Great and Terrible: The Complete Series
Chris Stewart
© 2012 The Shipley Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company, P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City Utah 30178. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book. Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.
Prologue: The Brothers
Table of Contents
Prologue: The Brothers
Prologue: The Brothers
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Afterword
Where Angels Fall
Where Angels Fall
Prologue
His Fall
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Elizabeth
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Young Warriors
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
The Second Sun
The Second Sun
The Story So Far
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Fury and Light
Fury and Light
Author’s Note
The Story So Far
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
From the End of Heaven
From the End of Heaven
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Epilogue
Clear As the Moon
Clear As the Moon
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chap
ter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Epilogue
Prologue: The Brothers
Prologue: The Brothers
© 2003 The Shipley Group.All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company, P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City Utah 30178. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book. Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.
Stewart, Chris, 1960—
Prologue : The Brothers / Chris Stewart. (The great and terrible, vol. 1)
p. cm.
ISBN 1-59038-090-8 (v. 1 : alk. paper)
eISBN 1-60641-617-0 eletronic)
1. Spiritual warfare–Fiction. 2. Good and evil–Fiction. I. Title.
PS3569.T4593G74 2003
813'.54–dc22 2003021134
Printed in the United States of America 72076-7112
Publishers Printing, Salt Lake City, UT
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my children.
Witnessing the power and character they bring into this world has convinced me beyond doubt that
this generation will rise up “clear as the moon, and fair as the sun, and terrible as an army with
banners” (Doctrine and Covenants 5:14).
Acknowledgments
Many people played a critical role in the writing of this book. I can’t tell you how many times I sat down with various members of my family to hash out different concepts that can be found on these pages. In addition, there were a few special friends who played an important role. I thank you all for your insight and wisdom.
I also want to thank Sheri Dew and Emily Watts at Deseret Book, for they believed in this project, even on those brief occasions when I had lost faith myself.
Finally, and most importantly, I must thank my wife, Evie. She is my constant beacon, and I am grateful for the spiritual insights she has brought not only to this book but to every aspect of the life we share together.
Author’s Note
With the exception of the prologue and afterword, the story in this book takes place in the premortal world. As you will see, I was forced to take author’s license in many of the details presented in this book. The simple fact is that we know very little of what life was like for us in the premortal world, and the war in heaven is a mystery we know even less about. Yet any literary work, especially fiction, requires some sense of time, location, conflict, and description in order for readers to allow themselves to be pulled into the story. Without descriptions of human emotions, physical settings, and some sense of timing, the story turns out to be little more than a series of conversations which, although interesting, certainly aren’t enough to keep a reader involved.
For these reasons, I was forced to include elements of this mortal life that may not have actually been found in the premortal world. These are included to help provide a setting and an atmosphere for the story. In addition, even though we obviously belonged to one great family there, I have theorized that there might have been some sort of organizational structure that broke us down into smaller groups, which I refer to as “families,” and I have referred to members of those smaller groups as “brother” and “sister.” If there are details, symbols, or descriptions with which you take issue, I ask for your understanding.
And though my primary goal has been to entertain, it has always been my hope that I might provide a greater sense of our purpose and place in this world. If I have been able to do that, I am very grateful.
And now I show unto you a mystery,
a thing which is had in secret chambers, to bring to pass even your destruction . . . and ye knew it not.
–Doctrine and Covenants 38:13
Ye hear of wars in far countries, and you say that
there will soon be great wars in far countries, but ye
know not the hearts of men in your own land.
–Doctrine and Covenants 38:29
Prologue
Thursday, April 17
Arlington National Cemetery
Washington, D.C.
It had rained all night, thunderclouds rolling in from the Blue Ridge Mountains, dark and boiling with power as they met the moisture from the sea. Lightning and heavy rain pounded the night, then suddenly stopped as daylight drew near. The first line of storms moved off to the Chesapeake Bay and lingered over the sea, caught between the rising sun and the musky coastline behind. The rain wasn’t over. What was already the wettest spring in a century had much more to give.
The day dawned cold and dreary. Another band of dark clouds gathered in the morning light, moving in from the west, blowing over the hill that lifted on the horizon. Heavy mist hung in the air until the weak morning breeze finally carried it away.
