coalescing into a gigantic
fist, and smashed it into pieces!

Tom sensed the ground shifting beneath him. The waters
from the fountain surrounded the dry patch of land upon
which he stood. Tom had a vague sense that he was looking
at a map of a continent. Mountain ranges rose up, and deep
valleys dug themselves into the earth. Stones formed col-
lections of buildings and transformed into cities while rivers
and lakes appeared.

"I GIVE YOU THE MORTAL REALM," said the
Ninth. "ONE OF ITS MANY PATCHES OF EARTH,
ANYWAY."

Misis formed around the cities, obscuring them from
view. The Heavenly Cities that had been brought to earth.

"AT THE END OF THE THOUSAND YEARS, ALL
THE CITIES OF HEAVEN WILL RESIDE HERE, IN
THE PROMISED LAND. AND THE RIVERS THAT
GIVE US LIFE AND HEALING WELL BURST
FORTH!"

Tom watched as waters snaked outward from each of the
Heavenly Cities, connecting to form a vast network of riv-
ers across the land. The roots of the world tree quickly
followed.

The implications of what he was seeing were staggering.
Holy Words came to him. "Blessed are they which are
persecuted for Righteousness' sake: For theirs is the King-
dom of Heaven."

"PARDON?"

Tom felt joyous. "Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for
great is your reward in Heaven!"

The Ninth was silent. He waited for his brother's eupho-
ria to pass, then asked, "ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE
QUITE WELL?"

"Yes. The promises we've made mankind will be kept.
The Kingdom of Heaven will be theirs. None will ever
thirst or be hungry. All wounds will be healed, all sick-
nesses cured. Magic will be—"

"WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT MORTALS?"

Night of Glory                201

Tom stopped dead. "They're not to share?"
The Ninth started laughing. "MORTALS' REALLY,

NOW! YOU HAVEN'T GONE OVER TO THE OTHER

SIDE ON THIS, HAVE YOU?"

"BROTHER. YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU DEARLY.
BUT DON'T REPEAT SUCH THINGS TO THE OTH-
ERS. THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND YOUR SENSE OF
HUMOR AS I DO."

Forcing himself to laugh with the Ninth, Tom said, "I'm
glad you understand me."

"OF COURSE! DON'T BE CONCERNED WITH THE
MORTALS. A PLACE WILL BE FOUND FOR THEM.
WHAT HAD BEEN THE TRUE LANDS, PERHAPS."

"It's of no matter to me," Tom said. Inwardly, he was
reeling.

"NEXT WE MUST DESIGN THE MECHANISM TO
ENSURE THAT THIS VISION COMES TO PASS.
THOUGH THAT IS WITHIN THE REALM OF YOUR
WORKINGS, I HAVE SOME IDEAS."

"I thought you would. Share them."

The Ninth called upon His surroundings to form a replica
of the pattern Tom had glimpsed only a short time ago.
Tom studied it carefully as the Vessel explained how the
wards that had been put in place to keep the River Lethe
flowing in both the True Lands and the mortal realms could
be defeated.

Tom bowed when the presentation was at an end.
"You've given me much to think about."

"THE PLAN IS FAR FROM FINISHED. BUT I HOPE
I'VE GIVEN YOU ENOUGH SO THAT YOU MAY SET
YOURSELF TO THE TASK. WE HAVE LESS THAN
SEVEN CENTURIES. WE MUST BE PREPARED."

"Plan ahead, yes. Indeed, we must."

The Ninth hesitated. "BROTHER, I HOPE YOU CAN
FORGIVE ME FOR SENDING YOUR FOLLOWERS TO
GINNUNGAGAG. THEY SEEMED SO ELATED AT

202 Scott Ciencin

THE IDEA OF BRINGING CREATION TO THE
VOID..."

"They are easy to come by." Tom said. Turning, he
willed himself away from the Ninth's presence.

Prowling the halls of the Fourth's palace, Tom tried to
sort out what he had learned. The angels meant to make a
paradise of earth, but they had no intention of sharing it
with mankind.

The Scourge could kill humans or angels, but the waters
of the River Lethe, open only to the divine, held the cure.

The Vessels were clearly divided on many issues. Tom
sensed that the ultimate fate of mankind was one of them.
With a weapon like the Scourge, which would at first ap-
pear to be a disease of human origin, a Vessel could easily
render the entire issue moot

Mankind would be expunged.

Tom stopped suddenly as he realized that Judgment had
fused Haborym into the Fourth as "punishment," thereby
furthering that cause. Creation went mad—and it sent the
plague forth in everything new that came into the world.

Tom came to the Fourth's throne room. It was made
entirely of steel at the moment, and there were no windows.
He was about to summon a simple spell of incandescence
when a sound came from the darkness before him.

Someone was seated on His throne.

Surprisingly, the figure did not appear to be a Vessel. It
radiated intense power, but it had the form of a thin,
hawkish-looking man with fine, silken black hair.

RUN! a voice screamed to Tom from somewhere deep
within. The voice of the Second. DON'T QUESTION,
QUIT THIS PLACE NOW!

Instead, Tom cast his spell and bathed the chamber in
light. The figure approached with arms outstretched.

"Vasiarah," Tom said.

'*! prefer this appearance when I'm with friends, yes,"
the man said. "Though now and always, I am Judgment.
And I have come for you ..."

Night of Glory                205

Cameron was incredibly excited. He waited in an alley
outside of a black marble house with no windows, no doors.
When the angels wished to enter or leave, they walked
through the walls!

At the request of his friend, he had sent the angels who
were his to command to the overrun palace of the Second
Vessel. Apollo had suggested it. He was a good friend.

Cameron blushed at the thought. A member of the Heav-
enly Host, a Warrior of God, choosing him as a companion!

He looked to me sky. The twin suns were setting. It was
a magnificent sight. So beautiful, in fact, that it filled him
with tears. He turned away from sweeping bands of violet,
gold, and aqua, and looked up just in time to see a blade
rushing out of the darkness.

Cameron's instincts took over. He dove out of the way
of the weapon and kicked back at where he judged it would
end up. His boot connected with the hand gripping the
weapon. There was a grunt of pain, and the sword clattered
to the ground as Cameron rolled several times and sprang
upward, turning in midair to land facing his opponent.

He saw another blade racing his way. The steel edge
flowed in waves. He was dimly aware of the towering form
wielding it. Cameron ducked under the blade and gripped
his assailant's arm. He fell to his back, planted both boots
in his attacker's midsection, and used the figure's momen-
tum to his advantage. With a strong kick, Cameron sent his
nemesis flying overhead.

Fearing that the first who'd attacked him would not be
alone, Cameron didn't wait to see that one fall to the
ground. He'd know 'from the sound exactly where he'd
land.

As he'd suspected, there was another. This one wasn't
bothering with crude weapons. To Cameron, he looked like
a silhouette, lit from behind by a fiery crimson glow. He
was holding something behind his back.

Something charged with magic.

There was nowhere for him to run. He raised his nng,
praying he could summon his legion in time—

204 Scott Ciencin

And Apollo stepped through the wall. He turned directly
to Cameron and spread his arms wide. He wore a crimson
cloak over his brand-new shining silver tunic, leggings, and
boots.

"What do you think?" Apollo asked.

Cameron opened his mouth to speak, but he was too late,,
The crimson sphere the second attacker had kept behind his
back sailed in Apollo's direction. It exploded on contact,
enveloping the Emissary. Cameron saw a vague shadow
that had been Apollo and the much clearer shapes of chat-
tering mad creatures, scorpions the size of a man's arm,
descending on him.

The light faded quietly and Apollo stood, unharmed, but
also unclothed, once more.

"That was impolite," Apollo said. His eyes burst into
flame, along with the angel who'd attacked him.

Cameron heard a sound from behind him. Turning, he
saw his first attacker, another angel, scrambling to his feet
and running off.

Apollo blew slightly, and a creature made of vapor with
talons for arms and legs streaked across the distance sep-
arating it from the fleeing angel. The monstrosity doubled
in size as it reached him, then seemingly vanished. It took
Cameron a moment to understand that the vapors had ac-
tually been breathed in by the fleeing assassin. He fell to
his knees, hands reaching up, eyes rolling into his sockets,
as very loud crunching sounds came from somewhere
within him. Dropping to the ground, he shuddered with
indescribable agony.

"One moment," Apollo said. He ducked back into the
shop and quickly returned, holding another set of the cloth-
ing he'd been wearing when he'd left the first time.

He casually dressed as the burning man writhed and spun
himself over on the ground, his hands clasping together as
if in prayer.

"Bother!" Apollo said. He put his hand out, clasped it
into a fist, and the burning man collapsed into a pile of
ashes. Then he dressed quickly and once again stretched

Night of Glory                205

out his arms. "Now tell me true—is it me?"

"You—you look very good," Cameron said. "Hand-
some. Dashing."

"Good!" Apollo said. He turned back to the black mar-
ble house of the tailor and said, "You can live after all!"

Apollo put his hand on Cameron's shoulder and guided
him away from the dying angels. Cameron kept staring at
them over his shoulder.

"But—but—you're the Emissary of Love, aren't you?"
Cameron asked.

