Angel Fall

by Coleman Luck

  He was about to run for the back when a bolt of agony shot from the wound with such force that he gasped and staggered—and shrieked.

  The chanting stopped and there was deathly silence.

  As Alex sobbed, around him echoed a whisper as soft as the billowing mold,

  Enter me…

  I am the flesh of diamonds.

  Feast on me…

  Drink my light…

  And die.

  Then the cathedral thundered with singing that shook the mountain. Slowly all the phantoms turned and thousands of dead eyes stared straight at Alex. The voice came again, but this time like a hurricane.

  “Child of the Wind…look at me.”

  Instantly an invisible force picked him up and threw him out from behind the pillar. Like a bag of dirt, he slammed to the floor. The phantoms parted, opening a corridor that led to the golden stairs. The invisible force dragged him to his feet. As Alex stood teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, out of the shadows a new host appeared. Among them were the man and the woman from the plane. They towered above him in glittering brightness as though their flesh were made of glass.

  The voice cried out, “Child of the Wind…come to me.”

  And Alex knew that he must obey. He was desperate to obey. The thirst for light had returned. All he wanted was to grovel and lick the glory—suck the burning oil that shimmered on the stairs.

  As Alex Lancaster stumbled toward the golden staircase, suddenly his arm didn’t hurt anymore. In a steaming cloud the brightness swirled around him. He opened his mouth. Softly it caressed his lips and tongue. So delicious! But still not enough. He wanted more! And more came. As he drank the mist, he felt a tingle in his stomach…a strange warmth…then waves of shivering ecstasy.

  He understood now!

  His mind was clear and soaring!

  The cathedral was Heaven; he was surrounded by angels, and the mist was the Blood of God!

  As Alex stumbled down the corridor between the phantoms, he saw her. The girl with the long black hair. She was standing at the top of the stairs near the frame, and she was smiling. How beautiful she was. Such soft lips. The body of a goddess. All his blazing pleasure at her beauty distilled into an ecstasy of perfect hate. Until that moment he had never understood the splendor of unpolluted loathing, loathing untainted by the slightest love. As he traced her form with his eyes, he longed to let the loathing crush her. He longed to punish her for what she had done to him—to torture her for what everyone had ever done to him.

  But then she vanished from his consciousness like a wisp of smoke, because above him loomed the waterfall of light and flowing oil. As he gazed at it, everything else was forgotten. In the journey through the cathedral, he had been reborn. And from within the oil came an answering joy. It bled in streaks of yellow, swirls of crimson, slashes of gold. It flowed in colors that he had never seen, as though a palette had been drawn from the veins of heaven. Above him on the canvas were a thousand rainbows, circles of fiery brilliance flowing down from the stars. And in them appeared a face. When he saw it, he dropped to his knees, knowing that his existence was over. Nothing could look into eyes of such glory and live.

  God and Beast!

  Hunger and yearning!

  The Crashing Chaos behind the thrones and altars on uncounted worlds.

  To look into those Eyes was to have every question answered. In one moment Alex understood the horror of his filthy, reeking insignificance. Crouching beneath the Eyes, he felt them piercing through his body…searching for the breath that made him live. And having found it, the Hungering God bent close and groaned. The whisper came again: “Pray to me for I can taste your soul. Pray to me that, as I drink it, I will leave a drop of you alive.”

  And Alex prayed, shaking, screaming, retching out meaningless words.

  Then the whisper rose into a wail. “Live until the gift of dying. Live until death is all that remains. Worship me for I am Lammortan, Painter of Heaven. Worship me, drink my light, and never rise again.”

  Down roared an avalanche of splendor. Alex’s face blazed and from his throat came a screaming song. The voice was not his, and his lips formed words in a language that he could not understand, a language of stuttering madness, of ranting, spewing, babble, of jabbering hate in ten thousand tongues, a language of agony, but never had he felt such raging joy. As he shrieked, the ghosts of the cathedral answered.

  Praise to that which has fallen.

  Praise to the Lord of Night.

  Sing the Song of the Lost Ones.

  Glory to the God who burns away light.

