The Great and Terrible

by Chris Stewart

  Ammon paused outside the building, feeling his heart tremble as he stood at the stairs. A dazzling light shone from the upper windows, and he knew what it was. He took a deep breath, then began to climb.

  Teancum was waiting at the top of the stairs. Ammon quickly found him in the crowd, for he was short and solidly built, his thick arms well-muscled under his tunic and white shirt.

  Teancum moved toward him and extended his hand. The two young men shook, and Teancum stepped back. His hair was blond and full and he wore it in a mane at the back of his neck. He squinted his eyes at the sunlight, then tossed his head to push back a strand of long hair. There was something in the motion, something unruly and wild. He stood in front of Ammon with his thumbs jammed into a belt, his shoulders slightly crooked, a generous smile on his face. He carried himself with a certain attitude that Ammon instantly liked. This was a guy he could do business with. And there were rumors about him he wanted to know more about.

  Grabbing Ammon’s shoulders, Teancum pulled him away from the crowd. “Is it true?” he demanded in a low voice.

  “True? Is what true?”

  Teancum put his arm around Ammon’s shoulders and pulled him tight, glancing around to keep their conspiracy to himself. “Come on, you know what I mean, Ammon,” he prodded.

  “I do? Are you sure?”

  Teancum whistled. “Oh, I like that. No outright denial. Play dumb, kind of innocent, but not out-and-out stupid. I like that technique, use it all the time myself.” He took half a step closer, “But listen, Ammon, you can tell me. Is it true what I heard?’

  Ammon still didn’t answer. “Teancum,” he finally asked, “what are you talking about?”

  Teancum rolled his eyes. “Did you go to their city? Did you go there alone?”

  Ammon glanced around hesitantly, unsure whether he should be proud or ashamed. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I’ve been there more than once.”

  Teancum whistled again and slapped him on the back. “Friend, you’re either one of the bravest or dumbest guys that I know. And hey, don’t get me wrong, either way is okay with me. You’re my kind of guy, small brain but big heart.” Teancum laughed, and that was good, because Ammon really didn’t know if he had been serious before. Teancum looked around, then pulled him close again. “What were you looking for?” he prodded. “Spying on the ‘great master’? Checking on his plans and strategies? Or did you go for the thrill, just to prove that you could?” Teancum lowered his voice to a whisper, as if confessing a sin. “Sometimes I do that, you know. Sometimes I just want to prove to myself that I can.” He laughed gently and flashed that great smile again. “And you know what I figured out? The hunt is more fun when you know that the prey is bigger than you. So tell me now, why? Why did you go over there?”

  “I went to find my brother,” Ammon answered.

  Teancum took a step back. “Your brother?” he said wonderingly. “And who would that be?”

  Ammon started to explain, and as he did, Teancum’s expression changed suddenly. “Samuel!” he sputtered. “You’re Sam’s little brother!”

  “Yes, of course. You didn’t know that?”

  “No, I didn’t make the connection. And why would I? There was nothing to tie the two of you together. But now . . . ” He stopped and thought, then turned suddenly serious. “Listen to me, Ammon, there are a couple things about your brother you don’t understand. And I need you to trust me and just stay away. There are things going on, things you wouldn’t understand. But trust me, please, you’ve got to leave it alone. Don’t go for your brother. Don’t go for anything. Please don’t ask me any questions. Just do this, okay.”

  Ammon stared at him, dumbfounded. “He’s my brother, Teancum. What do you expect me to do?”

  “I’m asking you, Ammon, to leave him alone.”

  Ammon felt his anger rising. “Listen to me, Teancum. There’s no way I’m going to sit here . . . ” An enormous bell over their shoulders sounded the council to order. The bell was so loud that there was no way they could talk as it rang.

  “Ammon,” Teancum pleaded as the sound drifted away. “For the sake of your brother, you’ve got to leave this alone. It’s what he would want. I’m not lying to you.” The bell rang again, sounding over the great city. Teancum glanced up, then turned for the enormous door. “Now, quick, we must hurry. The council begins.”