"Of course. It was love of my precious existence that
motivated me to make an example of those two. We've all
been warned that this sort of thing may happen from time
to time. Warrior angels setting themselves against us, hop-
ing to take our place tonight. Pity I've never really learned
to fight. Or how to use magic in any really impressive way.
Still, it should prove interesting."

They reached a crowded plaza. Apollo was taken back
by the lack of reaction he provoked in his fellow angels.
No one moved out of his way. Even when he levitated
above the heads of the first tier of the crowd, he found that
there were already three more layers of them standing upon

the air.

Finally, he opened his mouth and said a single word:

"Move."

It was as if an explosion had torn through the crowd.
Angels were scattered in every direction. Some crashed
through windows. Most of the ones who had taken to the
air plummeted unceremoniously to the ground. Apollo
pushed his way through the remaining angels, dragging
Cameron along with him.

At the center of the gathering was a beautiful female
angel and a revenant whose loveliness rivaled that of her
companion.

"Kayrlis!" Cameron cried. He raced to his sister, then
stopped as he realized that he could see right through her.

The female angel looked down at the boy. "Oh. yes, I
remember you. The charming fellow we met in—''

206 Scott Ciencin

"China," Kayrlis supplied.

"That's right."

For a moment, Cameron was confused. Then he realized
that the female angel was playing a game as well. It oc-
curred to him that perhaps he had been meant to hear those
silly tales of angels becoming Vessels. That, too, may have^
been part of the game.

But—why did his sister look like an apparition?

"Dear lady!" Apollo cried. "Allow me to make up for
the loutish behavior of my fellows. I am Apollo, also
known as Appolion, the destroyer, Angel of the Bottomless
Pit, et cetera, et cetera. Really, I'm a swell kind of guy."

' 'Eve.''

"Interesting. Name anything you desire, and as Emissary
of the Eighth Vessel, I will turn your wish into reality."

"Very well. I wish to serve as Emissary to the Second
this very night.''

Apollo blanched. "But—"

"You are an Emissary, aren't you?" Eve asked.

"Yes. Yes, I can grant this wish. Though my lord would
then have the right to consign my soul to the pit for doing
so. Are you sure you really want this?"

Eve looked around. "If there is anyone who would like
to challenge me now?"

Silence fell upon the crowd.

' 7 thought not.''

Off to one side, Cameron approached his sister. "Kayr-
lis, did something happen to you? You look—"

"We'll talk later," Kayrlis said quickly. "If there is a
later."

Tom Keeper held perfectly still as Judgment reached to-
ward him. The first and most powerful of all the Vessels
was only inches away from him now. Tom was not at all
certain that his disguise couid fool this entity.

Strangely, he wasn't afraid.

Judgment's hand dropped. His cruel smile disappeared.
His human form fell away and was replaced by a man-sized

Night of Glory                207

field that was equal parts light and shadow. For a moment,
the figure was divided down the middle, black on one side,
white on the other. Then he was divided into quarters,
eighths, and more. A checkerboard of darkness and light,
distributed in perfectly even measure at all times. The equa-
tion that was his body subdivided an incalculable number
of times, and Tom knew that he would quickly go mad if
he contemplated the matter too deeply.

"Reason," he said. Tom called upon the knowledge of
the Second. "H'rxthal. I'm impressed. You deceived me
on all levels. Why?"

"To ascertain your guilt and properly take your mea-
sure, '' Reason said in a flat voice. ' 7 can only perform this
deception for a very limited period of time, but it suffices.''

"I'll ask you again," Tom said coolly. "Why?"

' 'These are trying times. Logic dictates that one knows
ail one can. About anything. Everything.''

' 'And have you learned about me?''

' 'That you left here mad and returned sane.''

"Or maybe I was never mad at all."

' 'Another possibility.''

"I have explained. God healed me."

Reason shook his head. ' 'We have business. Since you
are here, you must select a champion for the event.

"I thought the victor has already been chosen."

' 'Irrelevant.''

"All the other champions will die."

"That is likely."

Tom considered his words carefully. "I choose no one."

' 'That is not an option. Already, a champion has risen
up to fill the absence left by the Second's Emissary. A fe-
male. ''

"Really?" Tom asked.

"Considering the events of this night. I cannot believe
your surprise.''

"Why not? It's genuine. You've already found out that
I'm guilty of nothing, haven't you?"

' 7 've learned that you 're unafraid.''

208 Scott Ciencin

"I have much to do," Tom said.

' 'Then I will be to the point. It is my belie/that the female
is of your choosing. Judgment, Strength, and Wisdom
agree. But as it is unlikely that you will admit to this—''

"Absurd," Tom said, looking out the window. He saw
the female angel in the marketplace. There were others with
her.

His heart seized up as he recognized Cameron and Kayr-
lis.

"We have decided that the last candidate will be one
with no hope of winning and upsetting the balance we have
agreed upon.''

"I agreed to nothing," Tom said, his strength faltering.
What in God's name were they doing here?

"There is a pretender among us. A child indulging in
some foolish masquerade as a human. But he radiates
magic. He is an angel. In fact. I believe you can see him
from where you 're now standing.''

Cameron, Tom thought, fear gripping him.

' 'The boy will participate in the contest tonight, and he
will most assuredly die ..."

^

Fourteen

GRIN SAT ALONE EN A THREADBARE CHAMBER. THE

walls and ceiling were featureless. There were no
windows. The floor had a spark of personality,
though. The multicolored marble became unspeakably hot
and unbearable to the touch once any pressure had been
applied to it.

Fortunately, Grin sat in midair.

The door to his chamber rattled. Grin looked up as the
door opened and a fearsome angel peered inside. The angel
wore a plain crimson mask. He was the Sixth's current
Emissary.

"Care to join me?" Grin asked.

"No." The Emissary hesitated. "But I am curious about
you."

"Really? Why's that?"

"You left His service. What reason did you have?"

"I'm sure you know. And even if you don't, it's irrele-
vant."

"You're not here to make amends for your heresy. He
knows that you have another purpose. And that your choos-
ing this time could not possibly be a coincidence."

Grin shrugged. "Make of my visit what you will. How

209

210 Scott Ciencin

does my petition for an audience with the Sixth fare?''

The Assassin of Invention laughed. "Let me see. How
long did you keep Him waiting?"

"Thirty years."

"I'm sure He'll get back to you in a like amount of

time."

-«

Grin spread his arms and bowed slightly. "Now tell me
the truth of it. Why are you here?"

The Assassin's shoulders sagged slightly. "The contest
begins in less than an hour. He wishes you to take my
place."

"So that I may die and you will be saved."

"Yes."

' 'How will He explain your reappearance later?''

"I will be transformed. A new name, a new visage."

"Interesting. And if I choose Just to sit here?"

"But you won't."

Grin got to his feet. He left the chamber without hurry-
ing, though his boots were smoldering by the time he
reached the Assassin. The floor of the corridor was heated
as well, but not to such a degree.

"He knows me well," Grin said.

"There's nothing that escapes His notice."

"I doubt that."

"He assumed you would. That will be your undoing,"

Grin looked down the empty corridor. "Shall we change
here?"

"Yes, this place will do."

The Assassin removed his mask. His face was a terrify-
ing mass of scars. Grin sighed softly.

"Does my appearance offend you?" the Assassin asked.

"It saddens me. I'd hoped that He was no longer brand-
ing his Emissaries with the mark of the Penitent." Grin's
fingers brushed his own mask. It had been fused to his flesh
for so very long, and no spell had been powerful enough
to remove it.

Grin tugged at the mask, and it came free. The Assassin
recoiled as he saw Grin's face.

Night of Glory                211

"What is it?" Grin asked- "I'm certain that my face can
be no more hideous than your own."

"It's not that," the Assassin said in a low, plaintive
voice.

"Then what is it?"

The Assassin told him.

Grin nearly fell to his knees, but the Assassin anchored
his predecessor. They spoke for several long moments, their
tears turning to steam as they struck the floor.

The angels planned.

Kayrlis waited with Eve and Cameron. They were gath-
ered outside the door to the palace of the Fourth. Apollo
had gone inside to petition an audience with Creation.

Kayrlis looked up into the night sky and saw that the
stars were far different from any she'd seen before. Most
were pale luminaries, but a few were crimson, jade, or am-
ber.

The door opened, and the Emissary emerged, shaking his
head.

"No?" Kayrlis asked. "What do you mean, no? Doesn't
He realize who we are? How important this is?"

She moved to brush past him, and the Emissary put out
a warning arm. He looked at her strangely. "You're not
really mad, are you? I mean, you do realize that to enter
the palace of a Vessel without permission is to become a
part of that place forever? If I wasn't an Emissary, I'd be
one with the rocks lining the walls."

Kayrlis trembled with frustration. She downcast her eyes-
"My apologies, lord."

"Yes, well..." He turned to Eve. "The Fourth said He
is contemplating the Mysteries and does not wish to be
disturbed."

"Perhaps it's just as well," said Eve. "I would have
preferred to be the champion of a living god rather than a
dead one, but I must take what I can get, I suppose."

"Good thinking." said Apollo.

They turned from the dwelling place of the Fourth and

212 Scott Ciencin

walked upon the waters to the only ruins in the city—the
paJace of the Second.

