Jacob nodded. Everyone knew that. It was often mentioned in conversation.
Michael folded his arms behind his back, interlocking his fingers, his shoulders square, his head low. “I remember us walking together in a meadow somewhere,” he reminisced. “It was raining. We were laughing, playing, and soaked to the core. It was a pure moment of joy. I can picture it so clearly still; I can feel it even though it was such a long time ago. Even now, sometimes when I smell the wet grass, I can’t help but think of that time. The smell takes me back. It is a wonderful memory.
“From the time I was young, he was always around. We were always together, almost every day. So tell me, Jacob, because I would really like to know. How could two men, close as brothers, set out on the same path, yet come to such different conclusions as to what matters in life?”
Jacob’s brow furrowed, and he was slow to reply. “I can understand a few things, but I don’t understand that. Why people change, why they choose to hate and betray; I’ve seen it enough now, but I don’t understand why.
“But sir, if I may, there was no way you could have known. Even the Father . . . ”
“No, Jacob,” the commander cut him off. “I wanted to try to save him, but I was warned that I would fail.”
“Sir, perhaps. But you had to try; you had to let it play out. That was the only way you could know. And it would have been unfair to presume until it had proven true.”
“Yes, . . . well. But it is clear I was wrong. And now we all know.”
The lieutenant nodded slowly. “Yes, sir, we do.”
Michael was silent a moment, pondering the seriousness of his mistake. The precious time and effort trying to redeem his friend–how many souls had been lost because of it? How much more serious was the problem now than it might have been if he had acted more quickly to contain it? He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and drew up his strength. “How deep does it go?” he asked somberly.
“Very deep, sir. He is powerful now.”
“Tell me.”
“The floodgates have opened. Many who we thought would stay on our side have openly pledged their loyalty to him. He has been working in the dark for months, even years, building a strong base of support. He is a master of darkness and secrecy. He has a great following, and he gains more strength every day.”
“I need to call the Council together . . . ”
“Yes, sir, I agree. Before you do there’s something else you need to know.”
Michael eyed his lieutenant, a stern look on his face. “What is it?” he demanded.
“Sir, it is difficult for me to be in this position. It really would be better if you were to hear it from–”
“No, Jacob. Now. I want to hear it from you.”
The lieutenant shook his head as he lowered his eyes. He spoke in a whisper, for the words were poison to him. “He is drawing up papers to have you removed. He claims you have betrayed us. He says you must be destroyed.”
“He accuses me?” Michael answered.
“Yes, sir, he does. He claims that you have sought to betray the Father, that you have a secret pact, together with some others, to bring the government down. He says he has proof that you lied, and that only he can stop you, and that for the good of the people you must be destroyed.”
Michael didn’t answer. He was no longer surprised.
Jacob looked up at him sadly, but with a fire in his eye. “Sir, I wish I didn’t have to tell you. I wish you hadn’t heard it from me.”
Michael nodded grimly as he lifted his hand. “I have discussed this with the Father,” he answered harshly. “This is what he wants us to do. Go to the traitor. Go secretly, before our other men know. Tell him that he has a choice. He can stay if he wants, or he can choose to depart. If he stays, we will fight him and we will see him destroyed, for his hate is too deep, his betrayals too treacherous, to let him stay any longer in our midst. But he could leave. We’d allow that; he could choose to depart. He can slip away in secret and leave us in peace.
“Now go to him, Jacob, and tell him to leave. He can live somewhere else, far away, by himself, but I don’t want to see him in this place anymore. And I will not be patient. He must leave without delay.”
“Sir,” Jacob answered in a hesitant tone. “I have already told him these things.”
Michael lifted his head.
“I saw him this afternoon.” Jacob’s voice was edged with uncertainty and fear.
“You met with him, Jacob?”
“He came to me, sir.”
Michael took a step back. “He came to you, Jacob.”
“Yes, sir, he did. He asked me to join him. He said he would share his power with me. I told him to leave, then came directly to you.”
