And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a

flashing fire, surrounded by a radiance, and in the center of it a gleam as of amber.

Ezekiel 1:4

“Come to me...”
My sure-footed mare picked her way carefully along the broken trail. Her demeanor
was calm and an easy gait was established as she carried me higher and deeper into the
mountain range. The incline grew steeper with each curve and the brush began to claim the
path, vines and roots snaking out across the road adding to an already treacherous climb. The
various creatures who inhabited these woods were quiet and watchful as they sat hidden within
the shadows. I could feel their eyes on me, studying me and passing judgement. However,
this does not concern me. I am supposed to be here. And these creatures seem to know and
accept this fact.
As the sun dips low behind the trees, dusk crowds in and begins to rob the day of color.
With the warmth of the sun gone, a piercing chill begins to settle in and the practical side of me
urges me to seek shelter for the night. But there would be no stopping this night. The pull of
this place will not allow it. Wrapping my heavy cloak tighter around my slender shoulders, I
accept this fate with subdued compliance and ride on in a web of calm serenity. I allow myself
a resigned sigh as my mare moves forward, knowing that my vision will guide us both with
little need for rein or saddle. Tendrils of grey fog begin to form, teasing and swirling along the
ground in a macabre dance that seduces and entrances my spirit, and I struggle to keep from
getting lost in the visions that play within my mind.
“Come to me . . .”
I draw the mare up short, freezing as the voice rushes in along the breeze and shivering
at the unearthly sound of it. I am not frightened. Rather, I am curious and oddly comforted by
its commanding power.. This is something new for me, and I find myself infused with renewed
determination. The voice is caressing and compelling, and it moves me forward with the
promise of hope. Peace lies within this mountain cliff. My soul can feel the beauty of it, the
purity of it’s center, and it longs to find it’s way there. Though my years in this world have been
short, my wisdom of life is immeasurable given this burden of inward sight that has been thrust
upon me, and I grow weary of the fretful looks and signs against evil that are made behind my
back. I yearn for rest, a respite from the bitterness that has become my faithful companion, and
my heart tells me that I will find it here.
Becoming weary, I close my eyes for a moment, breathing deep and allowing the crisp
air to fill my lungs. Clarity is essential to understanding, and I have come too far to lose my
way now. A movement in the trees disturbs my thoughts and I shift in my saddle to look about
me, momentarily startled as my horse shuffles her hooves and dances around a patch of lose
gravel. Footing regained, she shakes her head and begins to move forward yet again, leaving
me to settle back in and allow my thoughts to center on how I have come to be on this lonely
mountain.
The visions. They came every day now. Unsummoned and invasive, they control me,
and my mind is no longer my own. The people of the village have paid witness to the
deterioration of my sanity; some of them watching on with saddened hearts, though the majority
of them look upon me with insolence or disgust. My isolation is complete, my self-imposed exile
guaranteed. I allow myself a strained tilt to my lips as the memories of past pains tease. It
does not hurt now as it had so many years ago when I was younger. I have come with humility
to accept my life as an outcast and am coming to terms with my fate. I will not allow myself the
luxury of self-pity at this late hour.
“Come to me....”
The voice again, stronger this time and I am able to feel the direction from which it
comes. I turn and look to my right, pushing the draped hood back and exposing my face to the
kiss of the night air. I was beautiful by man’s standards, I knew, but this meant nothing to me.
Raven hair, smooth and straight, lays as silk along my shoulders, so dark as to appear blue in
the waning light. My skin is like fine porcelain, pale and smooth in it’s perfection, and as soft
to the touch as a rose petal. My cheekbones are sculpted, high and kissed pink by the cold,
and my nose is slender and long over full lips. However, my most striking feature is my eyes,
sparkling amethyst orbs framed by thick, dark lashes that lay as velvet against my skin. The
eyes of an old soul, my mother had once said, and to look within them was to fall deep within
one’s own self and be forced to self reflect.