"Perhaps we should discuss this other unpleasant busi-
ness," Apollo said. "The idea of our young friend here
participating in the event that is, I'm afraid to say, creeping
up on us."                                            ,

Kayrlis nodded. She'd been horrified when news had ar-
rived that Cameron had been chosen as one of the nine
combatants this night. She'd been praying that Tom could
somehow intervene. But he'd turned them away . ..

"Cameron," Apollo said, "would you even wish to be-
come a Vessel? I know I wouldn't."

Eve was startled by his confession. "Why not?"

"I'm too in love with life!" he cried. "I'm not entirely
certain that the Vessels remember what it's like to be alive.
They have power, yes, but they have very little purpose."

Cameron's face paled. "The Vessels are the Aspects of
God! They commune His will to us and they guide and
shape our destinies for the greater glories'"

"Oh!" Apollo said. "Fancy that. You've seen them do-
ing all this, then? Communicating with God and all this
other stuff? I know I haven't."

Eve nodded grimly. "The Duties have been neglected."

Cameron trembled. "Wait. You're saying this isn't a
game?"

"A game? No. Very soon, the Hall will appear. And our
presence will be required."

The group came to the ruins of the Second's palace and
went inside. Glowing moss lit their way. Apollo stopped
near a watchtower and knelt before Cameron.

"I think it's time your masquerade was at an end,"
Apollo said. "Tell me who you really are and I'll petition
the Vessels for leniency."

Kayrlis looked to Eve and asked, "What's he talking
about?"

"The hoy seethes with magic," Eve said. "So it follows
that despite his appearance, he's not a human child. He's

Night of Glory                213

an angel in disguise, participating in his own private mas-
querade. ''

"That's right," Apollo said. He smiled at the lad. "So—
tell me."

"I thought it was a game," Cameron babbled. "That you
were playing a game. That you knew. How could you not
know? You're one with the Host." Cameron looked to his
sister. "I don't understand any of this. God couldn't pos-
sibly ... how could it be God's plan? Any of this?"

Kayrlis wanted to comfort her brother, but she didn't
know what to say or do. What power did she have over the
angels?

Apollo snarled in frustration. "Enough of this, boy! Tell
us who you are! Or must I divine the truth for myself?''

' 'Allow me,'' Eve said as she moved past Apollo and
brushed her hand against the side of the lad's cheek- Her
expression abruptly changed. ' 'Ah. Now I understand. You
are just a boy. A human child. But you've been Blessed."

Cameron nodded.

Apollo's eyes widened. "There's no masquerade?"

' 'None. The hand of God has fallen on him.''

"Stop talking nonsense," Apouo said softly, with a wor-
ried smile. "I'm the fool often enough to know when the
time is at hand to give in to the voice of reason."

"Why would I lie?" Eve asked.

Apollo looked first to her, then to Cameron. "It's true?"

Cameron was crying now. "Y—yes. I'm sorry, lord! I
had no wish to deceive! I thought I was doing what you
wanted me to do. I'm nothing but a sinner!"

Apollo shook his head. "You're no sinner. Misguided,
yes, but that's all." His gaze fell upon the ring. "How did
you come by this?"

Cameron told the story quickly. When he was done, he
looked to his companions. "We can just tell everyone it
was a mistake, can't we?"

' 'No,'' Eve said.

"Kayrlis?" Cameron asked, fear in his eyes.

"I'm—I'm sorry, sweetheart..."

214 Scott Ciencin

Cameron fell to his knees. He launched into prayer,
punctuating each verse with, "And God will provide."

Apollo looked to Eve. "I take it you're with me in want-
ing to help the boy?"

"With what little time we have left, yes. "

Apollo looked at Cameron's ring again. "I have an
idea."

The Emissary led his companions through a narrow se-
ries of stone corridors. They reached a darkened hall and
climbed down several nights of stone stairs.

Apollo cried out as he walked into a wall—where no
wall should have been!

"They've anticipated this," Apollo said. "Cameron's
angels, the ones bound to him by the power of Solomon's
ring, have been walled up in this crypt."

He gestured and loosed a hailstorm of spells upon the
wall.

There was no change.

' 'Let me try,'' Eve said. She attacked the floors and ceil-
ing as well as the wall that was blocking their way. She
couldn't break through.

"One of the Vessels did this," Apollo said. "Or an Em-
issary with far more power than 1 possess."

"What are you trying to do?" Kayrlis asked. Her arm
was around her brother, who was still murmuring his
prayers.

"Cameron's angels are within," Apollo said. "Seventy-
two damned spirits who are his to command because of the
ring this fire person led him to. He could have used them
in his defense."

' 'Or we could sever their bond to this plane and he could
enslave seventy-two living angels,'' Eve suggested.
' 'Maybe even the Vessels.''

"No!" Cameron cried. "That's blasphemy. I'd rather
die. If God wants to call me home—"

"God doesn't have anything to do with this," Kayrlis
said. "Don't you understand that, yet? Don't you see what
they are?"

Night of Glory                215

Kayrlis snatched one of Eve's floating weapons and
raked it across Apollo's hand. Dark blood splattered the
wall.

"There are horrors you haven't suffered!" he roared,
clutching at his hand. "Don't tempt me to introduce you
to them!"

Eve held up her hand in warning. Apollo shook his head
and backed away from Kayrlis. He went to work on healing
his wound.

"See?" Kayrlis asked. "They're flesh and blood. Like
us."

"The Host takes on the frailties of flesh for our sake,"
Cameron whispered.

' 'His faith is too strong,'' Eve said. ' 'There will be no
reasoning with him.''

Kayrlis couldn't believe this was happening. The flame
guardian had warned her of the consequences of Cameron's
faith. But how could she undo a lifetime of belief in only
a few moments?

She had to do something. She couldn't have come all
this way only to see her brother die.

"What if there were other angels helping you knock
down the walls?" Kayrlis asked.

' 'There's no time to begin a crusade,'' Eve said. ' 'Even
if there were, few would be likely to join.''

"They'd turn us over to the twins," Apollo said. "Our
punishment would be legendary."

Eve loosed another array of spells at the wall- Beside
her, Apollo allowed creatures of flame and shadow to flow
from his mouth and eyes. They snaked into the cracks in
the wall and attempted to chip away at it from the inside.

"There are two others," Kayrlis said. "Friends of ours.
Angels. They're here, in this city, somewhere. If we could
find them, maybe they could help. One used to be an Em-
issary."

"Skalligrin?" Apollo asked. "He's sequestered in the
palace of the Sixth. They're taking no chances with him.
Even I couldn't gain his audience."

216 Scott Ciencin

"One other. Aitan Anzelm."

"The Angel of the Fallen House?" Eve asked. "Here?"

"You know him?" Kayrlis asked.

' 'By reputation. House Anzelm is well known as a cham-
pion of the Aerie. And he has knowledge. He was an an-
tiquarian. Perhaps he would be useful, at that."

"Could you find him?"

"/ could—hut it would take time. The boy's interests
would be better served if I remained here." Eve's hair
curled and rose- It caressed Kayrlis's skin. Kayrlis gasped.
She felt a burst of strange energies within her. They spi-
raled and danced, changing her somehow.

"What'd you do to me?" Kayrlis asked. She thought of
her son.

"A minor form ofdivinitory magic is now yours." Eve
said. ' 'It will dissipate within the hour. There will be no ill
effects.''

' 'Why only an hour?'' Kayriis asked.

"An hour from now, the contest will be well underway.
By that time, the work here will no longer matter. Now go.''

She looked to her brother. "Cameron—"

' 'He will be safer with us. Depart!''

Kayrlis kissed her brother, who was now sitting on the
floor, rocking back and forth as he issued forth one prayer
after another.

"I love you," she whispered.

If he noticed, he gave no indication.

Suddenly, Kayrlis felt a force she couldn't understand
tugging at her. It was as if she knew just where to go.
Turning, she ran up the stone steps.

She prayed she could find Aitan in time.

At the gates of the city, a lone traveler approached. A
darkly clad angel.

A pair of guards passed through the gates. Their flesh
was transparent, and a soft golden glow rose from within
them. They wove lattices of pulsing lavender and blue en-


Night of Glory                217

ergies before them as shields. The first guard said, "What-
ever your business, return on the morrow."

*'I cannot," said the traveler. "By then my life will be
forfeit."

"That's not our concern," the second guard snarled.

"I'm afraid it is," the traveler said. He came close
enough so the light from their enchantments revealed his
beautiful face.

' 'I am Aitan Anzelm of the House Anzelm. As the last
of my house, I claim the divine right to immediate in-
quiry."

"Inquiry? Into what?"

"The fall of my house. The treachery of one known as
Mithra, one who was declared my Patron, but was my en-
emy."

"I'm sorry," the first guard said. "I can't let you in.
And if you try to enter on your own, without the leave of
one of us, your life and your soul will be forfeit."

"My divine right means nothing to you?"

"It does. But we have been given special orders con-
cerning tonight."

"The Night of Glory. Yes, I know."

The guards looked at one another warily.

"I also know what force truly brought about the Fall of
Abaddon. It's here. You've let it into your midst already.
Tell my name to the twins. Tell them I'm returned from
the Abyss and I am clean of body and spirit. There is no
greater proof of my piety than that."