Michael frowned wearily. He knew there was something more. “What else did he tell you, Jacob?” he pressed.
The lieutenant moved toward Michael and lowered his voice. “He said he would stay and fight you. He has sworn to defeat you, to destroy both you and Jehovah. That’s all he seems to care about. It’s all he thinks about now.”
Michael looked away.
He should have listened to the Father. There was no way he could save him, and he shouldn’t have tried.
Now look at the price they had paid, the treachery and deceit. How many of his brothers and sisters had already fallen under his spell! It was too high a price, paid in corruption and lost innocence.
“You know, sir,” Jacob concluded, recognizing the uncertainty in Michael’s eye. “It would be a mistake to underestimate his support. He believes he is rising. And he really thinks he can win.”
Chapter Two
The nursery was a mass of color, motion, and noise, a most pleasant chaos, heartwarming and cheerful, the happy commotion that could be generated only by a group of exquisitely cheerful children. There were twelve in all, of various ages, each of them commanding attention with their irresistible smiles, all of them asking and pointing and laughing and squealing.
The two young adults, frazzled but clearly satisfied, stood above the commotion, a few feet over the small children’s heads. They shot a knowing look at each other, and the young woman smiled. “Isn’t this great!” she said above the sound of laughter. The young man faked a quick look of exasperation, but then nodded eagerly. He felt a push against his knee as a little boy grabbed his leg, and he fell back in exaggerated motions to roll with him on the soft floor. The young woman, Elizabeth, had to laugh as she watched her brother. He could pretend he was too old for such stuff, but the truth was this was his element, not the university, not his work or his studies. This was where he was comfortable, where he felt most at ease.
She watched him a long moment as he rolled and played with the little boy. “Luke, you enjoy this far too much,” she said when he glanced up at her.
“What? This is work, Beth! It’s just our calling, you know.”
Elizabeth shook her head, knowing that wasn’t true. The truth was, though she and her brother had been asked to assist in the nursery, both of them would have volunteered anyway. The little time they spent there, the little attention it took away from their studies and friends, was much more than worth the sacrifice.
She turned and looked down, feeling a tug on her dress. Kneeling, she looked a young girl in the eyes.
“Elizabeth,” the little girl said, pronouncing her name with careful effort. “I really need to talk to you.” The worry on the child’s face was unmistakably clear.
Elizabeth, dark-haired and dark-eyed, took the little girl by the hand, walked to a small chair, sat, and pulled her onto her lap, breathing the smell of the child, the soft scent of her skin and thin hair. The girl nestled against her lap and was quiet for a moment. Beth was wearing a slender white dress with a thin blue belt. On her left shoulder, she had pinned a homemade corsage, a mix of wildflowers she had picked from her own garden and fashioned around a white and blue bow. As the little girl climbed higher onto her lap, she leaned against the corsage, crushing it
against Beth’s chest. Feeling the flowers on her back, the little girl turned and touched the delicate petals, pulling one away.
“What is it, Libby?” Elizabeth asked as the child picked at her corsage.
The little girl’s eyes grew more worried. “I have a really big problem. And I have prayed and prayed, but I still don’t know what to do!”
“What is it, baby? Tell me. Let me help.”
The child turned shyly away. “I don’t know if I should tell you. I know you have a lot to worry about already. Homework. Getting dressed in the mornings. And combing your hair. My mother does all that for me. But who takes care of you?”
Beth quickly suppressed a laugh, for the look on Libby’s face made it clear this was no laughing matter. “I’m okay, Libby,” she answered in the voice that adults save for sweet little girls. “When you get older, things come a little easier, and you learn to take care of yourself. So don’t you worry about me. Now tell me, what’s on your mind.”
An intense look of worry returned to the child’s eyes. Hesitating, she looked away, and Beth pulled her close. “Come on, Libby,” she prodded. “You can tell me. I promise you, I can help.”