A witches eyes, the villagers had said. Cold, lifeless, and wholly evil.
The air grows suddenly still, and I bring my mare to a stop, swinging one long leg
gracefully over the saddle to dismount. My feet are quick and confident in finding their footing as
more gravel is disturbed and sent skipping down the steep path. Taking reins in hand I move
closer to the row of trees, studying, squinting, until at last I see the opening and my heart begins
to race. It is here. Stepping carefully through the brush, working to keep from stumbling over
the gnarled roots and tangled vines, I approach the yawning gape in the trees, dropping the
reins as the mare pulls back suddenly to let out a series of snorts and head shakes. A warning, it
seems, for me to come back. But I cannot come back. My destiny lies beyond these trees and I
will not run from it.
“Come to me....”
Commanding. Controlling. It reaches for me refusing to be ignored. I give a last,
puzzled look at my horse, then turn and charge my way through the opening and out onto the
other side. And with no time to think or act, my feet meet open air. With a stunned cry I find
myself falling over the edge, tumbling through open space in a rush of wind as the side of the
cliff races past me in a blur. There is a moment of panic as my mind begins to accept the reality
of what is happening before a rolling wave of peace washes over me and blackness plunges me
into death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is warmth here. It is my first thought as I come back to myself, realizing that I am
no longer chilled and shivering. But where, exactly, WAS here? With a tremendous effort I
open my eyes and force myself to sit up and take in my surroundings. My breath catches in my
throat as my vision clears, and I am almost moved to tears by the beauty of this place.
The air is fragrant and light around me and I draw a breath deep into my lungs. It’s effect
on me is intoxicating and I cannot help but give in to a small smile at the momentary feeling of
euphoria. There are trees scattered about, alive with birds that I could hear but not see. There
is a small stream close, gurgling as it rushes by, and I am sure that I can hear laughter coming
from just over a small ridge to my left.
“Come to me.”
The voice again. Only this time it resonates with power, deep and controlled as it pulses
around me. Feeling unsteady, I push myself to my feet and sway slightly as I find my balance.
 “Who are you?” I call out at last, feeling somewhat perturbed. I was growing tired of
these games and needed answers. I had come to mountain seeking peace. This much I
remembered. All else grew dim and fuzzy after that, save the memory of this voice. “And what is
this place?”
“Look within yourself. You know who I am. And you know this place.” There is a
sudden, brilliant burst of light and I am temporarily blinded as I throw my arm up to shield my
eyes.
“Look upon, me, Alyssandra, and know the God that you serve. For your human life is
over, and your new journey awaits.”

500 Years Later

.
“Come to me . . .”
I glance skyward with a knowing grin as I mount my trusted warhorse. On my finger of
my gloved hand was The Ring of Life, a simple gold orb with an emerald green stone setting that
glowed with magic. The ring was the power source for the magic-kissed sword that hung at my
side. Together, they infused whomever wielded them with great fighting power. I had stolen
them off the dead and rotting corpse of their rightful owner during a battle my liege, King Collin
of Elyria, had summoned two summers ago. Now, the ring and the sword were mine. Perhaps
that’s why the voice summoned me.
“Come to me . . .”
The midnight sky promises storms, but I care nothing about that. I am on a holy mission
and I will not be deterred by anything. With a final check that my belongings are still securely
attached to the back of my saddle, I spur my mighty warhorse forward with a quick, “Hup.”
