Prologue

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As it was in the beginning, so it shall be in the end. Days of change surrounded everyone. It happened in every nation on Earth. No one had the foresight to see the obvious, except maybe the Sages or the Enlightened Ones. The people of this planet had begun to disappear, almost as if they had courageously decided to escape under the cover of darkness, avoiding the winds of evil encompassing them.

Those who went missing were the Chosen Ones, selected out of families of every faith and denomination. Their disappearances had nothing to do with social status or monetary enlightenment or political agenda. They disappeared from the slums of Bombay to the barrios of Mexico City... from the Russian elite to the natives of New Guinea's rain forests. Name the city or state, the country or continent, and it made no difference; people disappeared.

The date it all started had explicit implications to most, while it meant nothing to others. Explanations for some of the disappearances made it into a few of the local newspapers in various countries . . . stories loosely based on known facts about the individual, speculating as to where he or she may have gone or what he or she may have done. For some time, only a few were turned in to police departments as missing persons or as runaways, depending on age; no one was alarmed at first. The police wrote their reports, sent out bulletins, and chased fruitless leads.

- Page 1 -

THE FEAST OF ANGELS

Some families posted their own fliers, trying desperately to locate their loved ones, but to no avail, for they, the Chosen, were never seen on this earth again. It would be some time before anyone realized the severity. As usual, with any change, it was not abrupt at first, just small numbers of people vanishing, like a child counting digits on his hand, one, two, three . . . Then it became larger numbers, more like counting the grains of a handful of sand at the beach, totaling in the tens of thousands. From there, the numbers rose exponentially. Long before it reached that point though, the people who demanded answers to the disappearances were rebuked. The powers-to-be reckless, more concerned about a solid bottom line than the welfare of a few of their fellow men. The tabloids told of the rather unusual cases when they involved people of status and stature, making dire predictions that the disappearances were the result of alien abductions, serial killers, cults, and slave rings. No one realized the unpredictability of the abductions. At the height of the crisis, which took some time to develop, theories abounded and questions were asked, the foremost being, "Why?" The learned and the religious gathered as one, putting their animosities aside, as they attempted to solve the riddle, forwarding concrete thoughts and ideas to soothe the masses from their growing paranoia. However, no one bothered to look at the one constant that foretold this plague on humanity. A battle was being fought. Not in the sense of battles with visible armament, but a battle of a different sort, which did not include the known forces of man against man.

The learned were the ones who finally figured it out, only to be branded as strange, insane, or mad. The answer was not well received, as they were hunted down like the purported witches of the Middle Ages. These were the fortunate, who received the visions or dreams which, along with research and the latest technology, gave them an opportune piece of the puzzle. Then, the truth was revealed.

Many other changes happened at the same time. Climate variations began in earnest: hurricanes, droughts, and adverse weather conditions occurred more than ever recorded before. It snowed in the Sahara and Gobi deserts.

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“Unpredictability” became the buzzword for most of the world’s forecasters, for there were no prior records that even hinted to the seesaw weather patterns happening with increased regularity. New York City in the middle of summer recorded a fetid ninety-eight degrees on August 5, and the next day it snowed; "Climate change" was the buzz word of the day.

Hurricanes, tornadoes, and typhoons became the norm. The planet shook and shuddered with a record number of earthquakes for which no one had an explanation. Finally, the politics of the situation heralded in all the naysayers.

Some people walked through the streets, squares, and plazas holding their banners high and shouting, “Repent! The end is near!” So, it was for some; the maelstrom was building. The most popular books on the bestsellers list became religious tomes for all faiths.

Parties became vogue once again, though not cocktail parties, but prayer-parties, groups of people banding together, hoping to make some sense of an unexpected image. Religious attendance soared and the hierarchies of these religious beliefs were ecstatic. Their coffers swelled as people gave unselfishly so they might be spared; the deed empty, an old but foolish one. The religious leaders were either mum or slow in telling the constituency other-wise. They let their flocks assume what they did and thought was Truth. In essence, nothing could be further from it. So, the story begins . . .

Excerpts

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EXCERPT 1

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When he arrived at the spot, he saw a deep valley different from the ones he had just crossed—one much deeper and wider than any he had traversed all day. He ordered his camel to stop and kneel so he could dismount and make camp. He fed the camel and spread his bedding near the animal in case it became spooked and for a small measure of heat during the coming night.

He finished his chores by the dazzling spectacle of a starlit sky, arranging an evening meal of dates, figs, bread, goat cheese and a flask of wine. He gazed intently at the stars as he ate, and since he was positioned at the very edge of the valley, he could look down into it, if needed—a suitable perch.