  Alex’s body convulsed in hideous spasms. Crashing to the floor, he writhed and jittered, and his mind floated free. All his life he had been searching for this moment…to worship…to offer up his soul…to burn himself in shrieking glory. One last time he screamed, and the veil of his spirit was ripped to shreds. Slowly the writhing stopped. The sacrifice was finished. Lust for lust. Hate for hate. Rage for rage. Every ounce of him had been conquered. And in the conquering was his exaltation. In the rape of his soul he had met his God.

  The Voice spoke again: “Crawl beneath my hand.”

  Slithering, quivering across the floor, Alex clawed up the steps. Where he touched the oil, his skin blistered, but there was no pain. Streams of pus oozed from his wounded arm, but he felt nothing. Finally he was beneath the gigantic hand.

  “My enemies have damaged you. Lift your arm.”

  Alex obeyed. At the place where the dog had bitten him, his flesh lay open to the bone and was slathered with green pus.

  “Look up.”

  Alex tried to look up but his vision swam. The giant fingers seemed to be on fire. Flashes of liquid gold dripped between them onto the wound, filling the rip in his flesh, turning the pus to steam. Then the gold wove around his arm in a seamless band. As he stared at it, his vision cleared. The wound was no longer visible. Once more he heard whispering. But now it came from within his head.

  Stand up. Walk down the stairs.

  Slowly Alex obeyed. When he reached the bottom, he paused. Looking back at the canvas, he received the greatest thrill of his life. Painted on it in the colors of heaven was a majestic portrait, a picture of himself the way he had always wanted to be. A conqueror; a hero; a god! And the face was perfect in every detail but one—the eyes were not his. Alex didn’t care. His dream had come true, that was all that mattered. And he felt like a god. All the phantoms in the cathedral and all the crystal creatures lay prone before Him, singing, worshiping the glory of His Presence.

  Suddenly there was a rumble…and the singing died.

  In the blink of an eye the multitude vanished.

  To his amazement Alex found that he was alone. The gigantic chamber was empty. Dazed, he turned back toward the canvas. His portrait was gone. All that remained were flowing waves of oil. Instantly his fear returned. What had happened?

  A figure rushed from the shadows. It was the girl.

  “Where’d everybody go?”

  “Daylight is coming. We’ve got to hurry.”

  “What do you mean?” Alex stared into her eyes. For some reason she couldn’t look at him.

  “Quick, follow me!” She turned and ran.

  “Hey, not this again. Come back here.” To his amazement she obeyed. Not only did she return, she dropped to her knees. It was so shocking that for a moment he didn’t know what to do. “Well…okay…good.” Bending down, he glared at her. She was afraid of him. He could feel it. And her fear made her beauty even more delicious. “What’s your name?”

  “Melesh. Please, we don’t have much time…”

  “All right, but no screwing around. No running ahead and losing me. You got that?”

  “Yes.”

  Quickly she led him away. This time the journey through the cathedral was much different. Though the girl hurried, she never left him. Once Alex ordered her to stop just to make sure he was in control. Turning back, she knelt at his feet. It made him feel so g
ood that he laughed. “Hey, I like this.”

  “If you like it, I’ll do it always. I’m your slave. But please, we’ve got to go to our rooms.”

  His slave? Into his mind came thoughts so cruel they were unspeakable.

  Jumping up, she hurried on, through a part of the building that was without the strangling heat and mold and portraits of children; no haunting eyes full of sadness to watch him. They didn’t go much farther. After climbing a staircase and rushing down a hall, the girl ran to a wooden door. Throwing it open, she pulled him inside. Alex found himself in a room with high windows. It was very stark with only one piece of furniture, a large four-poster bed.

  “It’s time for sleep.”

  “And what if I don’t want to sleep?” He moved close to her.

  “I can’t stay. But I’ll come back. I promise.” She was trembling. He liked that.

  “Well, you can’t leave until I get some answers.” But before he could say another word, a tiny beam of sunlight flashed through the glass and fell close to her. She screamed, “I have to get back to my window or I’ll die.” To his amazement, she rushed into the shadows…and disappeared.

  “Hey!”

