the landscape is changing again. as lucifer looks at him, the world around them is filled with new sounds. there are humans in the vicinity, men with flocks of goat and sheep, and far off in the distance, the walls of a town are visible, and above on a hill, yet another small settlement.
lucifer stares at des, the sun beating down on the three of them. azrael and lucifer are covered in a faint shimmer. ]
Look down at your clothes. They're robes, and better suited for the desert. I want you to come there, just over those hills... with me.
[ he stands up, and starts off, through what is unquestionably the Holy Land. they pass dozens upon dozens of small groups of people, fisherman near a small town on the edge of the sea, others tending sheep or goats, or driving small flocks towards nearby settlements or walled enclosures.
everything looks distinctly familiar. beneath the layers of grit that cover all, he's surrounded by forms and styles and manners of behavior seen often in Scripture, engraving, embellished illustration, and from film enactment.
they can see people standing before caves in which they live high on the hills. here and there little groups sit in the shade beneath a copse, dozing, talking. a distant pulse comes from the walled cities. the air is filled with sand. sand blows into des' nostrils and clings to his lips and hair.
lucifer has no wings. his robes are soiled and so are azrael's. they all seem to be wearing linen - it's light and the air passes through it. the robes are long and unimportant.
the sky is vividly blue, and the sun glares down on des with all its being. the sweat feels alternately good and unbearable.
they walk up rocky hills, climbing steep paths, and crossing over outcroppings of rock and ragged tree, and finally there appears before them a great patch of unwatered sand, burning and shifting slowly in a comfortless wind.
lucifer comes to a halt at the very threshold of the desert. he puts his left arm around des, his fingers spreading out firm and large against his shoulder. ]
After I was cast out, I wandered. [ his eyes are fixed on the desert and what seem the barren, blazing rocky cliffs in the distance, hostile as the desert itself ] I roamed the way you have often roamed, Descant. Wingless and brokenhearted, I drifted along through the cities and nations of the earth, over continents and wastes. Sometime or other I can tell you all of it, if you wish. It's of no consequence now.
Let me say only what is of consequence, that I did not dare to make myself visible or known to Humankind, but rather hid amongst them, invisible, not daring to assume flesh for fear of angering God again; and not daring to join the human struggle under any disguise, for fear of God, and for fear of what evil I might bring on humans. On account of the same fears... I didn't return to Sheol. I wanted in no way to increase the sufferings of Sheol. God alone could free those souls? What hope could I give them?
But I could see Sheol, I could see its immensity, and I felt the pain of the souls there, and wondered at the new and intricate and ever-changing patterns of confusion created by mortals as they departed one faith or sect or creed after another that miserable margin of gloom.
Once a proud thought came to me - that if I did penetrate Sheol, I might instruct the souls there so thoroughly that they themselves might transform it, create in it forms invented by hope rather than hopelessness, and some garden might be made of it in time. Certainly the elect, the millions we had taken to Heaven, they had transformed their portion of the place. But then what if I failed at this, and only added to the chaos? I didn't dare. I didn't dare, out of fear of God and fear of my own inability to accomplish such a dream.
I formulated many theories in my wanderings but I did not change my mind on anything I believed, or felt, or had spoken to God. In fact, I prayed to Him often, though He was utterly silent, telling Him how much I continued to believe that he had deserted His finest creation. And sometimes out of weariness, I only sang His praises. Sometimes I was silent. Looking, hearing... watching...
Lucifer, the Watcher, the Fallen Angel.
Little did I know that my argument with Almighty God was only begun.
no subject
the landscape is changing again. as lucifer looks at him, the world around them is filled with new sounds. there are humans in the vicinity, men with flocks of goat and sheep, and far off in the distance, the walls of a town are visible, and above on a hill, yet another small settlement.
lucifer stares at des, the sun beating down on the three of them. azrael and lucifer are covered in a faint shimmer. ]
Look down at your clothes. They're robes, and better suited for the desert. I want you to come there, just over those hills... with me.
[ he stands up, and starts off, through what is unquestionably the Holy Land. they pass dozens upon dozens of small groups of people, fisherman near a small town on the edge of the sea, others tending sheep or goats, or driving small flocks towards nearby settlements or walled enclosures.
everything looks distinctly familiar. beneath the layers of grit that cover all, he's surrounded by forms and styles and manners of behavior seen often in Scripture, engraving, embellished illustration, and from film enactment.
they can see people standing before caves in which they live high on the hills. here and there little groups sit in the shade beneath a copse, dozing, talking. a distant pulse comes from the walled cities. the air is filled with sand. sand blows into des' nostrils and clings to his lips and hair.
lucifer has no wings. his robes are soiled and so are azrael's. they all seem to be wearing linen - it's light and the air passes through it. the robes are long and unimportant.
the sky is vividly blue, and the sun glares down on des with all its being. the sweat feels alternately good and unbearable.
they walk up rocky hills, climbing steep paths, and crossing over outcroppings of rock and ragged tree, and finally there appears before them a great patch of unwatered sand, burning and shifting slowly in a comfortless wind.
lucifer comes to a halt at the very threshold of the desert. he puts his left arm around des, his fingers spreading out firm and large against his shoulder. ]
After I was cast out, I wandered. [ his eyes are fixed on the desert and what seem the barren, blazing rocky cliffs in the distance, hostile as the desert itself ] I roamed the way you have often roamed, Descant. Wingless and brokenhearted, I drifted along through the cities and nations of the earth, over continents and wastes. Sometime or other I can tell you all of it, if you wish. It's of no consequence now.
Let me say only what is of consequence, that I did not dare to make myself visible or known to Humankind, but rather hid amongst them, invisible, not daring to assume flesh for fear of angering God again; and not daring to join the human struggle under any disguise, for fear of God, and for fear of what evil I might bring on humans. On account of the same fears... I didn't return to Sheol. I wanted in no way to increase the sufferings of Sheol. God alone could free those souls? What hope could I give them?
But I could see Sheol, I could see its immensity, and I felt the pain of the souls there, and wondered at the new and intricate and ever-changing patterns of confusion created by mortals as they departed one faith or sect or creed after another that miserable margin of gloom.
Once a proud thought came to me - that if I did penetrate Sheol, I might instruct the souls there so thoroughly that they themselves might transform it, create in it forms invented by hope rather than hopelessness, and some garden might be made of it in time. Certainly the elect, the millions we had taken to Heaven, they had transformed their portion of the place. But then what if I failed at this, and only added to the chaos? I didn't dare. I didn't dare, out of fear of God and fear of my own inability to accomplish such a dream.
I formulated many theories in my wanderings but I did not change my mind on anything I believed, or felt, or had spoken to God. In fact, I prayed to Him often, though He was utterly silent, telling Him how much I continued to believe that he had deserted His finest creation. And sometimes out of weariness, I only sang His praises. Sometimes I was silent. Looking, hearing... watching...
Lucifer, the Watcher, the Fallen Angel.
Little did I know that my argument with Almighty God was only begun.