The voice of God echos inside my head like the hammering of hooves upon a wooden
bridge. At first, I couldn’t believe the Lord would ever wish to speak to such a cur as me; I’m a
mighty fighting man for a ruthless King who loves his dice games, his mead and especially his
tavern wenches too much to have a soul worth saving. My idea of solving a dispute is with a
sword, and far too many people have felt the bite of my magic blade for merely uttering the
wrong words, or offering me the wrong look at the wrong time. I’m a bastard, I’m supposed to
kill in the name of my liege. I never worried about my soul, no man of the blade does. We all
just assume the fires of Hades are our well-won reward for services rendered, and we all boast
of how we plan on swimming in the flames with great delight when we finally get there. Then
God started calling to me; telling me to come to him. Me, Tragger Drake, the scourge of all
Elyria, was being hailed by the Lord. The pull of His insistent calling overpowered my feelings of
shame and unworthiness and I am forced to obey, though I have no idea where I’m going. The
Lord has something amazing planned for me and I will not disappoint Him again. I will follow His
voice, trust in it to guide me to my destiny.
“Come to me . . .”
An hour later, lightning rips across the low clouds as the inky sky finally lets loose with a
cold, angry rain. The downpour devours me completely, chilling me to the bone in a matter of
seconds. I tighten my wool cloak around my solidly-built frame and my steel-grey eyes scan my
immediate surroundings. The pelting rain, along with the lateness of the hour, make it difficult to
see very much. If danger is out here, it could be within feet of me and still be well-hidden. I draw
my sword and tighten my other hand on the reigns of my mount. He's a mighty beast, but he
doesn't care for the storm any more than I do. With my heels I spur him forward. The conditions
are going to shit in a hurry; soon the thin roads won't be passable. I feel the presence of Death
closing in around me. I steal a quick glance to the Ring of Life on my hand, it's glowing a
greenish warning to me. I'm not sure if the danger I sense wants the ring or my magic-kissed
sword, but either will only be won by my death. My Lord has great plans for me, I don’t plan on
meeting death tonight.
"Easy there, fella," I say to my brave warhorse with a reassuring pat to his neck as he
neighs angrily into the soup of the night. "We have the hand of God upon us this night. We’ll be
safe."
I was beginning to rethink my noble, if somewhat foolhardy, notion of not seeking shelter
for the night. The Lord was calling me, yes, but I was positive He would understand the delay.
After all, I reasoned, it was He who sent this storm in the first place. Perhaps He didn’t wish me
on the roads this night and this was His divine way of telling me so. Would I not be the bigger
fool to ignore such a message? Traken, a small industrial town, was only a few miles up the
road. It wasn't an ideal spot for me by any means. I wouldn’t fit in very well with the wealthy
well-dressed set of Traken with my unkempt long flowing mane of blond hair and scraggy beard,
but it would have an inn and a stable to shelter my horse. A warm bowl of beef stew and strong
mead sounded good as well, especially under my current conditions.
The glow on the Ring of Life grew brighter; I knew that was not a good sign. The
shadows around me seemed larger and darker than a moment before, and appeared to be
moving like an evil fog keeping pace with me. The magic in my sword was quiet. Whatever was
out there the special steel couldn't detect. That didn't bold well. The only thing my sword couldn't
feel was magic of its own kind. I kept my steed on a steady pace and continually scanned
the edges of the road for the attack I knew was coming. So far, whatever was out there was
perfectly happy to just watch me. So be it. Traken wasn't far. Hopefully, the signs of life from
the town would make cowards of the danger lurking in the heavy dark shadows. Something told
me however, that they would make their move long before I hit safety of a well populated town.
“Come to me . . .”
Another gout of lighting split the sky open, and I saw a pair of glowing red eyes just to
my sword hand. Red eyes meant Hellhounds, and Hellhounds meant death. In a flash I swung
my mighty sword in the direction of the eyes. I felt the magic-kissed blade hit flesh, then bone.
The Hellhound roared in agony and rage as the magic contained in the sword stole the life from
the disgusting beast. I pulled my blade free with a yank and spurred my horse on faster. I killed
one Hellhound, but they always traveled in packs and they wouldn't take kindly to a human
killing one of their own. I closed my eye and offered the Gods a silent prayer. I'd need more than
just a magic sword and ring if I were to make it out of this night alive. Suddenly, my mission
was in great peril. The Lord was calling me, yet He sets Hellhounds in my path? It must be a
test to determine the strength of my resolve to do His bidding. I felt my determination harden. I
would not fail God.