The child turned back toward her and straightened her shoulders, seemingly coming to a decision. “All right,” she said. “But promise you won’t get mad?”
Beth lifted her hand solemnly to her heart. “I promise,” she said. The little girl took a deep breath. “I don’t know what kind of pet I should try to have when I’m on earth,” she said.
“Oh, my,” Beth replied in a very serious tone. “That is a big problem. And you say you’ve prayed about it already.”
“Oh, yes. Many, many nights!”
“Okay, then–well, when are you being born?” Beth asked.
The little girl looked around conspiratorially, then reached up and whispered in her ear. Beth pulled away and smiled. “That’s still a long, long time away,” she offered comfortingly.
“But I need to know. We need to make plans, remember?”
Beth nodded in agreement. “Yes, of course you do.”
“Do you think . . . ?” the little girl’s voice trailed off. “Do you think Father doesn’t think it’s important? That he doesn’t really care?”
“Oh, no, Libby. He knows and he cares. Nothing is unimportant to him. He knows, and he loves you more than you could possibly understand. He knows all our worries. And he will answer you.”
Libby nodded. “Okay, then. I’m going to ask him again when I talk to him tonight.”
“You should do that. And I promise if you ask him, he will answer you.”
The girl smiled, satisfied, then jumped off Beth’s lap to join a new game on the floor. Beth watched, then stood up to see Luke staring at her. He nodded to her corsage, which was smashed, the flowers wilting, the bow crushed into a flattened loop. “Too bad,” he said.
Elizabeth glanced down and shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“One day we’ll be released and you won’t have to worry about little children crushing your flowers.”
Beth’s face turned thoughtful. “That will be a very sad day for me. Believe me, I will miss my crushed flowers.”
Luke reached down to tussle a passing head, then folded his arms and glanced toward the door. “Where is Ammon?” he asked in a serious tone.
Beth’s face clouded over. Ammon, their older brother, was supposed to be there with them. “I don’t know,” she answered. “It’s not like him just to not show up.”
Luke looked a little worried. He had heard the rumors; they swirled everywhere. Betrayal. Upheaval. Whispers of war. And if that were the case, Ammon would be in the thick of it all. He wouldn’t stand by; Luke knew that for certain. Some men, even from the time they were young, had a predisposition for the romance and brotherhood that surrounded a conflict. Some men were just more able to see things in black and white, more willing to step forward and defend those who wouldn’t defend themselves.
Ammon was like that, and it had Luke concerned. He thought a moment, then leaned toward Beth. “You know what I heard,” he said. Beth turned toward him and shook her head. “Lucifer has come out against Michael . . . ”
Beth felt his presence even before she turned around, for there was something in his spirit that seemed to fill the whole room. She turned. The door was open, and Ammon was standing there. She stared at her brother. He looked so handsome, so strong. Deep black eyes, broad shoulders, thin waist, and strong arms. He was tall and masculine, with huge hands and large feet, almost like a puppy that had more room to grow.
Ammon nodded quickly to his younger brother and sister, then turned his eyes on the children. “Hey,” he cried. “Big Bear is here!” Half a dozen children looked up and squealed in delight. Throwing their playthings aside, they ran into his arms. He bent down to their level, feeling the drooling kisses on his cheek, then stood as three children attached themselves to each leg, wrapping their tiny arms around his knees while fighting for position over his feet. He laughed and walked forward, lifting them up with each step. He bent at the waist to allow a couple more children to grab onto his arms, and he lifted them too, suspending them in the air. They laughed and kicked their legs, holding on for dear life. More children piled on, pulling on his legs, and he finally fell over, gently rolling with them on the floor.
Beth watched, waiting for Ammon to extract himself from the pile, which he did very quickly, pushing himself to his feet. “Just a minute,” he said to the children as he approached Beth and Luke, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got hung up. Should have let you know.”
“It’s okay,” Beth said quickly. “We got along okay. The kids miss you more than we do.”
