Hope's Light

Chapter 20

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Twenty - Music

Twitch let my head rest against his chest, his close presence reassuring and solid just as it had been on all those wagon journeys taken together through the dark. Thoughts rampaged anyway behind closed eyelids like a herd of startled graxh tearing through sharp-ferned forest. Between the blurred collapsing leaves and trunks crashing aside from the mental onslaught hung a simple circlet of gold.

And all it represented.

I didn’t know if I could do this.

Hope's Light

Chapter 18

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Eighteen - Threads

“Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.”

Hope's Light

Chapter 17

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Seventeen - Needles

Beliel’s Tears, the waters of Lethe. The stuff had many names and had spawned legends both in Hell and on Earth.

And had almost allowed a Chaos-infected jerk subsume and conquer the angelic princes of the damned.

Hope's Light

Chapter 15

by Erisian

Book 6

Part Four

Chapter Fifteen - Continuance

Time, fluid in its speed across all realms, inexorably moves forward with each advancing page.

Upon the fundament do towers rise, gleaming with marbled perfection in the undying shine radiating eternally from above. Multitudes of angels, working hand-in-hand and wing-to-wing in the fulfillment of the plans laid out by their cherished Architect, constructing the channels which culminate at the focal point, at the tallest tower of all:

The Throne.

Hope's Light

Chapter 13

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Thirteen - Traces

“Alright dude, how’s this supposed to work?”

Nick and I were standing on the tower’s rooftop. A wide variety of antennas, all made of clumped bundles of wire or actual dishes pointed at distant targets, surrounded us. The power and signal cables, hardened against the ridiculous heat from the uncomfortably close burning sky, coiled about like massive snakes having a grand ol’ party.

A party we’d intruded upon, though we had done our best not to trip over anyone.

Hope's Light

Chapter 11

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Eleven - Stand

I spent a few more minutes, there in the now-empty hall. Tsáyidiel remained quiet, allowing me space to think. While the idea of returning to give Krux the grief he so greatly deserved appealed, the entire quest to find the Apostle no longer felt as urgent.

Oh, I still wanted to know if this demon had information that could lead to my other friends, and also wanted to find out just exactly who he was to be saying things in my name. But from what Cassius had just told me, other priorities had become much more important.

And thus decision became action.

Hope's Light

Chapter 9

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Nine - Instincts

It had been less than a sleep’s turn since I’d arrived in Hell, and already I’d witnessed three murders. Four, if including Pierre’s self-sacrificing suicide. Technically they were already dead to begin with, but once reduced to a compact stone that was it for their spirits. From everything I’d been told, that was the last one-way trip a soul could take.

Short of jumping into the Abyss, anyway.

Hope's Light

Chapter 7

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Seven - Coffee

The ride through the paved cavern tunnels was short but bumpy as the transport’s suspension had clearly died a squealing death at least ten to twenty firestorms ago. I’d been locked into position in the middle of a squad again, though this time opposite me wasn’t a cranky diminutive devil blowing smoke but rather a sullen swamp-green demon similarly shackled into place whose inner rage boiled and simmered.

As evident by the constant glares of resentment and brewing rebellion he kept shooting across the aisle whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention. My sympathy meter didn’t move much in response, I was too busy being happy that they’d given me a bright orange prison jumpsuit.

Hey, it would never have won any fashion shows but it certainly beat being naked.

Hope's Light

Chapter 4

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Four - Enemies

When appearing again in front of Krux and all his gun-toting troopers, I’d changed clothes. Gone was the casual jogger garb, replaced with biker’s gear of white leather: boots, chaps over jeans, gloves, and an armored jacket - one with enough pockets to wedge in all the currency I’d just recovered. My bike, of course, was stuck in a galaxy far, far, away - but I knew the pattern of this outfit well enough to replicate it.

Being an angel had certain advantages.

Hope's Light

Chapter 2

by Erisian

Book 6

Chapter Two - Paintings

Ever since that moment of radical transformation (or resurrection, if one prefers) back at the start of all the madness - when my name went from Justin to Jordan and personal pronouns flipped on their heads - I’ve had occasion to journey to a scattering of spiritual places. Planes of existence, dreams, realms - call them what you will - they all had a certain commonality. They were formed around an inner core, a nugget of desire or purpose which stabilized the whole and resonated throughout. Some were tied to entire stories sung forth in glorious splendor, others built on specific concrete principles or even emotional states. The more coherent the core, the more cohesive the realm - and all the souls and spirits resonating in sync with that pattern locked-in the solidity even further. Their presence and observations made things more ‘real’ within that domain.

I’ve tasted, touched, ripped, reinforced, and even created such places anew. The planes of Hell were no exception in their properties, and while I’d only visited two of the many available, for various (and desperate!) reasons I’d needed to delve deep into the structures of both to fight against a Chaos-corrupted agent attempting to shred them into incoherent pieces.

Bethlehem

by Erisian

A Light Novelette

The travelers had gathered in Jerusalem’s lower city not far from the hippodrome, the great stone-worked amphitheater built by the king to curry favor with his land’s conquerors in the hopes to placate their need for sport made by the speed of horse and blood of man.

Feathers

by Erisian

It had been a bad fight that night almost a year ago, the worst we'd ever had. The wings had appeared on our backs that morning - everyone got them, and it hadn't taken long for the significance of the colors to be understood.

If you had been morally good, your wings were white. If bad, they were stained with black. News video of prisons demonstrated that sharply: almost all inmates and too many of the guards had wings smeared and splotched as if with black tar. Most people had a blend of white and grey - some of the patterns were actually rather pretty. You could even glide with them if they were big enough and you were in moderately good shape, and children started figuring out how to actually fly - though there seemed to be an upper limit to how high up they could get. About ten feet or so seemed to be the limit. Physicists and biologists were utterly baffled, of course. Chemists were having a field day in tremendous excitement analyzing the composition of the feathers - but that's another story.

This is about us. Me and my wife. My wings were no better nor worse than most folks; though I could see a few splotches of darker grey mixed in. My wife, Sarah, hers were brighter than mine - except for a couple feathers that appeared rather splattered with black ink.

The Light Between (Part 8 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

Chapter 30 - Terminus

For more than thirty years, Deniz Akbas had given fishing tours of the Bosphorus with his small boat. With his pleasant demeanor (and perhaps due to a few missing teeth lending him a certain charm) tourists had found him trustworthy as well as deeming his white-tire clad vessel seaworthy for a day’s cruise. From his pilot’s position in the wooden front compartment, travelers to Istanbul had relaxed in the glass-walled and ivory-benched area in the back where they enjoyed whatever food and drink they’d brought aboard inside their many baskets - all while marveling at the magnificent views of the Turkish seaside and the wide bridge connecting Asia to Europe, a construction officially known as the 15 July Martyrs Bridge and unofficially as the First Bridge.

In all that time he had never been paid so much to do so little.

The Light Between (Part 6 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

Chapter 21 - Limits

The nice thing about being friends with someone who just became ridiculously wealthy is a decision such as “let’s go to Jerusalem” is easily turned into a phone call to dispatch some assistant into booking flights, hotel, and ride to the airport.

You then get to sit back, enjoy a cup of tea (or coffee), and wait for details of the itinerary to magically appear.

Okay, so Isaiah stayed on the line so he could approve the hotel and also relay the required information from my passport. Delegation was never really his strong-point.