The storm's anger increased, making my already shitty visibility even worse, though I
was sure whatever was controlling the Hellhounds played a strong part with that. I now couldn't
see three feet in front of me, but I could hear the frenzied growls of the demonic beasts.
There was no way I was going to make the safety of Traken. I felt the heavy shadows that
had been lurking just off the road's edge close around me. Glowing red eyes surrounded me
from every side. Their putrid breath filling my lungs. My warhorse came to a halt without me
prompting him, something he never does. Suddenly, the rain stopped. My vision cleared to
find a towering cloaked figure hovering right in front of me. It's face was completely covered by
a thick hood, but black shiny scaled skin poked out from the sleeves of its robe. In its hand it
held an impossibly long staff that ended in a great gout of flame; I stared in horror at this mighty
instrument of death, for I knew it on sight, it was the Rod of Redemption. A mythical staff used
to judge the souls of the unredeemable. It was rumored that only the most vile of men tasted
the punishment of the Rod of Redemption. And here it was now pointing at me.
“Come to me . . .”
I had been betrayed. The voice that I so incorrectly believed belonged to my Lord now
came spewing from this vile creature that I knew so well. The hooded one before me was
Krastor, The Gatekeeper to Purgatory, Death’s first lieutenant. I knew without a doubt that my
fate was sealed. Death was the only prize I would win tonight.
My soul had been judged unworthy.
Krastor pointed a spidery finger at me and an unearthly laugh crackled from him. “How
easily you were lead to your demise, human. You came as willingly as a child answering a
mother’s dinner bell.”
“I have no fear of you, demon,” I called defiantly into the blackness of the night. “I have
the ring and the sword. My fate has not been settled here, yet. I challenge you to a duel, your
magic versus mine. Winner take all.”
“Done.” Krastor shook the fabled Rod of Redemption once, and the gout of flame atop
the staff danced in a mighty burst, then was directed in a spiraling stream right through the
center of my unarmored chest. I was dead before I hit the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

White.
I’m lying face-down on a smooth floor of cool marble. The floor seems to expand
forever in one flawless slab of the expensive stone, and I marvel at the impossibility of such
a thing. There is no sound; no screaming voices, no neighing horses, or snarling Hellhounds.
No wind screaming through the branches of dead trees, or demonic laughter. There is only
blissful silence. There is no pain. No burning in my chest where Krastor’s flame scorched
me, no stench of burnt flesh, no bite of a sword’s blade. There is just the rhythm of my steady
breathing. Breathing suggests life, yet surely I cannot still be in the realm of the living. No
mortal can withstand a direct blast form the Rod of Redemption. Yet, somehow I breathe.
The frigid wetness of the storm was replaced by brilliant, warn sunlight. My thick black
gloves were gone, along with the Ring of Life. A curse runs through my mind, then escapes out
of my mouth. The emerald-faced ring was one of the only weapons I had against Krastor, and
if I’m still alive that must mean he’s still after me. But I can’t seem to hang on to that thought,
nor any thought that has to do with violence. It’s as if those thoughts and feelings are being
physically removed from my soul by a benevolent presence. The heat of the sun upon my flesh
felt good; then it felt very odd and uncomfortable, for I could feel it everywhere. I know I should
fret over this, but I do not. I just lay there on the coolness of the impossibly large marble floor.I
did a quick inspection of myself and did not like what I discovered; not only were my gloves
gone, but so was all of my clothing. I cringed and uttered another curse. Death was one thing;
I'm a warrior, we're trained to welcome death, but nakedness, now that was a totally different
matter.