“Where have you been?” Luke asked.
Ammon turned serious, and he pulled his brother and sister aside. “Have you seen Samuel?” he asked them.
They glanced quickly at each other and shook their heads no. “I haven’t seen him for a couple of days,” Beth replied.
Ammon looked away, and she took a worried step forward. “What is it?” she asked him. “What’s going on? What do you know about him?” Their older brother, Sam, had lately become secretive and unapproachable; he never talked to them anymore.
Ammon was silent.
“Ammon,” Beth whispered, “you don’t think Sam’s considering . . . ?” She brought her hand to her mouth.
Ammon thought a long moment, then shook his head no. “It’s probably nothing,” he answered. “I’m sure that Sam will be fine.”
* * *
Samuel, the oldest brother, stood on the edge of the field, looking out on the golden heads, an ocean of bronze swaying in the afternoon sun. He watched the wind blow across the stalks, swirling the wheat, creating ripples and waves as if it were the sea. A sudden gust blew, bending the grain violently. He reached out, palm down, letting the tassels move against his hand.
This was his field. This was his love. It was his peace and his kingdom, where he felt most at home.
He frowned and took a deep breath. It was time that he go. He thought of his younger brothers and sister. How could they ever understand?
Yes, he would miss them. But he had no choice now.
It was time that he left them. His decision was made.
* * *
Two days later, Ammon and Elizabeth huddled in the main room of their home. The enormous house was empty, and the wind blew gently outside. “Tell me what he said,” Ammon insisted again.
Beth hesitated; then, her voice trembling, she spoke quietly. “He said he was leaving. He said that he had to go, and that he was leaving this afternoon.”
Ammon sat back and huffed in frustration. “Just like that? Nothing more?”
“No, Ammon. I’m sorry. He packed a few things very quickly, but he didn’t take very much.”
The young man shook his head. “Didn’t he see anyone . . . didn’t he speak to anyone else?”
The girl looke
d away sadly. “No, Ammon. He came and went very quickly. A couple other men were with him. I don’t know who they were. They looked like–I don’t know–they were dressed differently from anyone I have ever seen. He left with them quickly. And he didn’t talk to anyone. I was the only one here.”
She pressed her lips tightly. He had planned it that way. It was painfully obvious–but she wasn’t going to say anything, not yet, not to Ammon. The fact that Samuel didn’t want to say good-bye to his brothers, that he had planned his exit so as not to see Ammon and Luke . . . well, it said a great deal about what was important to him now.
“Did he say anything else?” Ammon pressed. “Did he say when he’d be back?”
She shook her head, then shuddered, almost as if she had experienced a sudden, great pain. Ammon watched her carefully, then leaned toward her, his eyes wide and intense. “Please, Elizabeth, tell me. What did our brother say?”
She shuddered again. She could not lie; it was not in her nature. She was more likely to sprout wings and fly than to deceive him intentionally. And yet it was clearly so painful, so horribly painful for her to think of what Sam had said. She bit on her lip and lowered her eyes. Ammon leaned toward her until their foreheads barely touched. “Please, Elizabeth,” he begged her again. “Please tell me what he said.”
“He said to tell you . . . ” She paused and swallowed again. “He said to tell you not to worry. And not to think about him anymore.”
Ammon staggered back and shook his head in disbelief. She looked at him closely, staring into his eyes. He knew. She saw it. He knew the truth too.
“He’s not coming back, Ammon,” she whispered. “And you’ve got to find the courage, somehow, to tell Luke.”
“It will kill him,” Ammon muttered. “He won’t understand why his big brother left.”
“Luke loves you, Ammon, as much as he ever loved Sam. You have to stay strong for Luke; he will be counting on you.”
The young man fell into the nearest chair, his shoulders slumping as if the very breath had slipped out of him. “What is happening?” he cried as he clenched his arms at his chest. “Why is this happening? I just don’t understand anymore.”
The Great and Terrible Page 3