  Ammon stood there incredulous, but Teancum was already walking away. He hesitated, then followed, pushing through the bustling crowd.

  They entered the main chamber, a huge, open room of pure and perfectly white granite. The stone walls were shaved to the thickness of paper, and they let the bright morning light seep in, bathing the room in a glorious glow. The ceiling was so high and the rock cut so thin that it took on the same hue as the sky overhead, a gorgeous deep blue that seemed to reach into space. An escort led Ammon to a far corner of the room, near the back wall, and he sat on a chair near a great white column of gray stone. The leaders and many other valiant ones gathered in the room. The Father was there, sitting upon his heavenly throne, his majesty and power beyond what words could describe, his beauty and compassion adding a perfect warmth to a face that was white beyond even the brightness of the sun. The Savior stood before him, wrapped in a simple white robe. His face was young and flawless, though his spirit body was less majestic than the Father’s, his glory less bright, for he had not yet been perfected. That event would take place at a foreordained time that was a central part of the plan.

  Jehovah, the Firstborn, the oldest spirit child of God, moved a step closer to the Father. Ammon could see in the gravity of his expression the burden he carried of fashioning the salvation of men. Michael the Archangel–he who would be given dominion over all earthly things, he who would be the first father to teach the first generations of men–stood at Jehovah’s side, his brother and friend. Many spirit children, a mix of both women and men, filled the vast chamber; these were the spirits of the mighty, those who had been faithful in their testimony of Christ and had never wavered. The radiance of the Father reflected in their young faces. The mood was somber, even poignant, with a tinge of uncertainty in the air.

  Ammon looked quickly around, searching the enormous room. He saw her near the front, but off to the side of the throne. He looked on her face, then cast his eyes to the stone floor. It broke his heart to see her and the pain that she bore. He wanted to run to her and stand at her side. But he knew that he couldn’t. This was a scene she had to endure on her own.

  * * *

  She sat alone, to the side of the mighty chamber, a white sash wrapped about her shoulders, her hair pulled back in a ribbon, her face majestic, her eyes bright and passionate. Every person in the room was aware she was there, though few dared glance toward her and, out of reverence, none held her eyes.

  Those who had the privilege of seeing her face, those who had the pleasure of speaking with her–they knew in their hearts that she was the most magnificent thing to grace eternity. Nothing in the universe would ever compare. Her beauty and majesty, her love and sweet smile were more than mere man could ever endure. Even the moon and the stars would hide their face when she passed, for the light they reflected was but a reflection of her.

  She listened to the entire proceedings, her face intent and alive.

  And though she had known it would happen, still it caused her great pain, sometimes even more than she thought she could bear.

  * * *

  The war council had been called for only one purpose: Lucifer had to be dealt with. The time of conflict had come.

  At the Father’s request, Jehovah conducted the council, a duty that he dreaded but performed all the same, for as in all things he sought do the Father’s will, completely supplanting his personal desires to the concept of “Thy will be done.”

  Every spirit bowed as Jehovah moved to the head of the room.

  Because it was a council and not a time of instruction from God, others had been invited to speak, a well-e
stablished pattern that would be followed on the physical earth. The council was organized, with witnesses prepared to testify for both sides. Six of the quorum were assigned to speak on Lucifer’s behalf, to prevent insult or injustice in the council; six were assigned to represent the interest of God. One chair sat empty in the center of the room, for though the Deceiver had been invited, he had angrily declined to appear.

  Peter, the chief of the twelve, took to the stand to describe the charges against Lucifer. He spoke with power and eloquence, quoting great words that were familiar to all, some of which had been known since the beginning of time and would seep into the next world to be held as the standard around which great nations would rise.