A single star shone unusually brighter than the rest, illuminating the sky with greater clarity. Shooting stars were not an unusual sight in the desert; he had once witnessed four of them in a single sitting. He hoped the stars would entertain him once again with their white contrails as they streaked across the sky. The half-lit moon began to rise toward its apex.

Anhur frowned in confusion. This star outshone the moon and seemed to come closer and closer to his fixed position, heading straight for him. There was nowhere for him to escape as he watched the light grow in strength. He felt a tingle of fear.

Anhur was sure the object was not a comet, for its light tail widened as it came closer. By now, the light obliterated the moonlight.

Anhur hoped it would breakup if it entered the atmosphere. He went back to his meal with nervous aplomb, praying the star would veer off. The valley before him brightened, the light becoming strong enough for him to almost see across the valley floor’s expanse.

The dark shadows of the entire desert dissipated as the star illuminated the entire area. He looked skyward; the star streaked toward earth with precipitous speed. The camel brayed and spat, trying desperately to rise and run. Anhur grabbed the animal by the reins and settled it back into a seated position, comforting it by stroking its face and addressing it with soothing commands to relax. If the animal scampered off, he would be stranded in the middle of the desert with no means of transport.

An impact was imminent. To hold the camel at bay, he straddled his body across the animal’s neck to prevent it from getting up on its own. He readied a knife from his belt to maim the camel just in case he could no longer hold it down. Anhur hoped the animal would not stray far if it were wounded. He knew where to inflict the wound under the front foreleg to hobble it, but hoped it would not be necessary. If this was his time, it was his time.

Finally, the light grew so powerful he had to look away. He stared down into the valley below. The light had changed from a bright white to an iridescent blue. As he squinted, protecting his eyes from the vaporous blue surroundings, he thought he saw legions of men. The site reminding him of a battlefield. He saw wings on the man-figures nearest to him. His eyes welled up with water, a natural defense the body used to protect the corneas; the light was so transcendent and unlike anything he had ever seen.

Moments later, the light crashed into the sand on the opposite side of the valley without impact. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the black surroundings. He looked intently for some sign of the battlefield below him but saw only empty space.

A strange thought entered his mind: “You have witnessed this and you must inform all others.”

Anhur released the camel from his stranglehold and stood up. He peered over the edge of the valley to search for imprints in the sand to verify what he had witnessed. There were only shadows. He would have to wait until morning for his proof.

He pondered the meaning of the vision in the valley and likened it to the miraculous occurrence.

EXCERPT 2

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“Everything encompassed within this realm is due to the works of the beast. There is no natural calamity that can’t be attributed to the devil, in an effort to sabotage humanity. It is his domain.”

“Which is my point. He seems to want it that way.”

“He feeds off of pain and suffering. That is how he likes it best. Any possible way he can trip you up, he will. It is something he is an expert at and has been doing for quite some time.” “It is with this ploy where he gathers his strength to fight, right?”

“Yes, it is,” the monsignor agreed.

“Which brings me back to another thought,” Flo said, her voice rising with excitement. “Are not the Weeping Mary statues a warning sign that the fight for the earth is being lost and she is giving us a sign of things to come, mourning her loss? She is the matron of this planet, is she not?”

“This is exactly what I needed to hear from you, a logical assessment of the current conditions. Please don’t let me interrupt continue . . . continue, Ms. Rinna!”

Flo beamed. “Which leads me to one other thought. As Anhur so vehemently stated, the white side seemed to be losing, which is the side of the angels. Suppose the battle has been raging for millenniums. Maybe the legions of angels have dwindled to a point where there are not a sufficient number of them to wage the battle effectively any longer. The only sources left at their disposal are those who have their names inscribed in the Book of Lambs or those about to be? Your mother . . . being one of them.” The monsignor started to say something but she waved him off. “The only way to stop from being defeated would be to collect those souls, living or dead, and utilize them when necessary to wage war against the beast.”

“I had never thought about it in those terms, but it would explain why so many people have suddenly disappeared,” he mused.

Flo continued anew. “These people would be those with their names written in the Book of Life as Revelations states. If this is the truth of the matter, my own metaphor would be the feast of angels . . . feeding on those souls, utilizing any means at their disposal to win the battle. You know that the forces of evil have to be defeated in the end, and if I’m right, you can finally ease your conscious mind that your mother had to be taken in order to win the battle.” She noticed an unseen burden lifted from his shoulders as his expression changed to one of silent glee.

“My only problem here, Monsignor Lorenzo is this,” she concluded. “How in the world are we to aid in this process? Your mother’s life should not have been taken in vain. There was purpose behind her disappearance, as well as the countless others who have left prematurely to hopefully make the final prophecy become truth. What are we going to do about it?”

He shook his head an instant before he spoke. “I don’t know.”