by Angyl Grayson
My mind, soothed by my realizations, relaxes, releasing my from my nightmares. Instead of facing my father in his final moments I find myself in a beautiful garden. I look around, awed by the intense, vibrant colors of the varies flowers, soothed by the cool, deep green leaves and grass, lulled by the intoxicating mixture of the birds lullaby accompanied with insects, and the fragrant, fresh smells wafting over me. A paradise within my own mind, one the likes of which I've never imagined...much less seen.
Drawn to a perfect, blood red rose in full bloom, I kneel before it, tenderly caressing the silken petals. "Angylous." A soft, musical voice chimes behind me. I, so entranced with my surroundings that I didn't hear anyone approach, jump. A wickedly sharp thorn, hidden by the lovely rose's leaves, snags my finger, tearing the flesh open. Gasping in shocked pain, I look down, watching the blood well up. It pools around the cut, beginning to run off the tip of my finger, the first drop of blood smashing into the perfect rose, disappearing almost instantly...as if the rose had drank my blood. I rise to my feet quickly, staring down at the odd flower, sucking on my wounded finger. "Angylous, tis time."
I drag my attention away from the rose, turning to find an equally beautiful woman standing on the path before me. "I'm sorry? Time for what?" I whisper.
"You shall see, Angylous. Come." She answers with a smile, extending her hand to me. Unable to resist, I place my hand in hers, allowing her to lead me to a building. Once inside, she turns back to me, pointing at a set of clothing neatly folded up on a pure white marble bench to my right. "You will be far more comfortable in those. As soon as you are changed, I will return." She promises, leaving through another door.
I watch her leave, something in the back of my mind nagging at me. Is this another dream? If it is, I would have to say it is far more pleasant than anything I've had in some time. Turning, I quickly don the clothes, not shocked to find them to be as soft and silky as the rose petal I touched moments ago. I look down at the snow white clothes...a pair of loose fitting pants set low on my hips, and a wrap around shirt held in place by a velvety tie. Odd. Comfortable, but odd.
"They fit you." I spin, coming face to face with the young woman who brought me here. She smiles warmly, lovingly caressing my cheek. "Here. Drink this. It will help you to relax." She says, handing me a steaming cup of tea.
I do as she asks, savoring the rich, almond flavor, closing my eyes as a warmth I have never known washes over me, freeing me from the Earthly bonds. Slowly, almost lethargically I look at her, aware that my eyes are only half open. Yet, I have no desire to fight it. I feel to good. So at peace. So gentle. So very comfortable. "It's good." I manage in a soft voice.
"We could do no less for you, Angylous. Not with all that you do for us." She smiles, taking the cup from me. Once again she offers her hand. "Come, the time is at hand. They await you."
I follow her through the next door willingly, ignoring the warning sirens screaming in the back of my head. Nothing is wrong beyond my over paranoid mind. How could there be. Everything here is so...so peaceful...so gentle, so...so perfect. As we enter the next room I look up to find a multitude of people turning to face us, all of them as beautiful as the one by my side, all of them with gentle, warm smiles. The room itself is massive, made completely of white marble, with rows upon rows of deep mahogany pews where the people sit. Lining the walls are great candelabrums, each holding thirteen pure white candles, all burning to wrap the room in a warm golden glow.
At the front of the room is Crelaen and his Advents, all of them dressed similarly to me. Before them is an enormous alter, again made out of solic white marble, a blood red cloth draped across it. The only thing that troubles me is the thin black marble post protruding from it about a quarter of the way down on one end, and at the base of the other. What could those possibly be for? Or, what is their meaning?
Despite my confusion to the odd alter, I continue to allow the woman to lead me forward, delivering me to Crelaen. Smiling with silent approval, he takes my hand and guides me up the steps to stand beside him. "Our Savior, Angylous Grayson." He says softly, the crowd murmuring in response, though I cannot make out what it is that they say. "Remove the robe, Angylous." Crelaen orders. I do so without question, handing it to one of the Advents. "Come. You are tired. Lay here so that you may find the rest that you seek." Crelaen says, motioning towards the alter.