  “We hold these truths to be self-evident: All of God’s children are created equal, and all are endowed by our Father with certain unalienable rights. And whereas eternal principles guarantee that every person may act according to the moral agency which the Father has given, that all may be accountable for their own sins in the day of judgment, the constitution of the government of God’s family has been established under the direction of God.

  “And whereas the Accused has sought to usurp this constitution, to defile its intent, and destroy the agency of men, to bind them down to him through deception and lies;

  “And whereas the Accused has sought, through both spiritual violence and sophistry, to capture and hold in bondage the souls of all men, and is now in open rebellion against the societies and order of God, this council has been convened to defend this constitution which we hold most dear.”

  As Peter read the charges against Lucifer, the enormous chamber remained deadly still. Everyone knew what the charges would be, for there were no more secrets among the children of God, and the evidence was damning, entirely whole, and complete.

  Satan was indeed in open rebellion. He was seeking not only to destroy the souls of all who would follow, but to bring down and destroy the society of the Father, to take His kingdom and power and glory and claim it all for his own.

  And because it was evident, and because he no longer denied it, there was no doubt of the outcome of the Council of God.

  Lucifer had to be defeated, his rebellion disbanded or crushed. He could not be reasoned with. There was no common ground. His followers had to give up their sedition and quit converting God’s children to their dark paths or be cast out and expelled from the presence of God.

  Ammon shivered as he listened to the words Jehovah read. Damned for eternity. Denied their second estate. Cast out, never to be with the Father again.

  The Father had spoken. A hush fell over the room. Jehovah and Michael were then tasked to see that his will was done.

  * * *

  She knew what the verdict would be, for time and the future were not a secret to her. And though she had had all of eternity to prepare for this moment, still, like any mother, it cut her to the soul. She pulled the white sash about her, stood, and walked from the great hall. She found her private chamber and hid her face to cry, almost falling in agony onto the stone floor. Her shoulders heaved as she wept, her heart so torn and pain-filled she didn’t know if she could endure, her suffering so real it was a physical torment inside. She felt her heart breaking, a pain so exquisite that only a mother could bear. She wept for the Son of the Morning, for the great one she had loved. But she also wept for the others, her beautiful daughters, her magnificent and yet prideful sons. So many of her children! How could they reject her this way? Her goodness and mercy, her kindness and love. She had offered everything to them, everything that she had. She would have sacrificed anything, even her oldest son. She would have paid any price to keep them in the fold.

  But they wouldn’t. They didn’t love her enough. Or they loved Lucifer more.

  So she wept for the lost ones and the ones who would fall, for all those who would follow him into hell, for those who would betray the Father and betray her as well.

  And when she wept, all of eternity, from beginning to end, every living creature and thing, bowed and wept for her pain.

  The Heavens wept while she suffered, for all good things loved her.

  Chapter Twelve

  At the war council’s end, the crowd began to disassemble, a reverent hush of silence still holding the Great Hall.

  Ammon stood still in awe of the moment, then began to move toward the main door when something caught his eye. He looked up to see Michael motioning toward him from the front of the room. Ammon hesitated, then swallowed and walked toward him.

  Michael the Archangel waited for Ammon and extended his hand. His eyes were penetrating and blue, dark as deep water, soft and kind, but clearly strong and determined, and Ammon saw a nearly overwhelming strength and purpose in his eyes. His white robe draped perfectly over his shoulders, and his bare chest and arms were dark and well defined. He stood tall and confident and full of energy, his magnificent presence commanding respect. The throng pushed around them, and Ammon was suddenly aware of the hurried voices and press of the crowd, but Michael seemed to ignore them, focusing his attention on Ammon, and for one powerful moment it was almost as if the two men were alone. A great comfort swept through Ammon, and he felt a sudden sense of peace. Michael smiled, almost winking, and said, “Thank you for coming, Ammon. It was kind of you to take the time.”

  “Michael, I am honored,” Ammon replied humbly.

  “If you have a few minutes,” Michael said, “I would like to talk to you.”

  Ammon bowed at his waist. “Of course,” he replied.

