Imagine a Citadel : an enormous ancient edifice of stone, arches and turrets, dank spaces and airy halls, dark cellars and lofty aeries. Imagine huge labyrinthine libraries filled with eons of human knowledge: tomes and scrolls and artefacts of mysterious origins. Imagine rooms upon tiny rooms of stark interiors: a cot, a wash stand, a hanging peg in the wall, a small slit in the wall allowing a narrow view of clear pale skies. Imagine endless halls and stairwells. Imagine this huge sprawling pile of man made rock lounging on the bank of a long dead river, the ancient river bed and its guest laying on an endless plateau running from one horizon to the other.
The rooms and hallways seem eerily empty this morning, the only sound, a low murmur, coming from the main gathering hall. Inside the great hall a huge crowd has gathered – the denizens of the citadel, tonsured monks all, stand in clusters, talking in frightened whispers, their robes rustling as they gesture nervously. A lone figure, stern and stark, dressed in crisp military uniform, stands in front of the crowd informing it of the amassed army, his army, surrounding the citadel’s walls.
Far to the back of the hall, behind all those hunched, robed backs, a silent few take careful, slow steps towards a spiralling stairwell. Once inside they hurriedly climb up the endless steps. I follow, my own robes hindering my frenzied climb, catching beneath my sandalled feet.
We reach the end of the climb and exit unto a flat roof high above the plateau floor. In front of us, amassed in perfect order is a sea of soldiers, waiting in silence, like a predator ready to pounce on its helpless prey.
My heart sinks. I, like my brethren staring aghast before me,am frantic with fright, my blood rushing in my ears, this doom making me almost physically sick.
Shaking ourselves of our stupor, we advance towards the edge of the roof.
The first man to reach the edge pauses for a moment and then just… drops silently off the ledge. I am so frightened of what I am about to do that bile rises to my mouth. I hold it back. The line progresses as, one by one, the men throw themselves off of the roof in despair.
Now there is but one man before me. I focus upon his back in a desperate attempt to escape my terror. His dark modern corporate suit sits well upon his broad back and wide shoulders, his black hair, carefully combed, is cut short. He is out of place in this setting, as is the military leader down in the great hall.
I suddenly realise this man before me is not a monk though I could swear a moment before the last of my brethren was standing in front of me, ready to leap off of the roof. As soon as realisation strikes the man turns and faces me.
This is no man, I think to myself. This pale, marble skin, these black eyes, this cold stare, devoid of feeling, this creature is not born of woman. He opens his mouth and says quietly in a terrible voice:
“I am the angel ******. You must turn back. This is not your time to die”. My terror reaches new heights as every cell in my body reacts to this creature, all immediately madly instructing my body to ESCAPE! FLEE! Leave this towering presence and cower somewhere safe. I cannot hold it back any longer. My stomach clenches and hot, acid vomit spews out of my mouth.
The angel opens his mouth wider, impossibly wider. And as if in slow motion, the contents of my stomach enter his gaping maw, each and every drop and chunk yanked out of the air and into him.
He closes his mouth and with a wry smile that does not reach his eyes he swallows. I fall into darkness, the last thing I remember is his black, cold gaze following my body as it drops to the tiles beneath me.
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