  At the place where she had vanished hung long curtains with a drawstring. Thinking she’d gone behind them, Alex pulled them back…and froze. Under the curtains hung a life-size portrait without a trace of mold. It was of a little girl, and the image was so real that the tears on her cheeks looked as though they were actually falling.

  The portrait was of Tori. And the paint was still wet.

  As Alex stared at it in horror, a beam of sunlight struck the gold on his arm and he felt a terrible weakness. Then came the sound of cracking and ripping, and he was no longer in his body. It was as though his flesh had grown flat and hard and his blood had congealed into veins of lead.

  And Alex Lancaster slept—seeing nothing through eyes of crystal—a figure of power and dark beauty in a window of stained glass.

  17

  SANDALBAN

  From darkness…to crimson moonlight.

  When Amanda emerged from the black tunnel, she found herself at the entrance to a huge stadium. Above her rose a hundred tiers of crumbled seats covered with thick moss that blanketed every stone. Masses of vines hung like clumps of matted hair above gaping arches. Once, long ago, screaming crowds must have gathered here. Now all that was left was rotting emptiness. But it wasn’t the stadium that had taken Amanda’s breath away; it was what she saw in front of her.

  In the middle of an arena loomed a gigantic form, a horse ten thousand times larger than any horse that she had ever seen. The stupendous creature lay on its back, a haunting image of rage and misery, as though it had been thrown down and quick-frozen in the peak of a thrashing battle. Its legs rose high in the moonlight. Its huge head was wrenched up and its teeth were bared as though shrieking against an invisible foe. Every muscle, every line screamed power. But it was power under brutal control. The horse was chained to the floor, weighed down with gigantic iron links pulled taught and embedded in the stone.

  Slowly Amanda began to realize that it was a statue…the greatest sculpture of a horse that she had ever seen. But as she looked at it, she was filled with inexplicable sorrow. It was so wild and beautiful. Why had it been thrown down and chained? And why had someone destroyed its eyes? For where eyes should have been there were only gouged-out holes.

  “Don’t be afraid. Walk out into the arena.”

  Amanda looked around. “Where are you? I don’t see you.”

  “You see me very well. Come quickly, Bellwind’s friend. I have been waiting for this moment through a million sorrows. The little one…I can feel his presence…bring him to me.”

  “Are you…the statue?”

  “I am.”

  Still Amanda hesitated. “Well, if you’re the statue and you’re talking, why can’t I see your mouth move?”

  “Why would I tell you that I’m the statue if I’m not?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re like a ventriloquist and you’re trying to fool me just to get me out there.”

  “If I were a ventriloquist wouldn’t I make the mouth move so that I could fool you?” There was a hint of irritation in the voice.

  “Okay, good point. But how do you know Bellwind?”

  “I am Sandalban, Worwil of the Winds, Thunderer of the Storm. If you’ve come from my sister she will have told you my name.”

  “Thunderer. But how can you be one of them? You’re a big, carved rock and they’re like…angels.”

  “Child, I see that among your many gifts is the gift of aggravation. You think that rocks are dead? I tell you they are not. No, not on any world. They feel and cry out. But their voices are too deep to be heard by deaf little creatures like you. For endless eons the rocks of my world have been weeping, for over them have washed rivers of innocent blood.”

  “Why are you chained down?”

  “Long ago there was a great war. Across this world people slaughtered people until almost all were dead. But the most terrible battles were fought by the Spirit Lords. I led a mighty host, but we were overcome. There is only one who was strong enough to capture me. He brought me here so that his creatures could take pleasure in my pain. They came by the thousands to watch me tortured.”

  “That’s horrible. Where are they now? It doesn’t look like anybody’s been here in a long time.”

  “The war went on for many centuries. The Worwil were overcome until only two remained, and they were weakened. But at the moment when the Enemy was about to be victorious, the prophecies were fulfilled and the child you carry was born. With him came strength. The Enemy was bound and his fortress shrouded with the Music of Heaven. But he was not destroyed. His spirit has remained powerful in the hosts of his crystal lords. They tried to kill the child. His mother was murdered. But he was hidden from their eyes. And so Boreth has dangled on the brink of death waiting for ancient words to be fulfilled. Now that he has returned, the end is near. Quickly, let him touch me. But stay away from the chains. They’re linked through the ground to the heart of Evil.”