The first guard closed his eyes. "Wait."

Aitan watched as a blurry incandescent form streaked
away from the guard's body, which remained alert. Ready.

It was his sending.

Aitan looked up at the stars. "Lovely night for it, don't
you think?"

The second guard nodded.

The blur returned. The first guarded trembled as his send-
ing merged with him. "You are given leave. We shall open
the gates."

218 Scott Ciencin

The guards retreated, passing once more through the
gates.

Aitan waited. Soon, the gates drifted apart, and Aitan
Anzelm entered the City of the Vessels.

On a ledge far-above, two more guards watched the
darkly clad angel enter the city. One appeared to pay the
visiting angel little mind. His flesh and armors were black
with rippling streaks of crimson. He glanced at Anzelm,
then shifted his gaze to the wonders of the night sky.

The other had skin mat looked like ice, and his armors
were a deep azure. At the sight of Aitan Anzelm, his
shadow rose up and became a taloned monstrosity.

"Calm yourself," the first guard said.

"We could take him now!"

"And reveal ourselves in the process. That is not part of
the plan."

The crimson angel looked to his companion's writhing
shadow. It made an obscene gesture men melted down into
its proper form.

"The Scrye-Kree we placed within him has done its
job," the crimson angel said.

"His soul has not been corrupted."

"Of course not, Kayriel. You didn't really mink your
little pet would go undetected, did you?"

"Then how can you say it did its job?"

"Take a good look at him. Do you see how confident
he is? His guard should be up and it's not. He feels that he
has nothing left to fear from us."

Komm Kayriel frowned. He loathed maintaining this
mortal shell. "Mithra, without that fraction of my soul that
he possesses—"

"It will be done."

Kayriel turned from the sight of his former friend- "One
thing 1 don't understand. I've never understood. Why are
you willing to help me?"

"It's a bit late in the game to be getting suspicious, don't
you think?"

Night of Glory                219

"I'm always suspicious. I simply haven't been vocal in
this regard."

"I see." Mithra's face twisted up in rage. He gestured
at the form he wore, the result of an intensely complicated
casting. "It's simple. I'm repulsed by the deceptions. We
are the Elven. We should be rulers of every realm. And we
should not wear masks."

"Ah," Kayriel said.

"Our subservience to their beliefs has made us the con-
quered." He shook his head and spat, "Angels. God."

"You don't believe in the supreme being?"

"I know that you believe. And I know that tonight you
will become a god. You will slay the others who have risen
to that station. After, you will fee! a terrible loneliness and
grief. In your sorrow, you will take your own life."

"You really think so?"

"I do," Mithra said. "And with you and the other gods
destroyed, all knowledge of the path of Ascendancy will
vanish from existence. The Elven people will come again.
The true and rightful heirs will stand revealed. Talk of de-
ities will cease. Talk of angels will cease. And the word
Elven will no longer be a curse. That's what I desire. That's
what I know will happen tonight. For that reason, it will
be a night of glory. The first of many."

Kayriel returned to pure shadow for a moment. Jagged
openings appeared where his eyes and mouth might have
been. Trembling, he forced himself to resume his mortal
shape.

"That's very interesting," Kayriel said. "Of course, now
it's clear that my first order of business when I become a
Vessel is to slay you."

"You'll be too busy. And until you have reached that
level of power, you won't have the means to take my life.
I'm quite safe."

"Your belief in this is strong."

"Of course. While you trust in God, I trust only in my-
self. Think on that for a time. Then tell me which of us has
more reason to be afraid."

220 Scott Ciencin

Kayriel looked out to the night sky and contemplated his
companion's words.

While below, Apollo and Eve worked together to defeat
the tomb in which Cameron's angels had been placed.
Apollo stumbled away from the wall, gasping for breath.

"I have a question for you," he said.

' 'Several, I'm sure.''

"One that takes priority. I have no desire to become a
Vessel. None. But I must display a certain amount of effort
so that I do not shame my lord."

' 'Naturally.''

' *Do you believe, as some do, that it is necessary to take
the lives of all others who would vie for the right of As-
cendancy?' '

"You're asking me to spare your life?"

"Mine—and the boy's. Should it come to that."

"I'm sorry," Eve said as she mustered her energies for
yet anotfier attack on the tomb of Cameron's angels.
Though the sound was faint, she could hear the damned
battering at the wall from the other side.

Apollo stared at her. "You're sorry?"

' 'The Ninth was the last to spare a competitor. And in
the fifteen hundred years since, or however long it's been,
the True Lands have had ample cause to wish he hadn 't.''

"But—but—that was different- He wanted to be a god!"

"No, sorry. I think you're amusing and I'd like to have
known you better, but it's out of the question. My best ad-
vice is to take this event very seriously. Your choices are
Ascendance—or death. There's really no middle ground.''

Apollo was about to speak when he looked down and
saw his hand rippling. "We're being called."

"I feel it."

The Emissary looked to Cameron. The boy was shaking.
His body was becoming insubstantial. The chamber sur-
rounding him was fading-

"Listen to me," Apollo said. "If you are Blessed, if
there is such a thing, then you are better and more powerful

Night oi Glory                221

than any of us. If the light of God truly shines within you,
then you must use it. Defend yourself. Defend yourself at
all costs!"

Cameron looked up- "I couldn't hurt an angel."

Apotio felt his heart grow brittle in his chest. He looked
away.

"You tried," Eve whispered.

All three vanished.

Tom would have done anything to see Kayrlis again, but
accepting an audience from the female angel who accom-
panied her would have given those who watched his every
move ample cause to question his actions. He couldn't af-
ford for that to happen. Not when he was so close.

For hours, he had considered the mystery plaguing him
from every possible vantage. He hadn't yet deduced which
of the Vessels had interfered with the workings of the
Fourth and brought the Scourge to the mortal realms. What
he had uncovered instead was a single horrifying motive to
explain why it had been done at all.

A nickering light came from the corner of his vision.
Tom looked up and saw the burning man standing before

him.

"You know what needs to be done? The sacrifice that

must be made?"

"Yes," Tom said. "You didn't prepare me very well."
"I've been told that before." The burning man faded

from existence.

Seconds later. Strength entered his chamber. "Come, my
friend. The moment is upon us.''

Tom nodded.

The Night of Glory had arrived.

^

Fifteen

THE CITY OF THE VESSELS WAS AWASH WITH LIGHT.

Hundreds of angels gathered at the perimeter of the
jade field. They waited patiently as a vast structure
formed around them.

A handful of humans had seen this place in dreams.
Some had called it the hail of the slain. It was said to have
five hundred and forty doors, each so wide that eight hun-
dred angels could walk side by side- Images of battles
fought long ago were carved into the ivory walls. The roof
was made of golden shields. Nine towering thrones were
set at the border of the marble floor and the jade field. One
by one, the Vessels appeared to fill them.
Only the Second's throne remained empty-
Tom Keeper sat upon the throne of the Fourth. Although a
considerable distance separated him from the Third and the
Fifth, he could converse with them easily if he so desired.

Instead, he was silent. He watched the reactions of the
angels who had been allowed to witness this event. From
their awed expressions, he guessed that they were seeing
the Vessels the way he saw them. He heard whispers of
Revelations and Powers. Of the End-Time swiftly ap-
proaching.

222

Night of Glory                223

Yes, he thought sadly. That was so. Then he forced away
his feelings of mourning for a future that would never come
to pass. Times of happiness spent with the woman he loved
and his son. Because the sacrifice he would make tonight
would involve them, too.

A sound rose up in the hall. The imposing figure of Judg-
ment stepped down from His throne. He was, at first glance,
the most human looking of all the Vessels. It wasn't until
one looked closely at his armors that it became obvious
that they were filled with a terrifying void. Few could look
His way for long.

"MY FRIENDS," Judgment said, "WE HAVE COME
TO HONOR ONE OF OUR SACRED NUMBER WHO
i   HAS GONE HOME TO THE FATHER. WE SHALL DO

SO BY CHOOSING AND RAISING UP HIS SUCCES-
'   SOR. IN TIMES PAST, THE NIGHT OF GLORY WAS

THE CULMINATION OF MONTHS OR EVEN YEARS
;:  OF TRIALS. IT IS SO EVEN NOW. FOR THOSE WHO
t  HAVE SERVED EACH OF US FAITHFULLY AS OUR
^  EMISSARIES WILL BE GIVEN THIS NIGHT A
CHANCE TO PROVE THEIR ULTIMATE DEVOTION
TO THE LORD GOD, OUR GOD, WHO SPEAKS AND
ACTS THROUGH EACH OF US."

Judgment raised His arm, and the Emissaries appeared
at the center of the jade field. The crowd gasped at the
frightening appearance of me Sixth's masked Emissary. A
few tittered at the sight of Apollo, who pranced, then
bowed in place. Others cheered the names of the Emissaries
to the Ninth and the First. Many gaped openly at the al-
luring and fiery presence of the female angel.

No one spoke about the angel who wore the flesh of a
human child. Many stories had been spread about him. In
some, he was the spirit of the Second come to reclaim his
rightful station. In others, he was a test of their faith. He
stood for the Fourth, Creation, who was widely known for
His madness. And many said that was all one had to
know.

