The Great and Terrible

by Chris Stewart

  The messenger fell back, a look of dread on his face, then moved out of the room before Lucifer could turn his temper on him. Lucifer slammed the door behind him and stalked sulkily, his steps fierce and angry as he paced through the room. Over time, he settled down, the fury subsiding into a manageable burn. He sat at his desk and scribbled instructions in a fierce, hurried hand. Then he called his lieutenants together and stood before them. “We have been too obvious,” he sneered in giving his new instructions to them. “We’ve tried to beat him on the arguments, but that won’t work anymore. We’ve got to change our tactics, or we fight a lost cause. We can’t beat him straight up; he is too powerful.

  “To get what we want we must be subtle as snakes; more deadly, more cunning, more patient, more mean. Think of the serpent, how it slithers through the garden. It’s such a beautiful creature, slow and delicate, rarely seen but effective, low, and not loved, but gloriously efficient! The serpent is now our model; we must pattern our work after him. So go to your old friends and stand by their sides. Pretend you want to help them while whispering deceits in their ears. Only lie when you have to. Speak the truth when you can; for the truth, once it’s twisted, is the most effective tool we have. Coat your lies with enough truth, and they will swallow it down.

  “Now listen to me, people, for this is the key–evil can be twisted into virtue if you phrase it just right. Any vice is acceptable if you cloak it as an issue of freedom. Any immorality is worth fighting for if you tell them they are fighting for choice, if you wrap it in the mantle of privacy and freedom. So take their moral agency and turn it on them. But be patient . . . be patient . . . it takes time to turn the truth upside down.”

  The group murmured approvingly. Of course he was right! Lucifer frowned, then dismissed them with a sudden wave of his hand. “Go,” he commanded. “We have much work to do!” His lieutenants fled his presence, anxious for relief from his hateful, yellow eyes.

  * * *

  As the Serpent fell into misery and darkness, Michael and his angels began to assemble and organize the army of God. They took strong men, the great leaders, and made them commanders over groups of hundreds and thousands and ten thousands. Then they set apart women and men to their callings, giving them power from God, and sent them out to bear testimony that Christ would provide their salvation if they would but have faith in him.

  And so the great work of teaching and converting and saving the souls of men began.

  As Michael began to proselytize among the children of God, preaching and teaching salvation and hope, he was saddened and surprised by the lack of response. Despite the mighty works, despite the miracles and proclamations of truth, despite the very presence of the Father and the pleadings of his Son, there were not enough who listened and believed. As would happen on the earth, the sad truth was that many of the Father’s children were willing to stand and watch from the sides, interested but not committed, not willing to join hands with Satan, but also unwilling to dedicate themselves fully to the Son. Most would say the right things and go through the actions, but fewer were willing to make a commitment, and fewer still were willing to fight.

  Lucifer watched Michael’s growing army from afar, secure in his kingdom, knowing that none could disrupt him or rob him of his power as long as God’s children were so slow to commit.

  Then something happened that caused him to fear.

  The righteous servants of the Lord began to come into his cities, working among his people and preaching the gospel there. They began to take away his followers, not many, but a few, even converting some of the souls Lucifer had fought for himself, including some he had fought very hard to bring to his side. And watching, the Serpent realized something he had not known before.

  He couldn’t stop the conversion if the messengers came. He could throw up roadblocks, but that was all he could do. If the messengers of God chose to come, and if his people chose to listen, even the most hard-hearted could be swayed to God’s side. There was no way to fight the testimonies that the messengers bore.

  And this truth made him tremble with a feeling of weakness and fear.

  So Lucifer adjusted his tactics, learning how to fight God by going to the source of his fears.

  “Concentrate on the messengers!” he commanded his disciples. “Keep them from coming. Convince them to stay home. That is our only hope. It is hard to stop their conversion once it has begun. So you’ve got to stop the messengers, or they will destroy us all!”

  * * *

  Ammon walked by himself through the night. He had spent another fruitless day in search of his brother Sam, only to be rebuffed and finally compelled to flee for his safety.

  How many days had he been searching now? How many times had he felt this frustration and dread, this hopeless, lonely feeling of losing someone he loved, someone he admired, someone who had cared about him. How many days? Ammon didn’t know anymore. He was tired and lonely. He didn’t know where to turn.

  Ammon knew Sam was better than the decisions he’d made. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t search anymore.

  He walked absently, a weariness seeping into his soul, a deep sense of defeat and betrayal building inside. His brother! His own brother, a part of those people! They were so hateful, so foul! He could not understand.

  It was the darkest part of the night, that quiet and brooding moment when the stars were beginning to fade, when the moon had just set but the purple of dawn was still nowhere on the horizon. The night wind barely stirred, and the smell of wet grass hung in the breeze, heavy with dew and the stillness of the quiet air, when Ammon finally reached the friendly streets near his home. He walked the city center, familiar and secure, but he took no comfort in the sights and smells of his home.

  Stopping on a street corner, he realized where he was. The Great Capitol stood before him, a fortress of rock, majestic and tall, its spires reaching up to the stars, the white marble and granite illuminated as if by some internal light.