  Michael pointed to a stairway. “Come then. Follow me.”

  The two men climbed, Michael walking in silence, Ammon following a few steps behind. After many, many stairs, they emerged at the top of one of the Great Capitol’s corner spires and stood on a small stone platform ten thousand feet in the air. The platform upon which they stood was no more than ten feet square, and it dropped off vertically to the city below. The view was incredible, with the city center at their feet, the mountains directly before them, and the great lake at their back. There was no guardrail around the side of the small platform, but neither man seemed unnerved by the height at which they stood. A gusting wind blew, and Ammon stepped forward and closed his eyes, taking in the smell and feel of the air. Michael lifted his arms as if to embrace the wind. “This is one of my favorite places,” he said in a low voice.

  Ammon only nodded. No words could add to the scene that lay at their feet. Michael pointed toward one of the rocky peaks immediately to the west of the city. “I see you sometimes, sitting up there,” he said. “You seem to be fearless. I admire how you climb.”

  Ammon shrugged self-consciously. “I like it up there. It’s the one place I seem to feel the most peace.”

  “I sometimes wish I could join you,” Michael whispered slowly, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I sometimes wish I could sit on the mountains and not have to think, not have to make so many decisions. I sometimes wish I could just . . . ” His voice trailed off and he suddenly sighed, then shrugged. He glanced toward Ammon, then lifted his hand and pointed toward the city below, which spread out before them almost as far as their eyes could see. The streets were crowded with people for, as always, there was a great activity there. “Do you see them all?” he asked Ammon, pointing at the people below. “How many are down there? A hundred million in the city? And how many more can’t we see?”

  Ammon stared at the city. There were so many people. God’s children could be seen everywhere.

  Michael swept his arms again, then turned to Ammon and said, “Take any ten thousand people. Any ten thousand you choose. Of those ten thousand, how many do you think will fight for our cause?”

  Ammon shook his head. “I don’t know, Michael,” he said.

  “I have learned from experience the number is few. Many of our brothers and sisters are simply not that interested in the battle for good. Many will pretend and say the right words; some will commit, but then quickly fall away; others will go through
the motions only to please their family or friends. But in the end, when it’s over, few will have the faith to make the sacrifices that are required to stand next to Christ.”

  “But once we enter mortality . . . ?”

  “It will only get worse. Believe me, dear Ammon, it will only get worse. The challenge of mortality is almost impossible for us in this world to really comprehend. Once we enter the physical world, it will be more of the same, only more bitter and ugly, with more opportunity to fall. Just like here, there will be those who claim to believe, but few will be truly converted. And those who are, those who are actually willing to fight, those who are willing to turn their faith into works, to get down in the trenches and serve their fellowman–we are going to need them, Ammon. We’re going to need every one. We are so far outnumbered, the noble and great ones will have a colossal work to do.

  “So those who are most valiant in this premortal world will be given a mission when their time on earth comes.”

  “Of course,” Ammon answered as he stared into space. “You mean like those who have been selected be a prophet or great leader.”

  “Yes,” Michael answered. “There are those, of course. But there are other things, equally noble tasks that we need others to do. Some will be sent as pioneers and given the responsibility of finding the truth, of introducing their family to the gospel so as to better the lives of generations yet to be born. Some will be sent at a time when the gospel is not on the earth, but they will be asked to fight for freedom, even to sacrifice their lives for the principles embodied in our constitution. Some will fight to free a land, others to keep a land free. And we cannot underestimate the power of those who will set an example, of being a light in a dark and dreary world. It is difficult for us to understand the impact these examples will have–small acts of kindness, a kind word, a fair deal, holding a dying hand, or lifting a little child whose parents refuse to lift them. Some will be tasked to take the gospel unto the world, many times for no other reason than to find a single individual and bring them the truth. Others will be born in a quiet and unobtrusive corner of the world, an island, a mountain village, a quiet city block, with a mission to protect their families and children from the evil in the world.