224 Scott Ciencin

Tom watched and waited. He feared for Cameron, but
there was nothing he could do for the boy. Staring at the
nine warriors who waited patiently for the blessings of each
of their masters, Tom couldn't help but wonder which had
already been chosen to fill the throne left by the Second.

"THERE WILL BE NINE TRIALS," Judgment said.
"LET THE FIRST BEGIN NOW."

Tom prepared himself. He expected the combatants to be
paired into groups and forced to fight until only one was
standing.

He looked again to Cameron and prayed that Kayriis
would forgive him for doing nothing as the boy was slain.

Suddenly, Strength left His throne and stalked toward the
First. * Wo. Let your trials begin now, instead.''

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Vengeance roared.
"THIS IS A HOLY EVENT!"

' 'This is about power,'' Strength said, the winds that
were his body rising up to engulf the Hall. Lightning crack-
led within his eyes.

Vengeance reached forward, and His right hand trans-
formed into a gigantic stone claw. The nine champions
watched the conflict in growing horror. The other Vessels
looked to one another in shock. No one rose.

Could this be the moment? Tom wondered.

' 'Coveting it,'' Strength said as rippling bolts of crimson
energy rose from Him, forming odd runes in the air seconds
before they raced forward and shattered Vengeance's hand.

The god screamed.

"Taking it!" Strength howled as His body flowed and
became a pair of crimson talons that ripped into the armors
of Judgment.

" N00000."!" a lone voice cried. "You can't! Please,
in the name of God!''

Suddenly, Vengeance and Strength were seated upon
their thrones, neither displaying the slightest sign of injury.
The winds faded.

The Vessels stared at the combatants. And each of them
watched the one among their number who had spoken out

Night of Glory                225

against the grim tableau of madness that had been per-
formed.
Cameron.

"THE FIRST TRIAL IS ENDED. EMISSARY TO THE
FOURTH IS THE VICTOR," said Judgment.

"What?" Cameron asked, stunned.

* 'Indeed,'' said Strength, ' 'he 'may yet be a child of
mercy. But there are other trials ahead.''

Cameron looked to Eve. "I don't understand."

She smiled.

Vengeance gestured his way. "ONLY YOU HAD THE
COURAGE TO INVOKE THE ALMIGHTY AND TO
PLEAD FOR MERCY. ALL OTHERS WERE TOO
BUSY THINKING OF THEMSELVES. EVEN MY OWN
EMISSARY MADE NO MOVE TO PROTECT ME."

The Emissary to Vengeance dropped to his knees. He
was powerfully built, his flesh a dully luminous mist that
appeared strong as steel. His armors were black, with the
exception of his crimson gauntlets.

"I am unworthy of all but the flame."

"SO YOU ARE," Vengeance said.

A searing black fire exploded from within the Emissary.
He screamed and writhed in his agonies. Cameron tried to
go to the fallen angel, his hand engulfed in a silver-white
glow. Eve grabbed his shoulders and held him back.

"This is God's will." she said.

Cameron looked to the angel once again. His blood
leaked onto the jade fields and suddenly, visions of the End-
Time appeared in the air above them. Angels screamed as
the dragon that had been foretold opened his wings and
tore the ceiling to shreds. The night sky could be seen. The
stars were on fire!

Then the wretch who had been Emissary to the First
crumbled to the ground and collapsed into a pile of ash.
The blood that had been spilled vanished into the jade field.

The dragon faded. The damage to the roof remained.

"AND SO IT HAS BEGUN," Vengeance said. "THE
REQUIREMENT OF MERCY HAS BEEN MET. BY

226 Scott Ciencin

MORNING, EACH OF THE VIRTUES WILL BE SAT-
ISFIED AND ANOTHER WILL RISE IN PLACE OF
THE SECOND." He looked to the frightened combatants.
"CONTINUE. .."

Kayrlis could sense that Aitan was close. She had fol-
lowed him to the palace of Judgment. There was very little
light, and the palace was nearly empty. Eve's wards were
holding. She could move through walls and even pass be-
fore angels without them seeing her. Twice it had been
necessary to walk upon the watery channels that ran
through the city, and the magic placed within her had made
it possible to do so without walking beside an angel.

She heard sounds from a nearby chamber. Aitan's voice.
And the dispassionate voices of others.

The twins.

Kayrlis slowly eased herself into the wall. She felt its
cold stone press .against her. It penetrated her form. Despite
the chill that ran deep into her heart and soul, she did not
pass through the wall. Instead, she remained wedged within
its recesses. She moved her head forward just enough so
that she could see into the next chamber. She saw Aitan
standing in the presence of two sets of twins. One set had
naming red hair, the other gold. They wore no clothing,
and their bodies pulsed with energies that writhed like
snakes. The chamber that held them was small and spare.
Dozens of weapons danced about in the air. The twins re-
mained perfectly still, unmindful of the martels-de-fers's
spikes and the raking teeth of tigers claws. Axes, flails, and
knouts circled Aitan. He, too, was perfectly still. The only
light in the chamber came from sparks given off when
swords collided and axes clashed. Despite this, the chamber
was perfectly silent except for the voices of its guests.

"I've returned from Shadow," Aitan said. "Why is it
impossible for you to believe that Kayriel could have done
the same?"

The twins were silent.

Night of Glory                227

"You know he murdered the Second. There is no pun-
ishment great enough—"

"We know nothing of the kind," the closest of the red-
hairs said.

"True," said one of his golden-haired companions. "A
Vessel may be called to the final heaven by God to more
fully perform His function. But He may not be slain."

Aitan trembled with impatience. "I understand that you
don't want it becoming public knowledge that there are
ways to take the lives of the Vessels. But you were there.
You saw."

"We've seen many things," said the red-hair. "More
than you could possibly fathom."

"We were old when time was new," the golden-haired
twin said. "And we shall be here long after you are gone."

The twins were silent for a time.

"However," said the red-hair at last, "if there is a
damned soul in our city, we must tend to it. Brothers, go
and find the one Anzelm described. I shall remain here, to
guard over him."

The three remaining twins bowed and disappeared.

The red-hair came closer. "You seem different. Your
time in Shadow has changed you. Released something
within you."

Aitan tensed as the other angel reached for his face. Sud-
denly, a spinning dagger fell and raked itself along the red-
hair's hand. He pulled it back and nearly stumbled into the
path of a circling mace.

"Impossible," the twin said as he looked down at his
wounded hand. His gaze narrowed, and the torn flesh wove
itself back together. He licked away the blood, then glanced
up at Anzelm. "You did that—didn't you?"

"How could I?" Aitan asked. "I have no power here."

"Oh, that's not true," the red-hair said. "You have for-
midable power. Power that wasn't yours, once. Where did
it come from?"

Aitan looked away. "I'm not certain."

228 Scott Ciencin

The twin began to pace. The weapons darted out of his
way.

From her hiding place in the wall, Kayrlis saw the angel
turn his gaze in her general direction. Then he looked away
and surveyed every wall. She relaxed. He hadn't seen her.

"I remember your crime/' red-hair said. "A tryst with
a wraith. A human revenant." He pointed to the wall ano
made a grasping motion.

Kayrlis was pulled forward. She gasped as she raced
through the air, the weapons doing no harm to her ghostlike
form. The angel's hand closed over her throat, and suddenly
Eve's magics were undone. She was no longer incorporeal.

"A revenant—like this one!" the twin cried. His grip
tightened on her neck. "Ah, you like them with a bit of
flesh attached. I understand. But it is a sin. An act against
God. If you truly wish redemption, you'll pray with me as
I put her to the flame."

Aitan said nothing. Instead, he twitched his fingers and
released an incantation he'd been preparing since entering
the room. The weapons sailing through the air converged
on the twin. A bludgeon struck the back of his head. The
chains from flails grasped his arms and legs. He was pulled
away from Kayrlis.

The twin was dragged to the floor, where every weapon
in the room hung poised to slay him.

"Keep still and keep quiet," Aitan said. "Do that and
you will live. If you attempt to summon magic, you won't
live to see the results of your efforts."

Red-hair's wide eyes were filled with fear—and under-
standing. He didn't even blink.

Aitan turned to Kayrlis. He had many questions, but he
sensed from the hunted look in her eyes that there was very
little time. He touched the side of her face.

"This will be quicker," Aitan said.

Kayrlis felt a gentle warmth within the confines of her
mind. It retreated.

"I understand," Aitan said. He thought of the place he
had seen in her thoughts and willed both of them there.

Night of Glory                229

Kayrlis looked about the tomb ofCameron's angels. She
was relieved to be away from the lair of swords.

"Can you free them?" Kayrlis asked.

Aitan didn't seem to be listening. His head was cocked
at an odd angle. He shuddered and looked back to Kayrlis
with a half-mad smile. "I've begun hearing voices. Isn't
that odd?"

"Please," she begged.

Nodding, Aitan quickly located the point at which Eve
and Apollo had done the most damage. He began conjuring.

Tom Keeper watched as the remaining Emissaries
worked through the challenge of Reason. The Emissary to
the Ninth had been the second to fall. He had failed Love's
challenge, a surprisingly bloody event.