 "Lift thy self off the floor, human," came a soft female voice. The sound wasn't human
exactly, but rather it resembled music. It had such a pure, beautiful tone to it, unlike anything
I had ever heard before. There was no accent of any kind, no lisp or stutter to it, just perfectly
uttered sounds that sent an unexplainable thrill through my heart. Instead of being startled
or frightened, I felt an incredible sense of peaceful serenity flowing into my soul. I slowly got
to my feet looking around at my new surroundings. Close as I could tell, I was in Nirvana, not
Purgatory, or worse Hades, as I always believed awaited me. I was in a large open-roofed
gazebo-like structure that had no horizontal start or end, and was surrounded by lush green
grass and fruit trees. The mouthwatering sent of apples filled my lungs, and bumblebees buzzed
contently all around.
And I was completely naked.
“You took my clothes!” I bellowed feeling rather silly. “And you took my ring. I, Tragger
Drake, prized lieutenant of King Collin of Elyria’s famed and feared army, demand an
explanation, followed by an apology and the immediate return of my belongings!”
All at once, a golden glow covered me from head to toe, and when it receded I was
dressed in a clean red tunic, dark brown leggings and black felt boots. A belt of hemp cord was
fastened around my waist and dark brown leather wristbands donned each arm. Amazingly
enough, I discovered my sword was attached to my side by a glistening, cold-platted sheath.
Next, a grand staircase appeared before my very eyes. I stared open-mouthed as the
shimmering steps, made of the same sparkling marble as the floor I stood upon, solidified. This
was much more than my simple warrior mind could accept. Staircases just didn’t appear out of
thin air . . . even in this most bizarre of places.
Then she descended down the steps.
She was a vision. Dressed in a long-flowing sparkling white gown, she was tall, slender
and moved with an unspeakable gracefulness. Her raven-colored hair spilled down the sides
of her ivory-complected face like a silky waterfall, and her eyes were dark orbs framed by
long lashes that seemed to see into the very core of my being. Her lips were full and colored
the softest pink and had a bit of a natural pout to them. She was tilting them up in a sly,
understanding smile. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even draw breath, so completely did her
elegant beauty capture me. Her eyes never left mine as she slowly made her way down the
stone steps towards me. The closer this impossibly beautiful vision got to me, the stronger
I could feel her; it was if there was some sort of magical cord connecting us by our souls. I
knew without a doubt that this woman before me, this magnificent vision of beauty and grace,
this goddess of unmeasured magnitude was the keeper of my heart, mind, body and soul.
I was amazed, but not ashamed, to feel my body respond to her on a physical level. I
tried unsuccessfully to hide the bemused smirk at discovering that even the dead get hard at
the sight of such an incredibly beautiful woman. I knew my leggings were tight, and that the
bulge that was growing in them like a weed in an unattended garden was evident to her. There
was no way to hide it, so I didn’t even try. She should be proud that Tragger Drake found her
so appealing. After all, I could snap my fingers and have any woman I wanted. Such perks
came with my title, and if, for whatever unfathomable reason, they need more coaxing, the
magic I controlled through the Ring of Life took care of things. Perhaps, I thought to myself,
the slight smile playing on her full lips was due to her approval of the size of my prick. All the
wenches assured me it was of impressive size; how could she not also be impressed with
what I had to offer her? Maybe, this exquisite creature was my reward for all my years of loyal
servitude to King Collin and the various lands of Elyria. I nodded my head as I ran my hand
along my golden-colored beard, she was a fitting reward indeed. I would have a grand time
with her. If I only knew that death was so pleasant, I would’ve designed my demise long ago.
“So,” I said in my best seductive voice. “Just who might you be, and why are you so
overdressed?” . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I study this vagabond before me whom our Father has chosen to serve as one of His
Warriors and struggle to keep my doubts at bay. THIS was to be our great salvation? I could
not deny he was handsome, in a rugged, unkempt way. His honey blond hair fell past broad
shoulders, and even his ragged beard was unsuccessful in hiding his strong features. But he
wore a look of aggravating smugness, and his words were contentious and rude.