The sirens in the back of my mind grow louder, yet I cannot find it within me to question anything. I do as Crelaen orders, accepting his help, finding that the two post a quarter of the way down are on either side of my head. Ignoring them and the insistent warning, I look around, spotting a man I don't know standing back behind the Advents. His eyes seem to bore through me, his unknown intent shining brightly, refusing to be denied. Uneased by this I look up at the ceiling, pleased to find a beautiful mosaic of cherubs and angels dancing around in wondrous celebration.
Crelaen moves to stand beside me, facing the multitude of people. He speaks to them for some time, though what he says I do not know. It is spoken in a soft, sing song language that seems to draw me into further comfort. Soon I find my eyes drifting closed. Just as I think I'm about to fall asleep Crelaen leans close to me. "You must stay awake, Angylous. Here, grip these poles. Yes, just like that."
Even as I do, my hands wrapping around the cool, dark poles, fear tears through my gut, leaving in it's wake an icy touch I cannot shake off. Crelaen, intent on something else, does not seem to notice. One of the Advents begins anointing me from head to toe with a fragrant oil, the tiny silken drops soaking into my flesh, the aroma dragging me further down, making me sleepy.
I watch through drowsy eyes as one of the Advents approaches me on the opposite side of Crelaen, her back to the people. Crelaen closes his eyes, apparently in silent prayer. Then, grabbing whatever rest on the blood red velvet pillow, he looks to the people. "So that the Father, Our Lord may rise and walk among us again. So that Human Kind may be saved we sacrifice Angylous Grayson, the pure embodiment of the Lambs."
Ice lances through me at his words, the drowsy lethargy vanishing, obliterated by the terror and realization flooding every part of my body. The Advent steps back, taking the pillow with her, reveling the wickedly sharp, cruelly curved ceremonial dagger held securely in Crelaen's hands. Frozen in horror, I stare up at the blade, painfully aware of the thin tip pointed directly at my chest. Before I can shake off the mind numbing fear, the blade plunges down, embedding in my chest to the hilt.
Amazingly, beyond the initial shock of sharp pain, I feel nothing beyond cold numbness. Then, something hot and slick begins gathering on my chest around the blade, trickling down my sides and my neck slowly, soaking into my hair, staining the once beautiful alter. My blood! It's my own blood!
Crelaen, whispering softly uttered words in the unknown language, braces himself, tearing the blade down. Then the pain comes. Unreal, unrelenting pain tearing through me, driving an agonized scream from me, my hands clutching the post so tightly my fingers go numb. Again he rips the blade down, ripping my breastplate in two, severing my diaphragm. I gasp for air, my lungs struggling for life giving oxygen, my ears filling with the sickening sound of bone scraping against bone. And, again Crelaen drags the blade down, slicing me from sternum to pelvis, finally removing the blood soaked blade.
I stare up at him, agony filling my eyes, my body screaming in horror and pain unreal. My blood flows from my body, streaming down the sides of the alter, gathering in dark red pools at the base. My fingers slips from around the post, falling uselessly to my sides. A deep cold washes over me, my body shivering helplessly as my head falls to one side, my gaze settling on the people who witness my murder. A single tear slips from my dull, glazed eyes as I slip away, falling to the true peace...the peace of eternal oblivion...
With a hoarse cry I sit straight up in bed, my breathing ragged, my chest raw pain, my sweat soaked hair clinging to my face in strands. It was a dream! Nothing more than a horrible nightmare. Realizing this, I sigh, laying back down, struggling to drag my mind from the clinging tendrils of the dark vision.
Nay, my son. T'was no nightmare. Tis a warning of what is to come. Beware Crelaen and his. Beware the Sacrifice of the Lambs! The soft voice of my mother washes over me, leaving in it's wake an icy chill that no amount of blankets can seem to shake. A warning. A dark vision. Truly a night of horrors.