The combatants were now trapped in a many-tiered maze
that constantly reconfigured itself—but in logical, deci-
pherable ways. Its walls and floors were invisible, allowing
the Vessels and the others gathered here to view their pro-
gress. The warriors did not come into conflict with one
another in this event. They seemed to be running seven
different mazes as they attempted to reach six fiery swords
waiting at the highest level.

Tom had the terrible suspicion that Cameron would be
the next to fall. He had the power to snatch Cameron away
and hide him for a time. He might even be able to stand
against one or two of the Vessels when they came for him.
But his power as a god would wane in less than a day.
Then what would he do?

And what of the task he had yet to perform?

Tom thought of the burning man. How can you ask me
to make this decision? One life—or many?

Suddenly, Cameron was scrambling free of the maze. He
reached the first of the six swords.

Relief flooded through Tom. Soon, this trial was over,
and it was the Emissary to Wisdom who had fallen.

Three were now dead. Only six remained.

A thought occurred: How could the Vessels guarantee

250 Scott Ciencin

the outcome? Particularly considering unforeseen factors
such as the last-minute inclusions of the female angel and
Cameron?

They had to be exerting some influence over the event.
Could he join them in this? If so ...

Tom was only barely aware as the dreaded contest of
strength began upon the jade field. He was slipping away,
peeling off the many layers of reality to see the underlaying
pattern.

Something unnatural permeated the Weave of Life. An
energy that called to him. He reached out and was suddenly
drawn into a matrix of unimaginable depth and power. The
other seven Vessels were already here.

"Welcome, brother," Strength said with a laugh. "So
good of you to join us.''

The combatants had been instructed to fight until one of
their number fell.

Eve and Apollo quickly realized that Cameron would
make no move to protect himself. These were Emissaries
he faced. The Chosen of God. He would sooner die than
raise a hand against them-

They took up positions on either side of the lad and
shielded themselves and Cameron from mystical attacks. As
they fought back the charges of Strength and Reason's Em-
issaries, they kept careful watch so that me stray blade or
crossbow bolt didn't harm the boy.

The Emissary of Vengeance circled the combatants,
looking for an opening. He called to the lad. "You have
magic. Use it now!"

Cameron looked down at his folded hands. He could not.

Standing with her back to the lad, Eve focused on
Strength's Emissary. He was tall, with a lean but powerful
build. He wore no armor, only a pair of leathers, boots, and
gloves. His skin was beet red as if it had been blistered.
He was handsome, with a flowing mane of black hair fram-
ing his long, thin face and firmly sculpted cheekbones and
jaw. Thick black inquisitive eyebrows met over indigo

Night of Glory                251

eyes. His smile seemed at once playful and malevolent.

Strength's Emissary delivered powerful incantations with
each thrust of his sword. Eve parried, and a host of fire
angels leaped for her eyes. She met his sword with her own,
and odd vibrations raced along the surface of her weapon
and attempted to snake into her very flesh.

"I might consider sparing you," he said. "You know
that I am an Angel of Time, do you not? Seera's my
name. I could wither your flesh with a touch. Turn your
bones into dust white the rest of you stays firm and young.
Take—"

A thick cluster of Eve's hair thrust itself down his throat.
His eyes flashed open in surprise. He struggled to breathe,
to think—

Eve's sword was about to pierce his heart when the Em-
issary of Vengeance blocked her with his weapon. She
kicked at him, but he was no longer there.

"Behind you. Look," the crimson-masked Emissary
said.

Eve glanced that way. She was relieved to find Cameron
well. But Apollo lay on the ground, his eyes rolled back
into his skull, his blood spreading" from a gaping wound in
his chest. The ground took it greedily. Apocalyptic visions
took form.

The Emissary of Reason gazed emotionlessly at his vic-
tim. He was a pale-fleshed angel wearing deep blue armors
that rippled with lightning.

Cameron stared at the body of his friend in horror.

"This isn't God's way," Cameron whispered.

"Perhaps not," said the Emissary as he wiped the blood
from his sword. "But it is His will. How else could it
happen?''

Above, the heavens were on fire. Meteors raced across
the sky as visions of the wolf, the serpent, and the dragon
all appeared. A few angels were swallowed up by the ap-
paritions-

"You're not of God," Cameron said- "None of this is
of God."

252 Scott Ciencin

"Be silent," Eve said. "This is not the place for
heresy.''

Cameron would not be silent. "I was Blessed. Blessed
with the power to heal." His hands suddenly became
wreathed in darkness. * 'I wondered if any of the bad things
I took away from people went inside me."

His hand shot out and clamped over the wrist of Rea-^
son's Emissary. "Let's find out!"

The Emissary drew a blade and was about to bring it
down upon the child when a sudden weakness overcame
him. He dropped the knife and began to tremble uncon-
trollably.

"STOP THIS!" Judgment commanded from His throne.
"STOP THIS AT ONCE!"

Cameron ignored Him. He cursed his victim. "May God
expunge you from the land of the living and erase your
name from the book of life. May you suffer eternal dam-
nation as the earth swallows you up and you are thrust into
the bounds of eternal punishment!"

The Emissary was clawing at his flesh as if a thousand
ants were racing across his skin. His fingers turned black
and fell off. He gasped, wheezed, and clutched at his chest
as blood ran from his mouth.

' 'Seera!'' Strength cried. ' 'Do something.''

The Emissary took a step forward. Eve and Vengeance's
Emissary kept him from reaching the boy.

"There's nothing you can do," said the crimson-masked
angel. "It's too late."

Reason's Emissary fell to the hungry ground, his flesh
turning black, his magics congealing around him like grue-
some wraiths. Then he lay still.

The Vessel of Strength stepped down from his throne.
' 'Seera, your duty is clear. Creation's whelp has brought
disgrace upon all of us. God's favor must be regained. Kill
him, Seera. And if the others try to stop you, slay them as
well. The choosing has been made..."

Night of Glory                235

Aitan worked yet another incantation. Twice now he had
created small breaches in the wall, but just as quickly, the
crypt's surface had sealed itself.

A sound came from behind him. It was faint, but he was
meant to hear it. In fact, he'd been waiting for it.

He turned, feigning surprise, and confronted the red-
haired twin he'd left in Judgment's palace. He caught only
a glimpse of the angel. Then a hailstorm of mystical en-
ergies exploded before him, obscuring his view. Aitan
made no move to shield himself. Instead, he willed himself
across the room and allowed the full force of the twin's
attack to fall upon the crypt. The energies were drawn into
the fault line, and the wall exploded!

Aitan, Kayrlis, and the twin were thrown to me floor by
the force of the blast. The twin was on his feet first- a spell
at the fore. Aitan saw that Kayrlis was stirring. He smiled.

"You are mad, aren't you?" the twin asked. "I'm about
to sever your soul and send you to the Torture Garden, and
you look as if you're about to break into laughter!"

"It's at an end. Finally. So I am happy."

The twin hesitated. "Did you really think I would fear
what steel could do to my flesh? I'm an Avatar of the holy
spirit! You were a fool not to kill me when you had the
chance."

"It's not my way," Aitan said.

Suddenly, sound and movement came from the crypt.
Cameron's angels filed out. The twin stared at them in mute
horror.

He had no protection against their powers.

' 'Five of our number were lost,'' the speaker for the
damned said. "We claim the right of divine justice."

Aitan scrambled to his feet. He lifted Kayrlis from the
floor and carried her up the stairs as what remained of Cam-
eron's legion attacked the slayer of their friends. The twin's
powers were formidable, and he destroyed nearly half of
the enslaved angels. Finally, their numbers overwhelmed
him, and his life was taken.

234 Scott Ciencin

"The boy is in trouble," Aitan sensed. "We must go to
him!"
The angels followed as Aitan led the way.

Tom was startled to find himself in two places at once.
He was within the Hall, watching as Cameron attacked Rea-
son's Emissary—and he was on a separate plane of exis-
tence, one in which the Vessels subtly exerted control over
the probabilities and possibilities surrounding the tourna-
ment.

"This is most distressing," Reason said. "We had
agreed that my Emissary was to be the one. Yet Creation's
child has slain him.''

The essence of Strength flared within the phantasmago-
ria. ' 'Seera will have to take his place.''

' 'The balance—'' Reason began.

Judgment spoke next. In this plane. He was a swirling
mass of darkness set on fire. "THE BALANCE WILL BE
ASSURED. CREATION, YOU SAID THAT GOD TOOK
YOUR MADNESS FROM YOU. IF THAT IS SO, HE
HAS CHOSEN TO PLACE IT WITHIN THE BOY. YOU
WILL MAKE AMENDS—OR THE HEAVENS WILL
FALL UPON YOU AND NO FORCE IN EXISTENCE
WILL BE ABLE TO SAVE YOU FROM THE VOID."

"Agreed," Tom said. "But may I remind you that I was
not the one to choose this child as my champion? My only
loyalty is to my brothers."

"SHOW US," said Judgment.

Tom reached out with his newly honed senses. The mo-
ment had come. An instant before he embraced the pattern
of reality, Tom sent a fleeting thought away from him. It
raced from this plane like a sentient comet. The other Ves-
sels were surprised, but they had no time to react.