  The Great Capitol was the highest and most beautiful building on the Central Square. The Capitol was huge, far larger than anything that would ever be conceived on earth. Enormous white marble spires reached up through the night; stretching skyward ten thousand feet to end in tiny points that glistened under the stars. Beautiful breastworks, bright and perfectly crafted in exquisite detail, accented the spires with glistening gold. The incredible building sat above the ground, suspended a hundred feet in the air. A great staircase of sparkling white stone reached up from the ground to the wide, wooden door. The staircase was empty. He saw no one there.

  He stared at the structure while he suffered inside.

  He missed his brother deeply: the feel of his hands and the look in his eyes, his good nature in the mornings (he was always in a good mood), the wave of his hair, and the strength of his word. Sam was strong. He had always been so. He had carried so many, so long and so far. Would all the good ones be taken early in this battle of life? Was there hope for any of them if men like Samuel could fall?

  As Ammon struggled with his feelings, he suddenly sensed for the first time a feeling that was uncomfortable and entirely new. With a quiet whoosh it passed by him, making his heart skip a beat–a tiny brush, like a whisper, a tiny voice in his ear. It’s too late. There’s no time. There’s not a thing you can do! He felt the passing of time and staggered suddenly back. He realized the moment was coming when it would be too late, when they would run out of time and there would be an end.

  He sensed both the promise and darkness that passing time held in store. Yes, there was hope, but there was also great danger there.

  And each was alone. Each was alone in his battle to find the worth of his soul, each alone in his battle to make the right choice.

  Who could win in this conflict if not his brother Sam? Were they all destined to fail, to spend themselves in defeat, to waste their potential in a battle that couldn’t be won? Was there no one who could help them? Were they all on their own? Sam, Master Balaam,
and the others? Was there hope for anyone?

  He took a deep breath as he stared at his feet. What was faith? What was hope? He didn’t understand anymore.

  Then he looked up and saw it–a yellow light in the Capitol casting a dim shadow there. He stepped back and stared. It took a moment before he understood what it was.

  Michael was up there in his chamber, leading the battle for men. Michael and the others. So he wasn’t alone.

  Then Ammon thought of the weight that must press Michael down, the crushing responsibility of leading the war. He thought of the pain he must suffer, the sadness of watching so many turn away from the light, of seeing them hold their arms out to a darkness that would cut them in two. As Ammon stared at the window burning in the early morning light, he felt deeply grateful for Michael and the service he gave. He felt humble and thankful for the burden he bore. Bless him, dear Father, he prayed in his heart, for he carries a burden that I couldn’t bear. When the dark angels scream, when the dark night falls near, let him know there are others who still pray for him.

  * * *

  A thousand feet above Ammon’s head, Michael worked alone in his chamber. As he hunched over his desk, his great shoulders sagged as if tremendous boulders had been placed on his back. He felt so discouraged and defeated, his entire soul combat-weary from the weight of the war. The battle had reached its pitch, and his emotions were raw as bare bone. Which side was winning? He didn’t know anymore. So many had fallen, and more fell every day.

  Michael pushed himself away from his desk, then bowed his head slowly and clenched his fists at his side. “How long must we fight them?” he cried from his soul. “How long must they suffer, and how many must fall?

  “I’m growing so weary, dear Father, so weary, so tired. Strengthen me, Father, for I can’t do this alone.”

  * * *

  Far, far away, in a dark and quiet room that looked over a sullen and shadowy street, a room that was black, dull, and brooding and smelled of mold and old cloth, another man knelt hesitantly on the floor and prayed. He glanced around him quickly, knowing that if he were caught, his punishment would be swift and complete. Though he bowed his head slowly, he didn’t dare close his eyes. His prayer was a whisper. “Father, I am a son wandering in a strange land. I am so far from home and I don’t want to be here. I’m growing weary, dear Father, for I am all by myself. Please, don’t forget me, Father, for I can’t do this alone.”

  * * *

  As dawn approached, Ammon found himself once again at his home. Entering quietly, he walked through the semidarkness, feeling his way through the structure that was so familiar to him. A penetrating quiet had settled over the home, and he hesitated in the hallway, still restless but weary, unsure of what he should do. Turning, he made his way up the wide stairway to the octagon-shaped room on the top floor. There the walls and ceiling were tinted glass, allowing a perfect view of the landscape. He sat in the growing light, his eyes staring out, watching the transition from the shadows of night to the deep purples of dawn. He wrestled with the darkness, fighting the depression and fear that seemed to be building inside.

  Sometime later, he heard a gentle knock, but before he could answer, the door swung open and a warm light filled the room. Jehovah paused at the doorway. Ammon stood immediately. “Brother!” he exclaimed, a look of joy on his face.

  Jehovah glanced around, then nodded to the windows and the approaching morning. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it.”

  Ammon moved to his brother. “Yes, Brother, it is.” He paused, then sputtered, “I’m so glad to see you.”

  Jehovah tilted his head, understanding. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

  Ammon took a step back. Jehovah moved to the nearest wall and studied the sky, then turned and glanced at the furnishings in the room. Nodding toward a white-framed painting sitting on a small stand near the far wall, he said, “Elizabeth is getting much better, isn’t she.”