“Get thee behind me, doubt” I mutter under my breath as I descend the stairway to greet
him. With a hungry look he undresses me with his eyes and I feel my face grow hot under
his blatant scrutiny. Truly there was no way that this urchin before me would EVER measure
up to my beloved Corrigan, the brave dark-haired, fair-eyed Warrior who came before this
current imbecile. Corrigan had been gone for centuries now, but he had been a great warrior
for our Father. A man of immeasurable character and depth, a great defender of Truth. A
man who understood morals, and who had loved me with every fiber of his being. In sharp
contrast, I could see that this Tragger Drake creature was abrasive, self-centered and uncouth.
A man who lied easily and was a great defender only for those who paid the highest wage.
And all I could think of was how badly I wanted to taste him, which in turn made me want
to run him through with my blade.
My anger churning, I stop as I reach the bottom of the stairs, unfurling my wings with a
great ripple of power, the air around us now shimmering and alive. His eyes widen, a mixture
of awe and fear as I raise my hand and - with a flick of my wrist - send him sprawling backwards
onto the gleaming marble floor. When I speak, my voice is harsh, a stern warning to this
neanderthal laying in a tangled heap.
“I am Alysandra, Keeper of Time, Tragger Drake, prized lieutenant of King Collin of
Elyria’s famed and feared army. I am no tavern whore. Never again speak to me as such.
With a single thought I can level an entire nation should I so desire. You would do well to
remember this.” My tone is serious, but my look immediately softens towards this proud warrior,
knowing the path that lies before him. I tuck my wings back into place behind my back. “You
have been chosen by our Father to serve in the battle against the evil one, whose foulness is
stretching hard and fast into our worlds. And I am the Angel assigned to to guide and protect
you.”
I study him as he pushes himself back to his feet. Clearly physically shaken, he
struggles to compose himself before looking at me. There is a flash of anger in his piercing blue
eyes, a hint at his wounded soldier pride smolders, but his words are quiet and sincere as he
nods his head in the traditional warrior gesture of respect.
“My deepest apologies. I meant no disrespect. And I assure you, I will make no such
mistake again.”
His eyes continue to hold mine, and my breath catches in my throat. The connection to
this golden-haired warrior is so strong, this fire in me unsettling. I am not at all prepared for this
instant bonding between us. I had not known these feelings in centuries since Corrigan’s soul
was destroyed and the power of them is disturbing. His body is hard and masculine, his stance
one of confidence, his scent clean and heady. I breathe him into my lungs, and in a rush of heat
my body betrays me by responding to him. In this uncharacteristic moment of weakness my
mental barriers drop, and his thoughts become my own. Images of us together, limbs tangled
and bodies fused, and I feel my cheeks flush with heat. Bad enough that these images arouse
me, but this man before me clearly is no stranger to pleasing women.
Flustered, I shake my head and fight back another surge of guilt. How could I possibly
be attracted to this newly chosen warrior after knowing such happiness with my Corrigan? He
had been my soul, my rock. I had known with conviction that no other would ever stir such
feelings in me as he had. Yet in my spirit, I knew that this man could come to mean more to
me than Corrigan ever had, and the truth of this frightens me.
I hold my hand up and beckon him to me. He obeys warily. When he is within reach I
place my hand upon his chest, connecting his heart with mine, his soul with my soul. We are
two and yet we are forever one. I feel his heart slowing its pace to match the rhythm of my
own. I smile as I feel my energy seep into him, infusing him with clarity and warmth. When I
remove my hand the connection is complete. Tragger Drake is staring at me in undisguised
wonderment, and I know that he feels my presence within himself.
“Be at peace, Tragger Drake. I mean you no ill will. There is much for you to learn
and understand, and I am here to help you. In time, the Ring of Life will be returned to you.
But you must first complete your training and take your intended place in our Father’s great
army.” There is doubt in his eyes at my statement as he begins to battle his inner demons.
In spite of his arrogance, I see his conscience and know that he is judging himself unworthy.