  “Why do you want him to touch you?”

  “Because within him is the Spirit of Joy, and I have waited so long for a single drop of it.”

  Cautiously Amanda began walking out into the arena. She came to the first chain—it was easy to step around because each link was larger than her body. She was almost to the horse’s head when there was a distant rumble.

  “Too late, they’re coming.” The great voice no longer whispered. “Find shelter! Hide! But not in the tunnel!”

  Holding the baby tight, Amanda ran back to the edge of the arena and began scrambling up over the stones. The sound grew louder. Gasping for breath, she hid in the vines above an arch. From there she peeked out at the stadium. The rumble turned to thunder. That sound—she had heard it before. It was the sound in her dream—the sound of galloping horses. Looking up, she stared in horror.

  From the moonlit sky a long, dark cloud was descending. It swirled downward until it vanished behind the far wall. Then with a crashing roar they appeared. Flying straight out of the stone came a thousand jet-black horses, and on each sat a ghostly rider. As the stampede raged forward, they streaked and blurred as though their bodies were made of painted smoke. When their hooves touched the ground, they dashed madly around the statue, and the ruins echoed with the pounding roar. But gradually the insane race slowed until every horse and rider stood in silence facing the great chained form. And somehow, the silence was more awful than the noise. Then, as though at a mysterious signal, they turned and looked toward the sky.

  A terrible voice echoed in the gloom, “Live until the gift of dying. Live…until death is all that remains.”

  When Amanda heard it, the words made her feel terrible things, like joy at the suffering of others and hate for the happiness of a single soul. She wanted to scream. To keep from it, she bit her tongue until it bled.

  As the voice echo
ed into silence, down from the sky swirled a huge stallion that shimmered in the moonlight. On it rode a shadowy image of smoke and fire. The horse landed by the statue’s head. Then slowly the Fiery Shadow raised the vague form of a hand and spoke.

  “Sandalban…my brother…the spider’s web is broken. Our sister is dead. This is the night that was foretold in the prophet’s singing. Soon I will have a body of human flesh in which to ride; I will be transformed into the glory that I was when the stars were new. Beg for your life and I will give it. Pray to me and we will ride together as we did so long ago. No one will stand against us. We will conquer the Crimson Throne.”

  From the horse came a majestic whisper. “Mourn, I mourn for you, oh, Lammortan. I mourn for the rainbows that sang at your awakening. I mourn for the glory of your birth at the gateposts of the dawn. I mourn for the flashing colors of your splendor. But most of all I mourn for the blood that you drank…and the lives that are gone.”

  The Fiery Shadow leaned close to the statue’s head. “Sandalban…the little beast and the thing she carries…they have been here. I can smell their trailing stench. Give them to me and your dying will have no pain.”

  Quietly came the answer, “The creature…Lammortan…the creature must do and obey. The Song will be sung again, and my voice will join with it.”

  Instantly the Shadow let out a scream of rage and drove its burning hand deep into the socket of the gouged-out eye. A cry of unspeakable agony echoed through the ruins, and a river of dark blood gushed from the empty hole. The horde saw it and went insane with joy. But they had only begun their celebration, when there was a thunderous roar. The mob leaped back as great cracks appeared in the statue. The agonizing cry of Sandalban faded into a gasp as his body split open and granite flesh fell away, revealing bones. Then they too crumbled and broke until the arena was littered with dust and jagged pieces. Finally, all that remained of the great horse was his head lying on the stadium floor.

  With a shout of victory the dark riders gathered behind their leader and began a triumphal march. To Amanda’s horror she realized that they were heading straight toward the tunnel beneath her hiding place. Huddling down, she tried to flatten herself against the stone. As the stallion and the Burning Shadow passed below, the air was filled with a stench so horrible that she gagged. In a few moments the last of the horde had clattered out of the building. Then, with a thunder of hoofbeats, she heard them rise into the air. A moment more, and they were gone.