  Ammon glanced at the painting, a landscape watercolor in pastel blues and pinks. “Yes,” he answered. “I love all of her paintings, but she was particularly happy with this one.”

  Jehovah walked to the small painting and picked it up, examining it proudly. “I’m so pleased with her,” he said, his voice full of pride. “She has worked so hard. And she is getting very good.” He shot a knowing look to Ammon. “Can I tell you something about her?” he asked him as he smiled.

  Ammon nodded anxiously.

  “When Elizabeth first started painting, it was very difficult for her. But look at this now. Isn’t it wonderful! Isn’t it great how she does that: sets her mind to something, decides she’s going to develop a talent, then works patiently, not embarrassed by her efforts, even if she starts out a little behind. When it comes to talents, I wish all of Father’s children could be just a little more like Beth: not afraid of failing, not embarrassed for their weakness, not so prideful in their efforts to improve.”

  Ammon nodded agreement. Jehovah admired the painting for several minutes, turning it in various directions to catch the different shades of light. “It’s wonderful!” he said finally. “I’ve got to tell her how pleased I am.”

  Satisfied, the Eldest Brother carefully replaced the painting on its three-legged display, then turned again. Ammon bowed and moved toward him, kneeling at his feet.

  “Brother,” Jehovah said, placing his hand on his head. “I know how you are feeling tonight. I understand completely what troubles you inside. And though I can’t take this experience from you–it is part of the process, part of how you will learn–I can help ease your burden. You are sad and lonely; but I promise you, Ammon, that I will always be here for you. Keep working. Keep growing. Do the best that you can. And I promise I will be there when you feel you have nowhere to turn.”

  The Savior reached down and beckoned for Ammon to stand, then put his hands on his arms and squeezed gently. “You are strong, Ammon. You have broad shoulders and strong hands. I will need your shoulders to carry burdens, your hands to lift others up. I will need you to help me. Do you understand?”

  Ammon nodded slowly. “Yes, Jehovah, I do.”

  “But remember this, Ammon. I won’t ask you to do anything without being there too. I will never ask you to help me without being there to help you.”

  Ammon bowed again, his face already brightened, his worries already light. “Thank you,” he said simply.

  Jehovah squeezed once again. “Now, brother, there is to be an important council in the morning, and I want you there. Teancum will meet you. Look for him on the stairs. Come in the morning to the council, then you will understand a little better about what I need you to do.”

  * * *

  Lucifer was alone in his chamber when one of his servants came to him, slipping through a half-open door. He sidled up to his master and whispered in his ear. “One of the new ones is causing me a little concern,” the servant said.

  “Which one?” Lucifer demanded.

  “Samuel, the oldest brother of the four.”

  “What is he doing?” Lucifer asked.

  “He was praying tonight, and that’s not a good sign.”

  Lucifer cursed, looked away, then replied angrily, “He has been weak and indecisive since the day he arrived. I have never really liked him–he’s too flighty, too free. But he is necessary, and I demand he stay here.”

  “Yes, my dear master. But there is something more.”

  “What is it?” he growled.

  “Master, he is seeking out his old friends, those he used to know and be close to. Most of them, in fact all of his closest friends, are somewhere over here; they joined with us early–they were not hard to deceive. Now Samuel seems determined to make contact with them. He asks about them continually. In fact, he was asking lots of questions. I don’t like it. And I don’t like him.”

  Lucifer growled, the lines of his face growing tight.

  The servant saw the rising anger in his master’s eyes. “Master,” he asked quietly, “what wou
ld you have us do?”

  Lucifer turned toward him. “Always have someone near him,” he commanded. “If it looks like Sam is having second thoughts, get a lie in his ear. ‘It’s too late,’ you must tell him, ‘you are already doomed. There is no repentance, not now, not for the likes of you.’ Remember, my dear servant, it is in the nature of some to see the worst in other people, but some men only see the worst in themselves. Samuel is like this. He’s acutely aware of his weakness. So you must take that weakness and turn it on him.

  “So keep someone close. And keep those lies in his ear. And above all, you’ve got to keep him away from his friends. People are much easier to discourage if we can keep them alone. Our lies are more accepted when they are told in the dark. Sometimes isolation and loneliness are the best tools we have.

  “Now, go! Keep him discouraged. Convince him there is

  no hope. Tell him that he is beyond redemption and there’s no turning back. Tell him he can’t be forgiven, and his family doesn’t care about him anymore. Do these things, my faithful servant, and I promise you we will keep him under our control.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The war council took place in the Great Capitol. The white marble spires reached up through the clouds, stretching skyward to end in tiny points that glistened in the bright summer light. Huge oval windows, symmetrically placed, looked out to the east upon the rising

  sun. The great staircase was crowded with people entering the building, an enormous and boisterous group of men and women who talked in urgent voices as they hurried up the stairs. There was a palatable sense of urgency in the air, a feeling of change, as if a day that had been long anticipated, though not looked forward to, was finally here. Among the crowd, leaders and messengers moved, their faces more intent than those who were not as aware.