However, there is no place for self-doubt in this battle to end all battles. He has been
chosen for our Father’s purpose and I can do no other than trust to His will. With light, easy
steps, I circle around to stand behind my proud soldier pressing my body close to his, feeling
his body grow tight at the subtle contact. My breath teases along his nape as I whisper my
words softly, my voice soothing, it’s magic rich and strong as it begins to weave it’s spell.
“You will be a great Warrior, a great leader, and a staunch defender of our worlds. Do
not fear or resist this great destiny that is thrust upon you. The hope of mankind - of us all -
depends upon your ability to accept what our Father has planned for you.”

2
I trained constantly, always under the watchful gaze of the angel Alysandra.
This place I’d been brought to after my death was constructed out of pure magic that
responded to the whims of those in it. Alysandra explained that all I had to do was think of
something and Father’s Land would provide it for me. This was too much for my simple warrior
brain to grasp, so she demonstrated for me. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and
imagined a mighty ocean stretching out to kiss the horizon; and suddenly, right before my
very eyes was an ocean that made the great Eastern Sea of Elyria look like a puddle. I had no
words. All I could do was stare at the sparkling water like a fat child at a freshly-baked apple
pie.
 “Now you try, Tragger Drake,” she said with a knowing smile as bright as a million
suns. “You have the same gifts that I do. Just think of something, and it shall appear.” Her eyes
danced as she said this. Though her words seemed too incredible to believe, I’d seen the ocean
she had created, I had to at least try.
When I was alive, one of my biggest joys was festival time because of the jousting
contests. I had always been an exceptional jouster and usually won the events fairly easily. So,
I closed my eyes and imagined the grand jousting court in Elyria’s capitol city of Qum. In my
mind I pictured the stands, draped in their colorful banners of silk, I saw the trampled dirt of the
ground, the waist-high center pole that ran along the competing field, and all the squires running
around tending to the gaily decorated horses.
“Open your eyes, Tragger Drake,” whispered Alysandra in my ear. “Look at what you
have created.” I did as she instructed me to, and there it was, the majestic jousting court at
Qum. All in vivid detail, right down to the pungent smell of horse dung. I could do nothing but
clap my hands and let lose a savage laugh. I was damn sure going to like it here.
Alysandra explained that this place, this magical Nirvana we inhabited was alive, and it
was in tune with our souls. The very land felt what we felt, knew what we knew, loved what we
loved, and feared what we feared. “Father made the land alive to help us expand our minds,”
she said in her maddeningly rational voice. “To allow us to learn that only our fear can harm us.
That our own worst enemy was us, and the undisciplined thoughts that controlled our minds.” I
nodded my head thoughtfully for her benefit, but I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
I was a soldier, and as such I preferred simple explanations as opposed to complicated in-depth
ones that contained big words and lots of thinking to understand. The land magically created
what I wanted it to, who cared how or why? That was simple enough for my warrior mind to
comprehend. That worked well for me. Alysandra gave me a sheepish smile and promised that
in time I would come to fully understand all the lessons Father wanted me to know. For the
moment, however, my simplistic explanation of Father’s Land would be acceptable. I thought I
had learned all I needed to know. I was ready to create some highly-trained soldiers and kick
some serious ass.
However, my lessons were just beginning.
I had been given the powers of a God; short of flying like a bird, there was nothing I
couldn’t do. With a thought I could send objects as big as a festival booth hurtling through
the air, or I could draw them to me just as easily, or, if I was feeling particularly feisty, I
could explode them into tiny shards. Shattering things brought me endless joy though it
usually caused Alysandra to roll her eyes and demand that I restore it back to its rightful
shape. That wasn’t nearly as fun, though it was gratifying to know that I could do that as well.