The grass around the freshly dug grave was wet and long, with tiny drops of moisture glistening from the tips of each blade. The pile of dirt next to the grave was dark and rich, loamy with many years of rotting vegetation and now rain-soaked and wet. A green patch of synthetic AstroTurf had been placed over the pile of dirt and pinned down on the corners to keep it from flapping in the wind. A sad arrangement of plastic roses and baby’s breath sat atop the fake grass.
The eternal flame at John F. Kennedy’s grave site was eight hundred feet to the north, just over the hilltop from the open grave. The Tomb of the Unknowns, Arlington cemetery’s most revered site, was hidden behind a crescent of budding oak trees, the lime-green blossoms adding color to the dreary spring morn. Arlington House stood at the crest of the cemetery’s highest hill, its white pillars shining against the backdrop of storms. For more than thirty years before the Civil War, Arlington House, with its rolling plantation, slave outbuildings, huge oaks, and cool springs, had been the home and refuge of General Robert E. Lee–until halfway through the war, as a bitter insult to the Confederate general, the northern army had turned his plantation into a cemetery for their dead. Soon after the war, the national cemetery was created, and the transformation was complete. Arlington had become sacred ground.
Few were granted the honor of having their bones put to rest there. But an increasing number were granted the privilege each day.
Too many. Too often.
One of the dark reminders of war.
* * *
The six-man color guard waited by the grave. Their uniforms were so crisp they almost cracked as they moved, their boots so highly polished they reflected the gray light from the sky. Tiny blades of wet grass clung to the sides of their boots and the cuffs of their pants, for the soldiers had walked to the grave from their previous detail, cutting across the enormous cemetery, down the hill next to Arlington House and across McClellan Drive.
The sergeant in charge stood in front of his men, giving them one final inspection before
the mourners appeared. He straightened a shoulder board and tightened a shirt here and there. “Gig line!” he hissed to a young NCO. The junior soldier looked at his chest and aligned the buttons on his shirt with the zipper cover on his pants. “Cover,” the sergeant whispered as he moved down the line. A corporal, a twenty-two-year-old Marine from the Mississippi delta and the youngest member of the team, adjusted his headgear, pulling it down uncomfortably over his eyes. Satisfied, the noncommissioned officer moved to the end of the line, put himself in position, and glanced at his watch. 14:56. The service was scheduled to begin at 15:00 straight up, and, of course, it would begin exactly on time. Precision. Correctness. Attention to detail. That was the way it was done. Perfection was the standard when it came to paying respect to their dead.
The sergeant heard the soft clop of hooves coming up the narrow strip of asphalt that wound through the national cemetery. Glancing to his right, he saw the horse, a single mare, old and slow but still proud, her dark mane perfectly curried and braided to the right. She emerged from around a tight bend in the road, drawing a small carriage behind her. The carriage, black and shiny, with huge wooden wheels and a black leather harness, carried a single bronze casket on its flat and sideless bed. Seeing the casket, the sergeant took a deep breath and straightened himself. “Ten-HUT!” he whispered from deep in his chest, the order nearly silent, yet crisp and powerful, and his soldiers drew themselves straight, their shoulders square, their chins tight, their hands forming fists at their sides, their elbows slightly bent into powerful bows. They looked straight ahead, their faces without expression, as they stared at some unknown object on the distant horizon. The sergeant gave a final inspection, barely turning his head, then took another deep breath and lifted his chin. The air smelled of dirt and rain and freshly cut grass. It smelled like the country, reminding him of his home.
As the funeral procession approached, the team leader placed his right foot exactly behind his left, his toe pointing down, barely touching his heel, and turned with precision so perfectly it looked almost mechanical. He faced the approaching wagon, staring at the metal casket so as to never make eye contact with the mourners who followed behind. The dark horse walked with high steps, proudly aware of the role that she played. She held her head tall, her flanks glistening with sweat.
The wagon drew close, and the sergeant felt his heart quicken. This one was special, and he wanted it right.
As the wagon passed under a huge oak tree, he caught a better glimpse of the casket, a dark bronze box draped in an American flag. Atop the flag an enormous ring of flowers, fresh cut and beautifully arranged, had been placed over the center of the casket.
The Great and Terrible Page 1
