Part of me wants to fall back and return to the endless expanse of free range from which I had steered away. But a deeper urge overrides this, keeping the chase alive. I wonder what this specter is. What it wants with me. The questions swirl in my mind. But deep down I know the answers already. They portend a terrible truth I am not prepared to face.
The old seer’s response did little to quell the black mystery which was gaining a stranglehold on the wanderer’s mind. He found himself both frightened and intrigued by the idea of a mystical being that would so brazenly flaunt itself to an increasingly disbelieving world.
A diviner, as his mother had once been, would have pronounced this to be an ominous sign. A precursor of trouble ahead. Samuel just shrugged at the thought. In his experience there was always trouble ahead, sign or no sign. As the wise men of the east would say, man was born to trouble. He expected nothing less from the coming storm that could be seen broaching the horizon.
By their accents, he could tell they were Assyrian. Their muscled frames and composed manner pegged them for soldiers. Deserters most likely. With their empire in the throes of collapse, they probably decided to try their hand at banditry, applying their unique talents to enrich themselves rather than to go down fighting for a sinking ship.
In this same manner he turned away from her for the last time and gave the sign. The nod itself was barely perceptible. But its implication was as sure as the trumpet’s call to battle. The uniformed soldiers each took a step back to let the common citizenry take the lead. These were owners of land and workers of land. Heads of households and tenants of the same. But, despite their many stripes, in performing this most communal of tasks, they were men of duty above all else. And with duty extending its unspoken beckon, the first group of men came forward to pick up one of the many instruments of divine justice lying scattered at their feet.
Before the brutality of their action could sink in, each man would cordially step aside after his one throw to make way for the next in line. Of all forms of capital punishment, execution by stoning was the most collaborative. For this reason, it was the preferred means of divine retribution in the law. The law was never meant to be upheld by authoritarian decree. It was for the people and by the people. In thought and in very deed. Even in punishment, every man lent a hand in an act that was as symbolic as it was efficient in its savagery, allowing no one to later claim themselves a disinterested bystander to the whole affair. All were signatories.
Somewhere outside beyond the tarpaulin veil, the grand symphony of battle droned on. Sounds, dreadful in isolation, were oddly festive when blended together in concert. He could almost picture a gathering of drunkards in some nearby wood. Clinking mugs and offering boisterous toasts as a vagabond band played its makeshift instruments in the background. But Samuel knew the cheery acoustics of it were deceiving. In this party men were falling dead with every spirited salutation. As tired as he was, Samuel was almost envious of those being sent to their eternal slumber.
Just when I believe we near the threshold of transfiguration, my horse finds yet another burst. We go faster yet. Not even the occasional carcass, half-swallowed in the hardpan, slows us down. Tokens of fear and death merely disintegrate in our wake as we trample them asunder just as we trample asunder the laws upon which Creation was built.
And while I ride impossibly fast, he pulls ahead of me. A vapor of charcoaled dust trailing behind him. Its thick curled horns breaking through the headwinds and its wings flared out menacingly, as if ready to take flight. Although I know I should be afraid of this specter, I give chase instead. Into the sun we race, to the gateway of the gods.
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The Satan and the Cherubim Overview