Alysandra, she detested being called Aly, so I made it a point to call her that as often
as possible, explained that the key to my using my incredible powers laid in thought. All I had
to do was concentrate on something, and whatever I thought about a certain thing manifested
itself into reality. Oh, how I wished I had this power when I was alive; I would’ve scattered every
single cell in King Collin’s worthless body throughout the four corners of the globe. I could’ve
been King Tragger, the most ruthless and powerful being to ever rule Elyria. The thought
was simply too delicious not to smile over. Alysandra was forever scolding me that these new
powers of mine we never to be used for personal gain, but rather as a weapon in our Father’s
eternal struggle against the Evil One, whom roamed the earth disguised as a mortal causing
mayhem and stealing souls from the good people of the towns and villages wherever he went.
I both understood and didn’t understand the logic behind this; the soldier in me grasped
the concert of using these fantastic powers as a weapon against the enemy, but the human
in me didn’t understand why our Father didn’t just snap His mighty fingers and vaporize the
Evil One. I made the foolish mistake of bringing this up with Alysandra, and that raven-haired
angel with the fiery-temper, admonished me for daring to question Father’s ways, and then sent
my ass crashing through a mighty Pondarosa Pine tree. Then, she lectured me on destroying
such a beautiful piece of Father’s Creation and forced me to use my powers to mend the tree. I
had to retaliate, of course. She may be an angel, but I wasn’t just some ragamuffin she picked
up off the streets, I was a feared and highly respected soldier in a mighty army, and I came
fully loaded with a temper of my own. So, I covered my winged instructor from head to toe in
honey, and laughed until I cried as I watched her become very good friends with all the bees
and ants very quickly. It’s heartwarming to watch someone you care about make new friends,
and Aly had such a . . . sweet way about her that day. I did, however, learn not to ask too many
questions; especially where our Father’s holy war was concerned.
The mission, however, was always constantly on my mind, and the longer I was left
out of the loop, the angrier I became. I understood that I was the brute-force soldier in this epic
plan, true, and I was more than ready to play my part, but I also understood strategy and battle
tactics. I knew I had more to offer to Father’s grand scheme then just swinging a mighty sword
and saving the day. The exclusion of not knowing the whole plan was wearing heavily on my
mind. Either I was a trusted member of Father’s team, or I wasn’t. If I was then I wanted in on
all aspects of it. If I wasn’t, then send me to my eternal rest and find another barrel-chested
grunt to swing your damned sword for you.
I walked through the the lush green grass with this thought churning in my head. The
weather turned as gloomy as my mood; the skies became as grey as my blade and a cold bitter
wind swept through the trees Alysandra loved to knock me through. Snow started falling steadily
and the furry creatures who always seemed to be about darted frantically seeking shelter from
my mood’s sudden storm. I didn’t care about any of it. It wasn’t like me to be this despondent,
and I had to admit that my state of mind surprised me. I was a solider; following orders without
question had been my entire existence while I’d been alive, so why wasn’t it acceptable now
in death? I scoffed aloud at that thought. I clearly wasn’t intellectual enough to handle such
deep thoughts, that’s what Alysandra was for. She was the brains of this outfit, I was nothing
more than the dumbshit muscle. I should be fine with that arrangement. That was exactly what a
soldier was; muscle for somebody else's grand designs. I sighed with melancholy, what a shitty
surprise it was for me to discover that my death was just as confusing as my life had been.
Alysandra appeared in front of me from out of nowhere wearing a hooded shroud and
a pained expression. It was a look I’d never seen on her before, and it pained my heart to see
her wear it now. Her eyes told me she concerned over the storm raging inside me, and I was
touched that she cared about me to want to comfort me, if indeed that’s what was on her mind.
She was just as likely to send me crashing through a wall she’d create just for the purpose then
to offer me kind words of understanding. I wanted to tell her how I was feeling, but before I could
open my mouth she reached her hand out and placed her index finger on my lips. “Be still your
tongue, Tragger Drake, and put thy fear behind you. Your words are not needed. Your thoughts
are screaming so loudly that all the angels in Father’s House are weeping with your pain. Rest
your worries, I’ve been sent by Father to explain everything to you . . .”