They were too busy watching the one they believed to
be their brother merge with the pattern—and take total con-
trol of it!

Night of Glory                235

Kayrlis felt Eve's enchantments fade. She looked around
and saw that Aitan had brought her to a vast Hall filled
with angels. The ground beneath her was jade.

A dozen feet before her, Aitan fought with Eve and a
crimson-masked angel against a living blur of motion.
Cameron was with them- His angels surrounded him.

"Cameron, the power is yours," Aitan called. "Dozens
of your legion have fallen. They may be replaced. Do you
understand?"

"I do," Cameron said,

"Then choose wisely."

The living blur seemed to understand what was about to
occur. He abandoned his battle with Aitan and the others
and sped toward Cameron.

"Seera," Cameron said.

The blur faded. The crimson-fleshed angel suddenly
stood before Cameron.

"You are the first I choose," Cameron said-

The Emissary stiffened. He bowed. "By your leave."

Cameron turned to the Emissary of the Sixth.

"Enslaving me won't be necessary," me crimson-
masked angel said. He took off his mask and revealed him-
self as the Assassin of Invention.

Vengeance leaped from His throne. "Emissary—what is
the meaning of this? Where is the one you were sent to
deliver?"

"My father?" the Assassin asked. "Lord Skalligrin is
behind you."

Vengeance turned just in time to see one of His Acolytes
burst into a blaze that was blinding for all others who gazed
upon it. The Vessel raised His hand before His face. He
recognized the shape at the heart of this fiery sun.

' 'Skalligrin.''

"God forgive me," Grin said as he struck at the Vessel.
The power he had taken from the final spell of the Mysts
Arcana, the one he had kept from Tom, allowed him to
cleave Vengeance in two!

The dying god crumpled to the jade field. His essence




256 Scott Ciencin

and power seeping into the land. In the sky, the dragon
came again, and this time, he spread his wings across the
horizon and rained blue flames down upon the city. Spires
shattered, and palaces were razed. The River Lethe turned
into a boiling mass, and the roots of the world tree hissed
and caught fire.

The remaining Vessels were still. Silent. Even as the
slayer of the Sixth advanced on them, they might have been
statues,

A Host of angels attacked Grin. Cameron took control
of them and used them to protect his friend.

Kayrlis watched all of this, sensing that the Vessels had
other matters plaguing them-

Suddenly, she felt a searing fire within her mind. For a
brief instant she heard Tom's words in her thoughts-

/ love you. Good-bye.

Then he was gone.

She had never felt so alone.

Across from her, Aitan Anzelm stood with the Assassin
of Invention.

"Did you say—father?" he asked.

The Assassin nodded-

"Then perhaps you should go to him.'*

"I think I should."

Aitan watched as the Assassin crossed me jade field. He
turned back to where he had left Kayrlis—

and gasped as a sword was thrust through his chest.
Runes had been carved on its surface. Its magics raced
through him.

"Hello, student," came a voice at his ear.

Mithra.

Aitan fell, the sword buried within him.

"The twins nearly slowed us down. But they are only
mortal, and in fear of their souls. So much more can be
accomplished when one no longer cares about such mat-
ters."

Aitan reached for the sword. He felt its power snaking
within his soul.

Night of Glory                237

"Kayrie! and I had hoped your acts would damn you
sufficiently for that shard of his essence to be corrupted,
but there are other ways. You see that now, don't you?"

Aitan fought for life. The incredible power that had mys-
teriously been placed at his disposal surged within him,
fighting off the corrupting influences Mithra had delivered.

The voices he'd been hearing came again. This time, he
recognized them.

"Father," he whispered. A smile of pure astonishment
and contentment manifested on his beautiful face, despite
his pain.

In that moment, Aitan knew where his power came from.
When he had freed the souls of his family from the demon-
lord of Shadow, he had thought that they had left him be-
hind. They hadn't. They were within him now, showering
him with a pure and perfect love.

Mithra stumbled back, "No. It cannot be."

The warrior struck something. Turning, he saw a dozen
of Cameron's angels. The Emissary Seera stood with them.

"Join us," Seera said.

They were on Mithra before he could even scream-
On the primal plane of existence, Tom Keeper could feel
the Vessels battering at the shields he'd erected to keep
them from interfering with his workings. He ignored them.
The power he had taken during the Convergence—power
enough to ensure the strength and vitality of a Vessel for
one hundred years—strengthened those defenses. They
would hold long enough for him to finish.

He recalled the pattern the Ninth had revealed to him.
The form that would bring down the boundaries between
the Heavenly Cities and the outlying regions of the mortals.
He re-created the pattern in that image and waited for re-
ality to catch up to his working.

Nothing happened.

The shields he'd thrown up around him shattered. The
Vessels came at him. They seized Tom and stripped off his
disguise.




258 Scott Ciencin

"THE MORTAL," Judgment said. "THE ONE WHO
WAS PRESENT DURING THE FALL OF ABADDON."

"You're a fool. Keeper," Vision snapped. "Did you
honestly believe that we would show a mad creature like
the Fourth the true pattern?"

The final truth came to Tom in that instant. "It was all
of you," Tom said. "All seven of you conspired to bring
the Scourge to earth, to wipe out mankind. But you didn't
trust Creation or Mercy."

' 'So it was,'' Love said.

He looked to the Vessel of God's Love. "Even you?"

' 7 have love for my fellows. Man is not among them.''

Judgment thrust His hand within Tom's soul. "YOUR
AGONIES WILL BE UNDREAMT OF. VENGEANCE IS
FALLEN. ONE WITH THE POWER TO SLAY US ALL
HAS COME."

"One?" a new voice called. "I think more than that!"

A shadowy form moved like a scythe through the Ves-
sels. Love and Reason fell. Strength was wounded.

The remaining Vessels flowed together into a single en-
tity that threatened to dwarf Tom's comprehension. He
looked instead to the shadowman who had come to this
unreal landscape—and, surprisingly, his rescue.

Komm Kayriel.

"What?" Kayriel asked. "No words of greeting for an
old friend?"

Laughing, the living shadow attacked ...

Grin stared in shock as two of the Vessels fell before he
could reach them. He approached Strength, whose form rip-
pled and changed as He roared in rage and pain. Gazing at
the throne of the Fourth, he saw that Tom's deception was
undone.

The forms of the remaining Vessels coalesced into a sin-
gle shape, then vanished.

Grin's son approached. "Father, our work here is done."

"No," Grin said. "So long as the fountain of Mimir
remains in Wisdom's care, the knowledge it holds may see

Night of Glory                239

all our works undone. The Mysts Arcana and books of its
kind were written by those who have tasted its waters and
learned its secrets."

"But. . . who made the fountain? Who placed such
knowledge there in the first place?"

"God only knows," Grin said.

A figure approached. It was Mithra. His body bore doz-
ens of fatal wounds. His eyes were those of the damned.
"The fountain is no longer a concern. Its destruction was
our last act before coming here."

"Then no others may be risen up," Grin said.

The beating of wings high above made Grin look up. He
saw the winged men of me Fourth circling. Then his gaze
shifted, and he saw Cameron and Kayrlis kneeling over the
fallen body of Aitan Anzelm. He went to his friend.

"We must bring him to Lethe," Grin said. "Its healing
waters—"

' 'Lethe is on fire,'' Eve said. ' 'Look around you. The
city bums.

Grin could not bear to see it. He turned to Cameron's
angels and pointed. "The body of the young man sitting
upon the throne of the Fourth. Oet it. We must be away
from here."

Cameron echoed Grin's command.

"His body's there," Kayrlis said. "What about his
soul?"

Grin wasn't sure what to say. A single word came to
him. "Pray."

The gods battled. Tom lent what strength and power he
had left to fight at Kayriel's side.

"There'll be no more," Kayriel said. "You understand
that. After these are gone, the gods will be no more."

"Not even you," Tom said.

Kayriel was silent.

Suddenly, the entity that was the gods surrounded them.

"Go," Kayriel said. "Your part in this is done."

"But—"

240 Scoti Ciencin

"GO!" the shadowman snarled, tearing open a pathway
from the dimension of the pattern to that of the physical
realm. He thrust Tom through it, then looked up at the
Vessels. "Cleanse me, oh Lord."

The entity closed on him, focusing its entire being and
all the power at its command on a single task. Light pierced
the heart of the living shadow, and for an instant, the crea-
ture known as Komm Kayriel was revealed as something
else. A man with flesh the colors of the forest.

"No," the entity that had been the Vessels said. "We've
been deceived."

It was too late. The being who had posed as Komm Kay-
riel was turned to ash.

A presence suddenly manifested at the heart of the Ves-
sels.

"I am a god,'' Saphar Santriel whispered. ' 'At long last,
1 am a god.''

Without hesitation, Santriel took the lives of his fellows.
He stood alone in the primal swirling pattern of all exis-
tence.

' 7 was merciful to you, Meririm. More so than you ever
were to me. Your spell that switched our souls would only
stay in effect so long as your flesh existed. And who better
to destroy that flesh than you and your brethren?"

Then he was joined.

"CREATION HATH COME," a new Presence said.

"Yes.'' Saphar said. "Welcome.''

"BURN AWAY THE CORRUPTION THAT WAS
PLACED WITHIN ME LONG AGO. THAT WAS THE
AGREEMENT WE MADE WHEN I GAVE YOU THE
POWER TO SLAY KAYRIEL AND TAKE HIS
PLACE."

' 7 remember.'' Saphar said. He thought of poor, mis-
guided Mithra, who had believed his hoax and done so
much to corrupt that portion of Kayriei's soul that lay in
the Angel of the Fallen House. Pitiful foo!. It had ultimately
been nothing more than a ruse. '7 will honor my word.
Come.''

Night of Glory                241

Creation merged with the new god. The angel who had
been torn from Shadow and made the first courier of the
Scourge was severed from Creation.

Haborym, Angel of Fire and Holocaust, suddenly stood
apart from the gods. He gazed at the primal pattern of Cre-
ation and said, "I have no place here. Send me on, before
my essence corrupts all that was, and all that ever will be."

"TO THE VOID," Creation said. "I—"

A figure appeared before Haborym. The human. Tom
Keeper.

"Wait," Tom urged. "Show mercy. There's another place
for him."

Santriel laughed. ' 'Of course. I see my mistake. I opened
the door to send you back, but I did not close it behind
you. You had merely to trace your steps to return here.''

"Creation, please," Tom said. "You know that there is
a place in Shadow for him. The crystal garden. It can't be
corrupted by any force. Take him there."

"MERCY IS ALIVE WITHIN YOU, YOUNG MAS-
TER KEEPER," Creation said. "FOR YOUR EFFORTS
IN THIS, I SHALL HONOR YOUR REQUEST."

Creation gestured, and the pattern fell away. All four
beings suddenly stood upon the high ground of Shadow, in
the beautiful untouched garden Tom had glimpsed when he
had experienced Haborym's memories.

Abrid approached. He was the same as Tom remembered
him. An angel with nightmare black flesh and glowing co-
balt veins. The Angel of Protection embraced his friend.
Haborym nearly wept.

"It's gone," he said. "I can feel it. The corruption has
left me!"

The God Saphar Santriel looked about the garden.

Tom felt something. The knowledge of the Second rising
within him. And another sensation that surprised him.

"You recognize this place, don't you?" Tom asked.

"It's the garden of the Forest People," Santriel said.
"My people. But how ... ?"

"Meririm created this. Shadow exists because of what

242 Scott Ciencin

he did to your people. The darkness and corruption of this
land, its gods, all of it, came into being as a reaction to the
destruction of your race. This garden is all that's left of
your people's love and purity. All that remains, except for
the measure of their love that you took from your younger
self. The power that gave you the means to set all this in
motion."

' 'No,'' Saphar said. ' 'That can't be right. That would
mean—''                                        '

He turned to Creation. "You knew."

"I DID NOT," Creation said. "I SWEAR IT."

A fiery wind rose up about Saphar. Crackling bursts of
flame were carried on the breezes. He pointed at Tom. ' 'He
has the knowledge of the Second?''

"YOU SAW HOW THEY TREATED ME," Creation
said. "THEY TOLD ME NOTHING!"

Saphar became lightning and fire. "/ can't take that
risk!

Abrid shook his head. "Not here! Lords, not here! You
mustn't!"

His warning came too late. Saphar and Creation attacked
one another. Their forms writhed and changed. They were
like a pair of blazing serpents, their jaws fastened on each
other's throats. Then a sudden brilliance overtook them—
and they were gone.

The last of the gods had fallen.

Tom collapsed to the ground. He saw silver-white lattices
of light in the space the warring gods had occupied. Wings,
like those of a butterfly.

He knew this for what it was: The power that had been
left behind when Santriel and Creation fought had been
seen as corrupt—and were burned away by the purity and
sanctity of the garden.

"You knew," Haborym said. "You knew what would
happen if you brought them here!"

"Not at first," Tom said. He walked toward the lattices
of power. Grasped them. Felt the power surge within him.

Night of Glory                245

He looked back to the angels of the garden. ' 'Do you wish

to leave this place?"
"No," Abrid said.

His companion smiled serenely. "Nor I."
Tom Keeper tasted the power of godhood once more—

then vanished.

Grin struggled to open the door between worlds, to take
his friends out of the City of the Vessels. The way would
not open.

Beneath them, the ground trembled and fragmented.
Great yawning chasms opened. Angels fell into the steam-
ing pit.

In the sky, the dragon rained fire down upon the city. Its
flames enveloped the winged angels of the Fourth, but they
did not fall. Instead, the flames fell away from them, and
they began to sing.

Below, Cameron tugged at the ring of Solomon. He
pulled it off and hurled it into one of the yawning chasms.

"You're free," he called to his angels. "You're all
free."

Mithra fell. Those who had been enslaved while still
alive wandered free. Even the vengeful Seera had no fight
left in him.

He knelt, and put himself to me flame.

The damned vanished.

'*! can't open the way," Grin said at last. "We're
trapped here."

"What about the lake?" Cameron asked.

"We'd never make it there in time."

Streaks of flame struck on every side of them- Kayrlis
held her brother as she clutched at Tom's hand. He lay,
breathing shallowly, his soul elsewhere.

Suddenly, the crash of thunder from above ceased. The
dragon folded his wings and became as dark as the night-
Stars formed in his flesh, and soon he was nothing but a
memory.

"What's happening?" Kayrlis asked-

244 Scott Ciencin

Grin shook his head. "I honestly don't know."

A new form appeared on the horizon. A being formed
from the beautiful stars of the night sky.

A man with the wings of a butterfly.

"Lethe is no longer boiling," said Grin's son. "The fires
of heaven have stopped burning."

Kayriis stared at the figure on the horizon.

And she knew.

i

Far away, in the mortal lands, the mists surrounding each
of the Heavenly Cities faded. The River Lethe burst form,
flooding much of the land. Its waters snaked through val-
leys, reaching ever outward. Tributaries met and bonded.

Those humans who were swept away by me waters did
not drown. And among their number, those who had been
ill were cured of their sicknesses.

Including those who had contracted the Scourge-

By first light, the waters of Heaven flowed everywhere
in the mortal lands, and the barriers mat had kept the people
from gazing upon the majesty of the Heavenly Cities had
not reappeared.

The people gazed upon the cities and their wonders from
afar. At least, at first.

Slowly, a few at a time, they went to meet the angels.

Tom Keeper stood before the flame guardian. They were
at the heart of creation, before the pattern Tom had re-
woven.

The lad said, "I thought you were—"

"Not Saphar, or any of those you might have sus-
pected. ''

"Then who are you?"

"You know the answer to that. Look in your heart."

Tom considered me flame guardian's words. Then he
whispered, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me."

The flame guardian laughed. "Now you give me too
much credit.''

"What's your name? Your station?"

Night of Glory                245

The burning man considered this, men said, ' 7 have been
called the angel of the moon, and it has been said that I
bring the gift of hope. Others have claimed that I am the
chief of the angelic guards who watch over paradise. Joan
of Arc said that I inspired her to aid the king of France.
Some believe that I carry a scythe that has been sharpened
continually since Creation. That I was the one who smote
the wretched cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. I have been
labeled the angel of annunciation, resurrection, mercy, ven-
geance, death, and revelation. My name means 'God is my
strength.' I am Gabriel. And I am all of these things and
none of these things, for God moves through me as he does
through all of us."

"Yes," Tom whispered. A true angel. He could feel the
truth of Gabriel's words and understood that the flames that
cloaked him were the true fires of truth. It had been a sim-
ple matter for the angel to give Tom a similar spark.

' 'Know this: We 're all equal in the eyes of God.''

"I'll remember."

"Do that."

Tom released the power he had taken and drifted slowly
back to the mortal plane.

Moments later, he opened his eyes. Kayriis was above
him. He saw tears on her cheek, and reached up to brush
them away.

She started, then cried out with joy at the sight of him.

They were no longer in the True Lands. Grin had been
able to open a gateway to the mortal plane, and he had
taken them to a high cliff overlooking a valley that now
glistened with the healing waters of Heaven. Sunlight
streaked across the horizon.

Grin's son was there, and so was Eve.

Aitan was not with them.

"His final words were of forgiveness," Grin said. "The
forgiveness he had found from those he loved. He was
happy."

Tom nodded. He knew it would take him time to accept

246                Scott Ciencin

that—and to gain a proper understanding of the new world
that he had formed.

"The True Lands still exist," Grin said, "but never
again will a City of Heaven be brought to the mortal
realm."

"And magic?" Tom asked.

"Those that drink of Lethe's waters will know magic.
Even if they are human."

"They'll have to be careful," Tom said. "We'll have to
leach them—"

"Tom," Cameron said.

The young man looked over.

"You might want to consider marrying my sister first.
She is going to have your son, you know."

"Good point," Kayrlis said. She kissed Tom. "There's
gonna be time. And I mean for all of it. All the time in the
world."

Tom held her close and looked to what remained of the
night sky. Grin and his son did the same. The stars were
beautiful.

Only Cameron looked away. With a spirited cry, he
leaped off the cliff, into the waters below. Everyone turned
as they heard him connect with the river. His head ap-
peared, and he howled with joy as he swam in the waters
of healing.

And it was good.